10: The Roof of the Prancing Pony (Andreg & Amlan)
“This is probably a crime, you realize.”
“How so? Have we broken and entered?” Amlan’s voice is as light as Andreg’s, ready for a joke, but he still won’t look round. He stares out at the hills that rise over Bree-town, and keeps well back from the edge.
“Attempted burglary, I suspect. Especially if Watcher Ashbluff is on duty. She still calls her dogs to attention whenever I pass.”
The Prancing Pony is the largest single building in Bree, though the houses on and around the Scholar’s Stair are so closely fitted they might count together. Many dormers run off the center gables on the roof, and the bridge over the courtyard is almost level if one doesn’t step too hard. Right where Andreg balances the shingles have been twice replaced, the wood not yet weathered.
“How long have you been up here? I’ve been three times around the town by now.” He hadn’t thought for a moment Amlan had left it. Amlan wouldn’t have thought it for a moment either. Duty was duty, and he’d found a place to hide nonetheless.
“Long enough for three patrols, and no one’s noticed.”
Then no one will, probably.
“It’s a fine view,” Andreg concedes, and trusts the footing enough to come sit beside Amlan. “Honestly, we ought to keep a post up here, keep an eye on the whole town.”
well I anticipate you getting some angsty ones, so for the wellbeing of our guys I'm just gonna sliiiiide 34 (Trust/Comfort/Safety) in here. heck why not a 79 (hugs) and 57 (rescue) while we're at it
T-T-T-TRIPLE COMBOOOOO (34, 79, 57)
(technically in compliance. this one is a little violent and near-death-y with a side of made-up Ranger surgery so. be warnéd)
Baugarch was dead, to begin with.
The warg-father, minion of sorcerers, and fell-guardian of the Blackwolds was finished.
And so was Ningeryn, daughter of Nirondil, Ranger of the Dunedain. She lay under the corpse, still holding one sword in her hand as it pierced the heart of her enemy. The other was lodged in the beast's back. Not enough to have killed it the first time.
It hurt too much to cry properly so she let the tears stream down her face. Her first assignment... and her last. At least she'd done it. At least she'd found the warg, even if she didn't have enough time to track it to its den, or warn Andreg. She was supposed to get backup before she faced the beast in combat. She hadn't had enough time.
The warg was now too heavy to lift. She tried, but she was well and fully pinned. She'd scared birds in the otherwise silent Chetwood when she cried out. It wasn't how she wanted to die, in the silent, empty forest. Alone. She tried to put a brave face on it. At least she'd done a good turn for the people of Combe, Archet, and the surrounding towns. Farmers wouldn't get eaten. Woodsmen neither.
And she'd put down the sorcerer's beast. The minion of the one that took Amdir from them. And Mundol and Toradan. And Reniolind... Reniolind had been her friend, and they'd ensorceled Amdir until he'd been stolen from them completely. Until he couldn't see friend and foe.
The tears came faster now that she thought of her friend. She'd die not far from him, maybe have her name etched next to his. But she'd wanted to live. She'd wanted to avenge him as she could, and keep the lands they'd promised to watch over safe. But she'd lashed out too hotly. Swung her swords with no thought of defense, only destroying the warg that represented everything horrible in Breeland.
Everything became dimmer for a bit. She wasn't sure how much later it had been when a horse whinnied in protest. Boots crunched in the leaf litter and then Baugarch's corpse lurched on top of her. She cried out again. The dead warg rolled into the grass and a blurry face filled up her vision.
"Ningeryn! Hang on. Hang on..." It was Andreg! He'd made it... She never thought anyone would. "You had to go and challenge the beast yourself..."
But the rescue had come too late. She squeezed his arm once and all went dark.
-------------------------------
Ningeryn woke up screaming. She hadn't meant to, but the warg was clawing her again and that had already killed her once. She didn't want to do it again.
"Help her, Amlan!"
