A Favor Requested and Granted

They sky looks wroth, wreathed in clouds of various hues of grey in all directions save the northwest -- which is shrouded by great Mindolluin -- but in the south the sky is near black. But it is yet a promise only. It is long since the afternoon bells rung, but in the impending gloom, the time is difficult to discern. Evenfall approaches, to be sure!

The Maiden Street is busy, entourages following high-blooded nobles, captains, and other notables coming to and fro the Great Tower, and further up the street a score of guildsmen are busy at work upon scaffolding erected against one facade. And there, by the gateway to the chapterhouse of the Swan, a broadshouldered young man steps out onto the cobbles, easily distinguished by his knight\'s colors blue and silver, mail glistening \'neath the folds of his attire. And too his height.

Thus, with purposeful strides and a determined set to his jaw, Findon Telumehtar turns northwest, heading down into the city.

A lady is coming slowly up the street, her blue dress partly covered by a white cloak that flaps a little in the wind. A storm must be coming! She is frowning a little, her dark hair curling around her face and neck, as she looks at each person passing her. In one hand, she is holding bit of paper. Then she sees the knight and her steps falter - but it is only a minute or two before, taking a deep breath and setting her shoulders, she turns towards him. \"Pardon me...?\"

An eyebrow quirks.

\"I may not!\" Says the knight, the heavy cadency of his stride staggered, then stopped. His tone is hospitable, and the glimmer of mirth in his eyes shallow but there is a twitch about the corners of his mouth, a smile waiting to bloom. \"Unless, lady, I learn why you must needs pardons.\"

\"How may I assist you?\"

Tathar looks taken aback at first, but then she grins in response to the hint of humor, and gives the knight a very formal, though small, curtsey. \"I am looking for one Findon of Telumehtar, might you know him?\"

\"Do I know him?\" The grin is sudden, flashing into existence. \"Well, of course I know him. He\'s me.\"

Then, his glance is narrowed slightly, the explosive mirth dispersing nigh well as quickly as it came. A second, measured glance fleets over Tathar\'s face as if in suspicion or recollection. \"And who might you be, lady, that has business with me?\"

\"Ah,\" Findon amends a heartbeat later. \"Lady Tathar Draudagnir, I presume?\"

Tathar\'s grin widens in response, then fades into uncertainty. \"Then I have...\" She stops and takes a breath, and answers with dignity. \"Yes, that is I. I received a note from you.\" Her gaze flickers around the street, at all the people coming and going and she starts to ask him, \"Is there a place...\", palpably remembers something and stops, looking both resigned and determined, as one set on an undesirable course who is nonetheless intent on seeing it through.

Whatever there was left of that faint mirth then dies.

\"Indeed there is.\"

Her hesitance does not seem to become Findon overmuch, who steps back a pace and out of the way, an arm extended towards the archway from whence he came. \"Right this way, if it please you.\"

Putting her small chin up, and ignoring the glances of those around them, she follows him.

Garden of Nimrodel

Shadowed somewhat by the buildings about it, the Hall of Gondor consists of this central atrium. Open to the sun and stars, it is wrought of fair white stone. Set in its center, is a playful fountain, bubbling quietly with clear water. Along the edges, there are bright rows of flowers planted. Bright crimson roses, and lightly coloured irises give a dash of splendour to this place. To shade those who come here from sun, or weather, there is an overhang around the squared atrium, and along it, are white benches that face the bubbling fountain. A soft, mountain breeze wafts in from the airs of the atrium, giving a soft feeling to those that come here.

The light of the sun shines bright and clean on the fountain. Its waters twinkle like living crystals set in a crown of stone and flowers.

The gardens are at peace unlike its legendary namesake. At peace, yet, for the sky darkens, what little of it there is to be seen over the walls. The bubbling of the fountain seems more an ominous warning, or a taunt, than a serene design. Perhaps this sense of foreboding is what has caused the denizens of the Chapterhouse to leave Nimrodel\'s garden deserted.

Findon leads on in silence save for the chime of his gear, following the marble pathway toward that same fountain. And there, he halts, finally. A needless comment: \"Privacy.\"

\"Will you sit, lady Tathar?\" His tone remains hospitable still, a hand indicating the benches.

Tathar sits down, gathering her skirt in one hand as she does so with the automatic grace of years of practice. Perhaps she is feeling a little chilly, for as she lets the skirt drape down, she draws her cloak closer about her shoulders. And waits.

The wait is not long, for as soon as she is comfortably huddled in her coat, Findon says, not unkindly:

\"Do you realize what you have done?\"

Dark grey eyes lift to his and then away. But Tathar does not try to pretend she doesn\'t know what he is talking about. \"I have shamed the honor of my house and that of my husband in attacking one who was unarmed, and brought trouble on a boy whose only fault was his presence.\" She says all this in a low, quick voice as if reciting something learned by heart firmly, though her fingers clench in the material of her cloak.

A subtle nod.

Yet, there is no other reply yet Findon\'s regard firm, but in its entirety without anger or contempt, or any such. An impending judgement sits in his gaze, perhaps, but it is as yet undecided if so. Unless he hides it well. A brief frown fleets from his mien, his cloak is undone. And this he drapes about Tathar\'s shoulders. It is a cumbersome thing.

