Post by Tallaith on Mar 5, 2009 16:03:36 GMT -5
Maewynne and Phaerel are making a camp on a riverbank below the Trestlespan. They're scouting the trail of the Man who poisoned the pipeweed and stabbed Mae. Dolen shows up in his usual cheery mood.
Maewynne shivers lightly as the fire burns low. "I wish there was more firewood at hand."
Dolen makes his way down from the steep trail, sending rocks skittering across the ground. He hooks his free thumb behind his swordbelt and is sure to approach with enough noise to not be confused for some sort of hostile.
Phaerel says, 'Well, there are many ways to keep warm, my lady. Though I *did* expect you to have more supplies, if perhaps only to stave that off for a bit. *chuckles*'
Maewynne glances up, her eyes wide in surprise. She looks to Phaerel and shakes her head as if to say, "Not now."
Phaerel says, '...someone's coming.'
Phaerel smiles grimly. "Aye, I should have known."
Maewynne squints through the darkness, catching only the light glinting on weapons and eyes. She watches Phaerel closely. 'Who is it?'
Phaerel says, 'Have a look.'
Maewynne offers Dolen a slender smile as she recognizes him. "Hello, sir."
Phaerel says, 'I'll give you this, Dolen... for all your gaping faults, you're not a bad tracker.'
Dolen nods slightly to them both, still keeping his distance. "Evening. Caught sight of the fire, figured I'd drop in."
He grins, "Aye, I can track a fire in the middle of the night. I'll be as fine a tracker as Maewynne some day."
Maewynne looks to the ground, biting her lip to silence herself.
Phaerel says, 'The fire was several hundred feet directly under the trestlespan, so not quite obvious. Give yourself a bit of credit, there.'
Maewynne says, 'I didn't bring enough fuel to keep the fire burning, sir. So lucky for you I suppose that it lasted as long as it did.'
Dolen looks up to the tall valley surrounding them and nods. "Saw the both of you heading down as well. Looking for the man's trail, or is this a more leisurely stop?"
Maewynne lays her hand on her dagger with the sweetest of smiles. "I don't fear for our safety here, Dolen. I rather wanted a quiet spot to find some rest. So the fire was a neccessity." She blinks, turning brilliant red, and drops her eyes once more, obviously fighting to still her reply.
Phaerel nods and smiles at Mae's words, as if to say "question answered".
Dolen nods and looks to the fire pit, "Shall I leave you two to your peace, or might I take a bit of rest as well?"
Maewynne glances to him for a short moment. "Join us, sir. As a friend, I hope."
Phaerel says, 'You may at that. My dagger shall stay sheathed, lest I be accused of impatience again. *grins*'
Maewynne settles again beside the dead fire, combing her fingers through her damp hair.
Phaerel sits with Maewynne.
Dolen makes his way to the fire, sure to keep out of stabbing distance, and crouches down, laying his bow beside him.
Maewynne glances sideways to Dolen and back to the cooling ashes. "Why *are* you here, sir?"
Phaerel raises both brows, awaiting a response amusedly.
Dolen shrugs, "As I recall hearing, the man you were looking for was moving in this direction, no?"
Maewynne nods slowly. "Aye, though he's taken a different route, or so a friend tells me. Who is associated with the Rangers in his own way. I hope this way I can make enough speed to find his trail, then find friends to aid me. And perhaps I can catch him with the least harm to my group.'
Phaerel nods.
Dolen says, 'And if he has angents behind him watching for such a pursuit?'
Phaerel says, 'Then they will be very unhappy about that.'
Maewynne says, 'Why would they watch a road he did not travel, sir?'
Phaerel says, 'I see what he says. Just to cover all bets, and catch us either way. It is likely...if he has the resources to do so. I know not if that is the case.'
Dolen nods, "Aye, perhaps he did not know that we've any better information than his general direction."
Maewynne bites her lip and silently stirs the dead fire to try to coax some warmth from it.
Phaerel says, 'We can only hope that he knows as little of us as we of him. It would be a nice way to avoid a lot of trouble.'
Dolen says, 'Better to forget he existed. But I know some will not settle for the -easy- path. *he smiles*'
Maewynne nods hesistantly. "My friend made a point that bothers me a bit. That this Man, to travel in his current state in such dangerous places, must have aid we don't know of."
Phaerel grins. "Nothing worth doing is easy, or so someone of worth once said."
Maewynne says, 'And likely he'll try to find me, since I know *who* he is and *what* he does.' She glances to Dolen, unsure if he jests. She tries to limit her words so as not to bait him.
Dolen says, 'Hm. Frightening point indeed. Those are unforgiving lands, it'd be quite a group to travel with him. Also, what is it he's fleeing?'
Phaerel says, 'Other than us? I could not say.'
Maewynne says, 'Me, sir. The knowledge I have of him. And the desire to stop him.'
Dolen says, 'And what does he know of you? Besides that you've some desire to stop him or expose him?'
Maewynne says, 'I don't know, sir. I suppose that's all. And my name... in a way.'
Phaerel says, 'Well, that's the trick, isn't it? We honestly don't know, and it matters less than our duty to find him and stop him.'
Dolen says, 'So, he knows your name, your face, and that you're a lass. When I was a young man, my sister would win almost every game of stones we played.'
Phaerel rolls his eyes.
Dolen says, 'I was the better player, and older, aye? I shouldn't have lost. But she taught me about traps, in some manner.'
Maewynne looks carefully into the fire and weighs his words.
Dolen nods, "You'll see it in nature. Certain birds will run from their nests and play as if they're injured to distract you from their eggs. Of course, a bird has no army of mercenaries to stab you in the back as you follow it.'
Maewynne blinks at this, her shoulders tightening. She remains quiet.
Phaerel says, 'I hate to admit this... I truly do... but that is half-decent point. And my contacts have all proven bloody useless in this matter thus far.'
