Grey Eyes - Agamaran and Imoghen
There were servants to do that, why did she insist on plying thorny branches aside and pruning back the rose heads that had begun to wilt and fade? A smile never deterred him from the disapproval, but it did provide weight to her promises that she just needed the quiet and to do something with her hands. Of course, she could crochet another sock, but the monotony of that task was beginning to wear on her. So outside the walls of their home, she pulled down thick stalks with delicate fingertips avoiding the thorns, before the sharp knife slipped in between joints in the plant and dead petals fell at her feet. The process was slow and purposeful, a labor of love instead of necessity, while the large hound that was always in her company slept peaceably a small distance away where the shade of a tree could keep midday sun off his thick hide.
"You were not hard to find," a voice rang out from a distance. A figure appeared behind another tree--the familiar figure of the Ranger that had last spoken to her about who she truly was. He eyed the dog sitting under the shade of a tree and then back to her and did not step forward. "We Dunedain are so few that we are easily marked by the natives of these lands. When I asked about a woman with dark hair, gray eyes, and a tall figure, they pointed me along the way." He crossed his arms then and looked at her, as if he was waiting for her reaction.
The voice breaking through her moment of peace away from children caused her hand to slip, a thorn slicing up and through the pad of one thumb. Although the dirtied digit initially slipped between her lips, when she turned and realized what had startled her, she was careful to pull it out and cross her arms with the pruning knife still hanging lazily from one, “Perhaps… My betrothed is not particularly reclusive though. And neither am I. We enjoy being part of the community, so I think you could have simply asked for me by name.” It was difficult to hide the fact that she sounded mildly perturbed, but certainly not afraid. And with the beast rumbling to his massive paws and stalking forward with a few purposeful strides to put himself between his mistress and the stranger with lowly chuff, who would be? “Can I help you?”
"Perhaps it is I who can help you." He remained where he was, though he seem to pay no attention to the dog as it moved between the both of them. "Some of the Dunedain have been lost in Eriador--whether by choice or by chance. They grow up and do not know who they are or where they come from or what they are capable of. At first, I did not know if you were one of the foresaken and an enemy of the agent, but I see you here plainly and I cannot fathom the idea that you are simply innocent in all of this." He lowered his green hood then as his cold gray eyes came into focus. "And so I offer you this--the chance to learn who you truly are."
The hand that did not bear potential weapon, though it would hardly be of use against one of the greencloaks, dropped to stroke the hackles down on her beast’s back before lowering herself beside the graying muzzle of the brute and securing a hand around his thick collar. She had seen what the man did with a few words that sounded more like a bird song than a language, and was not about to let the poor brute lumber to his demise. Rip quieted slightly as Imoghen leaned into him, but didn’t take his eyes off the other man.
“I understand… it must be hard for you. To be so far from those like you. To not have anyone familiar to call a friend. And I’m sorry I can’t be… what you want me to be. I am a fishmongers bastard child, no offspring of the men of Westernesse...”
Agamaran simply shook his head. "There is no point in lying to yourself in this matter, Imoghen. You know you are different, but you do not know how. I am not the one who suffers the hardship of being away from my own people--rather that burden falls to you." He offered her a hand then, yet he remained where he stood in the distance. "I offer you the chance to learn about where you really come from and a chance to meet your kin--a place where you will be accepted and learn what it means to be of the Dunedain." Finally, he took a step forward while remaining to offer his hand to her. "Will you learn who you truly are?"
At the step forward, Rip’s growl entered the distance stretching between them and his head dropped with the tightening of her fingers around his collar to ensure she wouldn’t be picking up ranger or dog pieces. Or both. The eyes that had landed her in this situation dropped to his hand, quietly regarding the worm palm of the leather in a fashion that was skeptical instead of fearful, before her head lifted with the pooling of black curls out from underneath the handkerchief that had so carefully kept them tied back. The scar tissue that wreathed her neck was a stark white silver against the flesh just beginning to flush with the sun’s heat, as she finally offered up hesitantly, “…Sir, I… just don’t think it’s possible.” But the defiance was slipping and instead her throat worked around swallowing the memories of men like this looking at her longer than most, following her through dark streets and trying to hale her by names that were never her own. She was Imo, just Imo…
The predatory eyes of Agamaran did not flinch and remained on Imoghen's own. "Why is it not possible?" The hand came back to his side then. "Are you afraid?" He flung the cloak that had enwrapped him so to reveal the leathers underneath and a sword on his belt as well as a dagger. He unbuckled the belt and let it fall to the ground, weapons and all. He unslung the bow from his back and placed it against the tree and did the same for the quiver of arrows. He then presented himself as if he was offering himself freely to her. "Let fear begone from your mind, Imoghen, for the Dunedain are friends to all gentle life on this earth." He offered her his hand once more. "I can show you, if you let me."
