Elendor
Conversation on the Wall
Faestred and Hraefengar of Rohan discuss the meaning of birds flying over Rohan and other things with Ceredir, scout of Gondor and spy for Mordor
Sort Date: no date set
Location: Rohan: Edoras
IC Time: Sunset
Description:
Atop the Wall
The Sun hangs slightly above the western horizon, and the dark purple shadows reach toward the east. You see the Moon making an early appearance in the clear Spring sky.
The wall overlooks the gates to the city of Edoras, guards there ever watchful. The hill of Edoras rises towering behind the wall, toward the golden summit of the Meduseld. More near at hand is the market, and even closer is the entrance square. The plains surrounding the King's City spread before the wall, though ditch and thorny hedge provide ample discouragement to any who would assail it by means other than the stairs hewn into the stone here.
[Faestred(#31903)]
The sun is sinking low at the end of a glorious spring day, the snow-capped mountains to the west and south glowing red against a vibrant sky, casting long, purple shadows across the wide plains of Rohan. A breeze stirrs from the east, however, strangely chill even with the coming of night, and the rising moon seems pale and weak. Large black birds skim high overhead, chattering in harsh cries, speeding westward in a swarm.
Atop the high wall which surround Edoras city, ever vigilant guards stand in gleaming mail, golden hair flowing from beneath proud helms, girt with swords, bearing quivers, and with bows at their sides. There is one man, though, seems to have come on neither guard nor errand: a man dressed simply in pine tunic, fallow breeches and russet boots. He is tracking the birds' progress across the sky, his brow furrowed, green eyes troubled. As the wind stirrs his flaxen braids, he folds his arms across his chest to ward of some of the chill. Half turning to one of the nearby men, he asks in a low voice, in the rolling tongue of the Mark, "Guard, have you seen those birds fly over the city before?" One hand is freed and raised to indicate the dense, black cloud.
"Is it true, then?" comes a voice behind the man, the dark-haired young man of Gondor having come up to this watch on the wall, perhaps to watch the sunset. "The birds are bringing foul omens?"
[Faestred(#31903)]
Faestred turns, mildly surprised by the voice, but a wan smile spreads across his lips. "Omens come in many forms, both foul and fair," he answers, then looks skyward again and nods. "But those are Dunnish creatures rarely do we see them over the Mark... or at least of old. Thrice have I seen them now, in the past months alone." The maegisterwigend pauses, nodding gravely as the guard answers him in Rohirric, then he looks back to Ceredir, one brow arching curiously. "The folk of Gondor must surely watch for warning from bird and beast, as well?"
"Aye, they do, of course, though at closer distances," Ceredir answers, staring up into the darkening sky. "Flocks flushed from the brush by the enemy and the like. But the birds are of...Dunland you say? And..." He pauses to smile here. "Good evening, sir."
[Faestred(#31903)]
"And to you," The son of Faldweld dips his head once to the scout, his lips flickering in a friendly manner. He lifts his gaze then once more to the sky, squinting as the flock moves westward, flying against the sun. "From Dunland, yes. Black birds, akin to crows, but yea large," He unfolds his arms, holding his hands out to indicate a length near the breadth of his chest. "And crafty in mind, too. My falcon felled one from the sky, once."
[Faestred(#31903)]
"That is the strangest part still," Faestred frowns, his glance staring off westward even as the birds fade, now mere specks against a brilliant sky. "If they are near, they do startle the horses, yes, but I have seem them mostly passing overhead, even as they do this evening. Yet there seems to me something uncanny about them." Releasing a heavy sigh, he shakes himself, then looks to the scout. "You have fared well, I hope? Had any more chance to practice your blade-work?"
"Strange...yes..." Ceredir is drawn into his own thoughts, so that he startles a bit at Faestred's question to him. "Yes...but no...that is, I can practice the forms, but I haven't had the chance to match blades with Deorlic again yet. Perhaps once again before we leave. Which should be soon, I fear. When do you plan to ride out?"