Dolen smirks a bit and nods at Phaerel.
Phaerel says, 'I don't track, really. I've always relied on information, and that's my failure here.'
Maewynne shakes her head slowly, her brow creasing lightly in thought.
Dolen says, 'My point is, he has nothing to fear from you. Nothing that he knows of, anyway. Someone of his...eh, repute, would sooner eliminate someone who knew of their doings before fleeing. We do have the means of ending him, but he cannot know that.'
Phaerel laughs. "Excpet perhaps another lashing from Maewynne, that is. I would bet that he'd like to keep the rest of his fingers and toes. True enough.'
Dolen grins and nods, "Aye, I doubt he'd face her himself. A bloody good fist, she has. I told you of the time she punched an orc in the face, aye? Bare knuckled?'
Maewynne looks to Dolen, the tension unwavering in her posture. She turns to Phaerel and drops her eyes once more. "This may be a hopeless search that will end with no benefit to others."
Phaerel says, 'Aye, and I have no trouble picturing that. My love is a force to be reckoned with.'
Maewynne offers him a tiny smile. "Not the great force that may be called for in this, I'm afraid."
Phaerel takes Mae's hand. "We must try nonetheless."
Maewynne says, 'Aye, that's the path I've always walked, never knowing if anything I do has any good come from it.'
Phaerel says, 'We *all* walk that one, my lady. It's the caring that makes the difference.'
Maewynne runs her thumb lightly over his hand and nods. "Well, those of us who choose the right path over the easy one."
Phaerel smirks at Dolen. "Aye."
Dolen nods at this, still grinning, "I myself, I always know my path brings good. I can see it in my coinpurse, or feel it in my belly. And interestingly enough, I've lost rather little blood for it."
Phaerel says, 'And little sleep, I wot. Charming.'
Dolen says, 'Little sleep? Aye, but not for the reasons you mean.'
Maewynne sighs softly at this, her free hand wandering to her side unconsciously. "And have you many friends to share these comforts, sir?"
Dolen says, 'I do not, by choice.'
Maewynne says, 'You sound very much like someone I know.'
Phaerel smiles. "You have friends forced upon you by the valar? I doubt that very much. *chuckles*'
Dolen says, 'Aye, I may have one acquaintance forced upon me by the Valar. Who can speak for their intentions though, eh?'
Phaerel says, 'Indeed, indeed.'
Maewynne laughs softly but offers no opinion of this.
Dolen leans forward, "Though as for friends, it's difficult to find an individual willing and mature enough to hear the truth and know the right of it. Most prefer flowery words and praise.'
Phaerel says, 'Or courtesy, but such things are lost on some.'
Maewynne looks to him steadily. "Some of us are very young, celebrating our birthdays today, in fact. And are learning to take such notions as the truth they are, and not merely witless insults."
Dolen says, 'Courtesy. You'll be touting the goodness and necessity of laws next, I expect. What's the point of shaking a man's hand when you'd as soon see his back? A birthday, today? Was that not in a few days, or does your celebration last so long?'
Maewynne says, 'My birthday is today, sir. And we celebrated it a few days ago when among so many of our friends and companions.'
Phaerel says, 'I am courteous, and will not be accused of being otherwise. I prove it by stilling my hand now. Insult me again, Dolen, and things between us will change rather rapidly. I ask you-- kindly-- to give me common respect, and that is all.'
Dolen says, 'Being courteous is a far cry from showing respect. I respect orcs, but would put an arrow through their heart at a hundred paces, which I doubt is considered courteous by most. And careful with your threats, man. I am no child to be culled by a cuff or two.'
Maewynne says very softly, "Is that how 'children' should be shown the ways of the world?"
Phaerel shoots DOlen a grin laced with murder. "You try my patience more than any orc I've met, cur. Still thy tongue now or find my threat *upon* you."
Maewynne looks between the Men coldly. "Stop this. Right now."
Phaerel says, 'I will not be insulted by this man for one moment longer.'
Dolen nods at Mae, "Aye, a 'lesson' from their elder is far less painful than a lesson from the world. And still your temper, man. You'd shed blood on your woman's birthday, and in her presence?"
Maewynne says, 'Aye, and he will not insult you.'
Phaerel says, 'Your blood? after I asked you kindly to be a man, and you could not? I would.'
Maewynne lays her hand lightly on her dagger. "Unless he would like the insult returned in a more potent manner than the words he spares so easily."
Dolen looks Phaerel up and down from his crouched position, clearly tensed and ready to bound away should the man leap over the coals at him, "We've different notions of manhood, then." He looks to Mae's dagger and twists his lip into a grimace. "I see then."
Phaerel says, 'I'd not kill you, for there's no need of that. Just give you a reminder of your discourtesy.'
Maewynne turns to Phaerel now. "And you will not strike him either." She tightens her grip on her blade. "Both of you. Sit down. Be civil. Or neither of you will be spared the temper of a lass."
Phaerel says, 'My honor is important to me, my lady. I have little else. It will not be belittled by this joke of a man again.'
Maewynne shakes her head slowly, hissing under her breath. "Men and honour. Is it so hurt by only words?"
Phaerel looks to Maewynne, hurt. "It means so little to you, then?"
Dolen lifts his eyebrows, watching Phaerel, apparently agreeing with the sentiment.
Maewynne says, 'No. But the well-being of my friends matters more to me than the petty disputes words can start. Do you not realize that in the face of great trials, our dislike for one another is meaningless? And it only serves to dampen light in the face of shadow?'
Phaerel says, 'So, I am to sit here and be ridiculed by this 'friend', and do nothing? Is that what you would have?.'
Maewynne shakes her head once. "No. Because he will not ridicule you again."
Phaerel says, 'And *if he does*?.'
