Dol Amroth Tournament--Single Combat Championship 2008

[Arathis(#30050)]

The buds of twilight shed a gloss upon the marble city of Dol Amroth, infusing its pallid towers with a certain tranquility, furthered only by the calm of the seas aside. The air too takes little temper, cool and crisp as Anor\'s final rays float thereupon, permitting thus a new eve of distinct pleasantness. And yet, it is seemingly forsaken within the city walls: this haven of the Prince is empty.

For without, a scene emerges befitting but one of the grandest events known to this fair city. Her yards cluttered with tents of all heraldries and spectators of all station, the final hours of this day are to be carriers of final combat, graced well by the cool conditions verily, the public assembled in due, the concluding fight of Dol Amroth\'s tournament beckons amid a triad of blows from the Herald: the contestants are to muster, and the public to ready.

Thus arrives one among the former to the edges of the designated field, moreso a makeshift arena--a Knight of the Isilrim, if he is to be known by his mail and his wear, a collected resplendence giving some life to his high-helm\'s wings.

[Arashen(#24692)]

The stands have been long since full for this match has been greatly anticipated by the denizens of Dol Amroth and their tournament guests. Seated in the front row is the Blue Squire, Arashen Telpekhor. Until now, he has sat idly, bored even but now, with the heralds announcing the commencement of the match and the arrival of Arathis Islrim - the young man leans forward attentively, resting his arms on the railing before him.

[Laeghen(#10683)]

Another upon the field steps forth. This man, however, does not stand on ceremony. Nor is he dressed in resplendant, decorative armor. Instead, he wears the drab garb of Ithilien greens and browns. A helm is slid over his head, and a shield attached to his left arm. His body is adorned by the armor of Ithilien as well, though he moves as gracefully as dancers in any King\'s hall.

\"I am here.\" states the Carmayar Ranger, known as Laeghen. His grey eyes peer across the field, focused hard upon the form of the Isilrim man. \"Laeghen Carmayar, ready to compete in the final match.\"

[Hraefengar(#15851)]

Up from the beach, wind-tossed, comes one of the Eorlingas that still linger in the city. He wanders heedlessly, cloak-wrapped, his hair unbound and tangled, and gull-feathers snagged in some of the honey locks. His eyes are wide, but distant, and it seems more that he is guided by the occasional nudges of the silken grey wolfhound beside him than anything else. Confusion crosses the Eorling\'s face as he encounters the crowd, and he comes to the stands more by the movement of the spectators than any will of his own. He takes a seat on a bench and stares ahead, shivering in his fur-lined cloak.

[Arathis(#30050)]

Noting the arrival of both contestants, the tournament\'s herald, a fat, wide-chested man, bellows with some carry across the field and the populated stands, aided too by a golden sceptre in hand, as if to at once enthrall and threaten those around to heed.

\"Daughters and sons of Gondor and their distinguished allies of Rohan, we present to you tonight martial contest of the greatest quality, the victor of which shall be recipient of this sceptre of gold for it shall mark the champion of Dol Amroth only, a warrior unbested within these lands!

\"Our combatants are none other than the esteemed Laeghen of the Carmayar, Ranger and Guardian of the glades of Ithilien past, and Amroth\'s own Hir Arathis of the Isilrim, Knight among the Prince\'s Order.\"

Though perhaps unknown to any not within a few measures of the latter, the wry curves of a grin take to the Knight\'s features, coupled with the faintest of utterances: \"Carmayar, hmm?\"

He awaits the herald\'s call to action in silence, ashen gaze curtly regarding first his opponent across and, drifting then to the stands, some nods of apparent greeting are offered--one, to be sure, to the Squire Arashen.

[Arashen(#24692)]

Each combatant\'s name is met with cheering, albeit from different parts of the crowd. Arashen\'s own hoots and calls are added to the general din that greets the announcement of his Islrim cousin. \"Islrim! Islrim! Islrim!\" the blue squire chants along with others.

When the Knight passes before the crowd nodding his greetings, the Telpekhor returns it by striking his left breast with his fist and inclining his head sharply - a truncated version of the rather old-fashioned bow still used by many scions of the Silver Lords.

[Laeghen(#10683)]

The Ranger\'s eyes do not stray from the man who will become his opponent. \"Isilrim...\" he murmers, and his brow furrows even further. Yet, he does not seem to dwell on this for long, as his green gauntleted hand reaches to his left hip, drawing forth the sword which rests there. No words of encouragement are sent across the ring to the other. No glance towards the crowd. Not even as the chant of \'Isilrim\' goes up. Instead, Laeghen seems utterly focused upon the task at hand his visage a stoic mask of grim determination.