[Faestred(#31903)]
"As soon as the King pleases," Faestred answers, a gleam coming to his eye and a smile to his lips. "Is your horse well rested? If not, a few spares are kept in the Eored, and gladly would I lend you one for this ride. For we shall go swiftly indeed, though not so much as to tire man and beast. And perhaps when we near the River, you can ride forward with my scouts and show them how it is done in the Stoningland."
The scout frowns, considering briefly, then shaking his head. "I had better ride one of your horses. My mount is a plodding mare, known for being even tempered. And stubbornly slow.. Though perhaps that decision is a dangerous one on my part," he grins. "As far as how it is done in Gondor...well, I have but little experience in Ithilien, but I will show you what I may."
[Faestred(#31903)]
The maegisterwigend flashes a grin then. "Ah! But now you shall be able to return home, and tell of how you sat astride one of the great mounts of the Mark. Surely some of your comrades shall be impressed." He gives a low chuckle, then adds, his smile more earnest. "Dangerous? Nay, they are good and manageable creatures, bred in the East, so they are swift, also. Perhaps you shall even make a friend of one."
"Your horses are spirited and they are used to accomplished riders, I'm afraid," Ceredir replies, returning the grin. "Whereas the horse I was given, though not a poor mount, and also in fine health, well, it was sedate. And so, yes, dangerous, in their own way. But if I manage to befriend one...well, now that would be quite an achievement. As it is, I'll settle for staying on my saddle and keeping up with you."
[Faestred(#31903)]
"Perhaps some riding-lessons are in order, then, as well, ere we depart?" Faestred asks with a sly smile, his eyes twinkling. "We could pay a visit to the stables come morn, and you might meet the horses then, and take one for a ride so when we depart, you and your mount are not wholly unfamilar with one another. I must attend to training tomorrow, but Faelwine shall be at the stables, and she knows as much of riding horses as any, and more than most."
The scout nods eagerly at this suggestion, relief clearly showing in his face. "I will seek out your sister then...." Head tilted, he glances at Faestred. "Forgive me...she seems so much younger than you?"
[Faestred(#31903)]
"Aye," nods Faestred, his glance straying back out across the purple shadowed plains which stretch before the gate, the sun sinking low in a brilliant, clear sky. "She is twelve years younger than I: the last of four, I being the first. Two other brothers have we, one of whom you may have met, if you have been visiting Hraefengar and Faelwine at their home," A brow arches slightly towards Ceredir, then again the man folds his arms, turning his back to the strangely chill breeze which blows from the East. Squinting then, he peers westward, as though trying to catch sight of something, then shakes his head. "Swift indeed, those birds fly, though they have the aid of the wind at their backs. Still, I am not glad at their coming, and their passing leaves me uneasy."
"Yes," Ceredir replies witha note of hesitation. "I've visited them in their home, but no, I haven't met her other brothers. Though she talks about them," the scout now grins. He, too, looks east, letting the chill wind blow his cloak slightly open, not bothering to pull it tighter about him. "I have heard of...well, of sorcery. Perhaps the birds are quickened with such?"
[Theoden(#15851)]
Steps, slow and sure, are heard coming up from the city below, and a windswept figure appears. Cloaked in grey, his hair unbound, it is Hraefengar, and he tilts his head towards the west, and stretches out his good hand. In it there is a feather, black as midnight, and he twirls it between his fingers. Then, tilting his head back more, a strange, high sound comes from his lips: the hunting-call of a large hawk. Then he lets the feather go, and it whirls in the wind, then is lifted up, and follows away as if chasing the crebain.
[Faestred(#31903)]
The crease in the maegisterwigend's brow deepens, his gaze darkening, he pulls it away from the Western sky to land upon the scout. "If some dwimmercraft of the Shadow--" he begins, then the footsteps come to his ears, and he watches, unmoving but for his eyes which follow as the scop rises into view. He offers a nod to the man, and his expression easing somewhat, a faint smile coming to his lips. "Good evening, brother," he greets in a low voice, but not without warmth.