Maewynne points at Dolen, narrowing her eyes. "You, sir. If you value your place among companions that would gladly fall before you to save you from harm, will still your tongue. You may speak whatever truths you see fit, but not in a manner that is meant only as an insult or to stroke your own pride. If you cannot do this, you'll be cut from all hearts who have come to value you. There will be no protection from the will alone of a certain childish lass to keep your head attached to your body."
Dolen settles back down into his crouching position, elbows resting on knees. "Aye, understood. Let us hope then, for my sake, that my truths spoken in the best of intentions do not offend anyone's delicate sense of honor."
Maewynne tightens her jaw. "One more jab, sir, to make yourself feel a bigger man than those you imagine you know better than, and you'll know what a sense of honour can motivate people to do. Women as well."
Phaerel says, 'Too late for that. I will, however, *not* dishonor my love the way that you have done both of us. You can keep your blood flowing in the proper places and thank her for it.'
Dolen says, 'Who is to say that is my goal? I've no delusions of grandeur or friends to impress, I simply do not bandy words as city folk do. *he forces a polite smile* I'll do my honest best, aye?'
Maewynne nods. "Don't force yourself to use manners you obviously were never taught. Or use niceties even a child just out of swaddling can grasp. Just mind your tongue when in the company of those who *have* a sense of honour and right and wrong."
Dolen says, 'If only you were raised in the Mark, what a lass you'd have made. Nothing to do for it now, I suppose.'
Maewynne rises, her expression unwavering as she steps to Dolen. She curtseys to him deeply and smiles. When she rises, she soundly kicks him in the side of the head with all her might, turning in an instant and taking her seat once more. She takes a deep breath and watches the river placidly.
Phaerel sits down again with a look of mild shock. 'Now, I *definitely* prefer courtesy to that, myself. But that's just me.'
Maewynne demurely folds her hands in her lap and looks to Dolen with a ladylike smile.
Dolen watches the girl rise, only curious at first, but tenses as she approaches. When she begins the kick he does what he can to soften the blow, bringing his arm up to try and block, but the boot connects where it is intended, sending the man sprawling out on the ground to the side, much as he had when she punched him for the first time. It takes a long moment for the darkness and bright spots to clear from his vision.
Maewynne waits patiently for Dolen to regain himself, offering him a gentle smile.
Dolen stands slowly, wavering on his feet. His look is a mixture of confusion, shock and hatred.
Maewynne says, 'If I were raised among the Mark, sir, I would offer no apology for that.'
Phaerel pats his dagger. "Might've been better, I think."
Dolen says, 'Indeed. *he says, speaking very slowly*'
Maewynne says, 'Because I am *not* the breed of lass you expect me to be, I can offer you a sincere apology.'
Dolen says, 'And if you were in the mark, I would do just as I am.'
Maewynne arches an eyebrow.
Dolen he steps forward and picks up his bow, bowing his head to them both.
Phaerel offers no expression, but keeps his hand on his dagger's hilt.
((Here the party moves up to the field on the far side of the Trestlespan. Dorben has caught up with Mae, acting as her faithful protector, and is sneaking around to make sure she's all right. Watch for Dorben's emote that we consider THE GREATEST EMOTE OF ALL TIME.))
Dorben attempts to hide behind the tree. He fails a little, being slightly wider than it.
Dolen turns and walks to the path up the hill without another word, his steps slow and deliberate, cloak swirling about behind him.
Maewynne watches with the same faint smile. She stills Phaerel and follows Dolen quietly.
Dolen is currently walking away from the path, an occasional stumble to his step as his head still has not cleared.
Maewynne gestures to Phaerel to stay back.
Phaerel nods, reluctantly.
Dorben is glad he fashioned some green armour.
Maewynne hesitantly lays her hand on Dolen's shoulder, waiting for him to strike. She guides him to a stretch of grass and pushes him down to sit.
Dolen sharply shakes the woman's hand off when he feels a touch on his shoulder. He turns to glare at her, and when he is urged to sit, he simply staggers backwards, shaking his head. "I'll not lay prostrate to be spit on a third time."
Maewynne firmly puts both her hands on his shoulders and pushes him down to sit. She smiles kindly to him, inspecting the swollen knot on the side of his head.
Dorben goes to stroke his beard thoughtfully as he observes from his cunningly concealed location but stops himself, realizing that the rustling of his movement would alert them to his presence and foil his cunningly conceived plan of Dwarven style espionage.
Dolen folds to his knees at the persistent pressure, using his bow to help support him. He grits his teeth and groans, wishing his head was not swimming so.
Maewynne kneels beside him, chewing her lower lip in concern as she delicately trails her fingertips over his injury.
Dorben ponders getting naked and pretending to be a bear to get closer but decides he might not be hairy enough to pull it off. He also realizes it might get him shot at... He is allergic to arrows. They make him bleed and possibly die.
Maewynne speaks softly as she smooths his hair back from his brow. "Gehola, you have all the qualities that are beloved of a man of Rohan. Why do you deny showing them to those who care for you?"
Dolen answers through his clenched teeth, "What would you know of Rohan, you who would attack a sitting man? Twice now, isn't it? You who would spit on my service by asking me to pick -weeds-'
Maewynne says, 'I loved a man of Rohan once. And I would never turn away the help of one I trust. I *know* what makes your spirit exceptional, sir. I see your light within you. That's why I cannot bring myself to cut off all ties with you.'
Dorben holds his finger to his lips to shush the deer.
Phaerel spots movement behind a tree, and relaxes when seeing the dwarf's figure lumbering about in an attempt to hide.
Maewynne hums for a long moment beneath her breath, her fingers flickering with a quiet light. She begins tracing his temple with a touch lighter than a feather on a breeze, mending his throbbing head with care.
Phaerel grins.
Dolen says, 'Aye, by offering the very flowery praise I'd just insulted. What light is it you see if you cannot control yourself to such an extent?'
Dorben is still convinced he's cleverly concealed.