Crouching before her to fasten the clasp, the knight speaks, almost softly: \"There is a little more to it than that.\"

\"But I have not sought to bring you here to berate you. You have suffered enough of that, I deem.\" A pause, in which he rises and turns away. \"But suffice to say, you owe the Order of the Swan a great debt. Would you repay it?\"

\"I need your help.\"

Startled, Tathar lifts her eyes to his face. \"M-more?\" she falters, and her face pales. \"What more can there be? Already they...\" But as he bends to put his cloak around her, memories well up and stop her tongue. She nods mutely in answer to his question she will do anything required of her. But at his last comment, she seems to come to herself again, and says dryly and with only the slightest quiver in her voice, \"My \'help\' seems more often to be something people would rather dispense with.\"

The glance shot over his shoulder is brief, and soon downcast at Tathar\'s mention of her aid. The knight\'s head then turns forward and tilts back his eyes surveying the sky, most like. \"Let us not speak of what transpired in the Hearth.\"

For a while he remains so.

A sigh, and he turns about fully, and takes seat upon the fountain\'s rim, easily but with care so as to not soak his coat of arms. \"I am...\" Hesitance impedes his speech, at first. \"Uncertain. At first I thought this a fitting idea, but now I wonder if it is not too much to ask of you.\"

\"Too reminiscent, as it were,\" He ammends, musingly.

The woman straightens, looking unhesitatingly into his face. \"It will not be,\" she says firmly. \"Tell me what I must do.\"

\"Reminiscent of what?\" she asks a second later.

A solitary nod.

And Findon speaks evenly: \"I am not convinced that Menelglir understands women too may have martial prowess that they can kill him, and his charges. I do not think that he does, even if... recent events may have struck a cord. He must learn, and soon, or he may well die for it. I mean to address this and I mean for you to help me in this endeavour, if you will.\"

\"Would you do this?\"

A small wrinkle appears between her eyebrows as she listens. ...can kill him... A shadow crosses her face - apparently there are memories in her past that such words can bring up. But soon all that can be seen in Tathar\'s expression is open astonishment. \"Do you mean...?\" she asks, then stops and nods her head very firmly, her eyes beginning to sparkle. \"I will do it.\" A pause. \"What am I doing?\"

A lighter sigh, weighed so by relief.

A faint smile then. \"Better. This becomes you, where bitterness does not.\"

\"I have the sword you took. I mean to give it to you, later, and then I will tell Menelglir to take it from you. And I want you to resist however you can, with all that you have.\"

\"Is your resolve yet firm?\"

A tiny frown returns, very briefly, as Tathar tries to decide what he means by his first comment, but then gives it up. For though it has been 15 years or more since she first persuaded a man of arms to give her lessons in swordwork, it is clear that they have lost none of their fascination for her. The sparkle in her eyes grows, and an irrepressible grin joins it. \"Yes,\" she says, sitting up straighter. \"Only...\" The smile fades a little into worry. \"I don\'t want to hurt him.\"

Is it arrogance, or ignorance to think a trained squire can\'t defend himself against her? Or is she only thinking of the man at the Steward\'s Hearth, who simply sat there underneath the descending blade?

The knight\'s mirth brightens in turn, \"I hope, on the contrary, that you will.\"

\"Only a little, mind you.\"

\"Will you join me and my temporary student in the training grounds presently, then?\" Findon leaves no room for reply, and rises turning hence to the archway leading indoors, \"I shall go fetch him.\"

Minas Tirith: Training Grounds

At the northern terminus of the Way of Kings, there rises the sheer face of Mount Mindolluin, beneath which is set a wide complex wrought of stone: the training grounds of Minas Tirith. Watched over by tall statues of the warrior Lords of the past, the training grounds are grim and spartan, set with practice circles and larger yards for mock combat. The Way of Kings heads south from here, however, coming to a grim looking gate that leads to the upper circles of the City of Stone.

During the evening hours, the training grounds are illuminated by the crimson glow of torches set into the walls, and tended to by a lone Man-at-Arms who ensures that nothing is amiss during the night.

***(I don\'t have this part of the log - it is Menelglir and Findon)***

A flash of lightning brightens the sky, bathing the yards in a stark sudden brightness. And the heartbeat after, thunder booms loudly overhead. The first light drops of rain are betrayed by the noises made on armored heads and shoulders. A drizzle, thus far.

A sigh.

\"Seems you shall have to recite from memory. Better return that book to your chambers, Menelglir. Be swift!\"

Turning to Aearon, he offers with a nod at the circle \"Let\'s keep from getting cold while we wait, then. I might give you some pointers, and perhaps you may return some. It has been long since I crossed swords with a man of the hosts, lax or no.\"

With a nod of his head Aearon says \"I think you shall be giving more pointers than I sir\" Making his way towards the rack of wooden swords and picking one up he tests its weight and makes his way towards the circle, going to the far side he stretches his arms out and swings the wooden sword in a downward motion and then upwards obviously stretching his sword arm.

\"Yes sir,\" the Squire replies again, all energy having gone out of him. Still, he hastens to obey, setting wooden sword aside and setting off at a run out of the training yards, book protected from the rain by his cloak.

The knight lends the departure of the squire a glance, nothing more.