"I had not heard of such before, but the scop had explained to me that..." Ceredir starts to answer, speaking in hushed tones. He, too, breaks off at the sound of someone approaching, turning to see who it is--and outright staring as Hraefengar releases a feather into the air. He gives Faestred a confused look.
[Theoden(#15851)]
The scop's gaze is distant, bright, and he watches the feather, nodding to himself. Then he murmurs softly, under his breath, the words catching on the wind. After a moment, he turns his head and offers a smile. "Greetings," he says softly, kindly enough, though he does not seem to really see them.
[Faestred(#31903)]
Meeting the scout's confused glance, Faestred offers the young man a slight, if reassuring, smile. Drawing a deep breath, he exhales slowly, the last vestiges of his darkened expression vanishing. "How fare you this day, Hraefengar?" he calls to his brother-in-law, his gaze only flickering once to the black feather as it floats away.
"Greetings, scop," Ceredir says, taking his cue from the other man, though his greeting is hesitant. "Is he often like this?" he whispers, as Hraefengar seems to not focus on them. "What is he seeing?" he shudders a little.
[Theoden(#15851)]
The wind buffets the scop for a moment, and he sways, then leans on the parapet. "Wings. Shadows. Hundreds of thousands of them. Countless, counless, like the feathers on a flock of crows..." He shudders, then closes his eyes
[Faestred(#31903)]
"Careful, brother," As the scop sways, Faestred steps around the scout to Hraefengar's side, reaching out a hand to his shoulder just as the man leans against the parapet. His brow does furrow again now, green eyes flickering across the scop's face at the cryptic words. "Wings and shadows?" He asks quietly, his eyes flicking, unbidden perhaps, westward.
The scout's gaze also goes briefly to the west, and then to Hraefengar. "I should go," he says, a bit abruptly. "You'll forgive me...I'll look for your sister in the morning." A hint of nervousness in his voice--though it is quickly hidden--Ceredir hurries back down off the wall.
Hraefengar groans, then reaches out his hand, his left hand. "It... it is not too late! Not... not too late..." He winces, and then his knees buckle, and he slides down, as if he can no longer stand. His eyes open again, and he stares uncomprehendingly at Faestred. "B-brother? I... but no, you were... were not... alone..."
Glancing over his shoulder as the scout excuses himself, Faestred nods once, murmuring a slightly absent, "Good night." His attention snaps back to the scop, however, as Hraefengar begins to slide, and the maegisterwigend lowers himself, too. "Your friend, Ceredir, was here, aye," says he with a nod, switching back to the tongue of the Mark. "But night draws close, and he had to take his leave. Perhaps you, too, aught to return home and take some rest." He frowns a little, gaze searching the scop.
The pair have not gone unnoticed by the guards, who exchange worried glances some a little more fearful than others. The clink of mail sounds behind Faestred, as one approaches, eyeing them a little warily. "Need I send for help, sir?" the guard asks, directing his question to the maegisterwigend, though the latter is dressed in plain tunic and trousers.
"But... but..." Hraefengar rubs at his brow, then stares up at the guard. "Where is here, Faestred? I... Helm, I ... I was running from orcs and wolves in the wold, shadows of what was, or what will be, or dreams of dreams. And then the birds. They covered the sun so that the light was gone, and their feathers fell, and... and they covered the Mark... and the Stoningland, and.... and fire burned on... on the hills like war-beacons...." He shakes his head, reaching for his brother. "Where am I... when am I, Faestred?"
"You are above the gates of Edoras... When?" Faestred blinks, eyeing the scop with furrowed brow, then twists around to look up at the guard. He waves a hand dismissively. "Nay, nay, I shall see to him. Look to your duty," he tells the man, who hesitates, then nods and walks back to his post. Turning back to the scop, the maegisterwigend reaches to place a hand reassuringly upon the forearm of the scop's outstretched arm, though he shakes his head. "I do not understand, brother. You are here, now. There were birds, yes, but hardly so many as to cover the sun. But they troubled you, as well?" He peers now at the scop, studying him closely.
