[Elora]

Naiore

After what seemed to be an intermidable stretch of time to Toby, Naiore broke from her silent stillness. She leant towards him to whisper at him the invective to remain silent and exactly where he was. "Not a muscle moves, Master Longhole, or I will know of it." Toby started to nod, and then given the fell fire of her eyes thought better. Satisfied that her hobbit guest would remain where he was, inspired towards obedience by fear, Naiore got to her feet and moved to the mouth of the cave.

Her bow was unslung and an arrow nocked at her side, ready to fire, before she came to stand still. The afternoon shadows had started to creep over the land. Like a statue, she watched. Toby, who had heard nothing, was left to wonder a good while. There was barely even a breeze to disturb the day as far as he could tell. His bravado, ever an opportunistic creature, started to stir. Naiore simply cast a singly long stare over her shoulder.

The tip of the arrow shifted a little, and his bravado fled to somewhere safer. Naiore returned her attention to events outside of the shadowed cave. After that, it wasn't long before Toby could hear what Naiore had sensed. Naiore marked where Barrold broke from the undergrowth and moved uphill towards her cave across the open stony ground. He was not alone. So it was that the thief-come-extortionist-come-kidnapper-come-murderer-come-spy was met by the sharp, cold tip of an arrow held at the ready by the Ravennor of Mordor.

Avanill, whom closely followed Barrold, stopped behind his shoulder. Fatigue ebbed through them all and she could sense the aftermath of excitment. They had not had a quiet day. She heard Barrold mutter to Avanill from where she stood.

"Remember now, you won't find better paying work anywhere else these days. Raise your hands. She just may shoot you where you stand if she thinks she might like to. Yes, like that, so she can see you're not armed. Leave the talking to me, so as I can introduce you properly.

You need to know how to talk to these sort of customers if you want to collect your reward."

Avanill raised his hands, peering ahead and making out the dimmest outline of Naiore. Indeed, Naiore inwardly drily concurred. Satisfied that Avanill had his hands raised, Barrold started forward with considerably more caution. He pulled on a length of rope. Naiore scowled in the shadows at that. It would undo all the work she had lain down with Vanwe on the way to Bree. Barrold would pay for such clumsiness dearly.

"I've got your supplies, all of them, with some help from my colleague," Barrold said as soon he was confident Naiore wasn't going to shoot them. Indeed, she had lowered her bough and stood with one hand wrapped around a long, curved dagger of exquisite design.

"This is Avanill," Barrold started.
"I know who he is. I know your mother." Naiore inspected Avanill long and hard. "Get inside quickly. You are late, Barrold Ferney." It was clear from the note to her voice, that Naiore was ill-pleased. Barrold lumbered past her, pulling Vanwe after him. Naiore felt her daughter's confusion swirling with fear and anger and something far more ominious. A steadfast, stubborness was there also. Avanill followed Vanwe in. Both men set down their heavy packs, which Naiore ignored as she pulled her dagger free.

In a swift stroke, she sliced through the rope at Vanwe's wrists and unravelled the bonds. Caked in blood, dried and fresh, her skin was raw and broken. Vanwe flinched from the blade. "Sit, daughter," Naiore urged as gently as she could. All her work ruined by this clumsy brute.

"I trust you have brought something suitable for this." The iron of her command was clear. Barrold looked blankly at Avanill, who bent to retrieve a purloined bottle. Naiore had outstretched a hand without so much as glancing, such was her expectation of compliance. Avanill placed the bottle in her gloved hand and stood as clear of her as he could. A viper ready to strike, she was, and as unpredictable he sensed.

Naiore busied herself with the contents of the vial and Vanwe's wrists. With her back to both men, head bent over her work, she uttered another command, "Report."

That, evidently was what Barrold had been waiting for. The floodgates opened.

"I recruited Avanill for his expertise with some of the more exotic substances you were requiring," Barrold started. Naiore wondered how long his attempt to speak well would last. It was surely an effort for him. She was correct in her unspoken assessment.

"We had a spot o bother with yer daughter on the way to get them supplies... but after a short delay we were back on track."

Naiore finished her tendings and stood once more, a hand on Vanwe's shoulder should the girl run. She clearly wished to sprint for all she was worth now.

"If you call that a report, Barrold Ferney, I think I have overestimated your skills for this assignment."

"Vanwe escaped," Avanill quickly cut in, recognising his chance to sell his own skills. "We gave chase, but not before she had found a Ranger." At that Naiore went very still, coiled. Barrold took an unconscious step backwards but checked that when Toby squeaked in alarm further back in the cave.

"What're you doin' 'ere, rat?" Toby stammered his innocence.
"III wwwwwwas aaaasked tooo bbbbbby Hhhhhhher Llllllladyship!"

"Indeed. Which Ranger?" Naiore imposed her will on the exchange and forced it back to topic.

"Maethor, I believe. Your daughter knew him, I believe," Avanill said.

"It was Maethor.... you killed him as you murdered Tallas." Vanwe's accustion throbbed with grief and anguish. Naiore felt the aching muscles of her daughter's shoulders tighten beneath her hand.

"Tallas," she repeated quickly. Her voice was smooth but her grip tightened. Vanwe fell silent.

"Yes, Tallas. Was he that donated your supplies, Lady Dannan," Avanill finished urbanely. His mother had instructed him well. When Naiore said nothing further, Barrold and Avanill bent to show her what they had made off with. Naiore interrupted them.

"Leave your packs. We will inspect them later. Toby, on your feet. We must move now."

"Now," protested Barrold, "I've been walkin' all day without any rest!"

"You'll walk now because of your work today, Barrold Ferney. A simple task I gave you, and you return with my daughter barely on her feet, a dead Ranger and Tallas, Elf friend and ally of the Dunedain for many long years, also dead. If you are so intent on lingering here, perhaps you'd care to join them?"

Naiore's voice had become soft, dangerously so. Her gaze shifted from Barrold, who fell silent, to Avanill, who nodded. "Come, Vanwe. We must flee before the hawks settle on us." Naiore guided Vanwe to her feet. Barrold and Avanill resumed their packs upon their shoulders. Toby shook in a corner, hoping he was forgotten for the moment.

"We will talk, tonight, Vanwe. Know only that I am ill-pleased with today's events. Will you come with me? I do not wish to leave you here for the Rangers to find. They will be fierce now that two of their own number have been victim of such violence." Vanwe nodded hesitantly, and Naiore had to content herself with that. Suspicion and doubt warred within Vanwe against her longing for family. Naiore waved a hand vaguely in Toby's direction.

"You too, Master Longholes." Toby started forward with the growing conviction that Naiore did not use the title Master to conveny any regard or respect. A quick scan with eyes and senses outside of the cave was all Naiore could afford with Lespheria about somewhere as well.

The odd party, two Men, two Elves and one Hobbit, set out then. Naiore led, moving like water over the ground and then through the cover of the brush, drawing Vanwe after her. Toby followed, head pivoting about with the expectation of disaster falling upon him at any moment, including from behind where Avanill and then Barrold took up the rear.

After some silence, Barrold and Avanill were left with something to ponder as Naiore's voice floated down to them as light as silk on the air.

"Tonight, good gentlemen, we shall discuss the Elf-friend and matters pertaining to our venture." Barrold swallowed an uncomfortable lump in his throat so that it joined the queasy mess of his stomach. He wasn't entirely sure why, only that Naiore was not at all happy.