[maikafanawen]

Wren’s clothes and hair were disgusting. Blood and mud were caked on her skin and she had never felt so dirty. After the company had started the fire and Aerin had started the soup, she whispered something to Carmalita about cleaning off and Carmalita said she’d keep the others away from the stream while she did. Thanking her, Wren took her bag and carried it down to the water.

It was a cool and beautiful evening. There were a few misty clouds and the waxing moon shown on the water in a way that made Wren’s breath catch in her throat. Evening birds sang songs in the nearby trees, and the smaller animals were settling down in burrows for the night. After she had cleaned herself, she washed her clothes quickly in the stream, laying them out to dry afterwards on the grassy bank. The noblewoman now wore a crisp blue jerkin that made her eyes stand out and a cream-coloured blouse that tied up the sides to her elbows. Her riding pants now were black and a red sash was tied around her waist, covering her black belt from which she hung her pouches. Wren brushed out her hair and tied it up with a matching red scarf. Taking an approving look at her reflection, she gathered her things and moved back to camp. Once there, she hung up her things to dry and accepted the steamy bowl of soup Aerin offered her.

* * *

It was a sunny and breezy day in Osgiliath where Wren had traveled with her father on a business trip. Her tutor had come along and she had been excused from todays lessons and was permited to walk the streets. Sea birds flew overhead as they scavenged the riverside looking for scraps of food. Brightly colored scarves of purple and blue were tied around Wren’s waist and arms. Decorative jewels held up her hair that was covered by a wide-brimmed hat, adorned with a large blue feather. A trendy cape was draped over one of her shoulders and the strap tied just under her other arm. She was dressed to stun and stand out in a crowd of her gender. While dresses, skirts and bodices were usually suspected for women of her age and older, she had chosen the costume of a woman fencer for the day. The noblewoman needed a bit of a change she mused, though she enjoyed looking ravishing in the silks and velvets her dresses were made of. And instead of beaded shoes she wore black, knee-high boots that completed her valuable ensemble. In front of her she held her newly forged sword with a rose on the hilt. She had picked it up just that morning from the family metal worker’s shop. Before her stood a man also raising en guarde with his own weapon.

“Eh, come on Rhadûn. Ye can take ‘er! Look at tha’ size o’ ‘er! She’s barely ‘alf yer size!” The jaunt was given by a wiry boy whose first beard was a blond shadow upon his face. His un-calloused hands, which were covered protectively by expensive leather gloves, rested lightly on the hilt of his own sword. The boy’s poor language was a result of years past spent with rogue sailors upon his father’s ship. He was the son of Mauriace Chambria’s greatest competitor in the merchant field: Giyrth Fawret. The boy’s name was Giyrion. Wren would love the chance to face him in the fencing line, but knew that he’d find some way or other to get out of it. Plus, if he lost, Wren’s father would suffer drastically.

“You better not sire,” whispered Rhadûn’s page. “The guard will come by any second now on their rounds.” The man ignored the comments and advanced slowly then stopped, only to advance again and double retreat lightly on his booted feet. His first attack was high inside and Wren parried it easily. The two parried rhythmically back and forth for a while until Rhadûn went to parry and Wren disengaged, stabbing him slightly in his left shoulder. His face went white with pain and he crossed back, his sword dragging the ground.

“The guard!” warned the page. The small ring of university students that had been watching dispersed quickly as the guard and their mounts rode into the street.

“What has happened? What is your business?” asked the captain, glaring down from his horse at Wren. She tilted her head back, peering at him from under the brim of her hat. The noblewoman’s blue eyes twinkled with mischief and the captain recognized her immediately with a groan. “I should have known. Wren, this would have been the second time this week you’d have been arrested! Won’t you ever learn!? You there!” he said now, gesturing towards Rhadûn who was walking away. “Come here.” The student turned and shot a sadistic glare at Wren as he approached, sheathing his sword. “You both will come with us.” Wren and Rhadûn followed the guard up the street to their headquarters.

Once there, the usual routine took place. Both were questioned about the Who What Why When and Wheres of the situation. After answering them all truthfully, the guards found out that it was a simple misunderstanding between the two over pride and who was the better fencer.

“But,” said Wren, picking up her hat which she had laid on the desk. “That having been discovered, I believe we both can leave?” The captain nodded.

“You watch yourself Chambria. Your fencing games may be fun now, but someday you could make someone very angry with you and find out that perhaps you aren’t the best fencer.” The noblewoman ignored him with a dramatic bow and left the store in a flourish of black, purple and blue.

But when she walked outside she saw that the street was streamed with dead bodies and blood. Cries rang out falling upon deaf ears as the fighting continued. She could not identify the faces and the setting around her was no longer Osgiliath. The noblewoman searched frantically for an answer, a face she recognized, or a building. Finding none she turned to reenter the headquarters only to see a large house from which flames leapt and blared from the windows and roof. She screamed as it collapsed, crushing the family that had just run onto the porch . . . .

“Wren! Wren shut up! Wake up!” The noblewoman opened her eyes and looked into the face of Turthôl. “What happened?” She sat up, brushing the hair out of her face and looking around her. Then she rolled her eyes and leaned back on her elbows.

“It was—” she took a deep breath, shaking her head. “It was just a dream. Or rather, a memory and then it evolved more into a dream where it was kind of hazy and I didn’t know what was going on but it was . . . bad.” She stopped and absently fiddled with a curl, trying to compose herself after the disturbing dream.

“Want to talk about it?” asked Turthôl, who seemed surprisingly concerned. Deciding it would do her no harm, Wren told it to him in detail. He listened patiently until she was done.

“I’m not sure what it means but the symbolism doesn’t look good.” Turthôl said, pulling up blades of grass as he thought. Wren didn’t care to think about it, and the ranger, not being able to figure it out either, changed the subject . . .
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Maika

Please see your PM's.

[ May 18, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[ May 19, 2003: Message edited by: maikafanawen ]