[Hraefengar(#15851)]

The Eorling man, Hraefengar the Master Bard, seems uninterested in the spectacle indeed, he seems scarcely aware of it at all. He merely sits there on the edge of the bench, and the grey wolfhound, normally so well-behaved, leaps up to sit on the bench beside him. She growls softly and any stranger trying to sit beside him.

[Faelwine(#31903)]

Amidst the mix of dark hair, one a rosy shade of gold wends slowly through the crowd a woman cloaked in green, one of the Eorlings. Faelwine is turning her head this way and that, peering everywhere but towards the combatants, as though searching for something, or someone. She stands on her toes, trying to see further around her, then there, at last, is another blonde head. A blonde with a wolfhound at his side. She threads her way towards him as quick as the crowd allows, then at last comes before the scop to greet him with soft smile and breathless voice. \"Hullo, there you are, dear. Good Dog,\" she adds to the wolfhound, and as she steps around to sit, reaches a hand out to pick some of the feathers from the man\'s hair.

Weaving his way through the crowd, a young man hurries his way in, hastening to not be late. The greens and browns that he wears mark him as a Scout of Ithilien, and the two black eyes and bruising around his nose clearly mark him as Ceredir, to those who know what happened the previous day. He squeezes his way to a seat--halfway between Hraefengar and Arashen.

A surprised look given to Hraefengar first. \"Sir...didn\'t know you were interested in this sport...\" and then a nod to Arashen before Ceredir turns to watch the Ranger on the field.

[Arathis(#30050)]

\"May your blade strike true, Ranger of the Carmayar!\" comes the words of the Isilrim Knight as he draws his own, borne upon a bass belonging more to pronouncement than patronage.

A new triad of blows then from the herald over the public\'s din and the contest has begun.--

And the quickness of breath propelling such announcement is matched with ease by Arathis\' step, some fuse behind the man despite the burden of his war\'s wear: he advances by means of determined side-step at his sword\'s side, coming nigh centripetally to the center of the field, both sword and shield wielded loose in a certain adaptive readiness. The Knight, it would seem, is content with granting his opponent the first blow.

[Laeghen(#10683)]

Striding forward at his own pace, Laeghen does not return the friendly call of the Isilrim Knight. Instead, he moves with purpose, his grey eyes surveying his opponent with interest. His visage is now carefully neutral, and soon, he springs forth, his shield going high, attempting to shield the Knight\'s eyes from the Ranger\'s true intent. And as such, his sword sweeps in in a testing blow, aimed for the outside of Arathis\' left knee.

Laeghen attacks Arathis with his Longsword, but Arathis parries the attack with his Longsword!

[Hraefengar(#15851)]

Hraefengar startles at the touch on his hair, and he turns his head, blinking dazedly at the woman beside him. He jumps at the sound of the horn, and winces, as if the sound pains him. A faint, hesitant smile comes to his lops, and he reaches his hand to her, saying naught. Then he startles again at Ceredir\'s address, and he stares at him a long moment, then glances towards the field, seeming to see it for the first time. He winces at the clash of steel on steel and bows his head.

[Arashen(#24692)]

\"Ceredir,\" the blue squire greets his friend with a grin. And turning to look at the scout, Arashen sees and recognizes the Master Bard beyond - to him and the woman beside him, the young man nods his head ere turning back his friend.

\"Your man is good, but I do not think he is good enough to best Sir Arathil.\"

[Menelion(#31785)] The first ring of clashing steel decides that he is, in fact, late. Menelion squeezes into the yard between folks gathered, and seeks out a place to spectate. After all, what better to watch than his current personal bane be beaten by another of his Order. The Blue Squire watches intently from his place, emotions blank to either man\'s strikes, whether true or erred.

[Faelwine(#31903)]

Faelwine takes her husband\'s hand in hers, twining her fingers through his and giving it a gentle squeeze. She turns her head then, and offers a courteous nod and smile in greeting, attributing it to both Ceredir and Arashen with a shift of her gaze. Only then does her gaze drift to the field, a slight crease appearing between her brows as she watches. When the scop winces, she lays her other hand over his as well, his hand held reassuringly between both of hers.