Maewynne smiles to this, tending her healing with apparently no thought. 'You've shown me that I am a lass of the grasslands I've never seen, sir. That I'm stronger and fiercer than I ever thought. And light. All have a light within them.'
Dorben wonders what sorcery Maewynne is performing!
Maewynne says, 'It only disappears when they're past my ability to recall. Some people dampen this light so that others cannot see what can be called a weakness. But really is the greatest strength of our kind.'
Dolen is glad of one thing at least, that the hatchet-blow of a headache is lessening. He seems to search for something to say, but cannot summon anything, instead simply glaring at the grass and clenching his jaw.
Maewynne seems almost to dream as she controls her breath, her hands growing warmer and brighter now as she leaves trails of soft fire behind her touch. She smooths his hair from his forehead once again and sits back to consider her work. 'This will take a few moments to mend, sir, but I hope I've spared you the pain and trouble of the fastest skills I have.'
Phaerel watches as his love heals the man with no hint of her previous hostility, and his eyes moisten at her ability to forgive.
Dolen says, 'What charity, mending the wounds you've caused. I'll mind my tongue, lest you do it again. *he shakes his head, still frowning*'
Maewynne says, 'Sir, charity was not striking you in a manner that cannot be repaired. I cannot still my temper at all times, especially when you pose a threat folks who only wish for friendship. Your manner of causing dischord, while it seems to amuse and please you to no end, only hastens the shadow that will torture you in the end as well. As brutal and uncaring as you like to present yourself to be, you still have a great light within you. And this can spare all of us the coldness of a night that won't end.'
Dorben can't help it. He needs to play music.
Dolen says, 'What threat? I feel I'm the one who should be threatened here, and I've been asked many times why it is I wish to help. Seeing this, it's no wonder. I've no idea what words would spare me any longer, since minding my tongue is as bad as speaking my mind.'
Maewynne smiles gently and wraps her arms around his shoulders in a soft embrace. "I shall show more patience, sir, for what I assume is concern, though you'd not ever admit it even to yourself." She sits back and shakes her head.
Phaerel pulls a waterskin and sits, wishing more than a little that it was ale.
Maewynne says, 'Don't you understand that you're needed? And you have people around you that you may need to call on someday too?'
Dorben sets a bottle of ale behind Phaerel.
Dolen grimaces and tenses at the embrace as if death were upon him. He shakes his head, "Needed, is that what you'd call it? No, I suppose I don't understand then."
Dorben is the Ale Fairy.
Phaerel whispers to himself, "I don't either."
Dolen sits back and frowns at her, quite glad for his clearing head.
Maewynne laughs. "Aye, you're needed in more ways than you could imagine. You can show a young lass, a bit childish, aye, that she can stand for herself. And your talents as a woodsman are only slightly less important, though more valuable than you know."
Dolen stares at her for a moment in silence, getting the impression that he is a child being consoled. He shrugs uncomfortably, "Aye, aye, fair enough."
Maewynne smiles to him shyly. "I would consider it a great honour if you would be among my companions. If you decline, I'll cut your throat and watch you die. Aye?"
Phaerel raises his brow in utter shock, his mouth slightly agape.
Dolen stares at the girl seriously for a long, silent while. He suddenly grins, then barks a laugh. Clapping her on the shoulder quite heavily, he struggles to his feet. "As I said before lass, a pity you were not raised in the Mark. It's no insult to your family, so don't be stringing me up like livestock for it, aye?'
Dorben is relieved that his outburst didn't seem to give away his presence.
Maewynne smiles as she rises, her expression turning into a smirk only he can see. She speaks very softly, so her words are only for his ears.
Phaerel stands as well, unsure of what to expect.
Dorben peeks around the tree, unsure of what to expect also.
Maewynne says, 'I take that as a compliment, sir, that I was not raised to be a mere tender of bairns and horses. I keep my companions and foes close to my heart at all times and I've yet to decide which you are. Cross me in any matter, harm me in any way, and if I cannot avenge myself on you, a hundred of those who I've worked to earn the esteem of will do it in my place. Start planning, sir, and looking. You're to lead the hunt, safely and successfully, against this vile animal we call a Man. Fail me and you fail yourself. In that if you betray me, or deny me what I want, I'll see you as a corpse than none will recall by name. Only by reputation as a coward.' She smiles warmly, her expression sweet and guileless, and curtseys low before him.
Dorben says, 'Now lass there'll be none of that.'
Maewynne turns on her heels and goes to Phaerel, not sparing him a glance.
Dorben puts his hands on his hips.
Maewynne glances to Dorben, her eyes cold but her expression sunny. She looks to Dolen as if to dismiss him from her presence.
Phaerel looks on Mewynne with new eyes.
Dolen nods to this, a smile still across his lips even though the words are threatening. He replies as she moves away, "In our lands, we repay slight for slight, and we do not repay blows with duty. The scales are not tipped so evenly as you might expect, lass, though I have enough respect for my own hide not to stick an arrow in yours.' He takes the look of dismissal with an incline of his chin and turns to make his way to the bridge, his steps much more sure now than they had been.
Maewynne merely offers Dolen a gentle smile. She lays her hand on her blade and tilts her head to him. "I've not slighted you in the least, sir. I've merely spared you from the consequences of your own foolish and blind esteem of yourself. I expect to hear your plans in a matter of three days."
Dorben says, 'You stick an arrow in her hide and I'll plant my boot up yer fancy pants arse!'
Dolen makes no notion that he's heard the words, only spits off into the tall grass as he continues walking.
Maewynne turns to Phaerel with an exhausted, troubled smile. She glances to Dolen now that he's in range to make the best use of his bow, her jaw clenching.
Phaerel takes his cloak from his pack and dons it.
Maewynne says, 'Love, take me home.'
Phaerel says, 'Aye.'
Maewynne curtseys deeply to Dorben and nods to him. "My thanks for your service, sir."