"I... how... I mean... how old.. might I be, this summer?" Hraefengar asks. "I... I..." He takes a slow breath, shuddering slightly. "I was walking, walking, and then... then... Everything was spinning, and they were talking. I mean... it was... Well, it was croaking and cawing sounding like talking. I... And then I was... elsewhere, elsewhen, and seeing, dreaming... My head is spinning, Faestred. Where did Ceredir go? I..." He shudders anew. "And the white horse fell, and the rider..."
"The white horse--?" Faestred begins to ask, then shakes his head, and presses his eyes closed for a moment. "Forty..." he tries to recall, then opens his eyes again and nods. "Forty-three, if my memory holds true. Three years elder than I." He pauses, studying the scop another long moment, before continuing in a low voice. "I know not where Ceredir went, save that he had to leave. Come," he says, shifting to one knee, frowning with concern. "I aught to bring you home, that you may rest."
The scop groans once again, as if in real pain. His hands shake, and then he nods. "Fae... Faestred... I... s-sorry. Y-yes... home... h-home..." He looks over at the maegisterwigend, and smiles wanly. "B-brother.... Brother? Very sorry. Very, very sorry. Can I walk, do you think? Do I... I... The way is filled with wings."
"Easy, brother," Faestred tries to reassure the scop, returning a smile to him, though his eyes remain dark with concern. "Perhaps, if you lean upon me, you might. Either way, I shall guide you, and carry you if need be. The birds passed away west with the falling sun... the roads of Edoras are clear." He reaches to put an arm about Hraefengar, ready to push himself to his feet, and to lift his brother likewise.
"Yes...." Hraefengar lifts his head again, then leans heavily against Faestred his thin frame trembles. "Forgive me... and... whatever... whatever I have said..." He looks over the side of the wall, then closes his eyes and lets Faestred lead him.
"Nothing too untoward, Hraefengar," assures the son of Faldweld, though a brow arches slightly toward the scop momentarily before he focuses again on managing him towards the stairs easily done for the Rider, light and thin as his brother is. "But those birds... they unsettled me before, now all the moreso. Why did they trouble your... your vision so?" he asks as they arrive at the top of the stairs. "Down we go," he adds, before slowly helping Hraefengar to descend the first step.
"I... I wish I... I knew..." Hraefengar sways dizzily, missing the step at first, clutching at his brother. "Spinning, spinning..." he murmurs, giving a soft sigh. "They... it was like... they were laughing. Or the darkness came with them. It was swift like wind..." He shakes his head again. "I... dropping down. Please... I do not want to go back."
"Do not want to go back?" Faestred asks, frowning as he pauses upon the stairs, holding the scop as steady as he might. He eyes his brother for a long moment, then releases a soft sigh. "We need to get you home, lest your wife should take to scouring the city, searching for you, hrm?" So saying, and a firm, yet gentle hold of the scop, again he moves to descend the stairs.
"Not... go back... back to where... where..." From the sky, wafting down, comes a single black feather. It brushes against the scop's cheek, and he goes still, his eyes widening, horrified. He goes rigid, then slumps, falling. His limbs twitch, not violently, but helplessly, and foam drips from his lips.
As the scop stills of a sudden, Faestred looks to him, puzzlement quickly turning to alarm at Hraefengar's horrified expression and rigid stance. "What is--" He does not get the full question out before the scop slumps. The weight drags forward, and the maegisterwigend quickly backs down a couple steps below the scop, himself between Hraefengar and the fall down into the entrance square. He holds fast to his brother as he twitches, foam dribbling onto his tunic, his eyes wide beneath knitted brows and jaw tense.
The fit, while not violent, is a long one, and Hraefengar is drenched with sweat before it is done. His limbs dangle, and his head droops, and a line of spittle dribbles down into his beard. He trembles again, and his skin is cold to the touch. He makes a soft sound, perhaps speech, though it is more grunting, staccato, than words. Then he goes completely limp, slumping against Faestred.
There might be relief in the sigh which Faestred releases once the fit is over, but there is a tenseness to it, also. "Helm," he mutters under his breath not harshly, but filled with pity instead. "What is this thing that plagues you so, brother?" Shaking his head, he stoops a little and reaches to lift the limp, damp scop into his arms.
