( 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."

The half-elf followed quietly behind the carts of people and mounted men. Her cane was in hand once more, but she was using it to propel her strides forward instead of using it as a prop. Maethoriel mentally noted that her leg would probably be useless later that week after so much strain on the bad limb, but she brushed aside the thought with a shake of her head.

Her dark eyes roved about the tree line searching for any signs of life other than the occasional squirrel or bird.

The woman was obviously restless with battle so close, using the smallest distraction to take her mind off the upcoming carnage. Despite her best effort to control her unrest the constantly spinning knife in her other hand gave her away easily.

_________________
Heavens no. Hell Yeah.


Set 1: Nurr | Set 2: Me

Maenel didn't acknowledge Deawen in her first protests. After a while, she began to answer. The first time she had said "This isn't fair," Maenel's answer had been, "It isn't fair that the man on your left has an arrowhead lodged in his shoulderblade." The second time, "You know that isn't true." Third, "Repeat that to the swordsman whose eye you just blackened." When they stopped, it reached a fever pitch. "You know my answer to that," answered Maenel calmly. She got down and went to the back. She took valerian, chamomile, and lavender out of her bag, mixed it together, wrapped it in gauze, dipped it in water, and stuffed the sizable bundle into Deawen's mouth as a gag. "You should be asleep in half an hour."

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

As the march progressed, Arandur set several groups of men-at-arms to cutting stakes about six feet long, and loading them into one of the wagons, while several of the injured men who rode began sharpening them. By the time the sun dipped towards the horizon, they had amassed quite a large pile.

Moral was high when at last the ancient watchtower sitting atop it's rocky outcropping came in view. The men were eager for battle. The ambush had dispirited them, and they were chaffing to take back some of their own. And they were confident, a thing which Arandur encouraged but did not feel.

Arandur cantered ahead to reconnoiter, dismounting at the base of the collapsed side. It was indeed steep; the great boulders littering the slope would impede the progress of any attempting to climb it, but also, Arandur noted, provide cover for them. It couldn't be helped however, and it was a great deal better than anything he had anticipated. He climbed the slope, and at the top found that it leveled off in a grassy sward an area of roughly 150 feet square, round on all sides but the collapsed one.

The front of the column began arriving then, and he descended again to organize the taking up of men and baggage. It went smoothly, and though the men were tired after the day's strenuous march, men, horses, and supplies were safely atop the tower as the last of the sun's rays vanished from the land.
Fires were started, tents erected, and food cooked for the evening meal, and while some of the men sprawled out on the grass the rest, Arandur knew it would be long hours before they would be able to turn in. There was much still to be done.

As he ate, Arandur walked the perimeter of the tower. It had once been surrounded be a wall, some of which still stood, pierced occasionally by arches which might once have been graceful windows in the Gondorian style. Now however, they stood stark and empty, looking out from the sheer face of the rock.
The wall had been tall, upwards of twenty feet Arandur surmised, and for most of the way around it was still over ten, despite the overgrown rubble piled at it's base. They were safe enough on those sides; it would be next to impossible to attack up the sheer sides of the cliff anyway. All they had to defend, then, was the collapsed part, a section perhaps 75 feet across at the top. He halted at the top of it. Yes; his idea should work. Taking a stick, he marked a line running along the top of the slope.

He gave the men an hour to rest, and then by torchlight commenced work. With shovels and picks, they began to dig a trench along the line he had drawn, throwing the dirt to the inside. It would be six feet deep towards the inside (shallower as the land slopped away on the outside), and about 8 feet wide. As sections of the ditch were finished, the pointed stakes were driven in at and angle in the bottom of it, points up. While this was under way, Arandur directed other soldiers to bring stones from the base of the ruined wall and put them in piles along the trench, for hurling down on the orcs.
For hours the labor progress steadily, the trench diggers working in shifts. By midnight most of the work was done, and the exhausted men turned in to catch what sleep they could before morning and what it would bring.

But Arandur did not sleep. Restlessly he walked the perimeter of the tower, stopping at the windows to gaze out over the moon drenched land. Far away to the east he could see, faintly, the dark shape of another watch tower, brooding over the wild country. He stood staring at it for a long time, before moving on with a shake of his head.

(Wow, long post. Hope I didn't put anyone to sleep. O.o)