The pair of swords are deposided on the side of the ring, too joined by the live steel blades he carries, along with belts and baldricks and all. And at once Findon turns to the weapon rack, and enters the training circle a few moments later, holding a mockery of his own greatsword. \"You may begin at your leisure, Lieutenant.\"

\"Oh. What is your name?\"

Bowing his head Aearon says \"It seems my manors are the same as my training, Lieutenant Aearon Telpekhor, sir\" With that said he gets into a fighting stance, his sword held in both hands. Standing strait he lunges forward attacking with his sword in a downward strike aimed at his opponent left shoulder.

Aearon attacks Findon with his Longsword and mildly wounds him!

The blow connects to be sure, skidding over the leather guards on the knight\'s shoulders, even as he moves to the right, a rather obvious setup for a blow in return.

\"You strike me as a man both humble and polite, Aearon Telpekhor,\" Findon quips midstride, and evenly with that uttered name his stance settles momentarily, and the two-hander continues in its rising arc towards Aearon\'s hip.

Findon attacks Aearon with his Greatsword and mildly wounds him!

Feeling the sting of Findons wooden sword strike his him solidly Aearon back peddles slightly and says \"Thank you sir, I must apologize if I was to hard on your squire the other afternoon.\" Sidestepping he swings his sword sideways aimed at the knights side, his feet firmly planted.

Aearon attacks Findon with his Longsword and mildly wounds him!

\"Hard on him?\"

As the knight begin to retracts his arms, the second blow lands. Though a very large man by all accounts, Findon tilts somewhat over it, to the accompaniment of the dull thud of impact on mail armor. Too, his already backward sideway step is turned further back and further to the side. Another step follows suite. But his arms raise, the sword brought on high. \"You have me at a disadvantage I fear.\"

And low, as he hews at Aearon\'s outstretched swordarm.

Findon attacks Aearon with his Greatsword, but he misses by a handspan.

Moving his arm and body just out of the way of Findons sword, barely, able to feel the wind coming off of the sword. Sidestepping once more Aearon says \"I was the one who was first told of the situation with the ambassador and was first to arrive.\" Stepping forward he once again swings his sword, this time in a downward motion, aimed at the Knights leg\" as he swings the sword he says \"I originally was going to take his sword and take the lady to the healing halls to apologize to the ambassador, and explain herself\"

Aearon attacks Findon with his Longsword and mildly wounds him!

Mute suprise brings the knight pause.

Findon\'s knee buckles as he is struck squarely on the side of the joint in the midst of shifting his weight from the struck leg to the other. Thus, he falls to one knee with a low grunt. His glance is averted downward, a hand lowered to check the struck limb.

And then he laughs: \"Lax indeed! I take back what I said. Humble you are, but not polite in the least. You are a very good liar, Lieutenant.\" He rises slowly, and turns moving a few paces away, with a slight limp.

\"Let me catch my breath. Things did not turn out the way you intended, from what I heard.\"

Seeing the Knight with a slight limp Aearon says \"I apologize sir, I did try to pull the blow.\"

Setting the tip of his wooden sword upon the dirt and taking a deep breath he says \"I was just about to escort the lady from the tavern when the Lady Gweneths Bragollach arrived and asked me to let her take Lady Tathar, and that the punishment your squire was to receive was enough without me taking his sword\" Taking a deep breath he says \"How is the leg?\"

Yet, for all that about recovering, the Swan-Knight does not halt. Pacing, if slowly, he answers: \"Nonsense! If you come at me without intent, how am I to evolve, and you likewise? Think none of it.\"

The retelling of the latest gossip of the city is acknowledged with his subtle nod. \"Nothing feels broken.\" Hefting his grip of the hilts, Findon lifts the weapon and shifts his posture, still pacing slightly impeded, to the ready. \"Let us continue.\"

\"Which Gweneth Bragollach was this? There are two, to my knowledge.\"

With a nod of his head Aearon stretches his sword arm once more and says \"The younger of the two\" raising his wooden sword and getting into a fighting stance he bends his knees slightly and says \"After you sir\"

\"Ah.\"

\"As you wish.\" Then: \"How did she convince you?\"

And Findon lunges forward mounting an overhanded blow to bat at Aearon\'s head and shoulders.

Findon attacks Aearon with his Greatsword and severely wounds him!

Not expecting such a furious and fast attack Aearon barely gets his sword up, and though his sword was raised it looks as if it did nothing, for Findons attack strikes him square on the head. The face of Aearon goes slightly white, nearly falling he stumbles back a few feet as a trickle of blood runs down his face from under his helm. Looking very unbalanced and dizzy he says \"I think you.. You have one this match sir..\"

The knight\'s drawn breath hisses, drawn in through the teeth.

\"By Oliver\'s...\"

Whatever was meant to follow remains voiceless. His own sword is reliquished to the wet sands as Findon approaches the Lieutenant, grasping him by the arm and about the shoulder for support. \"Come, man. Let us find you a seat. This way.\" Concern is writ on his voice.