Phaerel bows deeply before Dorben.
Dorben says, 'Of course.' He bows deeply before Maewynne and waves goodbye.
Maewynne shivers lightly as the fire burns low. "I wish there was more firewood at hand."
Dolen makes his way down from the steep trail, sending rocks skittering across the ground. He hooks his free thumb behind his swordbelt and is sure to approach with enough noise to not be confused for some sort of hostile.
Phaerel says, 'Well, there are many ways to keep warm, my lady. Though I *did* expect you to have more supplies, if perhaps only to stave that off for a bit. *chuckles*'
Maewynne glances up, her eyes wide in surprise. She looks to Phaerel and shakes her head as if to say, "Not now."
Phaerel says, '...someone's coming.'
Phaerel smiles grimly. "Aye, I should have known."
Maewynne squints through the darkness, catching only the light glinting on weapons and eyes. She watches Phaerel closely. 'Who is it?'
Phaerel says, 'Have a look.'
Maewynne offers Dolen a slender smile as she recognizes him. "Hello, sir."
Phaerel says, 'I'll give you this, Dolen... for all your gaping faults, you're not a bad tracker.'
Dolen nods slightly to them both, still keeping his distance. "Evening. Caught sight of the fire, figured I'd drop in."
He grins, "Aye, I can track a fire in the middle of the night. I'll be as fine a tracker as Maewynne some day."
Maewynne looks to the ground, biting her lip to silence herself.
Phaerel says, 'The fire was several hundred feet directly under the trestlespan, so not quite obvious. Give yourself a bit of credit, there.'
Maewynne says, 'I didn't bring enough fuel to keep the fire burning, sir. So lucky for you I suppose that it lasted as long as it did.'
Dolen looks up to the tall valley surrounding them and nods. "Saw the both of you heading down as well. Looking for the man's trail, or is this a more leisurely stop?"
Maewynne lays her hand on her dagger with the sweetest of smiles. "I don't fear for our safety here, Dolen. I rather wanted a quiet spot to find some rest. So the fire was a neccessity." She blinks, turning brilliant red, and drops her eyes once more, obviously fighting to still her reply.
Phaerel nods and smiles at Mae's words, as if to say "question answered".
Dolen nods and looks to the fire pit, "Shall I leave you two to your peace, or might I take a bit of rest as well?"
Maewynne glances to him for a short moment. "Join us, sir. As a friend, I hope."
Phaerel says, 'You may at that. My dagger shall stay sheathed, lest I be accused of impatience again. *grins*'
Maewynne settles again beside the dead fire, combing her fingers through her damp hair.
Phaerel sits with Maewynne.
Dolen makes his way to the fire, sure to keep out of stabbing distance, and crouches down, laying his bow beside him.
Maewynne glances sideways to Dolen and back to the cooling ashes. "Why *are* you here, sir?"
Phaerel raises both brows, awaiting a response amusedly.
Dolen shrugs, "As I recall hearing, the man you were looking for was moving in this direction, no?"
Maewynne nods slowly. "Aye, though he's taken a different route, or so a friend tells me. Who is associated with the Rangers in his own way. I hope this way I can make enough speed to find his trail, then find friends to aid me. And perhaps I can catch him with the least harm to my group.'
Phaerel nods.
Dolen says, 'And if he has angents behind him watching for such a pursuit?'
Phaerel says, 'Then they will be very unhappy about that.'
Maewynne says, 'Why would they watch a road he did not travel, sir?'
Phaerel says, 'I see what he says. Just to cover all bets, and catch us either way. It is likely...if he has the resources to do so. I know not if that is the case.'
Dolen nods, "Aye, perhaps he did not know that we've any better information than his general direction."
Maewynne bites her lip and silently stirs the dead fire to try to coax some warmth from it.
Phaerel says, 'We can only hope that he knows as little of us as we of him. It would be a nice way to avoid a lot of trouble.'
Dolen says, 'Better to forget he existed. But I know some will not settle for the -easy- path. *he smiles*'
Maewynne nods hesistantly. "My friend made a point that bothers me a bit. That this Man, to travel in his current state in such dangerous places, must have aid we don't know of."
Phaerel grins. "Nothing worth doing is easy, or so someone of worth once said."
Maewynne says, 'And likely he'll try to find me, since I know *who* he is and *what* he does.' She glances to Dolen, unsure if he jests. She tries to limit her words so as not to bait him.
Dolen says, 'Hm. Frightening point indeed. Those are unforgiving lands, it'd be quite a group to travel with him. Also, what is it he's fleeing?'
Phaerel says, 'Other than us? I could not say.'
Maewynne says, 'Me, sir. The knowledge I have of him. And the desire to stop him.'
Dolen says, 'And what does he know of you? Besides that you've some desire to stop him or expose him?'
Maewynne says, 'I don't know, sir. I suppose that's all. And my name... in a way.'
Phaerel says, 'Well, that's the trick, isn't it? We honestly don't know, and it matters less than our duty to find him and stop him.'
Dolen says, 'So, he knows your name, your face, and that you're a lass. When I was a young man, my sister would win almost every game of stones we played.'
Phaerel rolls his eyes.
Dolen says, 'I was the better player, and older, aye? I shouldn't have lost. But she taught me about traps, in some manner.'
Maewynne looks carefully into the fire and weighs his words.
Dolen nods, "You'll see it in nature. Certain birds will run from their nests and play as if they're injured to distract you from their eggs. Of course, a bird has no army of mercenaries to stab you in the back as you follow it.'
Maewynne blinks at this, her shoulders tightening. She remains quiet.
Phaerel says, 'I hate to admit this... I truly do... but that is half-decent point. And my contacts have all proven bloody useless in this matter thus far.'
Dolen smirks a bit and nods at Phaerel.
Phaerel says, 'I don't track, really. I've always relied on information, and that's my failure here.'
