faemused | Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post

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From:

takesnoshit

She nods slowly, accepting this. She will ask her own people for the names, later; will visit the wounded as soon as she may to offer what strength and comfort she can. "I thank you for your efforts, Lord Caranthir," she says, her Sindarin stiff and stilted but otherwise good. Her voice is still low-pitched but has a more musical tone to it now that she is no longer choked with exhaustion and spent battle-lust. "And I thank you also for the loan of--I assume--your sleeping quarters. Which you now seem greatly to need, so I return them to you, and suggest you make use of them before you fall over like a felled tree."

Haleth, clearly, is not a woman to mince words or waste time.

Edited Date: 2018-11-01 11:04 pm (UTC)

From:

grumpycatanthir

"You needed it more than I." He nods brusquely, but her next comment makes him smile, although it looks more like a smirk, something sharp about it.

"Hah! And if I should be too tired to rise? The ground here seems fair enough a bed."

Also, his patients might need him, yet.

From:

takesnoshit

She cannot deny that, little as though she likes it. His sharp smile only makes her raise an eyebrow; she is too blunt for such pointedness to affect her. "Then I shall assist you, as you have assisted I and mine. Unless the lords of the Firstborn are too proud to accept such assistance or you prefer cold dirt to a warm bed, in which case I would deem you a fool. You will be no help to your patients if you add yourself to their number."

And after all, if she can humble herself to accept aid, so can he.

From:

grumpycatanthir

He blinks, derailed by her snap back, and eyes her with new interest.

"You speak sense." He nods. "Very well. Although I think I am a little too tall for you to carry."

He's not the tallest of his brothers, but he's not the shortest either.

From:

takesnoshit

That wasn't a snap, merely a statement of fact. If she ever snaps at him, he will know.

She snorts, for this is obvious. "I am no fool either, Lord Caranthir." Even without taking into account the fact that she's only just risen from her bed, she could never carry him. Not far, at least, and not without parts of him dangling onto the ground. His hair, for certain. Probably his whole head, and his feet as well.

...what an odd mental image. She must still be tired. Haleth shakes this off and steps forward, offering him a hand and using it to pull him to his feet. Once he is there she offers her shoulders to lean on. She may have no basis of comparison for how tall he is compared to others of his kind, but no matter; whether he is tall or short, she can be there to lean against.

From:

grumpycatanthir

Promises, promises~

He grins a little at her. "You don't strike me as one, no."

But he accepts the hand up, although he shakes his head when she offers her shoulder.

"I am not yet so tired as that! And with the height difference, I suspect it would be too awkward. Have you broken your fast yet?"

From:

takesnoshit

That compliment earns the faintest hint of a smile on her mouth as she helps him up. More an echo than an actual smile, but there nonetheless.

"Not yet," she says, stepping away once he makes it clear he needs no further aid. He does not look to be in danger of falling, for the moment. "I wished first to look to my people and see how they fared." And it speaks well for him, to her mind, that he assumed as much--that almost the first thing he said to her when she arrived was to tell her of her people, rather than to ask after her own welfare. "How are you provisioned? You cannot have been able to bring much, not riding to our aid as you did."

From:

grumpycatanthir

He's tired but not collapsing yet, fortunately!

"We have the usual rations, of course, and I sent those still able away to hunt." He nods. "But bread and wine will do well enough. You need to eat, after a battle." He ushers her back towards his tent, a flick of his hand sends his seneschal dashing off for provisions.

From:

takesnoshit

He is right, and they have matters to discuss, leader to leader. She follows, matching his much longer stride as best she can and showing none of the effort it takes on her face. It is fortunate he walks slowly, being tired.

Even so, she finds breath to snort. "We need to eat after days of surviving on tree bark and river water. Our rations ran out days ago, and there is little left to scavenge. Bread and wine will be more than enough. Your hunters will not find game for some distance, though there are yet fish in the river."

From:

grumpycatanthir

There's only one small camp chair, which he offers to her as he drops to sit on the bed and start at his boots.

"With the recent battle? No, of course not. But our horses rested overnight, so they will be able to go far enough afield to bring back decent game, although they like as not will not be back for several days yet." He agrees as their meal is brought. Simple rations are still rations, after all.

From:

takesnoshit

She sits on the chair, eyeing his bed. So it was his. She had assumed as much, but still it is...irksome, somehow, to know that she was in his bed. Even though she doubts not that it was a gesture of respect, or apology.

"They did seem most wondrous horses," she says reluctantly. They had, beautiful beyond measure, waterfalls of grace and strength in horse form. The sight of them rushing into the battle during that final, dark hour will stay with her all her days, the startled wonder the sight engendered. It had nothing at first to do with amazement at being rescued, merely awe at their beauty. "No doubt they will make good time. You intend to remain here some days, then."