\"Tell me, how did Gweneth the younger convince you?\"

Greatly appreciating the help from Findon Aearon lets Findon lead him, slightly shaking his head, as if trying to shake off the dizziness, blood still trickling down his face he says \"Umm..She asked it as a personal favor for her and her house and\" pausing for a moment \"and that it would be best for all those involved, and I agreed with that.\"

\"Ah, good,\" Though is it Aearon\'s sentiment or his recollection the knight refers to? \"Here, sit, and remove that helmet.\"

Carefully relieving the other of his support then, Findon turns t\'ward the group of spearmen over yonder, shouting: \"Oi! One of you to the houses of healing. Head injury!\"

A sigh, and now again to the lieutenant. \"I am dreadfully sorry, Aearon. I thought you would be able avoid it.\"

Taking his forearm Aearon wipes the blood from his face, although he more smears it than anything else. Blinking hard a few times he says \"No need to apologize sir, wass my fault for getting lax\" pausing to collect his thought \"and thinking I could so easily block a strike from a skilled Knight.\" shaking his head again slightly he says \"I will be fine in just a few moments\"

The quick padding of feet at a run fades away into the distance.

Findon snorts, his gaze on the other\'s measuring: \"Let whoever they send be the judge of that.\"

\"But there\'s one pointer I can give you,\" He ammends wrily the moment afterward. \"Never block two-handed weapons. Swat them to one side and move your body to the other. Always.\"

And he adds at once: \"In fact, unless with a shield, it is best not to to attempt to block at all. The force might shatter your arm, or... Well.\" He gestures vaguely at Aearon\'s head. \"That.\"

Nodding his head Aearon quickly stops and says \"Yes sir, that I know.. And will never likely forget again..\" taking a deep breath and still looking weak he says \"I have blocked attack as that before, though it was not with wooden swords and I was in better practice.. I will not make that mistake again\"

\"And survived it? Impressive.\"

\"Fortunate, I should say.\"

A sigh. And the subject at hand changes, Findon\'s glance shifting to the blooded brow a frown settling on his own: \"Tell me: what is your appraisal of the Draudagnir lady?\"

Shaking his head once more and sitting up strait Aearon says \"She is strong willed, quick to temper, but meant no real harm, honest.\" taking a deep breath and blinking hard he says \"Already I am feeling better, somewhat at least\"pausing for a moment \"Survived it yes, and very sore afterwards.\"

\"I am not sure I share your assessment entirely.\"

\"Yet.\"

A faint smile settles on Findon\'s face at the other\'s last remark. \"Perhaps we have seen but different sides of the same coin. There is something to her though...\" At the last, his tone is musing, his glance averted and distant.

He shakes his head lightly. \"Never mind.\"

\"So what is your take on the incident in the Hearth in any case? I have heard a thousand variations by now. You arrived only afterward?\"

With a nod of his head Aearon says \"I has just recently left after already calming a drunk at the Hearth who was trying to assault the Ambassador.\" pausing for a moment

\"Not long after I left one of his guards came running up to me telling me the Ambassador was exchanging harsh words with Lady Tathar and the squire and the Lady attacked him with the squires sword\" taking a deep breath he continues with \"Once I arrived I found Lady Tathar almost in tears and the squire trying to comfort her, saying he would take all of the blame, I must admit I was angered and was harsh to all those within the Hearth\"

A nod.

\"This differs somewhat from what the Squire tells me. It seems she is bent on taking the blame for herself now,\" Findon muses, crouching before Aearon who sits upon a bench near the sandstrewn circle, his brow blooded and a glazed distance to his gaze. \"Which is curious.\"

\"Hm.\"

\"In any case, for myself I can\'t disagree with the deed. That southron deserves worse. But I can\'t countenance the circumstances.\"

The spearmen have not returned with a healer, but Menelglir comes trotting back, out of breath and without the book he had been ordered to get out of the rain. He hesitates on seeing the circumstances, then comes to stand near to the crouching Findon. \"The book is safe, sir but...the Lieutenant is not?\" he asks, eyeing the blood. He gives no verbal indication he has heard Findon\'s words, but his eyes widen. A shake of his head and he stoops. \"I could bind the wound? Stop the blood until a healer comes? I learned in Im...when we were away with Sir Arathis....\"

Breathing deeply Aearon says \"I agree, he does deserve worse. I just voiced the fact that we are not barbarians and should not merely attack someone because of words.\"

Seeing the squire he nods his head and says nothing just leans back and takes another deep breath.

Only a few minutes behind Menelglir, Tathar comes into the yard. She has clearly taken the time to go home and change, for instead of the blue dress and white cloak, both are an indeterminate shade of brown. She pauses, looking around through the rain for Findon.

\"Indeed,\" The knight tells Aearon.

Then to Menelglir: \"Ah, timely, my good Squire. Of course. He still has his wits about him, though head injuries can be complicated. Do what you can a healer should be arriving presently.\"

He rises, glance turned to the entryway, and by happenstance, Tathar. He raises a hand.

\"Sir.\" Menelglir hurries into the barracks, returning quickly with a roll of linen bandage. He stoops to Aearon, peering at the gash on the man\'s head. \"Sorry, Lieutenant--the best I can do is bind it now to try to staunch any bleeding, but my cousin Lady Laeraelin should be able to help you or any of the healers....\" He unrolls the bandage as he speaks, wrapping it around the man\'s bloodied head, trying to work quickly.