[Arathis(#30050)]

Vigilance affixed in entirety upon his attempting opponent, the Isilrim Knight surveys with some calm the attack\'s approach, remaining in nimble movement all the while. Thus the stratagem of the shield proves of little result: a side-step and Arathis is beyond the impediment, able to heed in full the sweep of Laeghen\'s blade and meet it with his own, flickering from behind his shield to before his knee.

And then, retaining momentum, the Knight snaps in retort: the blunted steel reverses in its upward trajectory and attempts to fall upon the shield shoulder of his lowered opponent, even as Arathis removes his own left foot backwards, so as to gain shield\'s distance for future defense.

Arathis attacks Laeghen with his Longsword, but Laeghen parries the attack with his shield!

\"Lady,\" Ceredir inclines his head with all politeness toward Faelwine. \"I\'m even more surprised to see you here, but it makes the evening all the more pleasant.\" His eyes narrow for a moment, and he bites a bottom lip, looking to Hraefengar and then Faelwine. \"You\'re both in...good health..? And...do you you know my friend, the Squire Arashen?\"

Informal introduction made, he looks to the Squire. \"Even after you saw what he could do yesterday?\" he smirks. \"Would you care to put some money on that? Mine is on the Ranger.\"

[Laeghen(#10683)]

Swift is Laeghen to react to the Knight\'s movements. Standing sharply, his shield raising just a little more before him, the hardened, reinforced leather intercepts the downward strike for his shield\'s shoulder. The \'THUD\' of the impact reverberates about the grounds, yet this does not halt the Ranger\'s movements.

Sliding his right foot forward--his sword sweeping to his side, and soon behind him arm crossing overhead--the blunted blade soon reappears where his shield had been an instant earlier. Shield lowered, the Ranger\'s weapon comes sweeping in, aimed in a sidelong stroke for Arathis\' sword shoulder.

Laeghen attacks Arathis with his Longsword, but he misses by an arm\'s length.

[Arashen(#24692)]

\"We have met...as a fashion,\" Arashen replies, his eyes glittering with humor. He turns his eyes back to the combat. \"Sir Arathis bested my knight, Sir Barsaphad and he is formidable. I have only seen your man best a reluctant scout and a brother squire - not a knight.\"

\"I will bet you two pieces silver that my Islrim cousin wins this contest.\" Arashen smirks, turning his head to look at the scout.

[Hraefengar(#15851)]

Clash of steel upon steel, twilight, stone. The sounds of Westron rather than the Eorling tongue. Hraefengar gropes blindly before him with his bad hand, the maimed arm moving stiffly. But there is no shield, no spear, and he blanches, going very pale. He shudders, bowing his head. For a long moment he sits this way, before looking up again. His eyes fix upon the people around him, and there is surprise mingled with pain in his blue eyes.

[Arathis(#30050)]

A determined step towards his own sword and his opponent\'s flies without meet though its path is observed with unchallenged attention by the lively eyes of the Isilrim, assessing the Ranger\'s movements anew as the failed stroke further distances the Ranger\'s steel.

In combat\'s flutter, the Isilrim pivots then with haste upon his right foot, forwarding his left so as to gain vantage to a briefly vulnerable chest. Shield in hand, his blade thrusts from aside his shield in a fierce attempt for the Carmayar\'s middle ribs.

Arathis attacks Laeghen with his Longsword, but he misses by a mile.

\"Two pieces, yes!\" Ceredir grins, leaning over to shake on it with Arashen. \"Look, look!\" he cries as the Ranger presses the attack--excited that he is going to win the bet. That is, before Arathis once again evades the Ranger\'s blade. Ceredir sighs and frowns, then looks right and left. He draws something out from under his cloak, keeping it below the level of the barrier of the stands so it might not easily be seen--something wrapped in a brown cloth. This is passed towards Hraefengar. \"Here...this may help.\"

[Laeghen(#10683)]

Yet, the Ranger is no novice to battle. Testing blows are thrown, and both blocked or evaded. As Arathis steps forward, pressing the attack for an apparent advantage, Laeghen pivots upon his own right foot, his left side twisting out behind him. Leaning back slightly as the tip of the Knight\'s blunted blade slips harmlessly in front of him, his sword has already reversed it\'s path, tracing a fierce stroke for Arathis\' lower back as his right foot slides back two feet to plant, gaining him further strength.

And thus does Laeghen\'s blade sweep in aimed for the Knight\'s exposed back.