She thought about telling him why it was impossible. For if she was what he said she could be, wouldn’t someone had come for her when the coppers became few and the gruel thin? Wouldn’t someone have taken her from her home, when a dowry could not be mustered and so the offer of a wealthy businessman to take her hand in marriage sounded so appealing? Wouldn’t someone have raised her from those first ten years, cloistered in stifling chambers of a lake house, waiting for a man twice her age to return from drinks and with slurred words and rough hands, tell her how beautiful she was. If she was what he said she could be, none of that would have ever happened…
Or perhaps, it was because of that she now stood here and did not fear the man before her.
Her fingers snapped, calling Rip to heel as she turned and nodded towards the large house within the wall’s press, “…I will entertain the notion if you humor me by sharing tea. I will hear what you have to say, and I will promise you that should we reach an understanding, I will let you show me what you believe to be a part of me.”
Then her hand released the collar and reached out to beckon him with a small smile, “I do not make a habit of running off into the woods with people I’ve only met once. I hope you understand.”
He buckled the belt to himself once more and slung the bow and quiver over his shoulders. He walked up to her with cautious steps before he then stood in front of her. "I do not ask you to drop everything you know to immediately start a new life, Imoghen--I only ask for the chance to tell you who you are. Aferward, you are free to decide what you may wish to do." He looked at the home and then around the yard before looking back to her. He said nothing and simply looked at her expectantly.
“Well that’s good… I don’t know how Nasib would manage with the children, but I don’t suppose he would chance to keep a woman so erratic.” Her tone had changed, trying to provide levity to the situation as she bit out a correction to Rip and motioned for the brute to lead them up the path, her feet following in his wake at an unhurried pace. As they passed through the gardens, it was obvious that both master of the home and the woman who had now sheathed pruning knife and was readjusting the wrap that kept her hair pinned back cared for the appearance of it. The door was opened for their entrance by a well-attired, simple servant and she turned to take his cloak in the foyer. “A pot of black tea agreeable enough?”
He followed obediently, listening to her. His ears piqued as she mentioned the name 'Nasib,' but he said nothing. When they were greeted by a servant at the door who asked for his cloak, he eyed the servant over before reluctantly relinquishing it. "Thank you," he said, answering Imoghen's offer. Still he remained characteristically quiet, yet he seemed to drink in all the details in the house.
It was the eloquence and distinction that money certainly could buy but only time could furnish. Trunks older than even the ranger himself had been used in the beams, the stone brought up from deep canyons, a rich and exotic varnish bringing out the red in the wood of each furniture piece. For that’s what they were, pieces of art, not so desperate as to require satin or velvet, but carved by a hand that knew how to bring as much beauty to each arm or spiraling corner in death as these trees had boasted in life. Distantly, there was the sound of children playing upstairs, the shouts ringing down the hallway that likely contained stairs at the far end of the main sitting room she guided them into now. Her hands were rinsed off in a pot of water that had been set out for exactly such a task, putting the kettle over the flames with a practiced motion before settling in one of the sprawling armchairs and regarding the man while gauze wound around her finger.
Tapestries stared down at them, scenes of thin and fluid hounds that would never be seen this far North, rich reds in the threads offset by gold and indigo, colors no native plant of Bree could boast. And over the fire hung single weapon, easy to look over at first as just another piece of art, so beautiful was the care with which the long staff had been forged and stretched, wrapped and coaxed down to the single, long and curved blade at the end. Not a sword, not a spear, something far more wicked and more capable. He had seen them probably. Perhaps he was reconsidering this offer for tea.
