Deawen remained perfectly still through Fearan’s words, ( Like a deer in headlights lol) "...well...What I want to say is that you will always be my friend. I'll let you choose if you want to return the friendship." Deawen's head tilted to the side in concentration. She wasn't sure she heard him right. No she heard right, her face went pale but she remained silent for a long time.
"But I am a prisoner, and I've only known you a few days....you don't even trust me.. " she stopped and her brow knitted together. She was suddenly mistrustful, fearing it was a ploy to get her to give information.
Her emotions suddenly vanished from her face, her eyes went blank and she with drew inside herself.
" How do I know this isn't a trap?" She asked her voice void of all emotion. She was suddenly very frightened.

_________________
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

(Woah, your connection really did *beep* didn't it? Heh. Unfortunately, I'm going to be gone for a week or so. Carry on without me if you like, I'll post more on the main plot when I get back.)

Fearan sighed. "That's just the thing. You don't know its not a trap. You have to trust me. You don't have to trust me with your life. That would be too simple. You have to trust me with your soul. You have to trust that when you're open to me I don't use that opening to crush you. That's what friendship is, trust." He tried desperatly to reach her. She had withdrawn into herself. Had he pushed her too far? "I want to be your friend...because I'm lonely too. Because...I can't explain it, Deawen. If it makes you feel better, you can trust me. Really, you can. I am not under the command of Arandur. I could leave at anytime and he would be powerless to stop me. I'm not one to build a trust and then break it. I only want you as a friend. Not in pity, but truely as a friend."

Deawen remained perfectly still through Fearan’s words, ( Like a deer in headlights lol) "...well...What I want to say is that you will always be my friend. I'll let you choose if you want to return the friendship." Deawen's head tilted to the side in concentration. She wasn't sure she heard him right. No she heard right, her face went pale but she remained silent for a long time.
"But I am a prisoner, and I've only known you a few days....you don't even trust me.. " she stopped and her brow knitted together. She was suddenly mistrustful, fearing it was a ploy to get her to give information.
Her emotions suddenly vanished from her face, her eyes went blank and she with drew inside herself.
" How do I know this isn't a trap?" She asked her voice void of all emotion. She was suddenly very frightened.

Fearan sighed. "That's just the thing. You don't know its not a trap. You have to trust me. You don't have to trust me with your life. That would be too simple. You have to trust me with your soul. You have to trust that when you're open to me I don't use that opening to crush you. That's what friendship is, trust." He tried desperatly to reach her. She had withdrawn into herself. Had he pushed her too far? "I want to be your friend...because I'm lonely too. Because...I can't explain it, Deawen. If it makes you feel better, you can trust me. Really, you can. I am not under the command of Arandur. I could leave at anytime and he would be powerless to stop me. I'm not one to build a trust and then break it. I only want you as a friend. Not in pity, but truely as a friend."

_________________
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

(( Um, Deawen, you just repeated our posts...))

(nuts... Sorry my internet messes up quite a bit so I have to type every thing in MSW and sometimes it back fires on me...sorry. )

Deawen stared at Fearan for a long time before speaking. " I guess time will tell eh?" Deawen asked alittle of her former humor returning. " I'll give it a try, but if you betray me I swear by Orome you will regret it." Deawen finished with a smile.

_________________
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

(Alright, jumping ahead a little here. If anyone wants me to change anything, just give me a yell.)

"I'm indeed glad to hear it," Arandur said, "Here, allow me to show you the way to the food."

He led Maethoriel in the direction of the cooking fires, leading his horse.

"We will be breaking camp shortly," he told her after calling to a cook to fetch her a bowl. "And now I must leave you. Duty before pleasure, you understand." He signed with mock regret as he swung into the saddle.


For several hours Arandur followed the rout that the company would march that day, but around mid morning he found the tracks. It appeared to be a small party of orcs, and their trail led north.

Arandur was instantly alert. He knew it could be nothing more than a hunting party, but doubted it. They had been attacked once, and the attack had failed; it was to be expected that they would try again.
He decided to follow the orc's trail.

Two hours latter, the half a dozen other groups of tracks joined the one he was following at intervals, until he knew that they could only be scouts. He muttered an oath under his breath. If their scouting parties were this big, how big was the main body? The question was answered a mile further on, when he caught a whiff of roasting meat. The sentry on duty seemed more interested in what was going on inside the camp, and so Arandur easily slipped by him. What he saw however, brought him up short. From his vantage point slightly above the camp, he could see scores of fires, and hundreds of orcs clustered around them. He gauged over thousand at the least.

He had seen enough. He crept from his hiding place, skirting the sentry as the returned to where his horse was tethered.

Arandur felt a cold knot in his stomach. An army of that size could be for only one purpose: fighting the Gondorians. And they would lose.

His mind worked steadily as he started back. They would need a good defensive position to hold against the attack, if they were to stand any chance at all. They had a slight advantage now that they were aware of the enemy presence, and if Arandur got back in short order, they might have an entire day to prepare. Once well away from the orc encampment, he urged his horse into gallop.