Atop the Wall
The Sun hangs slightly above the western horizon, and the dark purple shadows reach toward the east. You see the Moon making an early appearance in the clear Spring sky.
The wall overlooks the gates to the city of Edoras, guards there ever watchful. The hill of Edoras rises towering behind the wall, toward the golden summit of the Meduseld. More near at hand is the market, and even closer is the entrance square. The plains surrounding the King's City spread before the wall, though ditch and thorny hedge provide ample discouragement to any who would assail it by means other than the stairs hewn into the stone here.
[Faestred(#31903)]
The sun is sinking low at the end of a glorious spring day, the snow-capped mountains to the west and south glowing red against a vibrant sky, casting long, purple shadows across the wide plains of Rohan. A breeze stirrs from the east, however, strangely chill even with the coming of night, and the rising moon seems pale and weak. Large black birds skim high overhead, chattering in harsh cries, speeding westward in a swarm.
Atop the high wall which surround Edoras city, ever vigilant guards stand in gleaming mail, golden hair flowing from beneath proud helms, girt with swords, bearing quivers, and with bows at their sides. There is one man, though, seems to have come on neither guard nor errand: a man dressed simply in pine tunic, fallow breeches and russet boots. He is tracking the birds' progress across the sky, his brow furrowed, green eyes troubled. As the wind stirrs his flaxen braids, he folds his arms across his chest to ward of some of the chill. Half turning to one of the nearby men, he asks in a low voice, in the rolling tongue of the Mark, "Guard, have you seen those birds fly over the city before?" One hand is freed and raised to indicate the dense, black cloud.
"Is it true, then?" comes a voice behind the man, the dark-haired young man of Gondor having come up to this watch on the wall, perhaps to watch the sunset. "The birds are bringing foul omens?"
[Faestred(#31903)]
Faestred turns, mildly surprised by the voice, but a wan smile spreads across his lips. "Omens come in many forms, both foul and fair," he answers, then looks skyward again and nods. "But those are Dunnish creatures rarely do we see them over the Mark... or at least of old. Thrice have I seen them now, in the past months alone." The maegisterwigend pauses, nodding gravely as the guard answers him in Rohirric, then he looks back to Ceredir, one brow arching curiously. "The folk of Gondor must surely watch for warning from bird and beast, as well?"
"Aye, they do, of course, though at closer distances," Ceredir answers, staring up into the darkening sky. "Flocks flushed from the brush by the enemy and the like. But the birds are of...Dunland you say? And..." He pauses to smile here. "Good evening, sir."
[Faestred(#31903)]
"And to you," The son of Faldweld dips his head once to the scout, his lips flickering in a friendly manner. He lifts his gaze then once more to the sky, squinting as the flock moves westward, flying against the sun. "From Dunland, yes. Black birds, akin to crows, but yea large," He unfolds his arms, holding his hands out to indicate a length near the breadth of his chest. "And crafty in mind, too. My falcon felled one from the sky, once."
[Faestred(#31903)]
"That is the strangest part still," Faestred frowns, his glance staring off westward even as the birds fade, now mere specks against a brilliant sky. "If they are near, they do startle the horses, yes, but I have seem them mostly passing overhead, even as they do this evening. Yet there seems to me something uncanny about them." Releasing a heavy sigh, he shakes himself, then looks to the scout. "You have fared well, I hope? Had any more chance to practice your blade-work?"
"Strange...yes..." Ceredir is drawn into his own thoughts, so that he startles a bit at Faestred's question to him. "Yes...but no...that is, I can practice the forms, but I haven't had the chance to match blades with Deorlic again yet. Perhaps once again before we leave. Which should be soon, I fear. When do you plan to ride out?"
[Faestred(#31903)]
"As soon as the King pleases," Faestred answers, a gleam coming to his eye and a smile to his lips. "Is your horse well rested? If not, a few spares are kept in the Eored, and gladly would I lend you one for this ride. For we shall go swiftly indeed, though not so much as to tire man and beast. And perhaps when we near the River, you can ride forward with my scouts and show them how it is done in the Stoningland."