The waving hand catches Tathar\'s attention and she turns towards the men, stopping as she sees Menelglir coming out with bandages. \"Can I help?\" she asks.

Trying not to move Aearon says \"Thank you Menelglir, I am sure a bandage will be more than enough..\" breathing deeply he winces slightly as the squire bandages his head.

\"I think Menelglir will manage on his own at present, lady.\"

\"Come, I have something for you.\"

Findon turns fully, and moves, limping slightly, towards the nearest circle prepared for mock-combat, weaponry strewn all about it.

With a doubtful glance at Aearon, Tathar follows the knight.

Pausing in his work, the Squire twists about to look to Tathar, watching as Knight and woman step away. Then he resumes his work with Aearon, lips pressed together.

\"How did this come about?\" he asks the Lieutenant quietly. \"I fear the wrath meant for me descended on you instead.\"

Watching the Knight and Lady step away Aearon looks to the Squire and says \"It was my fault for not being quick enough to block a strong blow, I got too confident in my own abilities from the way the match had faired so far.\"

Stooping at the far end, Findon collects one of the two edged weapons: a sheathed longsword.

He withdraws it, discarding the empty scabbard.

\"You remain resolved, I take it?\" He asks quietly, and without looking at the Draudagnir lady.

The sword glints even in the grey air and rain, and Tathar nods. Then, realizing he is not looking and cannot see her, she says aloud, \"If I can do anything to make some amends, I will do it.\" But the light in her eyes tells that there is more than simple atonement in her mind.

\"Ah.\" Menelglir\'s lips press together in a thin line and he concentrates on the bandages, tucking the last of the ends in. Then he looks up and gives a short laugh. \"Well...the -real- healers have arrived to tend you better, Lieutenant, so my efforts were for naught. I wish you a speedy recovery.\"

And with that he stands to make way for the healer and helpers, who will tend to the Lieutenant and get him off the field. Menelglir turns, looking to Findon and Tathar, then heading their way.

And the sight Menelglir\'s eyes find is an extraordinary one.

The knight pauses a while longer, as if a glimmer of doubt assails him.

When he turns his face to Tathar a faint mirth sits on it, and too in his eyes, though his glance lingers on hers, level. He tells her on a quiet note: \"Pray, do him no more harm than you must. But do not surrender it to him. He must take it from you.\"

And then, he forgoes the hilt in favor of gripping the naked blade with both hands instead, turning it about like so to be present to the lady as if it were an exquisite bottle of the finest Belfalas vintage. Hilts first.

\'I wish you luck.\'

Tathar reaches out, taking the hilt in both hands, and meeting his eyes, the grin she has been repressing flashes out. But when she turns towards Menelglir, it is gone and she is sober and intent, settling the weight of the sword and turning it this way and that in the air. A glance up at the squire and she frowns, and says as quietly as the knight, \"Shall he also have a weapon? I - I do not like to hit him unarmed.\" A faint flush rises up her face as she says these words.

\"Squire.\"

Findon turns now to Menelglir, stooping to collect yet another piece of wargear. A shield, drops of water skidding from it\'s brightly polished surface that bears the device of Telumehtar, the triad of the winged sword, Elendil\'s star and the swordsman. His inclined head indicates Tathar: \"There is your sword.\"

The shield is extended.

\"Take it back.\"

And thus, the question is answered.

Silence.

Shocked and utter silence, the rain only sounding its droplets against the shield.

\"Am I to add to my crimes, then, by hitting a woman of noble birth?\" Menelglir says.

\"If you can,\" Tathar says spiritedly. She is standing, her feet a little ways apart, the sword held between them at an angle. Her stance is not that of someone who has never held a blade before.

The knight\'s only answer is this: \"Do you want your sword or not?\"

\"So be it.\" Menelglir glares at Findon, furious, then takes the shield, hooking it on his left arm and steppign cautiously toward the woman. \"I apologize, but I\'m not certain I can do this without hurting you,\" he tells her, then without further warning rushes forward, using the shield to push her backwards one way or another.

Tathar grins at him. \"You are forgiven in advance,\" she tells him, and ducks nimbly to the side as he rushes her, turning so she is still facing him.

Arms folded over his chest, Findon stands back without comment, intent gaze following the movements of the pair with scutiny.

Menelglir grimaces as the woman skitters out of his way. He has no joy in this but grimly strides after her, booted feet falling deliberately, trying to chase her down. He seems to be heading to her right, though at the last moment he lunges left, thrusting the shield forward to try to knock the woman down.

Tathar takes a step backwards as he comes towards her, then brings the sword down towards his shield, trying to hit it at an angle that will give her the momentum to twist away from him again, and push him to the side.

Sword and shield clang as they hit each other, but Menelglir doesn\'t back from the blow. Instead, he steps into it, closing with the woman if he can. His left hand pushes the shield and his weight toward her. His right is free, and he reaches to grab at her clothing or hair.

The blow from the shield travels up the sword to her wrists, and Tathar grits her teeth to hold on. If she had been trying to shove him out of the way by brute force, she would have lost but she isn\'t trying to push him away but to push herself off of him. And once more she spins aside, bringing the sword back up between them. His grasping hand is more successful, grabbing the long edge of her cloak - but the clasp gives way. Tathar staggers a little, off-balance for the moment.

