He came up behind her and nudged her into the room, closing the door behind him. He lit a candle and sat down.
''Do not be afraid.'' he said. He picked up his fur blanket and tossed it to her.
''Take this and sleep on the floor and do not attempt to return it to me tonight, you will have greater need of it.''
He leant back against the wall as he sat on his bed, looking at her. A look of pity mingled with something he could not quite discern.

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Her mouth dropped open. "You mean you do not...you do not intend...?" he had save her again? She quickly dropped to the floor on her knees and bowed in front of him "My lord, thank you. If I were back home my father would give you great honor." she stopped, had she really just said that? She sat against the walk, and laid the blanket over her knees. "You are too kind, I did not expect...this." her eyes remained on the blanket adage softy ran her hands over the fur. "My name is Eonwe."

''Do not call me your lord. I am no lord.'' he knew she had meant it out of respect yet it was taken as more of an insult. Lords were people such as their master whom Crixus did not like but was happy to fight in the arena for him,enjoying the blood and gore that came from a fight.
''Crixus'' he said , telling her his own name.

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"I am sorry." her hands stilled. He was angry? She waited for him to leap off the bed and beat her, yet instead, he told her his name. She decided to be a bit more bold. "Crixus, why have you helped me so?" she kept her eyes on the blanket, evading his. "I do not understand why you would risk it." shebteuly didn't, she was not accustomed to it.

He paused, pondering her question. Why had he helped her?
''I myself am not sure. Pity, perhaps? If you would rather I had not helped you, you have to but say so.''
He reached over and picked up a bottle of water, he wasn't allowed much of his own but water was a necessity. He drank a little and watched the candle flicker.

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"I am grateful for your help, though I do not need your pity." she couldn't stand it when people pitied her, there were other people in far worse situations than her, and they needed the pity more than her. She knew she had spoken boldly, and decidesto take it a step farther by chancing a look at Crixus. Her green eyes surveyed him carefully. He was a battle hardened man, his emotions, all but anger, had been dulled from his life as a fighting slave. A hard life, and she knew he was one who was worse off than she. However, she knew that, like her, he would not accept pity from anyone.

He turned and saw her staring at him, with a look he was not quite sure of. Reaching out, he offered her the bottle.
''Water.Drink it all if you wish I am done with it.'' All the while he found it difficult to return her gaze, not entirely sure why.

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"I do not need it, thank you." he could not meet her eyes, she noticed. Which was odd. "I would wish to see the eyes of the kind man who helped me." she was overstepping her bounds, but she felt she had to see his eyes, felt that if she saw them that maybe she would come to some sort of understanding. She moved her red hair put of her own eyes and continued to search his face for answers.

He returned the water back to the small table and heard her request.
Not entirely sure why she asked it of him, he turned his head slightly, his head still slightly downcast and his eyes looked up to meet her hers.

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Is there room for two more? Possibly for a diplomat and a slave who won his freedom?

Name: Rhavaniel the Grey
Gender: Female
Race: Elf
Personality: Since the betrayal of her husband deeply wounded her pride, she became more easy to anger than perhaps an elf should be. Is very loyal and places herself last in most situations.
Weapons: A treasured black longbow with gold markings and long arrows fletched with owl feathers. Carries knives and an old longsword.
History: Kept quiet. It is known that she was a highly respected warrior and fought for Lindon in the Battle of Fornost and Greenwood during the Siege of Baradûr. Was a close friend to Thranduil and his family, but disappeared after the disgrace of her husband following his imprisonment, torture, and subsequent treachery during the Last Alliance. The information he gave led to the storming of King Oropher's camp and his subsequent death. Locien was released from his prison, but never returned to his family or Mirkwood again.
Other info: Spent long years as Mirkwood's marchwarden and then as a well respected and successful field marshal. Travels as a diplomat between her home and the world of men to improve relations, especially in regard to their slave trade.

Name: Aradan Erumaren
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Personality: Hostile and untrusting of other men. Appears colder than he really is, but cannot stay angry for long. His loyalty is somewhat stronger than his sense of self-preservation.
Weapons: Longsword and knives.
History: Aradan was known as a skilled fighter, then as one of the few slaves who managed to win their freedom in battle. The exact happenings of the fight were kept quiet as it was a private challenge, but he nevertheless gained the support of the people who had owned and placed their bets on him. He left the city alone and returned a year later as a wealthy tradesman, who proceeded to slowly involve himself in the games again; at times as a buyer of successful slaves, at other times as a judge of the games themselves.