Imoghen was smiling though, more or less, and had set her hands over crossed legs as she nodded for him to take the other seat and spoke softly, “…I did not know my father. But I will humor you. Not because I want to pretend at being above my current station, for I am quite happy with where circumstances landed me. But because I will turn forty next month…” And she cleared her throat, letting that truth settle in the air between them before she sighed and pulled off the handkerchief, black curls spilling out over unblemished cheeks, “And I recognize… This is simply not how a woman looks at this age.”
He eyed everything carefully as it passed him. While she offered him a seat, he remained standing. He walked around the room as she spoke, stopping at the familiar weapon hanging on the wall, before turning to her as she spoke her last. "For the Dunedain, it is perfectly normal." In the light, Agamaran's face could be clearly seen--it was hardened and rugged, yet not a single hair was found on his chin or above his lip or along his jaw. There was no indication that this was a kept appearance--there was no darkening to suggest that the man shaved. Indeed, it seemed as if he did not grow facial hair at all. Yet he seemed to be almost thirty years, strong and beautiful, yet somewhat weathered by experience.
"I am seventy-four years of age," he said to her, and it sounded like the truth. Again, he crossed his arms and watched her, waiting for her reaction.
“Oh…” At first, she received the information with a calm acceptance, before something seemed to sink in and she murmured once more, this time a hand raising to her lips, “Oh…” And her eyes moved from him to the door, to the children playing upstairs that she herself had not birthed, to the man whose heels would soon click down the hall to receive their company, to the generations she could potentially see and outlive, and for a long moment she was silent. “…How long could I potentially live?” She finally managed without looking back at him, managing to steady her voice through the question.
He took in a somber sigh as he read the signs on her face as she came to a conclusion. "One-hundred years of age, at the very least. Most live longer than that, living to be perhaps one-hundred-and-ten or one-hundred-and-twenty. Those whose lineage is less diluted may live even longer." His eyes, for the first time since meeting her, seemed to soften, yet he remained standing.
Her hand fell from her lips to steady herself against the arm of the chair she sat on, fingers pressing into the leather until they found cool wood at the end and brushed over the familiar smoothness as he spoke. She was not quick to ask more, beginning to wonder why the Valar had cursed her, but being far past the point in her life that self-pity was anything dwelt on for more than a momentary twitch of the lips. Clearing her throat from the tears that had begun to salt her tongue, she turned composed features back up to him and met his eyes, “And children…Can we have them?”
He took a step closer to her as he looked down at her and nodded gently. "Of course...but they would be of the Dunedain as well. The blood is strong and is always dominant. Even a single drop is enough to be counted among the Dunedain and exhibit the qualities of..." He stopped himself short then, as he knew that this was not the importance of the question.
His approach wasn’t noticed, or if it was it did not distress her. She looked up at him with a smile, one that weighed what would be lost with what she still had yet to gain, leaving her thoughts on the bitter for the time being so as to be polite. “Ah… That’s good. That’s… That’s very good…” And she laughed softly, shaking her head before reaching up to run fingers through her curls and pull a bit at the roots. For a moment, she seemed to waver asking anything more, not entirely sure if she wanted to know what else he had to say. Waking up beside a man that would wither and die while she continued on… Burying her children… These were things she pushed somewhere far away where they could be considered when the morning was young and her head rested over the bare chest of a man she cared for deeply.
“…These qualities, besides the appearance and the… unfortunate staying power of youth, what else?”
"Much." He finally moved to take the seat across the table from her as he set his bow and quiver on the wall beside them. "It is a lengthy tale, as they say, but I shall not tell you it in full. The Dunedain are blessed with great vigour, as well as keen eyesight. We are also more in tune with the song of nature and can hear it much like the Elves can and sing back to it, yet not nearly in the harmony of their voices." He folded his gloved hands as he nodded along to the things he explained to her. "Some are even blessed with the power of foresight, although it is very rare amongst our people." He raised his chin then as he paused for a moment before saying his last. "Above all else, to be born of the Dunedain means to be born a servant of the Valar. Thus those who remain Faithful try to aid those who are too weak to help or defend themselves." The watchful eyes of a bird of prey returned as they watched and waited.
