Post by Anrandir on Apr 20, 2012 23:52:24 GMT -6
Characters: Anrandir, Haneth.
Summary: Anrandir arrives at Trestlebridge, finds Haneth, and speaks to her about Thorvall.
Anrandir can be seen, from Trestlebridge, thundering towards the establishment on a horse, its sides heaving with tiredness. As he nears, the foam-flecked mouth of the horse becomes perceptible, and the grim features of Anrandir’s face reflect his--and the horses, for that matter--demanding and arduous journey. The horse slows, and he slips off it, twisting about, stretching his muscle in an attempt to get rid of the soreness that bouncing about on a horse can cause. The horse, in the meantime, stamps about, irritated snorts emitting from the beast’s nostrils. Upon the horse, two light packs are laden, their contents unknown. Anrandir whispers a few syllables to the horse, now content, happily trots off to a nearby patch of tasty vegetation. Anrandir, meanwhile, begins walking towards the main gate. He’s got something about leaving his horse outside for the time being. The guards, deciding that Anrandir was not an Orc, or anything of the sort, allow him to pass without incident, however, their inspection had gone unnoticed by Anrandir. He had been looking about, looking for some soul in the forlorn square.
Haneth |The square was barren of horse and rider. Only a mutt, black and spotted brown, trotted across the cobbles, whining hungrily as he paused to nose at an abandoned sack crumpled in a corner of the street, its contents only the wistful fumes of what might have once been food. The carts and tents circled in a ring on the edge of town were quiet of the usual rumbling snores of horse lords, riding the fields of home in their dreams. One was awake. Haneth was at work in the stable yard, a saddle of tooled leather draped between fence posts. Her hands worked persistently at fervent polishing, her thin lip stuck between delicate teeth. She seemed not to notice the rider. Rohirrim did not walk into town. He was not who here ears were open for.
Anrandir peers about, slowly turning, until he had gone in a full circle. The desolate square revealed no one, only offered the dull, grey, smoky atmosphere that Anrandir now had a strange sense of premature familiarity to. He now closes his eyes, listening, for anything. Perhaps he could pick up on some sound, some muffled movement of someone, to whom he could speak to, and inquire about his business.
Haneth |Men leered from their posts, arms folded, spears stacked idly against the wall behind them. Each was outfitted in gear of various make: old, worn leathers and mail patterned with rings of different shades, patched where a previous wearer had been the victim of grave misfortune. Soon, grim chuckling interrupted their lazy chatter, as their eyes lingered longer on the lost man. Haneth glanced up from her desperate cleaning, and her teeth began to grind at her tender flesh. Soon she left her post and paced towards him, ringing the spotted rag between her oiled gloves.
Anrandir spots the approaching women through his peripheral vision, and he turns his head, now fully focused on her. He watches her near him, his keen eyes taking in her face. A momentary flicker of memory passes before his eyes… Yes, he had never seen this one before… with Thorvall’s wife. Haneth, as she had been called. He recalls the full happening now… how opportune he had shown precisely at this hour. Anrandir allows a beat of silence to pass, expecting a moment of silent communication; perhaps she would remember him as well. His eyes move to hers, and forces a half smile before speaking, “Haneth.” Another pause. “How… how have you been?”
Haneth hastened her greeting, her eyes fidgeting between his own, as if they itched to glance about her, though she had learned the lesson of letting her eyes wander too loosely about this town. Her smile flickered and twitched before fading. "Jackluf. Well, well enough. What are you doing here?" Her voice strained, tight like a cord bound around her own agitation.
Anrandir keeps his smile, in some sort of a strange attempt to reconcile the fact of his now recurring presence in the town. The innocuous tone he spoke with thereafter was ever mindful of the fact of Svanlaug’s recent death, and he responds accordingly, “Please… call me Anrandir. That is my true name, and I find it necessary, as you have no doubt given me yours. I apologize for any inconvenience.” His own eyes now flick away, somewhere other than Haneth’s; in an attempt ease her own discomfort, he did not want to bare holes in her eyes.
Haneth |A round of snickering passed amongst the gathered guards. Haneth's arms rose, crossing themselves, to clutch her arms above bare elbows and still the shiver that rushed through her at each uplift of sneering cackle. Her eyes narrowed, lip dipping again between her teeth as she watched his eyes stray away. "Anrandir," she corrected herself, and paused, considering the lie. +
Haneth "What are you doing here?"
Anrandir returns his gaze to Haneth, speaking quickly now, straight to the point. “I am seeking out Thorvall.” He does not look away, but looks now expectantly at her, and the fake half-smile now quickly dissipates into a less friendly, however more genuine, smile, the second point perhaps negating the first, to an observant person.