She manages not to savage the bread or gulp the wine. It takes effort.

From:

grumpycatanthir

"We brought their ancestors with us from Valinor." He informs her, eating with the quick precise economy of someone long used to eating on a battlefield, wasting nothing, including time.

"My brothers, the Ambarussa and Maglor, breed them, as does our cousin Fingon in Hithlum."

He nods. "Aye. You have wounded still too ill to move, and your people are still weary. We will stay a while longer, and then escort you to safer lands."

From:

takesnoshit

She snorts, a sound of disbelief. "Are there safer lands? I wonder." She eats with the same efficiency. All her short life there has been battle. She does not believe in safety, it is clear. Only respite, and that always brief.

From:

grumpycatanthir

"Safer than this." He points out. "We're not more than a few days marches from the Enemy's lands, here. Your people need time to rest, and to rebuild. You won't get that here."

From:

takesnoshit

Her jaw clenches a little, but she nods. There is no choice, truly, but to accept this hospitality, however it frustrates her pride.

"Is this yours?" she asks abruptly, looking down at the shirt she's wearing. It's more a dress on her, given their different heights.

From:

grumpycatanthir

"It is, yes." He nods. "Sadly, most of your previous clothing was beyond salvagable, although I believe some of your own people took it to see what might be done with what they might save."

Blood stains do tend to set rather stubbornly, and orc blood is even worse, after all.

"Keep it, if you like. I am not so poor that I begrudge a spare shirt! Or we can find your own people after this meal, and see about getting you into your own things."

From:

takesnoshit

She frowns slightly, for she is so poor as to not have a shirt to spare, now. What belongings they had are scattered or destroyed, and even once they are new-settled it will be some time before they will be able to make cloth once more. Her people have lost nearly everything, save their own selves.

She must be content with that, with their lives. They will rebuild. They will, however impossible it seems now.

"I think I must continue to borrow it for a time," she says, instead of admitting this directly. "Though it's...more bright, than mine were."

She rubs the fabric between two fingers. It's a dark red color unlike any she's ever seen in fabric--how did they dye it? Reds are difficult colors to manage, second only to purple, which she's never even seen used in clothing. While this is a darker shade, it still stands out, particularly with the gold embroidery on the collar and cuffs and edge. She keeps having to pull the sleeves up, and finally moves to fold them so they stop draping over her hands. "I wouldn't want to wear it for hunting. Game would see me coming from miles away."

From:

grumpycatanthir

"You are welcome to it." He nods, and shrugs, a slight hint of red tinting his cheeks.

"It's the family color, that red. I use it in many of the clothes I make."

His own banners are sable, but Feanarians wear red, and he doesn't mind, when it's a nice rich crimson. Not too garish. Easy to pair with gold or silver or black. Not so easy with Maglor's green or Celegorm's yellow, but he has managed to make it work over the years.

He barks a short amused sound at that. "With all the embroidery weighing you down to boot? No, that one is in case I need to wear something vaguely nice, out here. I don't know why my seneschal keeps packing it, but it came in useful on this occasion, so I shall not complain too much."

From:

takesnoshit

Haleth frowns faintly at him. "Why are you blushing?" she asks, blunt, her head a little tilted to one side.

From:

grumpycatanthir

He flushes more at the realisation she noticed.

"Nothing! It's nothing. I just. Some people find it odd. That I make clothes."

From:

takesnoshit

Her frown changes, from confusion to different confusion. "How is that strange? Someone must. Do you not enjoy it?"

Though it is a little strange, she supposes. An elf lord who also acts as a surgeon and makes clothing is not what she would have expected. That sort of multitasking is more common in her own people, where there is so much that needs doing that all turn their hands to it, but surely with their greater resources and time the elves need not.

From:

grumpycatanthir

He nods, looking away.

"I do. But some people think it's... odd."

Damn his stupid skin and stupid stupid tendency to blush.

From:

takesnoshit

"Why?"

She hasn't moved her gaze away from him, and her eyes are cool but do not seem to judge, only to seek reasons.

From:

grumpycatanthir

He blinks, taken abck by her frankness, and visibly stops bristling, when it's clear she's only interested.

"I don't understand it either." He admits. "It's my grandmother's skill - father was very pleased to see it carried on. But here in Beleriand, apparently it's seen as unmanly, or something."

He thinks it's stupid, but he's gotten too many jeers.

From:

takesnoshit

She snorts, turning her attention back to her food. "Foolishness. Talents and skills should be used, by whoever possesses them. To waste such ability in the name of 'manliness' or 'womanliness' is nothing but vanity, and serves no purpose at all. I am good with a sword, not a lute; what use would there be in turning my hand to that which I cannot do well?"