I've a friend who lives by the river's mouth

[dreadinquisitor]

WHO| Maxwell and Thorongil
WHAT| Repaying a debt; bow talk
WHERE| Around the river
WHEN| After the Inquisition Mammoth Hunt
Warnings/Notes| None.



It was likely foolish, expecting the man to remain in the same place despite the stampede, despite the increasing snowfall, but Maxwell felt compelled to try. Even if Thorongil had requested no payment, he felt the debt owed. The man had helped him when he'd had nothing and now, for the moment, that they had more than they really knew what to do with it was only right he try and return the favor.

A thick cut of the wooly beast's meat wrapped in a square of its furry hide, he set out from their camp and headed for the river, figuring that as good a place as any to start his search. If he couldn't find him there, or in the forest beside, well... he'd just have to owe the man a drink if and when they returned to the city.

Comments

[elfstone]

It was sheer luck that led them to the same place at the same time: if Maxwell were looking in the right direction, he would notice Thorongil step carefully out of the woods, glancing around. He is dressed warmly enough, thanks to sponsors and the Cornucopia, and still has that bag over his shoulder.

He spots a figure about thirty feet away and tenses, hand already reaching for the handmade bow slung over his back -- but recognizes it as Maxwell, and lowers his hand again.

"What!" he calls, but quietly: it's just loud enough to carry, and the falling snow deadens it. "Back at the river, Maxwell?" It's said with more cheer than someone who's been in an Arena for over two weeks should have. "I hope it's not to tend to that wound -- it should be closed by now."

[dreadinquisitor]

Maxwell spotted the figure a heartbeat before it was calling it out him; the smile breaking across his face even before Thorongil's teasing had reached his ears. No long search this time.

"No, no..." he called back, breath pluming white and mingling with the slowly falling snow. "Your work as a healer stands unchallenged."

He was, in fact, doing much better this time around. The parka he wore was clean, a gift from Swann to replace his bloodied one, and boots now, heavy and thick that had him confidently splashing through the water where it was thin and slow to reach the smiling man on the other bank.

A knife flashed silver on one hip; the bundle of fur bounced against the other as he approached.

"I came only to make good on that payment you spoke of."

[elfstone]

"Good, good. That is well," Thorongil says, his stance relaxed, willingly letting Maxwell approach. "You look much better than you did. But I'm afraid I don't take your meaning." It sounds like Maxwell had deliberately sought him out, but the payment in question was mere friendship, not anything that could be passed from man to man. What's Maxwell's purpose here?

As the Inquisitor gets closer, he'll see that there is a strung bow slung over Thorongil's shoulder. It's well-made but its rough-hewn nature gives away that it was crafted by hand in less than ideal circumstances.

[dreadinquisitor]

He did see it, his eyes sliding tellingly to Thorongil's shoulder, following the curve of the wood. He recognized that it wasn't like the one he'd spotted so briefly at the horn. That one had been as sleek and slick as the one's he'd been training with at the Tower, but Thorongil's still looked like it would get the job done.

He wanted to ask after it, but refrained for a moment longer. He'd come with a purpose after all.

"I don't have any bread for us to break, but I was hoping this perhaps might do." Reaching down, he tugged on the tie holding the meat to him and held it out. "A thank you."

[elfstone]

Thorongil looked down at the offered meat, then back up at Maxwell, his face a strange mix of surprise, gratitude, and something else that was hard to describe. Even after being a part of the Fellowship, Aragorn still hadn't forgotten his lonely years as Strider, full of mutual mistrust and fear. His months with Elrond and traveling with the Fellowship had eased that somewhat, but with Gandalf dead and all of his decisions second-guessed by both himself and one of his allies, the trip down the Anduin hadn't exactly been a happy one.

"Are you sure you can spare it?" he asked, his voice betraying that he was touched by the gesture.

[dreadinquisitor]

Maxwell's expression softened, watching Thorongil's twist through a series of emotions.

"For the man who went out of his way to aid me, when it would be simpler to kill me? Easier still, to walk past?" He smiled and gestured with the meat insistently. "Take it, otherwise we'll be off to a poor start at friendship."

[elfstone]

If it was put that way, how could he refuse? He reached out and took it.

"I will not forget it," Thorongil promised. "Neither the gift nor the giver."

[dreadinquisitor]

"There, see? Not so hard." His smiled widened with the light teasing, extending hand retracting and joining with its mate, folded over his chest. "And I won't even ask any more of you... other than, if I may, to inquire about your bow."

His eyes flicked to it again, not quite envious, but something like it in his eyes. Almost wistful.