Haneth 's gaze fell past the edge of his collar, her tone quieting with a note of apology. "Lord Thorvall is not in Trestlebridge. Neither, I am afraid, is Lady Elanwen." Her thumb rubbed in circles against her skin, lightening a spot of sheen with the oil he had forgotten was slick on her fingers. "Perhaps I could help you." Her offer itself was promised with an apology, wavering its own doubt.
Anrandir ‘s eyes narrow ever so slightly, and contemplating this, Anrandir repeats softly to himself, “Trestle—Th…” He then asks, “Yes, that would be very kind of you—but, can I ask where they have gone? Or perhaps when they should return?”
Haneth 's eyes fussed with the hem of his collar. "I think it would be best, if you had a message for them, to give it to me. Or I can send them word that you wish to speak to them." Her gaze lifted and stilled as she spoke now her first soft tone of confidence. "I would promise to deliver it, whatever news."
Anrandir takes a small, uncomfortable step forward, suddenly realizing they were speaking in the open square, and the subject of many hidden eyes. He half-consciously flicks off an imaginary speck of dirt from his collar, an obvious sign he had noticed Haneth’s observation of it, for whatever reason. He speaks as he does so, his eyes still looking to Haneth, “I whole-heartedly thank you for your willingness to help, and do not doubt your sincerity, however, it is imperative that I personally specifically speak to Thorvall. My… friend would have it no other way.” The last sentence was marked by a very small amount of emotion, the first of which since he had first spoken, since arriving at Trestlebridge.”
Haneth nodded quickly, her gaze instinctive again upon the stitching along his hauberk's sleeve before she overcame the impulse and looked again into his eyes, hers uncommonly wide. "I am afraid your friend will be disappointed. You have ridden a long way, and Thorvall will not return till the morrow, or perhaps after. I cannot say when he will return."
Anrandir slowly answers, at first, “I guess… It’s in my best interest to wait, here in Trestlebridge, until he arrives. Will this prove problematic?—I do not want to initiate any unwanted conflict between the Oathsworn and I.”
Haneth |The sound that emitted from the huntress' slimly parted lips seemed only air, though she seemed to be forming what must be words. A pause, and she repeated the gesture again, her words faint, but at least audible. "It is not conflict with the Oathsworn you need worry about, unless you seek it. The Watch of Trestlebridge does not take kindly to visitors. I would fear for more than just your comfort."
Anrandir tilts his head slightly, unsure of Haneth, and asks skeptically, “You mean to say the Watch of Trestlebridge would run me out, possibly kill me?”
Haneth 's eyes widened in panic of the sound of her own implication spoken aloud. She stepped closer, her words slow and soft, as if each breath between was spent listening for footfalls behind her. "I would say nothing, but warn you. There are stories..." Her fingers tightened around her arm as the hairs lifted, catching the cold on the wind and channeling shivers through gooseflesh.
Anrandir peers an unconvinced face towards Haneth. Not doubting her sincerity, however, his face breaks into a warm smile at her account, and he too, takes a step forward. Lowering his voice into a soft whisper, “Stories. Not necessarily true.” He raises his voice to normal speaking level now, “And besides, I can handle a few watchmen… However, thank you for the warning. I will take it into consideration in my dealings here. How, uh—“ He pauses, glancing down to her shivering state, and asks, “Are you cold? Forgive me for tarrying here, I did not wish to suffer you to the elements…”
Haneth looked down at her bare arms, frowning at her stippled skin, spent with freckles. "I suppose...I am." Her eyes rose again as her hands rubbed oil and warmth into her skin, though the cold that had crept up unnoticed would be more easily cast out by the encouragement in his soft voice, his smile. "It is late. If the inn has no room, make camp near our caravan. It will be...warmer there."
Anrandir smiles gratefully, “Inn? I will go there first, and if they are full, I will make camp near your caravan.” He nods, and then quickly says, “You know where to find me, should there be something you need.” He slowly pivots, his body turning toward the general direction of the Inn, however, still looking at Haneth.
Haneth nodded, her smile finally catching her lips, warming them with a kindness that rose through her worry to the surface of her eyes. "I wish you luck. If there is no message from my Lord in the morning, I will send him word that you await him here. If you need anything...I do not often stray from camp, lest there is hunting to be done, or other work beyond the walls."
Anrandir nods, saying, looking back from over his shoulder, “Thank you… but do not inconvenience him at my expense. Please. And again, thank you.” Anrandir now turns, his eyes frantically flicking back and forth… searching. He had no idea where the Inn of Trestlebridge was, a foolish blunder, but maybe there was a chance he could play it off. He sets off down the road, glancing at each building he passed thoughtfully.
