they say home is where the heart is (OPEN)

[shieldofrohan]

Who| Éowyn and OPEN
What| General Week 2 stuff
Where| Meduseld and the mountains
When| Throughout week 2
Warnings/Notes| TBC

Éowyn has travelled across a good part of the region since the Cornucopia, most of it on horseback, but since finding the golden hall of Meduseld nestled in its strange place in the mountains, she's had a definite radius. She checks it every day, riding in a wide sweep around the foot of the mountains, looking for her allies or for the District children she has sworn to herself she will protect. The search is the same each day; she starts at first light, ranges out from east to west around ten miles, then rides back to the mountains to feed and rest her mount, and to change the makeshift dressing she's tied over the rat bite on her neck. She keeps a light in the window every night, an invitation to shelter from the storm.

The hall itself is bittersweet for her. Seeing it empty and lifeless, without the people that ought to fill every room, is a sharp reminder of how far from home she is. She stables her horse in the great banquet hall that she remembers filled with shouting and laughter; rats eat at the draperies; spiders spin over the relief carvings which decorate the doorposts. She sleeps on the table, where once she sat and feasted, under the tapestry her grandmother wove long ago. It is a homecoming, of sorts, but it is achingly hollow.

When she isn't riding or sleeping, she can be found sitting on the lintel of the hall, gutting the rabbits she hunts with the crossbow she won at the Cornucopia, or sharpening her sword.

Comments

[dreadinquisitor]

Maxwell was alone. He'd learned to stop trying to locate the others during the chaos of the Cornucopia - now made even less likely with so few of them among the great number of tributes - but this time, when he'd tried to linger nearby to reunite later, he'd spotted the dragon.

It hadn't seemed to take much interest in him, soaring overhead, air rippling with ever beat of its massive wings, but he wasn't risking it.

It was hard alone. But the parachutes had come, with just enough supplies to be able to eek out an existence (he couldn't help but think of his conversation with the Gamemaker, if it had been planned - premeditated) and then he'd found the nugs. Hairless and squeaking and gamboling about on their strange little hands -- one of the most beautiful things his starved body had ever seen.

He'd set some traps, and now he checked them, every day, circling near the base of the mountain. He moved as quickly and quietly as his could, wary of the dragons and the spiders, but he was an suspicious site, standing out against the trees and greenery in his grey suit.

[shieldofrohan]

Éowyn saw him from a distance, her line of sight clear from her mount. "On, Brandybuck," she coaxed in a low, urgent voice, pressing her heels into the horse's sides and clicking her tongue. "Steady, steady." She didn't know the man she saw, at least not by more than sight, and didn't trust him not to attack; as she drew closer over the crest of the hill, her hand went to the sword at her belt.

If he tried to run, the stranger would find himself cut off; Éowyn kept one hand on the reins and her heels poised against the horse's sides, ready to break into a gallop and keep him penned in if necessary. But until then, she approached at a walk, letting the horse pick its footing carefully, her eyes darting to the ground every so often to check for caltrops or snares. The last thing she needed was a lamed horse.

When she was a few metres away, she hailed him. "I seek no quarrel, friend! Hold fast!"

[dreadinquisitor]

The snare was empty, and he was crouched, bent, his fingers deftly moving to reset it when the voice called out suddenly. His head popped up, swinging toward the sound and landing unerringly on the woman and her-- Maker, where had she gotten a horse?

"...Neither do I," he said slowly, raising carefully out of his crouch as he spoke. There was a knife in one of the hands he held up - palms out - but it was loose in his grip, pointedly non-threatening. "I'm only here for that."

He gestured to the trap, gently.

[shieldofrohan]

Éowyn let her hand drift away from her sword again, reining the horse in once she was comfortably in speaking range. "I wondered whose they were," she commented a little dryly, slipping off the bare back of her mount and looking down at his snare. "But as I have been able to find meat enough myself, it seemed kindest to leave them undisturbed."

Winding the horse's reins (which, on closer inspection, were twisted pieces of homespun fabric) around one hand, she held the other out to shake - an unfamiliar greeting still, but the one she most associated with this world. "Éowyn they call me, Éomund's daughter. I seek my friends, and the children of this world. Have you seen any of them?"

[dreadinquisitor]

"My stomach thanks you," he said, smiling carefully as he took a step to meet her outstretched hand with his own. "Maxwell Trevelyan."

Her title didn't mean much to him, but she wasn't attacking and though she'd apparently found his snares and traps scattered about, she'd left them be. That said more than enough about her.

"I wish I could return the favor," he said after introducing himself, "but I'm afraid I've been alone since the Cornucopia. You're the first thing I've seen since that doesn't have eight legs or breath fire."

[shieldofrohan]

"Misfortune indeed." Éowyn shook his hand firmly, then let go to pet her horse's nose as it shifted uncomfortably. "Shh, Brandybuck. Shh, now, easy." It flared its nostrils, hoofing the ground a couple of times, then fell still, and Éowyn turned back to Maxwell. "I would be ill indeed to turn you out into the wastelands with no more favour than that. Come, walk with me to Meduseld. I cannot feast you, but you shall have shelter and fire, and there are tapestries and furniture to be salvaged, though it aches my heart to do it."