The scout frowns, considering briefly, then shaking his head. "I had better ride one of your horses. My mount is a plodding mare, known for being even tempered. And stubbornly slow.. Though perhaps that decision is a dangerous one on my part," he grins. "As far as how it is done in Gondor...well, I have but little experience in Ithilien, but I will show you what I may."
[Faestred(#31903)]
The maegisterwigend flashes a grin then. "Ah! But now you shall be able to return home, and tell of how you sat astride one of the great mounts of the Mark. Surely some of your comrades shall be impressed." He gives a low chuckle, then adds, his smile more earnest. "Dangerous? Nay, they are good and manageable creatures, bred in the East, so they are swift, also. Perhaps you shall even make a friend of one."
"Your horses are spirited and they are used to accomplished riders, I'm afraid," Ceredir replies, returning the grin. "Whereas the horse I was given, though not a poor mount, and also in fine health, well, it was sedate. And so, yes, dangerous, in their own way. But if I manage to befriend one...well, now that would be quite an achievement. As it is, I'll settle for staying on my saddle and keeping up with you."
[Faestred(#31903)]
"Perhaps some riding-lessons are in order, then, as well, ere we depart?" Faestred asks with a sly smile, his eyes twinkling. "We could pay a visit to the stables come morn, and you might meet the horses then, and take one for a ride so when we depart, you and your mount are not wholly unfamilar with one another. I must attend to training tomorrow, but Faelwine shall be at the stables, and she knows as much of riding horses as any, and more than most."
The scout nods eagerly at this suggestion, relief clearly showing in his face. "I will seek out your sister then...." Head tilted, he glances at Faestred. "Forgive me...she seems so much younger than you?"
[Faestred(#31903)]
"Aye," nods Faestred, his glance straying back out across the purple shadowed plains which stretch before the gate, the sun sinking low in a brilliant, clear sky. "She is twelve years younger than I: the last of four, I being the first. Two other brothers have we, one of whom you may have met, if you have been visiting Hraefengar and Faelwine at their home," A brow arches slightly towards Ceredir, then again the man folds his arms, turning his back to the strangely chill breeze which blows from the East. Squinting then, he peers westward, as though trying to catch sight of something, then shakes his head. "Swift indeed, those birds fly, though they have the aid of the wind at their backs. Still, I am not glad at their coming, and their passing leaves me uneasy."
"Yes," Ceredir replies witha note of hesitation. "I've visited them in their home, but no, I haven't met her other brothers. Though she talks about them," the scout now grins. He, too, looks east, letting the chill wind blow his cloak slightly open, not bothering to pull it tighter about him. "I have heard of...well, of sorcery. Perhaps the birds are quickened with such?"
[Theoden(#15851)]
Steps, slow and sure, are heard coming up from the city below, and a windswept figure appears. Cloaked in grey, his hair unbound, it is Hraefengar, and he tilts his head towards the west, and stretches out his good hand. In it there is a feather, black as midnight, and he twirls it between his fingers. Then, tilting his head back more, a strange, high sound comes from his lips: the hunting-call of a large hawk. Then he lets the feather go, and it whirls in the wind, then is lifted up, and follows away as if chasing the crebain.
[Faestred(#31903)]
The crease in the maegisterwigend's brow deepens, his gaze darkening, he pulls it away from the Western sky to land upon the scout. "If some dwimmercraft of the Shadow--" he begins, then the footsteps come to his ears, and he watches, unmoving but for his eyes which follow as the scop rises into view. He offers a nod to the man, and his expression easing somewhat, a faint smile coming to his lips. "Good evening, brother," he greets in a low voice, but not without warmth.
"I had not heard of such before, but the scop had explained to me that..." Ceredir starts to answer, speaking in hushed tones. He, too, breaks off at the sound of someone approaching, turning to see who it is--and outright staring as Hraefengar releases a feather into the air. He gives Faestred a confused look.