Laeghen attacks Arathis with his Longsword, but he misses by a handspan.

[Faelwine(#31903)]

Faelwine reaches to put one arm about the scop, supportive should he wish to lean against her. \"I am here, Hraefengar,\" she murmurs softly in the tongue of the Mark. \"I am here.\" Then, as the item is offered, she looks first at the brown cloth and then arches a brow towards Ceredir, shaking her head a little. \"Howso, sir?\" she asks quietly, politely in Westron. \"There are many things which may worsen his ailment, so while your offer is kind, please pardon my caution in the matter.\"

[Arashen(#24692)]

Grinning, Arashen shakes on the bet and turns his attention back to match, watching it intently. When the Rohirrim woman speaks, the blue squire glances back to his bench companions and espies the package in brown cloth. \"Ceredir!\" he hisses, lowly. \"Are you mad, man? Get rid of that thing ere one of your own sees it!\"

[Hraefengar(#15851)]

Hraefengar lifts his head a little, staring uncomprehendingly at the flask, and he reaches for it without thought with his hand, wincing, for his good one is still clasped within his wife\'s hands. He shivers, his fingers skitter-brushing over the cloth. Then he takes it, murmuring thanks in strangely-accented Westron, and settles it in his lap. He does not look at it, nor drink of it.

[Arathis(#30050)]

The force that failed his previous attempt transfers, once it is met with naught but air, in haste to the feet of the Isilrim, rushing him forward and away from his opponent\'s incoming sweep. And yet the escape is not one wholly untwined with awkwardness: in tactic known more to battle against the Enemy, the past infantry Captain raises his shield and roughly steps to butt into the advance of his opponent, seemingly in effort to steal the man\'s balance.

And even in his attempt to contact and pass, the steel of the Isilrim thunders in his own blunted sweep, cutting for the sword-leg of Laeghen. Such movement carries the Knight\'s chest in turn, bringing him to again face his target.

Arathis attacks Laeghen with his Longsword, but he misses by a handspan.

\"Tis just spritis, m\'lady,\" Ceredir whispers, pressing the cloth-wrapped flask into Hraefengar\'s hands. \"Perhaps it will help him?\" He glances over his shoulder at Arashen, then looks out at the field and up into the stands at the scouts scattered here and there. \"They didn\'t see...did they?\" He sounds worried.

[Arashen(#24692)]

For reply, Arashen merely gives the scout a look that is a mixture of incomprehension and exasperation. He shakes his head and says nothing rather does he turn his attention back to the match.

[Faelwine(#31903)]

A frown of distinct disapproval flickers across Faelwine\'s lips as the brown-wrapped flask passes in front of her, and she releases her husband\'s good hand to reach for the flask in his lap. Turning, she passes it back to Ceredir discretely, though not quite so cautiously as he had held it out. \"The offer is kind, sir, and I take it that you mean well... but I am afraid it would but make matters worse,\" she says firmly, though not without due gratitude.

[Laeghen(#10683)]

As the Knight steps into him, so, too, does Laeghen step into the other.

Both men\'s swords are too far out to do any real damage to their opponent, and as such, the Knight and Ranger are face to face. Laeghen\'s eyes narrow, and through gritted teeth he mutters something incomprehensible. Then, before the Knight can take any time to consider the nonsensical words, the Ranger shoves out hard with his shield, smashing it into Arathis\' chest. As the two part, Laeghen\'s sword sweeps out, aimed in a sidelong swing for the left side of the man of the Swan\'s head.

Laeghen attacks Arathis with his Longsword, but he misses by an arm\'s length.

\'My apologies, then, Lady,\' Ceredir answers, tone sincere. He reclaims the cloth-wrapped bundle and hastily tucks it back under his cloak. \'I didn\'t realize it might make matters worse. Has he...was he wounded in battle? I can\'t remember what you had told me...\' A glance is given quickly to Arashen, and an answer said in the barest of whispers. \"It gets cold at night!\"

[Hraefengar(#15851)]

Hraefengar frowns, and he reaches to his lap for the flask that is gone. He gives a soft groan, then a second as the crowd about them shouts out in reaction to the match on the list. He bows his head again, and presses his fingers against his brow. Then he leans against Faelwine, shaking a little. A glance is given to Ceredir and Arashen, but his eyes are clouded again.