He arrived back at the column at noon, just as they had stopped for lunch.
Cantering his exhausted mount between cook fires, he pulled up and swung down before one, at which several people were gathered. Deawen sat at the back of a wagon she had evidently ridden in, and Fearan, Maethoriel and Maenel were nearby; Maenel tending to two of the wounded also ridding in Deawens wagon.

"We've got trouble," Arandur said tersely, helping himself to the contents of the pot simmering over the fire.

(I like it. But I have a feeling that Deawen would be tied to a stretcher by Maenel at this point, hahaha!)

Maenel kept the draft horses pulling the wagon in check on the long march. She was grateful for the privelage of riding instead of walking. Several of the wounded men laid in the back, a few sitting on packs and supplies, and some with their legs dangling inches from the ground. She had instructed several soldiers to tie Deawen to a stretcher in the back, but doubted that they had done a good enough job. She checked occasionally to make sure everything was in order and that her other patients were retaining their color under the grey sky. By the time they stopped for the mid-day meal, one with an arrow wound through his upper arm was looking grey. She started a fire and began working with her fresh herbs. When Arandur returned, the look on his face spoke for him. "What did you see?" asked Maenel simply.

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

"Orcs, about a thousand of them. I expect they will attack tonight or tomorrow." With an effort he kept his voice grave. No use upsetting them with his real fears.

Maethoriel looked up from the ground, an apple dropping from her leather gloved hand.

In a flash her cane disappeared from hand to her weapons belt where it took refuge in an old sword scabbard. She stood up, her arms over head to work out kinks in her shoulders and other limbs. The apparent lacsadaisical air had dispersed into nothing as a vicious grin stretched across her features -a truly horrifying smile-.

She pulled a wasp like knife from her sleeve and twirled it expertly in her palm, not even bothering to watch the dangerous circles of the object, so familiar was she with the weapon, when she answered Arandur in a near growl, "They will meet death at that time. That I can assure you." Her manner was anticipating, the field of battle was where she shined most and she meant to positively glow. She let out a low chuckle at the thought.

_________________
Heavens no. Hell Yeah.


Set 1: Nurr | Set 2: Me

( Oh Morwen you know me too well.)
Deawen wasn't exactly pleased to find out she was to ride in Maenel wagon. She protested first with words when that failed she would simply hop off the wagon as soon as Maenel turned her back. Deawen wanted to ride a horse whether it be Bredol or some old broken down nag Deawen was not about to be in a wagon. But Maenel was smarter or more bold than Deawen intisapated. Deawen was tied to a stretcher but not before she gave one soldier a black eye. She calmed down after her wound threatened to rip stitches. Deawen took the time to nap, she didn't cause much trouble until they stopped. She swore enough curses to make a salior blush.
" Maenel this isn't fair!" Deawen shouted.

_________________
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

"One thousand?" Fearan's voice came out as barely a whisper. He had know that orc forces were gathering in his own land, in Arnor, but he didn't know in such mass. He felt ashamed and embarressed. "How many men do you command?" He asked.

Arandur almost smiled at the elf's obvious display. He had been half expecting it, knowing that anyone as feeble as the elf had appeared to be would have not lasted a week in the wilds of Arnor.
"There will be more than enough to go around," he said dryly.

(Right, some lightening fast edits there. =P)

He turned to Fearan. "I have but three hundred with me. There were to be other companies sent, but it will be weeks at least before they even reach Bree. We were to be the advance guard...though we had not anticipated these numbers," he added grimly. "We will have to do our best."

His thoughts turned inevitably to the problem of defense. The land was rugged; in ages past it had been dotted with watch towers and forts such as Weathertop. But most of those had long seen decayed into moldering piles of moss-covered stones, overgrown with trees or jutting up from the land as stark, windswept tors. If they could but find one of those...Arandur searched his memory of the land, trying to recall any such watch towers in the vicinity. So far in their march, they had avoided the North-South road that ended at Fornost after intersecting the Great East Road in Bree--the road lay to the east--because of it's openness, instead hopping to reach Fornost without detection by cutting through the wilderness. Several watchtowers had guarded the road, and some of these he knew to be still erect; used occasionally by the Dúnedain themselves. He at last settled on one of these; remote from the road by about leagues distance, and situated atop a rise. They would have to force the march if they were to reach it before nightfall, but it could be done.

He said this to Fearan. "What do you think? If my memory serves me, one side of the tower has collapsed, but we might hold the top of the collapsed section."

"Your memory is keen, Arandur." Fearan replied. He remembered this tower, and suddenly his mood lightened, if only by a little. "One side still stands, and the collapsed side in nearly unscalable with debrise. It is very defendable and capable of holding three hundred.

"Indeed; than we shall make for it." He stood, "we'd best leave at once, it will be a hard march."