A hand dropped to the scars wreathing her neck, mind passing over the other injuries that should have killed her though her pulse simply failed to quit. She had been close to it a few times, but stayed for the children playing upstairs, for the men she felt needed protection from themselves, and for a tomorrow she trusted could be better. The kettle began to sing, and she stood slowly to move towards the fire. Pulling out two cups and dispensing tea spiced with cinnamon and clove into each silver belled strainer, she poured the steaming water out before setting the drink in front of him. Her own she left neglected on the table, standing in front of the hearth and leaning quietly back against it with arms wrapped around her chest as if she was cold even in front of its blaze, “…And if I haven’t always been on the right side, what then?” And for the first time when she looked up at him, there was a small mote of fear in the corner of her grey eyes.
Agamaran sniffed carefully at the tea and his nose wrinkled as the smell seemed to recall a distant memory in his mind. Before he could call upon it, Imoghen posed a question to him. He set the cup of tea down then and looked up to her, his head half-turned to the side in question. "The distinction between right and wrong is often a matter of dates, Imoghen, or having been told one thing when the truth is another thing entirely." He folded his hands again as his eyes searched for the truth in hers. "What has led you to believe that you have not been on the "right side?"
|He was not a man to be lied to. And had he not been honest with her? Fingers pressed into her upper arms as she avoided his eyes, instead looking to the door carefully and moving across the room to close in with a quick step. After the heavy wood had closed with a click of latch settling into place, she reclined back in the chair across from him and released the bottom lip she had been unsure she was worrying. “I’ve lost my temper. Not often, but once quite… severely.” She swallowed down the ashes in her throat, looking away lest he see what her hand had done out of hate and vengeance instead of desperation. Clearing her throat, she continued, “I have bartered secrets with dark men when I should have chosen death instead of allowing them to manipulate my knowledge to their ends. I fell in love with a man who not only rode beside the late Kaenwynn, but was a close enough friend that I have raised the children of those fallen as my own… As well as the son of Dalrion… I will admit, it was not the darkness of these individuals that drew me in, but instead… The innocence that surrounded their destruction, which I thought I could protect.” And she scoffed at that, throwing her hands up in the air before reaching for her tea, “…Which is comical, since I know not how to even hold a sword much less protect someone with it.”
He listened to her, quietly and carefully. He did not flinch at the mention of her losing her temper. He did raise his head when she mentioned the bartering of secrets, however. But when she mentioned the name Kaenwynn and then Dalrion, his neck seemed to come to attention like that of a bird of prey fixing its eyes on a target. He pushed the tea away from himself gently as he rose to his feet slowly. "I see what you mean now," he said slowly, though his tone was not threatening, nor was his stance. "But you also recognize the errors of what you have witnessed and the wrongs that have been committed." He strode to the wall where the foreign weapon was on and looked at it with his back turned to her. "You have a chance," he said, and then turned to her, "To redeem yourself, for it is never too late to correct the wrongs that we have made in our past. Their is forgiveness down the path of the Dunedain amidst the righteousness, as well as mercy in the hands of justice." He offered her his hands then freely. "Will you take them?"
As he stood, her head dropped to look at the tea in her hands, as if the steam curling up and flushing her cheeks even further could somehow hold the right thing to say. She expected the door to open, for him to leave silently, obviously understanding the error in his ways. There was simply no way that she was what he said she was. However, when his voice rumbled out and was received by the tapestries that surrounded them from foreign lands, she looked up through a curtain of black. Tucking the ringlets back behind an ear, she considered the hand and her lips twitched before she took a sip of tea and murmured, “I have already suffered for the wrongs I have committed. And I serve my redemption every day by doing everything in my power to make sure that the cycle of violence stops. It isn’t much, but it is what I have the ability to do…” She shook her head, and met his eyes fully with a raise of her chin, “I once tried to do more, and it was beyond me. I’ve always done what little I can. Even in the darkest of places, you can find something worth saving… Even if the people that spawned them are too far gone.”
