A Lethal Weapon

It\'s not an uncommon sight: fair-skinned Muirgheal Coruceil watch someone else\'s blood running down her hands, slick and glistening in the dim light. Of course, this evening it\'s only the blood from some butchered meat, and she washes off the carving knife before attending to her hands. The overworked cook, Hazel, begged Muirgheal\'s help as a favor, and she\'s gotten it- an evening in the kitchen with this strange foreigner as both cook and server. That long blonde hair has been tightly braided into two long braids, to keep it from getting too near the flames surely this was learned by experience. Once her hands have been cleaned, Muirgheal takes up two dishes- one for each hand- and heads into the common room to take the dinner platters to their buyers.

The White Squire Menelglir is not far from the doorway in the Common Room, so that the smell of the hot food on the platters drifts right past his nose as Muirgheal enters. Eyes more than a bit wider, he turns, watching the food get carried to its purchasers with obvious jealousy. \"She works here?\" he says in surprise, more to himself than anyone in particular.

\"That is news to me also,\" answers a second voice, and the Ranger Lominhur is not far from the lad. \"Though by the smell of things, hardly ill tidings. Have you chanced yet to cook a meal of your own upon the road, young Squire?\"

Platters are put down a little roughly on the tables- if Muirgheal works here, it hasn\'t been for very long. The woman hears Menelglir\'s soft wondering as she passes by his table, and after giving the food away, she turns and walks back that way. \"No, White Squire, I\'m doing what\'s called a favor. The cook in there feeds my children without accepting coin, sometimes.\" Muirgheal shrugs and flashes him a grin, coming closer, rather unmindful of how loud her own voice is. \"Is it too strange a sight, my being all domestic-like?\" She flutters her eyelashes for effect, the sarcasm in her voice thick and evident. Her smile widens and she moves until she\'s right in front of Menelglir\'s table. \"What can I get you?\" Eyes raise to Lominhur as well, as the man is so near.

\"Well...\" Menelglir hesitates, a frown on his forehead deepening as he studies the blonde woman. \"It is just that I ...well yes...every time I have encountered you, you\'ve worn a sword. I thought you were a Shieldmaiden of the Rohirrim, perhaps...though you say your mother was Dunlending, so I suppose that is not likely. But still...a woman dedicated to the sword and not to domesticity.\" He shrugs, coupling it with an apologetic smile.

The Ranger, perhaps surprisingly, wins a friendly grin from the youth. \"I have not, sir. Findon, who is a Blue Squire, cooked our meals. He has a knack for it and a taste for it, too,\" he grins. \"Do you live up to your name, though? In terms of hunting?\"

The Hare chuckles at this, and shrugs his shoulders. \"Do you ask if I am quick and nimble when being pursued? I hope so, and am still alive today so perhaps there is some truth in it. And I would caution you, my young friend,\" he adds with a wry grin and a glance to Muirgheal, \"not to marvel at the woman who wears a sword in the Wild. She would be a fool not to, though some would also say it is a fool who walks in the Wild at all.\"

\"An ale would be wonderful, thank you,\" says he then to the wildwoman in question, with a bow of his head.

\"Shieldmaiden? And be sworn to celibacy, and nothing but my country and the sword...?\" Muirgheal lets the implications of this linger with a sly and unabashed grin. She then admits, \"Though it did irk me to have to remove it for this. Couldn\'t go around banging my scabbard on all the tables, could I?\" Muirgheal smiles. \"I\'m a good many things, White Squire- there\'s no need to apologize, or explain.\" That said, she looks to Lominhur. \"Then it\'s a fool who\'ll be bringing your ale- still, I\'ll try to make sure it\'s a good one, and fresh.\" Her wolfish grin returns, and she hastens back to the kitchen, those long blonde braids swinging against her back.

\"Fool?\" Menelglir says, watching the woman go and arching one eye toward the Ranger. He waits until Muirgheal is out of the Common Room before he speaks low. \"Her husband is from Gondor, she tells us. Yet he is ill. But..she speaks our language, and she would not learn it here, of course....\" Voice trailing off, he frowns. \"Just tis odd...I don\'t understand.\"

That is said quickly and in a low voice, though Menelglir\'s tone returns to normal next. \"Nimble and quick and alive you are, certainly,\" he grins. \"I was just wondering if you are also good and catching hares to stew in the wild.\"

\"Ah!\" replies Lominhur then, and he nods. \"I have caught my fair share, aye, and learned to make something worth eating out of them. Though I would not pit my skills against the cooks of the Prancing Pony -- they have made it an art while I only use it from necessity.\"

He sniffs then, and he too lowers his voice. \"As for her husband, aye, that is a claim I have heard made. The truth of the matter shall never be discovered, I fear, for the man is not welcome in these lands to be pressed further about it. Another reason for my caution when dealnig with your Knights. Fair speech from the South does not an honest man make.\"

Quite unaware that she is being discussed, it\'s Muirgheal who returns to the room, and her eyes are bright with a different sort of light: she\'s about to do a bit of kindness. She\'s brought Menelglir dinner, which looks to be standard fare: a meat pie, a thick slice of bread, some sort of cheese. \"Free of charge!\" She declares it immediately. \"Caoimhe- my girl- would insist.\" And perhaps it\'s for the reason- the one that Lominhur spoke of in a low voice to the Squire- that Muirgheal does not call herself friend to the Rangers, and she hasn\'t brought dinner for the Hare as well. She does set the ale in front of him, however. \"There you go,\" she murmurs gruffly to both, food going to the Squire, ale to the Ranger. And now, with a moment\'s pause, she grabs the nearest chair and sinks into it. Even at twenty-six, being on one\'s feet all day is exhausting!

