His head began to clear, helped somewhat by the dull throbbing. He looked up at Maenel's words.
"A bloody orc," he even managed a touch of humor in the near gasp that moving his head induced. He twisted, carefully, around to show her the injury, noticing for the first time the warm trickle of blood running down his back. He looked over his shoulder himself.
The initial blow had struck on the pauldron, gouging the steel before continuing across the mail of his left shoulder blade. It had cut an eight inch gash in the chain of his armor, the force of it driving the broken links into the flesh.
"It's not as bad as it looks," he lied, "just, help me get the bleeding stopped."

The miles flew by as Fearan desperately followed Bredol's tracks. Underneath him Silmiel was breathing hard, and he could tell it was becoming an effort for her to keep running. He would have to stop her soon, but he did't want to waste time. Suddenly though, he pulled Silmiel to a halt. Gratefully she lowered her head as he dismounted. Looking around, Fearan saw that Bredol had been stopped here as well. There was manure on the ground that looked to be a little over an hour old. Near a fallen tree he could see the faint outline of a Deawen size person on the ground.

Deawen had laid down to rest for awhile. She was just about to doze off when she heard the horse hooves nearby. She sat up and nearly jumped out of her skin. " No no no" she groaned scrambleing to her feet as best she could.

_________________
Lips, ripe as the berries in June
Red the rose, red the rose
Skin, pale as the light of the moon
Gently as she goes

as always a hero comes home

Maenel clenched her teeth on her tongue to keep from gasping. "To stop the bleeding the links have to come out. Lie down on your stomach." She turned back to the cauldron where her instruments were being cleaned. With tongs, she pulled them out onto a dry cloth to cool. She also grabbed a basket of gauze and bandages before returning to Arandur's cot. "Can I try and take of the pauldron?"

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Reasons I love England #217:
I saw "whilst" on a traffic sign

With his right arm Arandur reached across and undid the buckles on front and under the arm.
"You'll have to get the one on the back," he said through clenched teeth as he lowered himself face-down onto the cot.

Maenel did so and carefully removed the twisted piece of armor. She set it on the ground and took a closer look. The shirt was indeed pierced right through, some of the rings distorted back into straight wire, others sticking in the wound on Aradur's back. Maenel took her smallest pair of copper tongs and began to remove them. She warned him, "This may sting." Tenatively, she pulled out the least attached ring.

_________________
Reasons I love England #217:
I saw "whilst" on a traffic sign

Fearan continued to ride Silmiel after a short rest, but she was becoming increasingly tired. Her kind (the compact, dish-faced desert horses) were famed for thier indurance and speed, but also for thier strong, stubborn spirit. Try as he might, Silmiel was going to stop and rest, and there would be nothing Fearan could do about it. Just as his cooing and praising was begining to wear off on his mare, he heard the soft nicker of another horse. There, hidden near a grove of trees, was a horse that looked oddly like Bredol. In fact, it was Bredol, with Deawen scrambling to her feet nearby, as if she ment to get away. He dismounted heavily, and strode over to Deawen. "Take one more step and I swear I will throttle you." Well, so much for the calm, happy greeting approach. "What were you thinking? Apparently nothing! Look at your leg! You nearly lost it just days ago, and now you think you can just waltz were ever you want, do whatever you like? You can't Deawen. Everyone has limits; its not disgraceful to admit them. You're breaching your own, thinking you can fight now." Fearan, as much as he tried to control himself, was bright red in the face, though not completely from anger. He wanted to give her a hard smack upside the head, like a bad pup, and at the same time he desperatly wanted to hug her, just to be sure she was safe. He wasn't so much angry at her from drugging him, but for taking off under his care, leaving him to be worried sick about what hay have happened to her. "What do you have to say?"

Deawen whirled around to face him no longer afraid. She stood as tall as her short frame would allow. " What makes you think I left to go fight?" she retorted " I don't even have a true weapon on hand!" her voice broke slightly. When he finished she blinked for a long time trying to understand why he hadn't hit her yet. He seemed close enough. " I'm sorry, I had drug you otherwise you would have stopped me.." " I wasn't escaping or anything it's just... that Arandur needs help with this battle and I think I know who could help." she explained her tone frustrated.

_________________
Lips, ripe as the berries in June
Red the rose, red the rose
Skin, pale as the light of the moon
Gently as she goes

as always a hero comes home

The muscles along his jaw rippled with the effort to keep silent as she extracted the first one. He wanted to tell her to hurry up, but did not trust himself to speak.

Fearan clentched his jaw. "Who then?" He asked angrily. Realizing his strong, harsh tone he averted his eyes. "I'm sorry." He said softly. "Who do you seek?"

Deawen looked down slightly. " The Phantoms.." she said blushing slightly.

_________________
Lips, ripe as the berries in June
Red the rose, red the rose
Skin, pale as the light of the moon
Gently as she goes

as always a hero comes home

Fearan shifted uneasily. "Didn't the phantoms send you to kill Arandur?" He asked softly. "Why would they help him now if they wanted him dead?" The talk of Phantoms made Fearan's head ache. The Phantoms were an elite mob of hitmen, ruthless, cunning, and vile. That was what Fearan had been taught, what he had seen in the field. But they were also strong and skilled. They could make all the difference in this fight.

Deawen bristled slightly " They did,"
" But.." Deawen started then snorted " They have to help! Before hand they didn't want the gondorians to bring order into the land, but now Orcs will roam the land. I am sure having gondorians keep order in the land is better than orcs enslaving the land." Deawen said, " I will not ask you to go with me All I am asking is that you let me do this." she looked at Fearan pleadingly.

_________________
Lips, ripe as the berries in June
Red the rose, red the rose
Skin, pale as the light of the moon
Gently as she goes

as always a hero comes home

Fearan thought for a moment. "I'm coming with," he decided. Before she had a chance to reply he explained. "I promised I'd keep you safe. What will happen if you go to the Phantoms and ask them to help the very man you were sent to kill? You should know how ruthless they can be."

She could feel him tense. She went straight for the deepest ring, paused, and pulled it out firmly. "That, I promise, will be the worst." She dropped some aconite root into a bowl and quickly ground it. Returning, she drew out each ring as quickly as she could. After a few moments it was done, and she readied a bandage with the paste before swabbing the wound and applying the bandage. "This should numb your wound, though I will say that it will hurt worse before it gets better."

_________________
Reasons I love England #217:
I saw "whilst" on a traffic sign

Arandur slowly sat up on the cot. The pain was still there, worse when he moved, but it was a deep throbbing instead of the sharp, piercing pain it had been before. He paused a moment, gathering his strength, and then stood. He took a step, and then caught at a tent post to support himself as a wave of dizziness washed over him.
When it had passed, he took an unsteady step back to the cot and picked up the pauldron with his right hand.
"Help me with this," his said, his voice sounding rough to his ears.