"Yes," he said, answering her in kind. "There is always light to be found even in the darkest of places, but without the proper training of the Dunedain, you may not see it, or worse--you may not know what to do with it." His hands returned to his sides again. "I offer you that chance to know of the secrets of the Dunedain, so that you may be taught and learn what to do in the face of such challenges. I tell you freely that such training may begin with a sword in your hand, but it ends with a book in the other, and the Dunedain learn when there is need of a warrior and when there is a need for words."
|She opened her mouth to respond after a long pause, interrupted when the door opened just a crack and a mop of dark brown hair poked through as a youth who could not have cleared six years of age peered through. Imoghen cast a warning glance to the ranger, before smiling at the child and beckoning him closer, “Falrion, what is it?” She set down her tea to receive him, even as he moved quietly past the strange man standing in the room, eyes so trained on him that his shin met with the table and arrested him before he realized he had met his destination. Clearing his throat and flushing, his green eyes turned up to Imoghen who had dropped a hand to his shoulder with a quiet, “Is everything okay?”
His head nodded, and then he pressed up on his toes to whisper something in her ear, the nature of which seemed protracted but humorous. When he leaned back to look pleadingly up at her, she was careful to steel the humor in her eyes and nod with authoritative grace, “…No that is certainly not acceptable. I’ll speak with Anryth about taking down the curtains to build goblin forts in a moment. Let me see our company out first though, we were just finishing.” And she gently kissed his brow and waited for him to leave, which he did in much the same fashion that he had entered, a little stunned by the stranger keeping company alone with his adoptive mother who bristled with weapons and smelled of the wilds. When footsteps signaled he was out of earshot, she turned back to the ranger and met his gaze before standing.
“Let me consider it. They may not be of my blood, but they are my children, and I am a mother first before I can even entertain other pursuits.”
Agamaran watched the exchange between the small boy and Imoghen quietly. He remained unfazed as the boy remained in the room, and when he left, he listened to Imoghen's words carfully. He nodded then. "I understand, Imoghen. It is not my intention for you to abandon the ones you love." He considered for a moment as he put a finger to his lips in wonder. "I know of a friend who would show them great kindness who could look after them. He is an Elf, and has often looked after young orphans here in Bree-land. I can introduce you to him, if you wish." He nodded slowly once more as he weighed further options. "Just as well, they can come with you to the refuge where you would be trained, where they would be cared for as if they were kindred." The finger came back down to his side. "Ultimately, I can force you to do nothing. It remains for you to decide what you wish to do."
Her eyes blinked as she paused in mid motion to show him out, closing the door once again and tilting her head, “The refuge…? I… I don’t think I could leave. I… they have a father.” Composing herself, she pressed her lips together and smoothed her skirts before continuing, “Nasib is their legal father. He has adopted them and would care for them if I needed to be absent for any period of time. I would assume… he would not be allowed to come to the refuge?”
He raised an eyebrow at her mention of 'legal' as he seemed somewhat confused as to the purpose of the word in Bree-land. "I do not know this 'Nasib.'" He stopped short in the hallway as she led him through then. "Are you married, Imoghen?" he asked suddenly, as he put the mention of her being an adoptive mother and Nasib being an adoptive father.
She laughed at the question, nodding slowly before clarifying, “Yes, soon. Nasib asked me to marry him, and I accepted. We have been raising this terrible trio together and keeping the same home for almost two years before it seemed appropriate.” Realizing the admission she clarified, “Ah, platonically. As business partners. He worked closely with my last employer, Daemyn Blacke but never chose to become involved in the less savory things Daemyn was… While he held a low opinion of the brigands that spawned them, he loves the children as his own. When Daemyn left… I was trying to raise the twins…And then Dalrion dropped Falrion on my doorstep… We had… We had nothing, not even firewood. Apple trades aren’t lucrative when you aren’t fencing stolen goods, something I was ill prepared for…”
He raised a hand as she seemed to ramble and shook his head. "Do you mean to tell me this 'Nasib' is the same one you spoke of who rode with Kaenwyn and Dalrion and even Daemyn?" He looked as if he was becoming upset or confused at the predicament. "Imoghen...what is transpiring here? By your own admittance you realize the nature of these criminals you have mentioned. What of Nasib?" The predatory eyes returned as they searched her own. "What has he done?"