(Wow, that was beautifully written. Just saying.)
~~~
Maenel did her best to ignore the hard wood of the bench digging into her as the march continued. One of the elder healer's aids came up beside her in the wagon and said, "Master Gannel wishes you to come to his station when we stop." Maenel nodded and watched the messenger return to the other wagon further ahead. She had no idea what Arandur's plan was or when they would stop but just kept the course behind the hundreds of feet in front of her. When they stopped, she used the last of the daylight to set up her station behind the defenses. She lit a hot fire under the tent and set her tools out near it. Once all the camp beds were set up and her things were put away, she went to the old Surgeon-healer's tent. She nodded her deference to the old man and awaited what he had to say. "Maenel, child, I am glad to see you are well. I suppose it would be too much to say that you are not wearied? Hmmm? As it is, I think we should continue our lessons in surgery. With another battle looming, I think we must prepare, and I will doubtless need help." Maenel nodded again, saying nothing. Gannel pressed his lips together before continuing, "I want you to watch as I remove a metal shard from this soldier's chest..." She observed as he sedated the soldier and applied a strong, clear liquor to the area around the wound. He felt around in and around the wound, locating the exact position of the metal. He used a razor to reopen the wound and used copper tongs to pull out the evil looking piece. "Sew it up please," he said. This went on for what felt like hours. Maenel was overwhelmed by the amount of new knowledge that was thrown at her, but did not show it, just clinging to the edges of each surgery as it flew by her.

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

Deawen ignored most of Maenel's responces to her compliants. Save for the last one. " Well it's your falt you tied me to this accursed stretcher."
Deawen nearly panicked when Maenel put the gag full of herbs into her mouth. Soon however she slept though it was peaceful naturally she was plagued by odd dreams that meant nothing but had a haunting ring to them.
She woke just as they set up camp. She was still tied to the stretcher and was not pleased. A tension was in the air and Deawen didn't want to be in the middle of it. " Fearan!" Deawen shouted she wasn't in hope but she didn't want to be tied to a stretcher.

_________________
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 woke suddenly as Deawen called his name. He had been taking a nap, hoping to be awake enough to take the graveyard shift in digging trenches. "Welcome to the waking world, Deawen." He muttered, smiling. The image of Maenel stuffing a bag of herbs into Deawen's mouth popped into his head. The healer had given him permission to let Deawen sleep in his tent. The medical ward would soon be loud and crowded, and Deawen was no longer under observation. Leaning over, Fearan untied Deawen from the stretcher. "By the Valar, Deawen, if you try to fight with this injury I will personally hunt you down and give you a death that would make an orc jealous. Is that clear?"

Arandur halted his prowling at one of the main fires, to stand staring into the depths of the glowing embers. The flickering flames were almost hypnotic as they danced and swirled, careless of worries or fears, yet still hauntingly seductive, curving caressingly around darkened coals.

He moved on, barely acknowledging the respectful salute of a sentry going off duty. He stopped however, as he passed near the healers tent. Voices came from inside, and the light that seeped out around the flap was more than from a night candle. Arandur seemed to come out of his revery, for he stepped to the flap and pushed it open, ducking inside. Maenel and the snowy-haired old healer, Gannel, were standing near the operating table, the elder man in the middle of explaining some minute detail of surgery to Maenel. Maenel was obviously nearing exhaustion from the long day, but just as obviously attempting to hide it. Arandur smiled faintly. The wiry old man was use to long vigils watching over his patients, and seemed to forget that others needed sleep.
Gannel finished his explanation, but Arandur intervened before he could launch himself into another.
"Maenel, you should get some rest while you can. There will be ample time tomorrow to put your learning to good use." He bowed respectfully to Gannel.

(Deawen, Nauriel, tell me when you're ready for morning. Don't want to cut you off.)

Maenel's eyes were red, and she was making a conscious effort to keep them open. THe effect made her look surprised. She gave a grateful smile, nodded to her teacher and walked quickly from the tent. She kept her walk as straight as possible and her posture upright, but exhaustion was taking over and she reeled drunkenly, almost tripping on a tent stake as she passed the open flap of Faeran's tent. She ducked into hers and immediately fell on the bed ignoring any pillows. She lay for awhile with her eyes closed and visions of bloody surgeries flashing in her mind, waiting sleep to come. It took her a few moments to realize she was sleeping on one of her books, whose cover was digging into her back. She pulled it out and lovingly set it on the ground. In a few more seconds, she was dead asleep.

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

Deawen frowned. " Fight?" she asked puzzled " Why would I fight?" she was still in the dark on the latest details. But she shrugged and held her hands up. "I won't."
Deawen sat up and rubbed her wrists annoyed still at being tied up. " I swear that healer has a vendetta against me." Deawen grumbled still rubbing her wrists. " So what is going on?" Deawen asked innocently wrapping her arms around her knees. "And more importantly where are we?"

_________________
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 half-elf sat comfortably well, relatively so, amongst the ruins of the watchtower. She had cast aside her long, weather stained cloak and exchanged it for a leather vest that one could only assume was for protection (it didn't look sturdy). In one hand she held a flask, the other her cane and a long undecorated pipe dangled precariously from her mouth. Every once and a while she would remove the pipe and watch contentedly as the smoke billowed out of her mouth in grey clouds.

Although her posture was set easy her eyes were hardened, fixed with a disturbing satisfaction on the horizon where their enemies were expected. Her hand would tighten slightly on her cane expectantly. She couldn't tell you why her jitters were soothed so by sitting rather than walking, but she had a feeling that it was simply because the group had reached their destination and now the wait was short.

_________________
Heavens no. Hell Yeah.


Set 1: Nurr | Set 2: Me