[maikafanawen]

Wren thoroughly enjoyed the night’s dinner and was sorry to see it end. Members of the company began to excuse themselves and disappeared to their rooms, the garden, or to wander the estate. (Rave and Dom disappeared to the stables).

“It really is getting late,” declared Doralyn, setting her napkin beside her empty plate. “I’m going to retire. Mauriace?”

“Yes, yes. See you in the morning eh Wren? Talk business perhaps.” She nodded and bid her parents goodnight, giving each a peck on the cheek. Doralyn politely stifled a yawn as she left the dining hall in a swish of pink ruffs.

Wren allowed the servants to take her plate, but kept her chalice of dorwinion wine. Turthôl was still at the table, finishing up a conversation with Tareth. The smith excused himself and made for his room. Wren caught the ranger’s eye as he took a sip of his own wine.

“Want to finish that outside?” she asked, gesturing towards his goblet.

“No.” Wren narrowed her eyes and pulled her lips into an innocent pout. Rolling his eyes, the ranger stood with his goblet and followed Wren out towards the left side of the house, where a small rotunda stood covering a pair of benches. The noblewoman took one and Turthôl sat across from her, watching as the servants struggled with Melliant in the stables.

“Why does she even bother with that horse if it’s going to put up so much of a fight?” asked Wren lightly.

“Why do you think?” Turthôl rejoindered. “Maybe because she enjoys his company. She doesn’t seem to go through that much trouble with him. Some creatures and humans just don’t do well in different surroundings. He’s used to Rivendell. Minas Tirith is probably a bit of a shock for him.” Wren shrugged and turned her gaze towards the small stream that ran past the veranda, lodging little silver fish that darted to and fro. She imagined herself as one of them, skimming through the water with ease, hunting for small guppies as a mid-night snack.

“I was thinking about taking a ship to Harad instead of traveling along the road,” Wren blurted out. Turthôl shot a bemused look at her, stopping mid-drink.

“Come again?”

“Well why not? It’s the last thing Barodin will expect.” The ranger pursed his lips and sucked in a quick breath at the mention of the hunter’s name. “And there’s no way he could catch up to us.” Turthôl narrowed his eyes and traced the lines of wood in the bench.

“Where would we get a ship?”

“My dad owns a few merchant ships in Harlond. He wouldn’t send them out just before the fall season. All his workers are staying in Gondor for the Autumn and Winter faires to sell or trade their goods, to buy new merchandise. Then after the winter season they head out again.” Turhtôl thought about it for a while, not wanting to decide anything right away. He didn’t know what Rangar would say to it. He hadn’t really ever been on a ship before...

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow with Rangar. See what he thinks.” The noblewoman decided that was good enough, and decided to take advantage of Turthôl’s dormant mood to apologize.

“I’m sorry I got cross about the villager’s horses. I suppose you did the right thing. We didn’t really have any choice. After all, they were just horses.” The ranger’s eyes seemed to flare for a minute at such a mediocrity reference to horses after just defending Melliant, but then realized Wren’s stunt. A smile played at the corner of his mouth and he stretched his legs out on the rest of the bench, the soles of his boots hanging slightly off the end, piling the fringed velvet portico pillows behind him.

“I was just a bit annoyed I guess...”

“Annoyed? At what? That I spent more of my time talking with the young Rohanian men than you?”

“No! Just as you were angry every time I winked at Gina?!”

“Now see here!” Wren stood, slamming her chalice down on the little end table, splashing wine onto the surface, clearly infuriated. Turthôl swung his legs off the seat and stood too, cutting her off.

“No, you! I don’t know what people have been saying or thinking but there is nothing between us! Just air!!”

“Oh yeah? Then why do you always end up next to me on the trail or across from me at dinner, or find cute little things to say to me every chance you get!”

"I didn't make the table cards, and I don't talk to you! It's always you doing those things!"

“How dare you suggest such a thing—I never! Sorry if I’m just a friendly type of person but that doesn’t mean you’re any more special than the others!”

“If that’s true than why did you invite me outside!”

“I needed some fresh air!”

“Well it didn’t help ye did it?” They stopped their shouting just long enough for another voice to join the arguement.

“Oh, why don’t ye stop bickering and kiss her already?” The two arguers turned towards the voice to see the Chambria’s gardener, Jyrian, watching them from over a hedge he was trimming.

"Ye want to see some kissing mister? I'll show you some kissing that'll put hair back on your head!" shouted Turthol. Wren’s cheeks burned and she stomped her foot angrily before fleeing the rotunda. A crack of lightening flickered across the sky, lighting her path.

“Crazy young’uns,” barked the gardener. “Wouldn’t ye know ye’r the first she’s ever gotten into such a huff about?” Chuckling to himself, Jyrian left an amused Turthôl in the gardens just as the rain started to pour.

[ June 05, 2003: Message edited by: maikafanawen ]