But that was Saeradan, and Saeradan would rather die than let her get torn to shreds. Well, if he could help it. And if Amlan was there too, they would be more than a match for some scruffy warg of Angmar.
On instinct she pressed her shoulders and head into the surface she was laying on. Wood. A floor maybe. There were hands on her arms, and she could feel them wavering as if they were actively afraid they'd hurt her. Someone was laying across her legs with equal hesitation. Saeradan needed her not to kick and roll. She would do it- anything- for him.
Ningeryn reached out for a hand and found one quickly. Heedless of the fact that there were bones under the skin, she squeezed it for all she was worth.
"Ningeryn?" It was Amlan this time. Sounding pained. Likely, his were the bones being reduced to dust. "Can you hear me?"
She nodded. It was all the motion she could stand, rigid and tensed against the pain as she was.
"Can you drink something? Saeradan can't stop now, you've lost too much blood. You were asleep before, but now--"
Now she knew. They were trying to save her. Ningeryn had fought to be here, in Bree, in the ranks of the Rangers. She would fight, but not fight Amlan and Saeradan and Andreg. That warg wouldn't kill her twice.
She managed to nod again, and to swallow something sweet and heavy. It went down bitterly, but it stayed down. Saeradan was muttering something soothing as he went to apply a different salve over what she presumed was a section he'd already sewn. Or, just maybe hot lava, as something like liquid flame touched an open cut and she screamed again.
She held Amlan's hand until it went dark once more.
-------------
Next she awoke, she was in the middle of drinking something freezing. She sputtered and that lit a fire in her torso. It was dulled, red embers maybe, but it was still there and it still hurt. The drink had been moved and someone was drying her face with a towel.
"You're safe. You're in Saeradan's house. It's me, Andreg, and you've been asleep for almost a day. Nestadam is on her way from Nen Harn, and she'll be here soon."
Ningeryn didn't respond as gently and eloquently. "Whahappen?" Her mouth felt dry- probably the reason for the offered drink- and she felt like her head was wrapped in wool.
"Do you remember anything? What was the last thing we talked about?"
She wanted to curse his protocol and his probing questions. But, she was still leaned up against him where he'd helped her to drink and she was very comfortable. One arm hugged supportively around her shoulders, the other lost to the void or possibly still holding the towel. Ningeryn was unfortunately familiar with being nursemaided, but it was still a safe feeling. A good feeling.
"I killed it," she said at last, "I killed that warg."
Andreg sighed. "Without backup. What possessed you--"
"Don't rile her up, Andreg." That was Saeradan. All gentle admonishment. "You think she hasn't learned her lesson?"
The hand she could feel tightened around her shoulder. "No, of course not." Not a true retort. Andreg was uncommonly quiet. But she was sure about why now, as she was coming out of the fog. He'd even warned her about it before she left. He couldn't lose another of them so soon. Not after Reniolind.
"I'm fine." Ningeryn said. If she sounded sure enough she might convince them both. "I'm tired, and it does hurt a little, but I'm fine."
"No you're not."
Aha. Two voices in tandem. Ningeryn let herself smile. Oh she was fine now, and she was sure they'd make certain of it.
Andreg is the guy that when they’re searching him for more weapons, he just has infinitely more weapons. The man is a human stockpile. A non-exhaustive list of things Andreg is straight-up packing in the Gravenwood:
The unfortunate thing about being stationed at an entire house was having to remember that it was, in fact, a station, and therefore bad faith to kick your kinsmen out of it.
That Halbarad would be entirely on his side was irrelevant.
“Because you love me?” Andreg tries, dripping directly onto the carpet without a care. His grin peaks out from the edges of his mournful apology and mocks Saeradan’s internal crisis of duty.
“No,” he says at last. “Because you’re cleaning it up.”
I am searching a voice for two of my new tracks. You have here two previews. Lynn’s song which is a tropical house and Calibra which also is a house\dance with trancey elements. Good luck.