The woman isn\'t gained, but her cloak is, and Menelglir keeps hold of it. Again he rushes forward with the shield as his weapon, right at her and the sword. He uses the cloak in his right hand to swing it low, trying to tangle her feet up and trip her.

\"Clever,\" Findon grunts upon the sideline, even as the Squire\'s manouver presents itself, his voice quiet and low. But that is all the reaction stirred in the man who remains, apart from his glance, still.

\"She is quick. I\'ll grant her that,\" Menelglir mutters, answering the Knight even as he presses his attack. \"Like hunting coney.\"

\"Granted,\" Findon replies drily, \"But I have never met a rabbit who could gut me and roast me on a stick over the fire if it by chance bested me in the chase.\"

\"What ..she what?\" The Knight\'s banter breaks Menelglir\'s otherwise grim concentration, an opportunity for the woman. \"Southrons,\" he then growls with renewed intensity. \"I hear their tongues are part of their arsenal. Yildirim\'s is sharp, after all. And well practiced.\"

The cloak skirls towards her, along the ground, and Tathar leaps sideways, over it. Now she is on Menel\'s right side, so that he will have to turn to get his shield at her. And as the squire\'s concentration lapses, she swings the great sword at him, at about hip height. Bits of her hair are coming loose from the knot at the back of her head small curls bouncing around her neck and face.

\"You know what else is sharp, and in hands better practised than you give them credit for?\" The Swan-knight rebukes.

\"Focus!\"

The woman has gained his right side, and Menelglir\'s shield is of no use his arm with the cloakis down low by her feet. But as she brings her arm and his sword down toward him, he leaps forward into her oncoming sword stroke, pushing up with his right arm and the cloak to try to push her arm up and out of the way. At the same time he kicks at her feet to try to knock them out from under her.

Hopefully, the cloak is thick and Menelglir\'s arm well-wrapped. For he does indeed knock Tathar\'s blow aside, but by taking the blade itself on his arm. A small but fierce grin has joined the concentrated look on the lady\'s face, and she spins around with the sword, not trying to stop its momentum. This, fortuitously, takes her out of the way of the squire\'s kick. Then she is back and using the force as part of her own swing - a level swipe again at hip height. From the left, unfortunately for her, where Menelglir can use his shield to block her.

Someone has clearly taught her that she can never win by weight or strength, and must therefore make use of agility and swiftness.

Tathar would hear a small grunt of pain as her sword connects with his arm, but it doesn\'t seem to slow Menelglir down beyond that. If anything, it seems to fire some anger in his eyes, and he carefully weighs his next move. Again, he\'s not backing away from the sword blade his intention here to get as close in as he possibly can. His shield is thrust to meet the oncoming sword blow. And his right hand is thrust toward the woman\'s face. The Squire is not playing a game and not being delicate about fighting a lady at this point: There is more force in both of the blows than before, as he puts all his weight into it. Or what there is of his weight, Menelglir being a lanky young man.

At the last minute, Tathar ducks low. The sword skitters off the shield, and while he is reaching forward with all his weight, she runs forward under his hand, to try and get behind him. She is breathing hard now, and her face is flushed with the exertion, but the smile is still exuberantly, fiercely in place, and her eyes are alight.

Menelglir spins around as his punch misses, curses something that no lady of Gondor should ever hear, and then slams his shield toward the woman\'s back in an effort to use her own forward momentum to unbalance her.

She is quick, but not quite quick enough this time - and she can\'t see the shield coming to duck it. The blow sends her sprawling on the wet ground, arms outstretched in front of her she has managed however to hold onto the sword. Slipping a little on the wet ground, she tries to scramble up before Menelglir can get to her.

\"Dammit!\" Menelglir hisses as the woman falls but -still- holds onto the sword. He lunges forward, bending to try to shove the woman out of the way and then kicking hard at the blade. If he gets her wrist in the kick as part of the bargain, so be it, but he aims for the sword.

Tathar is pushed off balance, the sword kicked out of her hand. As she falls sideways, she tries to grab at the young man\'s legs.

The woman gains the Squire\'s ankle, and he comes crashing down to the muddy ground, stretched out in front of her. The distance is just enough so that he can gain hold of his sword, and Menelglir twists about, sword in hand.

\"Oi oi!\"

\"Enough.\" The knight comes forward, arms falling to his sides. \"On your feet.\"

This is the end of the game, Menelglir has gained his sword, and Tathar lets go of his ankle, and sits back, panting. She is wet with mud smeared down the front of her dress, her hair is soaked and black curls are plastered to her forehead. Findon comes up, and the woman looks up at him, then starts to push herself up, wearily. The rush of adrenaline from the mock-battle is ebbing away, and with it goes energy and strength.

Menelglir, too, is in the mud, sprawled face down and stretched out in front of Tathar in a line on this rainy night. There\'s a black cloak abandoned along the way and trampled in the mud, and at Findon\'s order, he takes a few moments, breathing hard, his right hand still clutching the sword that also lies in the mud. Then, slowly, he gets to his feet, looking blankly at the woman, his expression numb, then at Findon.

He stretches out his right arm, offering the sword to Findon, point toward the ground. Blood mixed with rain runs down his hand and onto the sword hilt.