[Arashen(#24692)]

\"And so you destroy your mind and life with drink rather than purchase another blanket?!\" Arashen retorts, his voice in a harsh whisper. \"Take my advice: stop drinking and pay attention to your training.\"

\"That,\" the young Telpekhor gestures to the now hidden flask, \"will bring you naught but sorrow and woe.\"

[Arathis(#30050)]

A twain of hard paces toward the Ranger\'s shield, and the Knight\'s helm is swiftly removed from steel\'s path. Yet the orbs within such target move none, narrowing below straightened brow upon his opponent, such sentiment imbued well within some thrown words: \"Calm drives blade best.\"

Even with the final mark of his utterance, the seasoned movements of the Isilrim shoot out in design, as if to reaffirm the spoken: a step towards Laeghen\'s sword-shoulder as his opponent\'s arm itself shoots past, coupled with the beginnings of a thrust, once more for the man\'s ribs.--Yet even as his attack begins, it has evolved, employing feint to drive his strike upwards, projected in force for the sword-shoulder of the Carmayar.

Arathis attacks Laeghen with his Longsword, but Laeghen parries the attack with his shield!

[Faelwine(#31903)]

\"It is alright, sir - you did not know.\" Faelwine offers a polite smile to Ceredir, then pauses, and her smile fades, and she nods once. \"He was. Holding true the very Oath which joins our two lands, defending your city which lies upon the Great River.\" she says solemnly, and though her gaze is turned now towards the combat, her expression is thoughtful and a little distant as she takes up the scop\'s hand in hers once again.

\"I only have a sip or two now and then!\" Ceredir answers in a harsh whisper, mindful that there might be sharp eyes and ears around. \"Besides, I _was_ trying to give it away...he wouldn\'t take it. He\'s...wounded, you know,\" he continues to whisper, then reaches under his cloak. \"You take it for me!\"

Ceredir pauses before he takes the flask out again, turning to Faelwine to answer her. \"Then...I am honored to have met him, Lady,\" he stumbles for words.

[Laeghen(#10683)]

Pivoting back on his left foot, Laeghen\'s shield appears betwixt sword and shoulder. Another growl ensues--perhaps in response to the other man\'s simple statement--but it does not alter the seasoned Ranger\'s movements. A dance evolves as the two combattants continue their bout. Gasps, shouts of encouragement, and even cheers spill forth from the lips of the spectators.

Yet, before he can continue the match, his eyes are drawn to his shield, broken in twain and flopping about upon his arm. Stepping back a pace, his eyes never leave the Knight as his sword hand raises, shoving the shield from his arm. Grasping the pieces in his left, he throws them aside, out of the eric so as to not interfere with the combat.

As of yet, he does not strike.

[Arashen(#24692)]

Hesitating, Arashen appears to think on this proposal a moment ere he nods his head and holds out his hand to take the flask.

[Hraefengar(#15851)]

The scop lifts his head again, flinching as the crowd cheers. He half-rises, then sits again, looking about wildly. Then his eyes clear again, and he murmurs a soft, embarrassed apology.

[Arathis(#30050)]

Shield echoes shield as the Isilrim\'s own is tossed from the arena, the thud of its landing simultaneous to the slightest of bows from the Knight\'s head. Readying his blade and assuring his stance once more, he grants the round to his opponent.

[Menelion(#31785)] The Blue Squire down front leans forward a little more intently as the stakes raise with the loss of shields. A pair of fingers subconsciously raise to brush the bridge of Menelion\'s nose, the last remnants of bruising vaguely visible. One less weapon for the Ranger to use, as known from personal experience. Still, he remains silent, cheering neither on - yet silently willing one to strike the other. Just... which one?

[Laeghen(#10683)]

\"Foolish...\" mutters the Carmayar as he notes the actions of the Knight. Shaking his head, Laeghen nonetheless advances. Gripping his blade in a two-handed grip, the Ranger holds the blade diagonally before him, it\'s point towards his right shoulder. Then, as his right foot shifts towards his opponent, the man of Ithilien feints towards the Knight\'s left shoulder, before reversing momentum, and bringing it in a downward stroke, aimed for the man\'s left hip.

Laeghen attacks Arathis with his Longsword and lightly wounds him!

In the stands, whole rows of men in greens and browns get to their feet, cheering wildly at this first hit.