“No!” She exclaimed before catching herself and clarifying, “No, I’m sorry, no. Nasib was never a part of the terrors that those individuals inflicted upon Breeland and even farther East… He was simply a business partner of Daemyn’s, who bought out the… apple trade that I was left with when Daemyn went South…” She cleared her throat, hoping to steel any emotion in her voice as she continued, “Daemyn never came North, but he is the one who fenced whatever was stolen for the Highwaymen… He had good parts, parts that made me think he could change but…” She rolled back her shoulders and offered up a sad smile, “…It is a folly to believe some men can be saved from themselves. I see that now.”
Imoghen offers up an additional clarification, obviously nervous and tripping over her words trying to convince him, "...The actual apple trade. Not the... fenced goods part."
Agamaran did not look wholly convinced. "It is a strange name, 'Nasib.' From what land does he hail from?" The hawk-like eyes focused on her, waiting for her words, wanting to study them for the truth.
“East… We don’t talk about where we come from much. It was some time ago for both of us, and neither of us remembers our homeland fondly.” There was no dishonesty in her voice, her eyes meeting his own even as she pressed back her hair once more and added, “I’m sure he would be happy to meet you, but he’s working right now… I also… I would like to discuss this entire thing with him… All of it. Your discretion would therefore be appreciated.”
He pursed his lips then as he turned away from her. He weighed his options before turning back to her, and he did not have a pleasing look on his face. "The very nature of our existance relies on secrecy, Imoghen. I would rather you did not speak of this to anyone." A long and quiet sigh escaped through his nostrils then. "However...if you are betrothed to this man...I doubt what ever I say to you can stop you from telling him." He held up a hand with two out-stretched fingers, as if bringing her attention to something. "Consider this, Imoghen. You will never be as accepted for you who are except with the Dunedain. I would ask that you do not reveal everything if you can. I place my trust in you plainly, but I do not know your Nasib, which means I do not know if I can trust him." He nodded slowly then. "Therefore, yes, I would like to meet him, as soon as possible--before you even tell him of the nature of my proposal, even, if that is at all possible on your part." He turned as if to continue on his way to the door then. "That is the small favor I ask of you now."
Had the fingers not been raised, she may have spoken, but she was obedient to a fault and so instead the response stilled on her tongue and she simply shook her head. When he had finished, she responded calmly, “I would rather not discuss any of this outside the conversation we have just shared. Nasib and I do not have a relationship that depends on a full disclosure and… Romanticism. We are both older and beyond such naivety. We love the children, and we find the other person agreeable. What I have revealed to you now is more than he has ever asked and more than I have ever told. Hence why we are mutually dependent on the other for some measure of…wisdom in what is appropriate to share.”
Listening carefully, Agamaran simply nodded along at the bluntness of her words. "Very well, Imoghen, but understand this--if wisdom is what you seek, then it is what you shall find tenfold with what I have to offer. There are others as old as I am, and even older, who have lived and seen many l lifetimes and experienced much. It is true that you have seen forty years already, and while you may see this as a boon, for the Dunedain it means that you are starting late in your life of what we learn in our youth. I do not promise that it shall be fast or easy, and there is a considerable danger to truly fulfilling the rights and goals under the correct training." His brows furrowed then. "But also know this--you are already in danger for simply being what you are, and from what you have told me, it is a wonder that the criminals of the past did not kill you for what you were born to. Which is why, again, I stress one thing above all else: secrecy."
She dipped her head, accepting without question what he was trying to impress upon her, before opening the door and moving them both through it towards the hallway, her voice casual as if continuing a prior conversation, “It’s interesting you mention that, Sir. I’m sure my betrothed has not yet looked into the security of the routes through the Lone Lands but we will heed your warning regarding the recent influx of wargs…” As they neared the door, she waited for him to recollect his cloak and smiled, “You are welcome to stop by anytime… We appreciate your service and would be happy to provide a roof for the night in small effort to repay it.” Veiled in her words was the invitation she knew he would catch. She would make herself available for his lessons if he would appear to teach them.
Agamaran let himself be led to the front door. As he brought the cloak back over his shoulders and set the clapse to hold the cloak at his neck, he nodded slowly at her words. He said nothing, however, and left, leaving as silently as he came.