Maewynne shakes her head slowly, her brow creasing lightly in thought.
Dolen says, 'My point is, he has nothing to fear from you. Nothing that he knows of, anyway. Someone of his...eh, repute, would sooner eliminate someone who knew of their doings before fleeing. We do have the means of ending him, but he cannot know that.'
Phaerel laughs. "Excpet perhaps another lashing from Maewynne, that is. I would bet that he'd like to keep the rest of his fingers and toes. True enough.'
Dolen grins and nods, "Aye, I doubt he'd face her himself. A bloody good fist, she has. I told you of the time she punched an orc in the face, aye? Bare knuckled?'
Maewynne looks to Dolen, the tension unwavering in her posture. She turns to Phaerel and drops her eyes once more. "This may be a hopeless search that will end with no benefit to others."
Phaerel says, 'Aye, and I have no trouble picturing that. My love is a force to be reckoned with.'
Maewynne offers him a tiny smile. "Not the great force that may be called for in this, I'm afraid."
Phaerel takes Mae's hand. "We must try nonetheless."
Maewynne says, 'Aye, that's the path I've always walked, never knowing if anything I do has any good come from it.'
Phaerel says, 'We *all* walk that one, my lady. It's the caring that makes the difference.'
Maewynne runs her thumb lightly over his hand and nods. "Well, those of us who choose the right path over the easy one."
Phaerel smirks at Dolen. "Aye."
Dolen nods at this, still grinning, "I myself, I always know my path brings good. I can see it in my coinpurse, or feel it in my belly. And interestingly enough, I've lost rather little blood for it."
Phaerel says, 'And little sleep, I wot. Charming.'
Dolen says, 'Little sleep? Aye, but not for the reasons you mean.'
Maewynne sighs softly at this, her free hand wandering to her side unconsciously. "And have you many friends to share these comforts, sir?"
Dolen says, 'I do not, by choice.'
Maewynne says, 'You sound very much like someone I know.'
Phaerel smiles. "You have friends forced upon you by the valar? I doubt that very much. *chuckles*'
Dolen says, 'Aye, I may have one acquaintance forced upon me by the Valar. Who can speak for their intentions though, eh?'
Phaerel says, 'Indeed, indeed.'
Maewynne laughs softly but offers no opinion of this.
Dolen leans forward, "Though as for friends, it's difficult to find an individual willing and mature enough to hear the truth and know the right of it. Most prefer flowery words and praise.'
Phaerel says, 'Or courtesy, but such things are lost on some.'
Maewynne looks to him steadily. "Some of us are very young, celebrating our birthdays today, in fact. And are learning to take such notions as the truth they are, and not merely witless insults."
Dolen says, 'Courtesy. You'll be touting the goodness and necessity of laws next, I expect. What's the point of shaking a man's hand when you'd as soon see his back? A birthday, today? Was that not in a few days, or does your celebration last so long?'
Maewynne says, 'My birthday is today, sir. And we celebrated it a few days ago when among so many of our friends and companions.'
Phaerel says, 'I am courteous, and will not be accused of being otherwise. I prove it by stilling my hand now. Insult me again, Dolen, and things between us will change rather rapidly. I ask you-- kindly-- to give me common respect, and that is all.'
Dolen says, 'Being courteous is a far cry from showing respect. I respect orcs, but would put an arrow through their heart at a hundred paces, which I doubt is considered courteous by most. And careful with your threats, man. I am no child to be culled by a cuff or two.'
Maewynne says very softly, "Is that how 'children' should be shown the ways of the world?"
Phaerel shoots DOlen a grin laced with murder. "You try my patience more than any orc I've met, cur. Still thy tongue now or find my threat *upon* you."
Maewynne looks between the Men coldly. "Stop this. Right now."
Phaerel says, 'I will not be insulted by this man for one moment longer.'
Dolen nods at Mae, "Aye, a 'lesson' from their elder is far less painful than a lesson from the world. And still your temper, man. You'd shed blood on your woman's birthday, and in her presence?"
Maewynne says, 'Aye, and he will not insult you.'
Phaerel says, 'Your blood? after I asked you kindly to be a man, and you could not? I would.'
Maewynne lays her hand lightly on her dagger. "Unless he would like the insult returned in a more potent manner than the words he spares so easily."
Dolen looks Phaerel up and down from his crouched position, clearly tensed and ready to bound away should the man leap over the coals at him, "We've different notions of manhood, then." He looks to Mae's dagger and twists his lip into a grimace. "I see then."
Phaerel says, 'I'd not kill you, for there's no need of that. Just give you a reminder of your discourtesy.'
Maewynne turns to Phaerel now. "And you will not strike him either." She tightens her grip on her blade. "Both of you. Sit down. Be civil. Or neither of you will be spared the temper of a lass."
Phaerel says, 'My honor is important to me, my lady. I have little else. It will not be belittled by this joke of a man again.'
Maewynne shakes her head slowly, hissing under her breath. "Men and honour. Is it so hurt by only words?"
Phaerel looks to Maewynne, hurt. "It means so little to you, then?"
Dolen lifts his eyebrows, watching Phaerel, apparently agreeing with the sentiment.
Maewynne says, 'No. But the well-being of my friends matters more to me than the petty disputes words can start. Do you not realize that in the face of great trials, our dislike for one another is meaningless? And it only serves to dampen light in the face of shadow?'
Phaerel says, 'So, I am to sit here and be ridiculed by this 'friend', and do nothing? Is that what you would have?.'
Maewynne shakes her head once. "No. Because he will not ridicule you again."
Phaerel says, 'And *if he does*?.'
Maewynne points at Dolen, narrowing her eyes. "You, sir. If you value your place among companions that would gladly fall before you to save you from harm, will still your tongue. You may speak whatever truths you see fit, but not in a manner that is meant only as an insult or to stroke your own pride. If you cannot do this, you'll be cut from all hearts who have come to value you. There will be no protection from the will alone of a certain childish lass to keep your head attached to your body."