[Faelwine(#31903)]

As the scop starts to rise, Faelwine tries to gently tug him back down, a soft sigh escaping her as he sits again. \"Easy, dear heart, easy. I am here,\" she murmurs softly, soothingly, in the tongue of the Mark to him. She turns her head briefly towards Ceredir and offers a grateful nod and faint smile, before looking back to the fight below. As the crowd lets out another roar at this first strike, she snugs her arm closer about Hraefengar, and speaks again softly to him. \"Just cheering, love, that is all it is. Not too long now, perhaps, until it is over.\"

[Arathis(#30050)]

The Ranger\'s blow lands squarely upon its target, the blade of the Isilrim Knight--commanded now by the twain of gauntleted hands, riveted in unison to the arm\'s hilt--but a moment behind in catching his opponent\'s. The struck hip bids its leg in a pace of retreat nigh instinctually, albeit no symptom of pain is shown by the warrior rather, equipollence drives his right foot in sequence toward and aside the Carmayar, the double-grasped blade hurtling with him, beginning from the Knight\'s left side and striking first in sweep for the sword-arm but then reversing, his elbow snapping inwards, in thrust for the Ranger\'s collar.

Arathis attacks Laeghen with his Longsword and moderately wounds him!

The flask is forgotten--if only for a moment. Ceredir jumps to his feet as the Ranger\'s blade finally strikes home, the Scout roaring his approval, then reaching a hand to try to thump Arashen on the back if he can. \"Two silver coins!! And a drink, friend! A toast if the Ranger is the victor tonight!!\"

Still excited, he sits back down, turning to speak in a rush to the two Rohirrim--but his excitement fades quickly--first at the scop\'s expression, then as Arathis\'s blow lands. \"Is he all right?\" he asks Faelwine. \"Perhaps he shouldn\'t be here?\"

[Laeghen(#10683)]

Eyes widen as he recognizes the movement for what it truly is. Attempting to duck out to the side, Laeghen\'s left shoulder is struck with the thrust, and his arm instantly falls to his side, struck as such to make it difficult to utilize.

Eyes narrow, and he growls low. Yet, the Ranger is far from out of this battle. Swinging his blade in a downward stroke aimed for Arathis\' left shoulder, Laeghen does not allow it to arrive fully. Instead, he steps into the man\'s range, his elbow flicking outward, causing the blade to go from descending to striking swiftly in from behind, aimed in a swift stroke for diagonally across the Isilrim\'s back.

It is called a wrap shot.

Laeghen attacks Arathis with his Longsword and lightly wounds him!

[Hraefengar(#15851)]

Hraefengar nods wordlessly, drawing up his hood his face is ashen, and there is a sheen of sweat upon it. Shaking visibly, he keeps to his seat but barely as the cheer goes up, and he bites at his lip. \"Too many, too many to push through. Have to stay... ordered...\" He closes his eyes and bows his head again.

[Arashen(#24692)]

The blue squire takes only moderate care to keep the flask hidden - possibly because he next unstoppers it and pours the contents onto the ground beneath the bench. It splashes his clothes when the Scout thumps his back in his enthusiasm. He replaces the cap and makes as if to hand it back to Ceredir, then withdraws it again. \"No, on second thought - you will just fill it up again. I\'ll keep it nor will I have a celebratory drink with you if either wins - but I will gladly take your money -when- my man wins.\"

It disappears beneath the grinning young Telpekhor\'s cloak and his gray eyes return to the match once more. When Arathis strikes true, Arashen rises from his seat and send forth his voice into the general roar of approval. \"Islrim! Islrim! Islrim!\"

[Faelwine(#31903)]

With a heavy sigh, Faelwine glances towards Ceredir. \"Nay, he is not well at the moment... but trying to get him through this crowd would like as not prove unwise. We shall manage until the match is ended.\" She bites at her lower lip for a moment, then turns sad gaze to her husband, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. \"Hraefengar,\" Her warm voice falls easily back into the tongue of the Mark, and she murmurs soothingly to him. \"You are safe, dear love, it is alright... you are safe.\"

\"Fine,\" Ceredir shrugs, looking only briefly to the liquor poured out onto the ground, his attention drawn to the fight now. \"Keep the flask--consider it a gift from a friend,\" he grins. Still looking back to the field, he nods, answering Faelwine. \"I am sorry to hear that, Lady. I\'m afraid, you\'re right, though--there\'s no way to get him quietly through this crowd.\"

The Ranger\'s wrap shot makes the Scout jump up again, cheering loudly now, then looking to Arashen. \"That,\" he says, voice dropped low, \"is exactly what he did to me yesterday.\"