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. O r b i s N o n S u f f i c i t .

She studied his eyes without shame. They held sadness, anger, and something was wasn't sure of...was it doubt, fear? She did not know. "I am sorry, for what has happened to you. Though it is not pity, it is empathy." she whispered, still studying his eyes. He had a bit of a dark gaze, troubled by years in the ring. But she knew his kind, they grew up being taught bloodlust, and soon it becomes a part of them as natural as anything. She was saddened by it, but kept her face emotionless.

(Let's see what Legolas says I like both characters!)

(Yeah sounds good. If you can fit them into the story then have at it! )

He looked at her, unsure of her words.
''What is it, that has happened to me?'' he asked, almost scornfully. His gaze moved from her eyes back to the candle that wasn't going to last much longer. Should he light another or let it go dark?
He wasn't sure what to think of her.

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She chose to not state the obvious, instead she laid her head back on the wall and let exhaustion take over. Soon shebwas drifting off, dreaming of her home in Rohan, and of her father, named king after Theoden died. Her father, Eomer. She mumbled in her sleep, calling out to him "Father, Lord Eomer..." and she was quiet. Her dreams always took her away from the desperation of the slavery.

Before she answered she fell asleep. Crixus looked at her. What had she meant? He had no idea.
He stood up and gently laid her down, pulling the blanket to cover her up to her shoulders.
Realizing what he was doing, he was confused. He then heard he speak. ''Father. Lord Eomer.'' He had lived in slavery his entire life and knew little of the surrounding world. Yet he couldn't help but wonder why a lords daughter had come to be a slave.
He returned to his bed pondering this and slept.

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@ Thanks! I hope I can keep up!

It had been a long boring day for Aradan, who had not counted on the evenings fight to be so violent or so long. His elvish companion whom he had asked to join him in the arena had been disgusted and had not hesitated to state her opinion quite openly to her guests. They had not been amused, uncomfortable as they were with having an old slave sleeping in their finest rooms, but had merely shrugged and smiled her anger away, joking with him and his obvious discomfort.
She had declined to share his room with him and had instead taken lodgins across the street. Aradan wished he had not agreed to accompany her. He had lived with the northern elves for a while, but could not comprehend their outlandish ways. She had insisted on bringing no other escort, happy enough to make him blanch when she explained she had no need for protection. He grunted as he pinched out the candle. It was not his problem. He was happy to show her and her arrogance the ropes and introduce her to the most profitable trades in the city, but he was under no obligation to keep her safe.
It had felt good to be in the arena again, he had almost forgotten the smell of blood and sweat- He died every death, won every victory and bled with every wound he had seen. He had known at heart he could be down there, winning back his glory- winning the crowd, over and over again. He had won a pretty penny betting on Crixus- a man he had not yet met. His enjoyment of that fight had infected the elf, and she had leaned over the side of the stand to catch a better look at the man. Aradan smirked to himself; it was the ladies who enjoyed the games in the most cruel manner- Betting on the men they liked the appearance of and returning every day to watch them stare death in the face.
Tomorrow he would meet that man, see if he could stomach an investment of that magnitude. It had been a while since he had bought a fighter and let him fight. he would take the elf- she would most likely help knock the price down. She didn't have to know it wasn't his freedom they were bargaining for.
He was smiling as he lay down to rest- perhaps he could introduce the elves to a new sport after all.

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. O r b i s N o n S u f f i c i t .

Crixus woke, early the next morning. Sitting up, he picked up his water and drained it.
Eonwe was still sleeping. He made no move to wake her, and just sat there with his thoughts, ready to take away the blanket he had given her should the master appear. Though he doubted it. Most days following a fight he would celebrate with friends to the early hours and not wake until afternoon.
Crixus looked at Eonwe, trying to find a reason for his actions towards her. Yes, it had started because he had felt bad at how she was treated.But they had spoke the day before and Crixus had almost enjoyed it.His life did not lend him much in the way of anyone to speak to. He had his master who bet on his fights and owned him, the other fighters who were all jealous of his status as the house's champion and the opponents who he slaughtered in the arena.
Yet he almost enjoyed having someone to talk to for once.

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