Dolen settles back down into his crouching position, elbows resting on knees. "Aye, understood. Let us hope then, for my sake, that my truths spoken in the best of intentions do not offend anyone's delicate sense of honor."
Maewynne tightens her jaw. "One more jab, sir, to make yourself feel a bigger man than those you imagine you know better than, and you'll know what a sense of honour can motivate people to do. Women as well."
Phaerel says, 'Too late for that. I will, however, *not* dishonor my love the way that you have done both of us. You can keep your blood flowing in the proper places and thank her for it.'
Dolen says, 'Who is to say that is my goal? I've no delusions of grandeur or friends to impress, I simply do not bandy words as city folk do. *he forces a polite smile* I'll do my honest best, aye?'
Maewynne nods. "Don't force yourself to use manners you obviously were never taught. Or use niceties even a child just out of swaddling can grasp. Just mind your tongue when in the company of those who *have* a sense of honour and right and wrong."
Dolen says, 'If only you were raised in the Mark, what a lass you'd have made. Nothing to do for it now, I suppose.'
Maewynne rises, her expression unwavering as she steps to Dolen. She curtseys to him deeply and smiles. When she rises, she soundly kicks him in the side of the head with all her might, turning in an instant and taking her seat once more. She takes a deep breath and watches the river placidly.
Phaerel sits down again with a look of mild shock. 'Now, I *definitely* prefer courtesy to that, myself. But that's just me.'
Maewynne demurely folds her hands in her lap and looks to Dolen with a ladylike smile.
Dolen watches the girl rise, only curious at first, but tenses as she approaches. When she begins the kick he does what he can to soften the blow, bringing his arm up to try and block, but the boot connects where it is intended, sending the man sprawling out on the ground to the side, much as he had when she punched him for the first time. It takes a long moment for the darkness and bright spots to clear from his vision.
Maewynne waits patiently for Dolen to regain himself, offering him a gentle smile.
Dolen stands slowly, wavering on his feet. His look is a mixture of confusion, shock and hatred.
Maewynne says, 'If I were raised among the Mark, sir, I would offer no apology for that.'
Phaerel pats his dagger. "Might've been better, I think."
Dolen says, 'Indeed. *he says, speaking very slowly*'
Maewynne says, 'Because I am *not* the breed of lass you expect me to be, I can offer you a sincere apology.'
Dolen says, 'And if you were in the mark, I would do just as I am.'
Maewynne arches an eyebrow.
Dolen he steps forward and picks up his bow, bowing his head to them both.
Phaerel offers no expression, but keeps his hand on his dagger's hilt.
((Here the party moves up to the field on the far side of the Trestlespan. Dorben has caught up with Mae, acting as her faithful protector, and is sneaking around to make sure she's all right. Watch for Dorben's emote that we consider THE GREATEST EMOTE OF ALL TIME.))
Dorben attempts to hide behind the tree. He fails a little, being slightly wider than it.
Dolen turns and walks to the path up the hill without another word, his steps slow and deliberate, cloak swirling about behind him.
Maewynne watches with the same faint smile. She stills Phaerel and follows Dolen quietly.
Dolen is currently walking away from the path, an occasional stumble to his step as his head still has not cleared.
Maewynne gestures to Phaerel to stay back.
Phaerel nods, reluctantly.
Dorben is glad he fashioned some green armour.
Maewynne hesitantly lays her hand on Dolen's shoulder, waiting for him to strike. She guides him to a stretch of grass and pushes him down to sit.
Dolen sharply shakes the woman's hand off when he feels a touch on his shoulder. He turns to glare at her, and when he is urged to sit, he simply staggers backwards, shaking his head. "I'll not lay prostrate to be spit on a third time."
Maewynne firmly puts both her hands on his shoulders and pushes him down to sit. She smiles kindly to him, inspecting the swollen knot on the side of his head.
Dorben goes to stroke his beard thoughtfully as he observes from his cunningly concealed location but stops himself, realizing that the rustling of his movement would alert them to his presence and foil his cunningly conceived plan of Dwarven style espionage.
Dolen folds to his knees at the persistent pressure, using his bow to help support him. He grits his teeth and groans, wishing his head was not swimming so.
Maewynne kneels beside him, chewing her lower lip in concern as she delicately trails her fingertips over his injury.
Dorben ponders getting naked and pretending to be a bear to get closer but decides he might not be hairy enough to pull it off. He also realizes it might get him shot at... He is allergic to arrows. They make him bleed and possibly die.
Maewynne speaks softly as she smooths his hair back from his brow. "Gehola, you have all the qualities that are beloved of a man of Rohan. Why do you deny showing them to those who care for you?"
Dolen answers through his clenched teeth, "What would you know of Rohan, you who would attack a sitting man? Twice now, isn't it? You who would spit on my service by asking me to pick -weeds-'
Maewynne says, 'I loved a man of Rohan once. And I would never turn away the help of one I trust. I *know* what makes your spirit exceptional, sir. I see your light within you. That's why I cannot bring myself to cut off all ties with you.'
Dorben holds his finger to his lips to shush the deer.
Phaerel spots movement behind a tree, and relaxes when seeing the dwarf's figure lumbering about in an attempt to hide.
Maewynne hums for a long moment beneath her breath, her fingers flickering with a quiet light. She begins tracing his temple with a touch lighter than a feather on a breeze, mending his throbbing head with care.
Phaerel grins.
Dolen says, 'Aye, by offering the very flowery praise I'd just insulted. What light is it you see if you cannot control yourself to such an extent?'
Dorben is still convinced he's cleverly concealed.
Maewynne smiles to this, tending her healing with apparently no thought. 'You've shown me that I am a lass of the grasslands I've never seen, sir. That I'm stronger and fiercer than I ever thought. And light. All have a light within them.'