[Theoden(#15851)]
The scop's gaze is distant, bright, and he watches the feather, nodding to himself. Then he murmurs softly, under his breath, the words catching on the wind. After a moment, he turns his head and offers a smile. "Greetings," he says softly, kindly enough, though he does not seem to really see them.
[Faestred(#31903)]
Meeting the scout's confused glance, Faestred offers the young man a slight, if reassuring, smile. Drawing a deep breath, he exhales slowly, the last vestiges of his darkened expression vanishing. "How fare you this day, Hraefengar?" he calls to his brother-in-law, his gaze only flickering once to the black feather as it floats away.
"Greetings, scop," Ceredir says, taking his cue from the other man, though his greeting is hesitant. "Is he often like this?" he whispers, as Hraefengar seems to not focus on them. "What is he seeing?" he shudders a little.
[Theoden(#15851)]
The wind buffets the scop for a moment, and he sways, then leans on the parapet. "Wings. Shadows. Hundreds of thousands of them. Countless, counless, like the feathers on a flock of crows..." He shudders, then closes his eyes
[Faestred(#31903)]
"Careful, brother," As the scop sways, Faestred steps around the scout to Hraefengar's side, reaching out a hand to his shoulder just as the man leans against the parapet. His brow does furrow again now, green eyes flickering across the scop's face at the cryptic words. "Wings and shadows?" He asks quietly, his eyes flicking, unbidden perhaps, westward.
The scout's gaze also goes briefly to the west, and then to Hraefengar. "I should go," he says, a bit abruptly. "You'll forgive me...I'll look for your sister in the morning." A hint of nervousness in his voice--though it is quickly hidden--Ceredir hurries back down off the wall.
Hraefengar groans, then reaches out his hand, his left hand. "It... it is not too late! Not... not too late..." He winces, and then his knees buckle, and he slides down, as if he can no longer stand. His eyes open again, and he stares uncomprehendingly at Faestred. "B-brother? I... but no, you were... were not... alone..."
Glancing over his shoulder as the scout excuses himself, Faestred nods once, murmuring a slightly absent, "Good night." His attention snaps back to the scop, however, as Hraefengar begins to slide, and the maegisterwigend lowers himself, too. "Your friend, Ceredir, was here, aye," says he with a nod, switching back to the tongue of the Mark. "But night draws close, and he had to take his leave. Perhaps you, too, aught to return home and take some rest." He frowns a little, gaze searching the scop.
The pair have not gone unnoticed by the guards, who exchange worried glances some a little more fearful than others. The clink of mail sounds behind Faestred, as one approaches, eyeing them a little warily. "Need I send for help, sir?" the guard asks, directing his question to the maegisterwigend, though the latter is dressed in plain tunic and trousers.
"But... but..." Hraefengar rubs at his brow, then stares up at the guard. "Where is here, Faestred? I... Helm, I ... I was running from orcs and wolves in the wold, shadows of what was, or what will be, or dreams of dreams. And then the birds. They covered the sun so that the light was gone, and their feathers fell, and... and they covered the Mark... and the Stoningland, and.... and fire burned on... on the hills like war-beacons...." He shakes his head, reaching for his brother. "Where am I... when am I, Faestred?"
"You are above the gates of Edoras... When?" Faestred blinks, eyeing the scop with furrowed brow, then twists around to look up at the guard. He waves a hand dismissively. "Nay, nay, I shall see to him. Look to your duty," he tells the man, who hesitates, then nods and walks back to his post. Turning back to the scop, the maegisterwigend reaches to place a hand reassuringly upon the forearm of the scop's outstretched arm, though he shakes his head. "I do not understand, brother. You are here, now. There were birds, yes, but hardly so many as to cover the sun. But they troubled you, as well?" He peers now at the scop, studying him closely.
"I... how... I mean... how old.. might I be, this summer?" Hraefengar asks. "I... I..." He takes a slow breath, shuddering slightly. "I was walking, walking, and then... then... Everything was spinning, and they were talking. I mean... it was... Well, it was croaking and cawing sounding like talking. I... And then I was... elsewhere, elsewhen, and seeing, dreaming... My head is spinning, Faestred. Where did Ceredir go? I..." He shudders anew. "And the white horse fell, and the rider..."