(( *Note* No, Anrandir didn't leave his horse outside Trestlebridge. It.. okay, yeah, he did. We'll just have to assume he returned to it after speaking to Haneth and brought it to the stables. ))
Summary: Anrandir arrives at Trestlebridge, finds Haneth, and speaks to her about Thorvall.
Anrandir can be seen, from Trestlebridge, thundering towards the establishment on a horse, its sides heaving with tiredness. As he nears, the foam-flecked mouth of the horse becomes perceptible, and the grim features of Anrandir’s face reflect his--and the horses, for that matter--demanding and arduous journey. The horse slows, and he slips off it, twisting about, stretching his muscle in an attempt to get rid of the soreness that bouncing about on a horse can cause. The horse, in the meantime, stamps about, irritated snorts emitting from the beast’s nostrils. Upon the horse, two light packs are laden, their contents unknown. Anrandir whispers a few syllables to the horse, now content, happily trots off to a nearby patch of tasty vegetation. Anrandir, meanwhile, begins walking towards the main gate. He’s got something about leaving his horse outside for the time being. The guards, deciding that Anrandir was not an Orc, or anything of the sort, allow him to pass without incident, however, their inspection had gone unnoticed by Anrandir. He had been looking about, looking for some soul in the forlorn square.
Haneth |The square was barren of horse and rider. Only a mutt, black and spotted brown, trotted across the cobbles, whining hungrily as he paused to nose at an abandoned sack crumpled in a corner of the street, its contents only the wistful fumes of what might have once been food. The carts and tents circled in a ring on the edge of town were quiet of the usual rumbling snores of horse lords, riding the fields of home in their dreams. One was awake. Haneth was at work in the stable yard, a saddle of tooled leather draped between fence posts. Her hands worked persistently at fervent polishing, her thin lip stuck between delicate teeth. She seemed not to notice the rider. Rohirrim did not walk into town. He was not who here ears were open for.
Anrandir peers about, slowly turning, until he had gone in a full circle. The desolate square revealed no one, only offered the dull, grey, smoky atmosphere that Anrandir now had a strange sense of premature familiarity to. He now closes his eyes, listening, for anything. Perhaps he could pick up on some sound, some muffled movement of someone, to whom he could speak to, and inquire about his business.
Haneth |Men leered from their posts, arms folded, spears stacked idly against the wall behind them. Each was outfitted in gear of various make: old, worn leathers and mail patterned with rings of different shades, patched where a previous wearer had been the victim of grave misfortune. Soon, grim chuckling interrupted their lazy chatter, as their eyes lingered longer on the lost man. Haneth glanced up from her desperate cleaning, and her teeth began to grind at her tender flesh. Soon she left her post and paced towards him, ringing the spotted rag between her oiled gloves.
Anrandir spots the approaching women through his peripheral vision, and he turns his head, now fully focused on her. He watches her near him, his keen eyes taking in her face. A momentary flicker of memory passes before his eyes… Yes, he had never seen this one before… with Thorvall’s wife. Haneth, as she had been called. He recalls the full happening now… how opportune he had shown precisely at this hour. Anrandir allows a beat of silence to pass, expecting a moment of silent communication; perhaps she would remember him as well. His eyes move to hers, and forces a half smile before speaking, “Haneth.” Another pause. “How… how have you been?”
Haneth hastened her greeting, her eyes fidgeting between his own, as if they itched to glance about her, though she had learned the lesson of letting her eyes wander too loosely about this town. Her smile flickered and twitched before fading. "Jackluf. Well, well enough. What are you doing here?" Her voice strained, tight like a cord bound around her own agitation.
Anrandir keeps his smile, in some sort of a strange attempt to reconcile the fact of his now recurring presence in the town. The innocuous tone he spoke with thereafter was ever mindful of the fact of Svanlaug’s recent death, and he responds accordingly, “Please… call me Anrandir. That is my true name, and I find it necessary, as you have no doubt given me yours. I apologize for any inconvenience.” His own eyes now flick away, somewhere other than Haneth’s; in an attempt ease her own discomfort, he did not want to bare holes in her eyes.
Haneth |A round of snickering passed amongst the gathered guards. Haneth's arms rose, crossing themselves, to clutch her arms above bare elbows and still the shiver that rushed through her at each uplift of sneering cackle. Her eyes narrowed, lip dipping again between her teeth as she watched his eyes stray away. "Anrandir," she corrected herself, and paused, considering the lie. +
Haneth "What are you doing here?"
Anrandir returns his gaze to Haneth, speaking quickly now, straight to the point. “I am seeking out Thorvall.” He does not look away, but looks now expectantly at her, and the fake half-smile now quickly dissipates into a less friendly, however more genuine, smile, the second point perhaps negating the first, to an observant person.