An archer without his bow was like a fish out of water.

"Did you happen on that at the horn? Or was it sent to you?"

It had been the former, he knew he'd missed his chance, but the latter -- he didn't know what Swann would have to promise in order to procure it, but he could try at least.

[elfstone]

"Neither," says Thorongil, accepting the teasing with a grin. "I crafted it myself, from cut wood and the sinews of animals I have hunted."

[dreadinquisitor]

"Truly?" Maxwell's eyebrows went up, eyes flicking from the weapon to the man again. "A healer and a craftsman, Thorongil? Do your talents know no bounds?"

[elfstone]

He broke into a true laugh. "I also sing rather well," he declared, "and tell a fine tale, when I put my mind to it. But I've never been much of a dancer." The teasing put Thorongil at ease; though he was still wary of his surroundings, he found himself liking Maxwell -- as a person to talk to, rather than a man in need or a potential ally.

[dreadinquisitor]

"Oh, well, in that case, consider the friendship off," Maxwell chuckled, the man's laugh bringing out one of his own. "Everyone knows a man's trustworthiness is tied to his feet."

Shaking his head, he gestured lightly to the bow.

"May I see it?"

[elfstone]

Willingly, Thorongil took the bow off his shoulder, pulling it over his head and handing it to Maxwell. "I am no master," he admitted. "But it will serve. I have had to fletch the arrows with goose-feathers; it is fortunate there were so many to catch in our first few days."

He wasn't afraid Maxwell would run off with the bow. Honestly, even if the man did, Thorongil had enough sinew to make three others.

[dreadinquisitor]

The thought of taking it didn't even cross through Maxwell's mind, it simply wasn't the way he was built. All he did was look it over, testing the weight of it in his hands and pulling the string experimentally.

"Not the handsomest I've seen, that's true," he said, turning politely to aim an imaginary arrow across the river. "But certainly serviceable."

Carefully, he relaxed the string and turned back, holding the weapon out to Thorongil without prompting.

"Loath though I am to ask more of you -- might you be willing to show me how you managed it?" His mouth curled sheepishly. "I'll admit, I've gathered materials for my weapons before, but I always left the crafting to the blacksmith."

[elfstone]

"I'm afraid I haven't the time to teach you," Thorongil admitted, glancing around them. "It is a craft that takes time to learn. When we return to the Capitol, I will be glad to instruct you in the art of bow-making, such as I can, but until then..."

He put out his hands, a gesture of rejection -- he did not take the bow back.

"Keep it. It is yours; I have more than enough materials to make another."

[dreadinquisitor]

Maxwell almost refused outright, as much out of surprise as anything, but recalling what he'd just said himself a few moments ago he asked instead, "Are you certain?"

The bow hung between them, still extended, ready for Thorongil to change his mind.

"I can always hunt more game, but an actual weapon of use...."

[elfstone]

"I have enough materials to make half a dozen more," Thorongil promised. "Replacing it will be the work of an hour. And here--" He reaches over his shoulder, where half a dozen goose-fletched arrows sit. He takes three of them and places them in the hand with the bow. "I am sorry I cannot spare more. Use them well."

[dreadinquisitor]

The humor of before faded from Maxwell's face as he studied Thorongil's, replaced instead by a honest warmth. Surprised, but touched.

"Thank you," he said earnestly, fingers closing around the arrow and drawing the weapon back. He ducked his head in respect, a bow from the shoulders up. "If there's ever anything you need--"

He turned and gestured with his free hand toward the mountains.

"My people have a camp at the base of the mountains; a cave we've taken for our own. You'll be more than welcome there, if you have a mind."

He barely knew the man, that was true, but Maxwell already trusted him. Held him in esteem. And nothing said that more than offering to bring him into the inner circle, with the people that mattered most to him.

[elfstone]

"I may need it, before the Arena ends," Thorongil said solemnly. "So far, fortune has favored me, but that tide may yet turn." There was a note of farewell in his voice, a sense that the conversation was coming for a close. "If it does, I will remember your words, and seek you out."

He returned the nod, respectful.

[dreadinquisitor]

Maxwell smiled, fondly then. The beginnings of a friendship forged.

"Just give my name, if you don't see me first. Some of them... have been known to swing first and to ask after."

Always well intentioned, but sometimes unfortunate.

Slipping the bow over his shoulders, the string across his chest, he took a step back.

"In the meantime, may you walk in the light."

[elfstone]

"And may you, in turn, carry the Powers' favor," was Thorongil's reply. He stepped back as well, bowing, and then would disappear into the forest.