[Elora]

Naiore watched as the conversation her subject was holding at the bar wound to a natural close. The Prince of Thieves was well warmed by the ale in his hand and looked to be enjoying himself in this mortal land with his mortal drink of choice. Avery had quickly seen through his dazzling charm to think twice about prolonging any further chatter. The polite distraction of conversation was one thing, the company of a known thief was quite another. Naiore smiled indulgently as Ronnan turned back to order another ale, relaxed and quite at ease which is exactly the moment she had been waiting for. There was a score to be settled and the Prince of Thieves had been unwise enough to accrue a debt, of sorts, to none other than herself.

With the memories of the response she had encountered at the Thieves Guild of Dol Amroth playing through her mind, alarmed faces and earnestly offered apologies offered when they realised exactly who and what she was still clear within her mind, Naiore smoothed the folds of velvet at her hips and proceeded to glid effortlessly on light feet through the tables. She approached Ronnan as he had just set down payment for his second ale, a serene smile lighting her elven features and a knowing glint of anticipation in emerald eyes.

"How curious that we should both share a love of Rohan, Ronnan," she murmured in a voice that all but purred. Ronnan's spine stiffened involuntarily at the sound of her low, musical voice that floated on the air. He slowly turned to confirm what his mind was screaming at him. Indeed, none other than Naiore Dannan stood resplesdant as always before him. He had thought himself safe, comparatively speaking, and obviously he was incorrect in his assessment of matters. Certainly, her smile was far from safe. "Lady!"

His voice had a distinctly squeaky sound that he loathed at once. Naiore's smile only widened elegantly. "Will you not introduce me to your lovely companion?" Ronnan glanced at Avery somewhat wretchedly. "Lady Avery, may I introduce you to the Lady Naiore of....," he broke off uncertainly. Naiore smoothly finished for him without hesitation, "Belfalas. Mae Govannan Lady Avery. It would seem that Ronnan has a growing appreciation for the wonders of ale if he finds my home so difficult to recall."

Ronnan silenced a protest, knowing full well that to disclose his dissembling over Naiore's origins would only cast more suspicion over himself and he had enough trouble as it was. Instead, he made do with the semblance of proprietry. "Would you care for a drink, Lady Naiore? Doubtless you have travelled far." Naiore heard him grasp for information on the manner of her arrival. "Indeed I have and would. One does not travel at speed through day and night without acquiring the need for refreshment."

Ronnan would have groaned to hear that Naiore had gone to such lengths to track him down if it would have helped him and Naiore knew it. He turned back to the bar and ordered a glass of wine, knowing full well what manner of refreshement she would require. "Have you enlivened this establishment long, Ronnan," Naiore asked as she relieved him of the goblet he presented to her.

"No, I have not had that fortune," he replied glumly. "Well perhaps later you will." Ronnan would have liked to ask how much later, but she forestalled him by raising her goblet to her lips and delicately sipping the ruby wine. "Rohan is a land filled with wonder. Such is how I have ever found it." Ronnan hid his self-recriminatory grimace in his ale. Rohan, which had seemed so very safe and distant from his usual haunts, was also the well known realm of visitation by one of the many he was hoping avoid. Somehow, his optimistic nature had lead him to believe that Naiore Dannan had much more important things to do than pursue a thief.

"Perhaps we could find a table," Naiore prompted. Avery seemed reluctant to join the pair, discerning the risky tenor to their conversation thus far and wisely deciding to not throw herself in it's midst until she could be sure which side was one she wished to throw her lot in with. It would be a difficult decision to make when the choices were the Prince of Thieves and the Terror of Mordor. Neither one was particularly trustworthy. Ronnan duly held Naiore's chair out for her and sank into his own when she had lithely folded herself into it.

"I know why you're here," he opened before she could in the hopes of maintaining some control over the direction of the conversation. Naiore arched a mocking brow in his direction. "Then I am surprised you sit with me at this table if you indeed know the nature of my intentions." So smoothly spoken, the words still held a chill which carried clearly. "I can return it. I still have it." Naiore set down her glass on the table and laughed. It was a clear, musical sound and it unnerved Ronnan more than anything else she could possibly say or do. "That comes as no surprise, Prince of Thieves," she replied with cutting sarcasm placed on his title. "There are few who would dare take up possession of what you presently have."

Ronnan sighed disconsolately for Naiore was right. He had tried to offload the items in question more than once. The Guild at Dol Amroth had stared aghast at his bounty and simply vacated the room at great haste. Yet at the time of his ill-considered theft, it had seemed so perfect a mark to lift. Beautifully worked in an art lost now to Elves and Men and Dwarves, incalculable value. The mithril swan was carved with breathtaking artistic vision, each feather intricately articulated, the graceful sweep of its neck. Tiny black diamonds glittered for the eyes. The beak was carved from ebony. The feathers were inlaid with a pearl that seemed to glow with a hidden light. The feet were amber. It was an extraordinary piece of scuplture.

It also happened to be well documented as one the belongings of Naiore Dannan, for whom the swan had been commissioned and inspired by. The ill-fated suitor who had tendered it for her consideration was somewhat well known. Naiore had never been clearly linked with his unfortunate and untimely death but neither had she deigned to deny it and the Swan became a mysterious artefact. In truth, Ronnan had thought Naiore would not particularly care for its continued existence in her possession. Afterall, she was in no need of wealth and it came from a suitor that rumour had so displeased her that she had caused his death. Yet there she was, sitting across the table from him and watching the same way a hunting cat of Rhun watched its prey.

"When would you like it back," he asked. Naiore took her time, savouring the wine before offering a reply and enjoying the thief's discomfort. "As soon as can be arranged. I will need time to set things into place. One does not simply rent a chamber in which to extract repentance freely in Rohan." Ronnan blanched at her bald statement. "Repentance," he repeated in the hope she was jesting or his hearing was flawed, the likelihood of either remote given her nature and his excellent hearing. Naiore blinked in surprise herself.

"Yes, for it shall not be said that a thief be he Prince of Thieves or otherwise can intrude into my private chambers and remove items of his selection at will. A lady's chambers are inviolate and such an act cannot go unpunished." Naiore seemed taken aback at his ignorance of such simple matters of propriety and courtesy. Ronnan was surprised at her committment to such social mores givn her occupation.

He laughed in disbelief at her explanation. "You would punish me for transgressions of chivalry?" Naiore favoured him with an expression that implied that her estimation of his intelligence was over generous and elaborated further. "There is never reason to allow one's manners to slip no matter what cause one pursues." Ronnan sat back in his chair at that, unsure of how to argue that an Elf whose "cause" included some of the most depraved examples of life within Arda had no need to be concerned about manners and instead gave himself over to manufacturing a way to elude the Terror of Mordor.

Naiore deemed the conversation concluded and enjoyed her wine. The great shame of it, Ronnan thought, that were she not who she was she would make a most charming companion. Certainly, between her fair form, quick wit and considerable abilities she would make one ally Ronnan would most definately wish to call his own and most definately an enemy he would avoid at all costs even if it meant an ungracious departure of his own. Being a thief at times called for such things.