Haneth 's gaze fell past the edge of his collar, her tone quieting with a note of apology. "Lord Thorvall is not in Trestlebridge. Neither, I am afraid, is Lady Elanwen." Her thumb rubbed in circles against her skin, lightening a spot of sheen with the oil he had forgotten was slick on her fingers. "Perhaps I could help you." Her offer itself was promised with an apology, wavering its own doubt.
Anrandir ‘s eyes narrow ever so slightly, and contemplating this, Anrandir repeats softly to himself, “Trestle—Th…” He then asks, “Yes, that would be very kind of you—but, can I ask where they have gone? Or perhaps when they should return?”
Haneth 's eyes fussed with the hem of his collar. "I think it would be best, if you had a message for them, to give it to me. Or I can send them word that you wish to speak to them." Her gaze lifted and stilled as she spoke now her first soft tone of confidence. "I would promise to deliver it, whatever news."
Anrandir takes a small, uncomfortable step forward, suddenly realizing they were speaking in the open square, and the subject of many hidden eyes. He half-consciously flicks off an imaginary speck of dirt from his collar, an obvious sign he had noticed Haneth’s observation of it, for whatever reason. He speaks as he does so, his eyes still looking to Haneth, “I whole-heartedly thank you for your willingness to help, and do not doubt your sincerity, however, it is imperative that I personally specifically speak to Thorvall. My… friend would have it no other way.” The last sentence was marked by a very small amount of emotion, the first of which since he had first spoken, since arriving at Trestlebridge.”
Haneth nodded quickly, her gaze instinctive again upon the stitching along his hauberk's sleeve before she overcame the impulse and looked again into his eyes, hers uncommonly wide. "I am afraid your friend will be disappointed. You have ridden a long way, and Thorvall will not return till the morrow, or perhaps after. I cannot say when he will return."
Anrandir slowly answers, at first, “I guess… It’s in my best interest to wait, here in Trestlebridge, until he arrives. Will this prove problematic?—I do not want to initiate any unwanted conflict between the Oathsworn and I.”
Haneth |The sound that emitted from the huntress' slimly parted lips seemed only air, though she seemed to be forming what must be words. A pause, and she repeated the gesture again, her words faint, but at least audible. "It is not conflict with the Oathsworn you need worry about, unless you seek it. The Watch of Trestlebridge does not take kindly to visitors. I would fear for more than just your comfort."
Anrandir tilts his head slightly, unsure of Haneth, and asks skeptically, “You mean to say the Watch of Trestlebridge would run me out, possibly kill me?”
Haneth 's eyes widened in panic of the sound of her own implication spoken aloud. She stepped closer, her words slow and soft, as if each breath between was spent listening for footfalls behind her. "I would say nothing, but warn you. There are stories..." Her fingers tightened around her arm as the hairs lifted, catching the cold on the wind and channeling shivers through gooseflesh.
Anrandir peers an unconvinced face towards Haneth. Not doubting her sincerity, however, his face breaks into a warm smile at her account, and he too, takes a step forward. Lowering his voice into a soft whisper, “Stories. Not necessarily true.” He raises his voice to normal speaking level now, “And besides, I can handle a few watchmen… However, thank you for the warning. I will take it into consideration in my dealings here. How, uh—“ He pauses, glancing down to her shivering state, and asks, “Are you cold? Forgive me for tarrying here, I did not wish to suffer you to the elements…”
Haneth looked down at her bare arms, frowning at her stippled skin, spent with freckles. "I suppose...I am." Her eyes rose again as her hands rubbed oil and warmth into her skin, though the cold that had crept up unnoticed would be more easily cast out by the encouragement in his soft voice, his smile. "It is late. If the inn has no room, make camp near our caravan. It will be...warmer there."
Anrandir smiles gratefully, “Inn? I will go there first, and if they are full, I will make camp near your caravan.” He nods, and then quickly says, “You know where to find me, should there be something you need.” He slowly pivots, his body turning toward the general direction of the Inn, however, still looking at Haneth.
Haneth nodded, her smile finally catching her lips, warming them with a kindness that rose through her worry to the surface of her eyes. "I wish you luck. If there is no message from my Lord in the morning, I will send him word that you await him here. If you need anything...I do not often stray from camp, lest there is hunting to be done, or other work beyond the walls."
Anrandir nods, saying, looking back from over his shoulder, “Thank you… but do not inconvenience him at my expense. Please. And again, thank you.” Anrandir now turns, his eyes frantically flicking back and forth… searching. He had no idea where the Inn of Trestlebridge was, a foolish blunder, but maybe there was a chance he could play it off. He sets off down the road, glancing at each building he passed thoughtfully.
(( *Note* No, Anrandir didn't leave his horse outside Trestlebridge. It.. okay, yeah, he did. We'll just have to assume he returned to it after speaking to Haneth and brought it to the stables. ))