\"But....\" Menelglir glances to the Ranger in confusion, to the doorway through which Muirgheal departed and back to the Hare again. \"You would advise cauation then with her? I don\'t understand...\" is all he manages to get out before the woman arrives again, ale and food in hand.

\"Lady Muirgheal--this is too much,\" the Squire says, shaking his head in protest. \"It\'s very kind of you and your daughter,\" he grins....\"at least let me share it...\" A glance to the Ranger as well. \"All three of us.\" The plate is pushed toward the middle of the table, where the three can reach it to eat.

But the Ranger at least seems to decline, for as he raises his hand it is to take up the tankard alone, and he raises it to the wildwoman. \"I thank you, Muirgheal,\" says he, ere taking a long sip. A glance of warning is shot over the lip of his mug to Menelglir, though he says no more on the matter for now.

A faint blush pinks Muirgheal\'s cheeks as she draws her chair up to the Squire\'s table. \"This is awfully kind,\" she murmurs, then adds with a grin, \"Caoimhe will be quite jealous, you know.\" Her fingers reach for a piece of bread and cheese- the very quick, nimble fingers of a former thief. The rest is left to Menelglir, and Muirgheal gives him a look of her own- one that says she finds him too thin, and that he\'d better eat all that she\'s brought. \"Rangers don\'t need to eat, too?\" Muirgheal wonders idly in the Hare\'s direction, not terribly unkindly, at least.

Shyness and manners last only for a few seconds before a teenage appetite kicks in. Menelglir takes a small bite of the meat pie, using a spoon this quickly leads to him finishing off half the pie in no time at all, only to look up and cough slightly of Rangers not eating. \"You...uh...should share it with me. Really,\" the Squire says earnestly. The Ranger\'s glance of warning is met with a level gaze in return, but it lasts but a few seconds before the youth is back to worrying about eating. \"You -will- talk more to Sir Arathis then, Muirgheal?\" he asks between mouthfuls.

Apparently interested in Muirgheal\'s answer to this question, Lominhur says naught, deftly avoiding providing an answer to the wildwoman\'s own query.

At this time of day, the Pony\'s Common room normally sees quite a few comings and goings as folk stop off for a bite to eat after a hard day\'s work, or head into town for an evening\'s exchanging of local news and views. The footsteps coming down the corridor suggest that several more persons are on their way in. But then, just as the door begins to open, there comes a heavy thud, and a loud holler of, \"Will you /look/ where you are going!\", followed by a muffled squeal.

\"Does he wish to see me again? I wasn\'t aware that I had left such an impression,\" Muirgheal tells Menelglir, grinning all the while and batting her lashes again. The smile at the corners of her mouth suggests that she finds herself quite funny. More serious, she adds, \"-Does- he? I don\'t know why anyone should care about my family and I- we make an honest living, just like any of the other villagers here, keep our house and our lands nice..\" Muirgheal shrugs and takes a bite of bread. She starts to look toward the sound of a commotion, but her eyes first rest on Hare, and she gives him a nice, long stare for not answering her question she hadn\'t missed that. Then she turns completely around in her seat to see what the source of the yelling and banging is.

\"Well...I cannot read the Knight\'s mind...\" Menelglir replies, flustered. \"I mean...I don\'t think that I understood half of what the two of you were speaking about, but then maybe I\'m not meant to know such things,\" he sighs, fluster changing to frustration. There\'s the muffled sound of a commotion and a squeal, and Menelglir half rises in his seat, then looks to the Ranger.

\"Children? Or some of those hare-bits?\" he asks.

The Ranger turns his gaze to follow the commotion, and for a moment his brow knits warily. He tenses in his seat, but otherwise does not stir save to say: \"Who knows, Menelglir? Whoever they are they seem to be lacking in manners.\"

The answer to Menelglir\'s question is not long in coming. First to enter is a stout red-faced farmer, rubbing at his leg and glaring angrily behind him. \"Oughter be banned, that,\" he announces to the room at large. \"An offensive weapon, that\'s what it is.\" And then he marches across the room to sit himself down with a thump at one of the larger tables.

Only after he\'s well out of the way does the door open again, rather timidly, to admit young Brandebras Bywater. The hobbit, who is red-faced and panting for breath, is carrying what remains of a large black umbrella. The damp bundle of cloth and wood rather looks as though someone has stood on it. The hobbit takes one look at all the eyes on him, and winces, pale red becoming crimson.

\"It -is- one of them!\" Menelglir is still wide-eyed at the sight and sound of hobbits, and he stares openly at the \'wounded\' hobbit and then expectantly--at the wounded hobbit\'s discussion of a weapon--at the open door.