[Hraefengar(#15851)]

Again Hraefengar\'s eyes clear, and he nods a little, meekly. \"I... will bear this... as long as I can,\" he murmurs. \"But... it is hard...\" He remains leaning against Faelwine, but glances over to Ceredir and Arashen. \"I... ask pardon for... for my behavior. I hope I have done naught... too untoward.\"

[Arashen(#24692)]

\"I remember,\" replies Arashen, keeping his eyes on the combat. \"It is a good move as long as you do not meet with a dagger in the belly.\"

The blue squire frowns, looks at the scout\'s face intently beside him a moment, then back to the Ranger - subjecting him a similar scrutiny. \"You said you were a Bragollach, but perhaps your mother is Carmayar? I did not notice it yesterday, but you bear a resemblance to Laeghen cousins, or perhaps even brothers if the age difference were not so great...\"

[Arathis(#30050)]

Said wrap shot verily lands, skirting however moreso the mailed side of the Isilrim Knight than his back, loosing a few of the links distancing himself pointedly with a twain of hurried measures with his left foot, the right gliding with him, Arathis is able to take the blow once its force is already lessened in extension.

Nonetheless, the strike to the side prompts a grunt from the Knight, heralding his own attempt at retort. Continuing his side-step, his own blade begins where his opponent\'s ended, darting from his side in retribution, aimed first for the Ranger\'s own. Yet the blow is pulled swiftly inwards, forsaken once more for a thrust upon the pivot of his left foot, shuttled for sword-hip of the Carmayar.

Arathis attacks Laeghen with his Longsword and badly wounds him!

[Arashen(#24692)]

\"Islrim! Islrim! Islrim!\" roars the crowd, Arashen no less loud than the rest.

\"What?!\" Ceredir spits out at the Squire, then looks out at the field toward Laeghen. \"I look like... him...? Again he squints, looking more toward Laeghen than his opponent--though he draws in breath sharply at Arathis\'s last hit. \"Don\'t know who my mother is...\" he says, with quiet anger. \"Elenur wouldn\'t tell me. Threw me out, in fact.\" With that, he frowns, mood and expression darkening--and though he continues to watch, now it is silently.

[Laeghen(#10683)]

As another thrust is sent his direction, the Ranger is too slow to do anything but accept the blow, his own blade striking the Knight\'s once it has already struck true. Grunting in obvious pain, there is a loud \'POP\' which reverberates about the arena. Tumbling backwards, the Ranger lands heavily upon his back, skidding along the ground before finally coming to rest, his right hand clutching at his hip. His visage is turned to a look of pain, yet he deals with it in silence.

And there Laeghen remains.

[Arathis(#30050)]

The sword of the Isilrim is whisked swiftly to its home, emitting steel\'s sigh as if the weapon itself took relief with the contest\'s end. Yet such is inaudible: atop the calls and roars of the public rings out the governing horn of the tournament\'s herald, blasting once more in triad to mark the conclusion to combat\'s spectacle.

Victory\'s commotion is seemingly disregarded by the Knight for once his blade is sheathed, he basks none toward the crowd, opting rather to address his opponent. Arriving with some haste to the side of the felled Ranger, the tall Knight bends at the Carmayar\'s side, wordlessly advancing a hand in ready aid.

[Faelwine(#31903)]

Faelwine\'s lips curve in a soft smile for the scop, and she squeezes his hand again. But the seemingly final blow of the match draws her attention, and she frowns, her gaze upon the fallen Ranger. She snugs her arm about Hraefengar reassuringly as again the crowd erupts, but remains silent, seemingly waiting for the crowd to begin to leave, perhaps.

[Menelion(#31785)] Even as the crowd erupts into a cacophony of both celebration and mourning, the Blue Squire down front rises slowly with measured movements. A few vague claps bring his hands together, though his feet are not planted nor idle.

As surely healers would be soon on their way to assist, Menelion\'s boots begin to carry him into the circle in addition and he would appear in the Ranger\'s vision after only a few moments. A hand goes out from the young man to the stricken one, his expression neither one of mirth or irony at the Ranger\'s defeat, nor spite or insult. Just plainfaced, even. Awaiting more the healer\'s bidding for him to rise, he offers quietly, \"Sir,\" to accompany his offered aid.