Dorben wonders what sorcery Maewynne is performing!
Maewynne says, 'It only disappears when they're past my ability to recall. Some people dampen this light so that others cannot see what can be called a weakness. But really is the greatest strength of our kind.'
Dolen is glad of one thing at least, that the hatchet-blow of a headache is lessening. He seems to search for something to say, but cannot summon anything, instead simply glaring at the grass and clenching his jaw.
Maewynne seems almost to dream as she controls her breath, her hands growing warmer and brighter now as she leaves trails of soft fire behind her touch. She smooths his hair from his forehead once again and sits back to consider her work. 'This will take a few moments to mend, sir, but I hope I've spared you the pain and trouble of the fastest skills I have.'
Phaerel watches as his love heals the man with no hint of her previous hostility, and his eyes moisten at her ability to forgive.
Dolen says, 'What charity, mending the wounds you've caused. I'll mind my tongue, lest you do it again. *he shakes his head, still frowning*'
Maewynne says, 'Sir, charity was not striking you in a manner that cannot be repaired. I cannot still my temper at all times, especially when you pose a threat folks who only wish for friendship. Your manner of causing dischord, while it seems to amuse and please you to no end, only hastens the shadow that will torture you in the end as well. As brutal and uncaring as you like to present yourself to be, you still have a great light within you. And this can spare all of us the coldness of a night that won't end.'
Dorben can't help it. He needs to play music.
Dolen says, 'What threat? I feel I'm the one who should be threatened here, and I've been asked many times why it is I wish to help. Seeing this, it's no wonder. I've no idea what words would spare me any longer, since minding my tongue is as bad as speaking my mind.'
Maewynne smiles gently and wraps her arms around his shoulders in a soft embrace. "I shall show more patience, sir, for what I assume is concern, though you'd not ever admit it even to yourself." She sits back and shakes her head.
Phaerel pulls a waterskin and sits, wishing more than a little that it was ale.
Maewynne says, 'Don't you understand that you're needed? And you have people around you that you may need to call on someday too?'
Dorben sets a bottle of ale behind Phaerel.
Dolen grimaces and tenses at the embrace as if death were upon him. He shakes his head, "Needed, is that what you'd call it? No, I suppose I don't understand then."
Dorben is the Ale Fairy.
Phaerel whispers to himself, "I don't either."
Dolen sits back and frowns at her, quite glad for his clearing head.
Maewynne laughs. "Aye, you're needed in more ways than you could imagine. You can show a young lass, a bit childish, aye, that she can stand for herself. And your talents as a woodsman are only slightly less important, though more valuable than you know."
Dolen stares at her for a moment in silence, getting the impression that he is a child being consoled. He shrugs uncomfortably, "Aye, aye, fair enough."
Maewynne smiles to him shyly. "I would consider it a great honour if you would be among my companions. If you decline, I'll cut your throat and watch you die. Aye?"
Phaerel raises his brow in utter shock, his mouth slightly agape.
Dolen stares at the girl seriously for a long, silent while. He suddenly grins, then barks a laugh. Clapping her on the shoulder quite heavily, he struggles to his feet. "As I said before lass, a pity you were not raised in the Mark. It's no insult to your family, so don't be stringing me up like livestock for it, aye?'
Dorben is relieved that his outburst didn't seem to give away his presence.
Maewynne smiles as she rises, her expression turning into a smirk only he can see. She speaks very softly, so her words are only for his ears.
Phaerel stands as well, unsure of what to expect.
Dorben peeks around the tree, unsure of what to expect also.
Maewynne says, 'I take that as a compliment, sir, that I was not raised to be a mere tender of bairns and horses. I keep my companions and foes close to my heart at all times and I've yet to decide which you are. Cross me in any matter, harm me in any way, and if I cannot avenge myself on you, a hundred of those who I've worked to earn the esteem of will do it in my place. Start planning, sir, and looking. You're to lead the hunt, safely and successfully, against this vile animal we call a Man. Fail me and you fail yourself. In that if you betray me, or deny me what I want, I'll see you as a corpse than none will recall by name. Only by reputation as a coward.' She smiles warmly, her expression sweet and guileless, and curtseys low before him.
Dorben says, 'Now lass there'll be none of that.'
Maewynne turns on her heels and goes to Phaerel, not sparing him a glance.
Dorben puts his hands on his hips.
Maewynne glances to Dorben, her eyes cold but her expression sunny. She looks to Dolen as if to dismiss him from her presence.
Phaerel looks on Mewynne with new eyes.
Dolen nods to this, a smile still across his lips even though the words are threatening. He replies as she moves away, "In our lands, we repay slight for slight, and we do not repay blows with duty. The scales are not tipped so evenly as you might expect, lass, though I have enough respect for my own hide not to stick an arrow in yours.' He takes the look of dismissal with an incline of his chin and turns to make his way to the bridge, his steps much more sure now than they had been.
Maewynne merely offers Dolen a gentle smile. She lays her hand on her blade and tilts her head to him. "I've not slighted you in the least, sir. I've merely spared you from the consequences of your own foolish and blind esteem of yourself. I expect to hear your plans in a matter of three days."
Dorben says, 'You stick an arrow in her hide and I'll plant my boot up yer fancy pants arse!'
Dolen makes no notion that he's heard the words, only spits off into the tall grass as he continues walking.
Maewynne turns to Phaerel with an exhausted, troubled smile. She glances to Dolen now that he's in range to make the best use of his bow, her jaw clenching.
Phaerel takes his cloak from his pack and dons it.
Maewynne says, 'Love, take me home.'
Phaerel says, 'Aye.'
Maewynne curtseys deeply to Dorben and nods to him. "My thanks for your service, sir."
Phaerel bows deeply before Dorben.
Dorben says, 'Of course.' He bows deeply before Maewynne and waves goodbye.