He frowns. \"An umbrella? They don\'t carry swords?\" This to the Hare.

\"They are gentle folk,\" smiles the Ranger to this, turning his gaze back to his companions. \"And while they have their stores of \'hotness\' as they call it, there are few among them that harbour thoughts darker then thrashing a thief once caught.\"

At Menelglir\'s mispronunciation, Muirgheal snorts, most unladylike, and only halfheartedly covers the noise with her hand. She then drops her hand and grins at the hobbit and his umbrella. \"I might have to trade you- my sword for your umbrella, sir!\" the blonde calls out to the already blushing hobbit.

\"Truly that is so?\" Menelglir says, still carrying on staring, though now it is at the \'weapon\' of Brandebras. \"Then they are indeed lucky to live in a land where blades need not be sharper than a flimsy stick.\" He shakes his head, Muirgheal\'s sudden snort drawing only a curious glance.

The door crashing open has caused a lull in conversation, of course Menelglir\'s mention of swords falls into a moment of silence. Heads turn, away from the mortified-looking hobbit, and someone at one of the nearby tables mutters sourly, \"We\'re honest, /decent/ folk here. You\'ll find we don\'t hold with ironmongery.\" The words are backed up with a baleful stare at the young squire at the sight of the Ranger the speaker merely snorts. \"Hrm.\"

Brandebras, looking relieved that the attention is off him for a moment, glances up at Muirgheal wide-eyed. \"Why would I want a sword?\" he asks her nervously. \"And,\" he spares a glance for Lominhur, \"I\'m /not/ a thief.\" There\'s a few doubtfully wagging heads in the Common Room at that statement.

\"No indeed, though others have thought fit to name you as one,\" answers the Hare to the young hobbit, and his eyes are stern. \"Few folk know how that feels better than the Rangers, Master Bywater a fact that you might keep fresher in your thoughts when judging us, eh?\"

\"He\'s probably right,\" Muirgheal agrees, speaking mainly to her table companion, the White Squire- \"I\'m not sure that a hobbit could steal much at all, given his stature..\" So the young blonde muses before finishing her bread.

\"Ironmongery? I\'m not a thief and a ruffian just because I wear a sword!\" Menelglir says, jumping to his feet in sudden anger and jarring the table as he does so. \"I have not caused any trouble here, and I don\'t intend to, but I\'ll not stand for insults either!\"

Just a brief glance is given to Muirgheal and the \"thieving\" hobbit, but the Squire\'s temper has been unleashed and he pays scant attention to the woman\'s comments.

Brandebras blinks at the odd company he\'s facing. \"I didn\'t say you were a thief either, Mister .. err.\" The hobbit\'s voice fades as he realizes that he doesn\'t have a name for Lominhur. \"And I don\'t know about /couldn\'t/.\" Muirgheal\'s words have woken a spark. \"I\'m sure if I put my mind - I mean - I /wouldn\'t/ steal, you know.\" The hobbit\'s cheeks, which had faded to pale pink, crimson anew as he realizes what he\'s said.

The fellow who had muttered at Menelglir blinks. \"Now, now, calm down, young man. We\'re peaceable folk in these parts, and I\'d thank visitors to remember that.\" He doesn\'t seem in the least put out - except that he murmurs over his shoulder, \"Someone should send for old Barliman, just in case things turn nasty. You never know with Outsiders ...\"

Perhaps he may pay greater heed to the Ranger\'s then, for Lominhur\'s gaze rises to the incensed young Squire and he says sternly: \"Nor will you spoil the good atmosphere of the Common Room, if you wish to please your masters. I doubt they would be impressed to hear of your anger spilling over in public, Menelglir. Come now, sit down and forget the words that have irked you. Were every unkind comment in the world to be met with such ire, then we would be little better than the servants of the East.\"

Embarrassment colors the Squire\'s cheeks at the words of both the local mand and Ranger, and he sits back down heavily, scabbarded sword clunking against the bench before he brushes it to the side. \"So...\" he says after a few moments of irritably stirring a spoon in the remains of the meat pie. \"Are all the little folk thieves, then?\" His words are said low--or an attempt to be low. \"That one didn\'t strike me as one when I met him. Said he ran messages or some such. Like a Page, then, I suppose?\"

The fellow who\'d complained about Menelglir continues to watch him suspiciously for some while, but then a friend grabs at his arm and pulls him back to the all-important business of drinking. Soon, uncouth Outsiders are forgotten - by him at least.

Brandebras is less able to forget. His cheeks are still pink from the faux pas with Muirgheal, and after a few miserable moments he heads in the direction of the kitchen, unwittingly clearing a path with his battered umbrella, muttering something about going to talk to the cook.

Lóminhúr watches the young hobbit go, ere he drains the rest of his ale and stands from the table. \"On that note, I shall take my leave of you both.\" says he then to Menelglir and Muirgheal. \"There are things to which I must attend, before I leave town,\" the Ranger adds, with the hint of a meaningful glance sent to the young Squire as he does.

He strides away through the main door, taking care to pass trhough it with less commotion than Brandebras and the other fellow.