"The white horse--?" Faestred begins to ask, then shakes his head, and presses his eyes closed for a moment. "Forty..." he tries to recall, then opens his eyes again and nods. "Forty-three, if my memory holds true. Three years elder than I." He pauses, studying the scop another long moment, before continuing in a low voice. "I know not where Ceredir went, save that he had to leave. Come," he says, shifting to one knee, frowning with concern. "I aught to bring you home, that you may rest."
The scop groans once again, as if in real pain. His hands shake, and then he nods. "Fae... Faestred... I... s-sorry. Y-yes... home... h-home..." He looks over at the maegisterwigend, and smiles wanly. "B-brother.... Brother? Very sorry. Very, very sorry. Can I walk, do you think? Do I... I... The way is filled with wings."
"Easy, brother," Faestred tries to reassure the scop, returning a smile to him, though his eyes remain dark with concern. "Perhaps, if you lean upon me, you might. Either way, I shall guide you, and carry you if need be. The birds passed away west with the falling sun... the roads of Edoras are clear." He reaches to put an arm about Hraefengar, ready to push himself to his feet, and to lift his brother likewise.
"Yes...." Hraefengar lifts his head again, then leans heavily against Faestred his thin frame trembles. "Forgive me... and... whatever... whatever I have said..." He looks over the side of the wall, then closes his eyes and lets Faestred lead him.
"Nothing too untoward, Hraefengar," assures the son of Faldweld, though a brow arches slightly toward the scop momentarily before he focuses again on managing him towards the stairs easily done for the Rider, light and thin as his brother is. "But those birds... they unsettled me before, now all the moreso. Why did they trouble your... your vision so?" he asks as they arrive at the top of the stairs. "Down we go," he adds, before slowly helping Hraefengar to descend the first step.
"I... I wish I... I knew..." Hraefengar sways dizzily, missing the step at first, clutching at his brother. "Spinning, spinning..." he murmurs, giving a soft sigh. "They... it was like... they were laughing. Or the darkness came with them. It was swift like wind..." He shakes his head again. "I... dropping down. Please... I do not want to go back."
"Do not want to go back?" Faestred asks, frowning as he pauses upon the stairs, holding the scop as steady as he might. He eyes his brother for a long moment, then releases a soft sigh. "We need to get you home, lest your wife should take to scouring the city, searching for you, hrm?" So saying, and a firm, yet gentle hold of the scop, again he moves to descend the stairs.
"Not... go back... back to where... where..." From the sky, wafting down, comes a single black feather. It brushes against the scop's cheek, and he goes still, his eyes widening, horrified. He goes rigid, then slumps, falling. His limbs twitch, not violently, but helplessly, and foam drips from his lips.
As the scop stills of a sudden, Faestred looks to him, puzzlement quickly turning to alarm at Hraefengar's horrified expression and rigid stance. "What is--" He does not get the full question out before the scop slumps. The weight drags forward, and the maegisterwigend quickly backs down a couple steps below the scop, himself between Hraefengar and the fall down into the entrance square. He holds fast to his brother as he twitches, foam dribbling onto his tunic, his eyes wide beneath knitted brows and jaw tense.
The fit, while not violent, is a long one, and Hraefengar is drenched with sweat before it is done. His limbs dangle, and his head droops, and a line of spittle dribbles down into his beard. He trembles again, and his skin is cold to the touch. He makes a soft sound, perhaps speech, though it is more grunting, staccato, than words. Then he goes completely limp, slumping against Faestred.
There might be relief in the sigh which Faestred releases once the fit is over, but there is a tenseness to it, also. "Helm," he mutters under his breath not harshly, but filled with pity instead. "What is this thing that plagues you so, brother?" Shaking his head, he stoops a little and reaches to lift the limp, damp scop into his arms.
Players: Faestred,Hraefengar,Ceredir