To Tathar then, Findon inclines his head, but his glance shifts directly to Menelglir.

He speaks tersely: \"Very good, Squire. I had a feeling you could do it.\" One of his eyebrow quirks at the last: \"What have you learned here?\"

The proffered weapon is, for the nonce, ignored.

Tathar pushes her hair out of her face, and shakes her wrist gently, wincing a little. While Findon speaks to the Squire, she walks stiffly over to pick up her cloak. Bending over seems a little difficult for her she likely is going to have an enormous bruise across her back. Still warm from the exertion, she simply holds the cloak in her arms, then turns to walk back towards the squire and the knight.

Striding in to join the others was Saeltavor, puffing from the long walk up from the base of the mountain no doubt. He glances about and blinks, spotting Tathar there. In surprise then the man looks to Findon and the squire knight, askance for an explanation.

Slowly, very slowly, Menelglir lets his hand that holds the sword drop to his side, the sword point resting lightly on the ground. He\'s quiet, thinking, a glance given to Tathar, then away as he looks off into the rain and the night.

\"There are too many to name. Never underestimate the enemy might cover much of it, though, sir.\"

The cold, raining spring night brings more members of the hosts of Minas Tirith by the minute, it would seem the silver tree upon the tabard of the Man who stands forward glints in the light, though he wears a cloak and hood, both of black, keeping his face and shoulders both out of the rain,

It is a young face, and the sea-grey eyes rest upon Tathar, shifting to the squire for but a moment, a glimmer of vague recognition there, but his attention rests finally back on the woman, \"More than your words weigh upon the fighting Men of Gondor, it seems,\" he offers in his calm baritone, \"I had not expected to stumble across you for a third time, and certainly did not expect it here.\"

That eyebrow settles.

Findon\'s glance shifts to Saeltavor, whose approach is acknowledged with a nod, but no words, and certainly no explanation. That glance wanders to Tathar, pausing momentarily and narrowing -- darting to the hooded man -- before it settles on the squire at last. \"Might?\" He tells Menelglir.

\"Explain.\"

Turning, Saeltavor nods to the Master at Arms though he did not recognise the man. Then he moves to approach the group as he opens his mouth to ask a question. But as the Squire is drilled he falls silent, hand on the hilt of his blade - in no way a position to draw, merely holding it as though to bring importance to the rather standard issue blade

Tathar looks over at Admagor, and her eyes widen. \"Ah...\" she says, then smiles. \"Hello. I hadn\'t looked to see you again, either.\" Beyond him, she sees another man approaching, and perhaps her arms tighten about the cloak she is holding.

The growing crowd draws a flicker of Menelglir\'s eyes that way, only the slightest of sideways glances without turning his head. His discomfort shows, though, in that he swallows hard, but his attention stays centered on the Knight even as he falls into a brief quiet to think on his answer.

\"Might in that there are many aspects to that one statement. Never underestimate that your enemy might be a woman but that woman would be skilled in combat. Never underestimate what the enemy can do once they have your weapon. The importance of keeping your weapon secure from said enemy or from anyone else. Or most importantly, perhaps of all, your responsibility to do all of these.\"

That said, the young Squire sighs, not weary, but heavily.

Admagor dips his head slightly to the woman, as well as to the Knight and Squire, though his words are once again directed towards the woman. \"I wonder now, who did I save a week ago, the Lady in the path of my Company? Or my Company itself?\" his deep voice asks, with only mild bemusement, before turning his attention to the Knight, and offering a more substantial, deferential bow, \"Perhaps I should drill my men, as well,\" he asks, \"Against the Ladies of Gondor they are formidable indeed.\"

A flush rises up Tathar\'s cheeks and she looks away for a minute, but then she turns back, lifting her chin. Dignified despite the damp mess of her old dress, the sodden, muddy cloak in her arms, and the hair sticking wetly to her face. \"Perhaps you should!\" she says, her voice somewhat edged. Then her indignation melts away and she laughs ruefully, looking at herself. \"Though I am hardly formidable, I fear.\"

\"Much has changed in ten years.\" notes Saeltavor finally as he reguards Tathar \"If women bear blades regularly now in my homeland. Not that I find it objectionable of course my lady.\" he adds, bowing to her respectfully \"Might I join, if there is swordplay to be had, this day? \" he requests all present.

Menelglir\'s answer recives an expedient reply: \"Your sheath is getting wet, Squire. Best collect it ere the leather is ruined.\"

\"Rightly so, they are,\" Findon offers Admagor, responding with an inclined brow along with the words. And Tathar he tells on the very same breath: \"Lady Draudagnir, your assistance has been invaluable. Thank you kindly. My cloak is at your disposal, as ever.\" Cryptic?

Well, perhaps not so much. He undoes the clasp, and offers her the not quite as rain-sodden cloak off his own back. At last then, a word to include them all \'ere treading down the entryway into the city:

\"Evening.\"

Menelglir slides a finely-crafted longsword back into its sheath, the metallic hiss of metal faint but still audible.

Tathar looks around as Findon speaks her name, and reaches out to accept his cloak. At least it is dry underneath. \"Thank you,\" she says quietly, and sets her own down before reaching to put his around her shoulders. Again, she winces slightly with the movement bends stiffly to pick up the old one and starts to walk slowly away.