[Arathis(#30050)]

The fat herald is of little apparent enjoyment at the Knight\'s conduct, preferring rather to dispense the crowd to the merriment of Amroth\'s inns as night advances yet upon the yards of the Prince.

He too accompanies the clamor of healers and squire that crowd the Carmayar--all of which, however, are pit to the curt command of the victorious Isilrim Knight: \"Back.\"

He remains yet lowered, hand readied.

[Hraefengar(#15851)]

As the Ranger falls, the Master-Bard seems spurred to action, and he leaps forwards. His legs are not steady, though, and the crowd is thick, and instead of rushing to aid the man in some imagined danger, he hits the railing, and stumbles backwards. Hraefengar falls onto his rump, smacking his head against the bench. A startled grunt escapes him, and there he sits, half-stunned, and does not get back up.

[Laeghen(#10683)]

Grey eyes focusing upon the pair of hands thrust into his field of vision, Laeghen struggles into a seated position, his left arm still limp beside him. \"I am fine.\" he mutters to the two who hold their hands aloft. \"I will recieve the attentions of the healers once I am removed from the field, as I do not intend on becoming a spectacle for the masses to gawk at.\"

[Arashen(#24692)]

Swiftly, Arashen extends his arm to stop the Master-Bard from ramming into the railing - but he is too late. He rises from his seat, glances to the Rohirrim\'s wife and extends his hand in aid - in a similar fashion as is being played out on the field.

\"Are you alright?\"

\"If the crowds upset him,\" the blue squires says to Faelwine, \"perhaps you could bring him to the beaches until they pass?\"

[Menelion(#31785)] The Squire\'s hand folds back, tucked away at the Knight\'s command, and perhaps before the Ranger would even know or recognize his arrival, Menelion turns curtly on his boot and walks away from the cluster of gathering healers, Knight, and Ranger. It is back to his seat that he goes, despite the exit of many others.

[Arathis(#30050)]

A singular nod and the Isilrim Knight removes his hand, replacing such with but a few parting words, directed however at the boots of the departing Squire of Blue: \"Squire! Return! Make sure that he is taken with due care to the healers. Do not aggravate his injury further.\"

With this, Arathis\' attention is turned briefly to regard the tournament\'s herald--who seizes eagerly upon the opportunity, once more cleaving to his horn and barking loudly.

\"Daughters and sons of Gondor and Rohan, thus does Amroth have its prize in one of its own: I present to you Hir Arathis of the Isilrim, victor and champion of Dol Amroth, recipient of the golden sceptre!\"

Obliged, the addressed man stands idly aside the herald, receiving the sceptre with little fare as it is offered.

[Faelwine(#31903)]

Her arm having been about the scop and her attention upon the field below, Faelwine is jerked forward as he suddenly rises, nearly toppling from her seat. In the breath that it takes her to recover herself, she cannot reach to catch him as he bounces back, and she winces and hurries to lower herself to his side. \"Bema...\" she mutters bitterly, putting her arms around him to support him, her eyes clouded with concern. \"Hraefengar... dearest, easy. You are safe.\" she murmurs to him in their own tongue, craning her head and lifting a hand to inspect where his head hit the bench. She glances up to Arashen, switiches to Westron. \"To the beaches... to the camp... but we cannot go anywhere at all until the crowd has thinned. But I.. could use some help, when it comes time to leave, if it is not too much trouble, sir.\"

[Laeghen(#10683)]

Yet, Laeghen\'s gaze did not miss the Squire of Amroth. He watches Menelion depart, and soon, Arathis calls him forth. Teeth grit, no humour is visible upon his features, yet his eyes contain an ironic sort of humour that only he could understand.

[Menelion(#31785)] The boots scuff to a halt, and a following turn on the heel brings Menelion slowly back to the gathered. His neutral features watch the Knight rise and go to take his place at the herald\'s side before looking down again to the business that these make around the fallen Ranger. Thus he awaits their announcement that they are ready to depart. Perhaps the same irony now finds his thoughts, but not yet his expressions.

[Hraefengar(#15851)]

The bard blinks, staring at the hand that is offered, and he reaches up, squinting a little, trying to clasp it and missing. He closes his eyes and slumps against Faelwine, murmuring softly, the words unclear. A lump is forming on the back of his head, and he winces slightly as his wife touches it. So much for fighting to the Ranger\'s side.

[Arashen(#24692)]

\"Of course, lady,\" Arashen replies, his expression serious. \"I will help you in whatever manner you wish.\"