Her eyes flicker to Saeltavor as he speaks of women and blades, and she nods to him tiredly. \"I am glad you do not object,\" she says a hint of humor in her voice.

Menelglir ventures a quick glance to Tathar as she speaks to Admagor, and though he presses his lips together as if to speak, he does not do so, waiting as he is, for Findon\'s reply to him. And, on hearing the Knight release him to resheath his sword, he nods briefly, his reaction tightly controlled.

The Blue Squire hurries to retrieve the leather scabbard, cleaning the blade of his sword with a rag before doing so. If any were to look closely, they would see his hands shaking in reaction to being awarded this task.

Saeltavor watches the squire, and then looks back to the others again. He smiles at the lady \"Even if I did, my opinion would not change the fact that it now happens. \" he notes, glancing again to see if any would take up his offer.

Admagor looks from Tathar, to the Squire, \"There is another lesson,\" he says, \"One of Minas Tirith.\"

He reaches up to the catch at his shoulder, for his own cloak, \"Though a lady may have caused you some embarrasment, I would borrow a blade, to defend her.\"

The removal of his cloak reveals his lower rank than the Lieutenant, two gold and black cables dipping from his right shoulder.

The Squire has only just managed to still his shaking hands enough to buckle his swordbelt about him once more when he turns, staring toward Admagor and the man\'s words of challenge. He opens his mouth to utter a protest, then, glum, closes it again.

\"The lady more than amply defended herself. In fact, attacked, on two occasions. I admire her fire and spirit. But...if you must...\" A sigh. \"Live steel or wood?\"

The lady makes her way to a nearby bench, and sits down, drawing Findon\'s cloak about her and lifting the hood over her already-wet head. She looks up just in time to see (and hear) Admagor challenging Menelglir, and her eyes widen in surprise. \"I do not need any defense,\" she says sharply.

The Master At Arms of the Silver Ship inclines his head gracefully to the squire, \"I shall leave that to another,\" he says, turning to the White Tree Lieutenant, and bowing formally, if overly stiffly, \"Lest I misunderstood your desire to test your mettle, against the Lady?\" he says, his right hand extending, palm upwards, towards Tathar, \"Though, as both she and the Squire suggest, she is hardly in need of a Champion.\"

\"If that is your end, then Steel or Wood is an apt question, Lieutenant.\" He says, turning to face Saeltavor, \"I fear I have not brought my own blade--I am unused to the lighter swords that are at the ready, but I shall make do if I must.\"

The lieutenant\'s eyes had widened too and he had begun to step back along with Tathar to make room at first. Then he pauses as the Master at Arms finally turns towards him. He blinks a moment, then bows deeply back \"Master at Arms, I do not think she does unless she asks for one. My challenge was open to any who wished to take it though, be it the Lady - forgive me, my lady, I know not your name - yourself, or our good friends from the coast. \" he glances across, then the other way, before he spots some training swords and walks over to pick one up... but he offers his own blade to Admagor \"This will do I think, though I would like your name before we duel. \" he notes.

\"Lest I am commanded, or a challenge issued,\" Admagor responds to the Lieutenant, \"I would wait for another day, when I might come bearing mail, or my own steel,\" he says, his deep baritone remaining calm, \"But I am at your service, of course. Admagor Telpekhor, Master at Arms of the Silver Ship Company.\"

It seems she has misunderstood. Tathar watches the men talking, and rubs her wrist absently. \"Tathar,\" she says, when the lieutenant asks for her name. The rain has, thankfully, eased, though the clouds still hang low and grey in the sky.

\"Your pardon, I was confused,\" Menelglir says, directing a small bow to Admagor. \"If you have no need of my blade, then, I will excuse myself. Though, Lady, if you wish, I will walk you to your...uh..your present quarters?\"

\"Fair enough.\" the blade is lowerd, the other one put away as Saeltavor smiles, somewhat more casual it seems. \"No doubt we\'ll have our mettle tested eventually. LIeutenant Saeltavor of the White Tree Company. An honor Master at Arms and Lady Tathar\" Then he turns and bows to Tathar deeply, oblivious to the rain. And then back to the others, offering a salute as it seems the Knight was departing.

Tathar looks up. Strangely, she looks slightly uncomfortable. \"You needn\'t, you know... I am perfectly able to go on my own and if I weren\'t, one of these other gentlemen would no doubt be glad to accompany me.\" But she stands. \"I am tired,\" she tells him, and smiles with sudden good humor. \"For some strange reason.\"

Re-clasping his cloak, Admagor too takes a step away from the training grounds, \"It is late indeed,\" he says, \"And I must seek out the Lady of my House, this evening, ere my duty takes me away tomorrow.\"

\"Another time, indeed, Lieutenant,\" he says to Saeltavor, before turning towards the Lady, and the Squire once more, \"I too, shall accompany you, I think.\" he adds to them.

Saeltavor notes \"I still am in need of practice today, I made a promise to myself, so I will let you depart while I do so in peace.\" he bows to those leaving.

\"It was..\" Menelglir, searches for the word, also looking a touch uncomfortable, \"well earned. And uh...thank you, m\'lady.\" He nods to Admagor, then gestures toward the way to the street. \"Shall we go, then?\"