[dreadinquisitor]

"I can help with that," he said, smiling then, appreciating her offer and glad that he could return that much at least. Taking a step back, he lifted a bag - salvaged in his flight from the destroyed city - from behind the bushes. "A few of my other traps were more lucrative. I've enough to share."

If one didn't mind nug, that was. He'd gotten used to the taste, after this long, but he couldn't deny that it was still odd.

[foundafamily]

It's the city rather than the mountains or castles that call out to Firo, but he makes his way over to this side of the Arena anyway. There's nothing to be gained by staying in his comfort zone (if anything in the Arena can be called comfortable), especially when his search for his friends there yielded little.

So he starts making his way to the other areas, staying alert for any signs of them. He hasn't yet made is way up the mountain, but lingers at the base, wondering if he should really risk the hike. His head whips around when he thinks he hears something not too far off. Hoofbeats..?

[shieldofrohan]

Éowyn rounds the corner a moment later, riding tall, bareback on her bay horse, with an unloaded crossbow in one hand and a gutted rabbit hanging at her hip. When she sees Firo, she cries out in surprise and delight, spurring the horse into a trot. "Firo! Ai, it lightens my heart to see you!"

[foundafamily]

He jumps up on his toes, buoyed by joy rather than the alarm he was expecting. It's her! "Éowyn!"

There's a lot to size up when she pulls closer into view--clearly she's been getting stuff done with her time here. "You look... wow."

Firo has a small vocabulary, so he doesn't quite have the words for it. Happy's one, and that's what's most important. Impressive would probably be another, considering he doesn't know anybody back home who could catch a rabbit.

[shieldofrohan]

She laughs, reining in her horse alongside him and smiling down at him. "I have sought you long and hard," she points out. "'Tis little wonder if I am glad to see you, whole and hearty."

It's difficult to talk like this, perched up on a horse a good two or three feet above him, so she slides off the horse's back, landing lightly with the ease of long practice. "This," she tells him, "is Brandybuck. I found him in the desert, half-tamed already. Is he not a beauty?"

[foundafamily]

"I've been lookin' for you too." And there's a whole lot of relief showing plainly with the happiness on his face. Though their deaths often seem almost inevitable, learning of the things that happen to his friends is never fun.

"He's got four legs and both eyes, so he looks pretty good to me. He's fine around people?" He steps forward, a hesitant hand hovering near the animal's face.

Firo isn't the most trusting of large animals at the best times. The ones in the Arena, he fears, could be secretly out to get them.

...That, and he remembers her words about her last horse in the Arena. Will knowing this one hurt her just as badly?

[shieldofrohan]

"Skittish, but he will not hurt you. Here. Lean up to him, blow in his nostrils. He will get to know the smell of you best that way, and know you for a friend." She winds the reins closer around her hand to draw the horse's head down, reaching over with her other hand to stroke the animal's neck in long, soothing strokes. "I am half-sure he is bred from the chariot horses. If he is not sired by Hafod, then Hafod has a twin somewhere in the Districts. The markings and the line of his flank are too close to be coincidence."

[unlikelyherald]

Adella's daily routine isn't so different from Éowyn's. So it stands to reason that after a few days of her settling into the regular motions of going between forest and village that she spots the other woman. She isn't sure what to do, she's standing in the middle of the fields between the safety of the forest or the abandoned buildings she could get lost in, and she isn't on horseback. Running really isn't an option, so she exhales slowly and keeps her pace, stopping once there's enough space to talk loudly across.

"I'm not really in the mood for a fight to the death today, are you?"

[shieldofrohan]

"I am rarely in such a mood, of late." Éowyn reins her horse in, letting her hand drop away from her sword. Her voice carries over the space between them, clear and steady. "I do but seek my friends, and the children of this world, that I may guard them. There are enough fights to be found in this place, without picking more."

[unlikelyherald]

She relaxes as the woman expresses a lack of intent to do harm, her grip on her staff becoming one of support, rather than one ready to spring into action. Smiling a little, she inclines her head.

"I'm looking for my friends too. You're one of the first people I've seen since the Cornucopia, though." She hesitates for a moment, before adding: "My name is Adella Trevelyan. I'm one of the few left here from the land known as Thedas."

[shieldofrohan]

"Adella?" Éowyn takes a moment to place the name, then her face lights up abruptly, and, swinging herself off the horse's back, she takes a few steps closer, as though to embrace the other woman, before catching herself. Still, the smile lingers. "Ai, we are well met! You are Cullen's lady, are you not? I have long wished to meet you, to see the woman whom he holds in such high regard." Then, remembering that she hasn't actually introduced herself yet: "Éowyn is my name, and I count Cullen a dear friend. He stood by me in dire need, and whetted my sword against his in training. He was among those I sought in this place."

[unlikelyherald]

At the mention of Cullen any wariness on Adella's face melts away and she finds herself smiling too, a bit wider when she recognizes Éowyn's name.

"Éowyn, of course. I should have realized when I saw you! Cullen has mentioned you to me. I'm grateful he's had someone like you at his back." Her smile fades a little then, and she glances over the blonde's shoulder, as if she half expects the man in question to materialize there. "I'm guessing that means you haven't seen him, either."

[shieldofrohan]

"I fear not," Éowyn says, with genuine regret. "I seek him, and will go on seeking him, but thus far, I have not seen hide nor hair of him. Yet he still lives, I think, for I have not seen him listed among the slain. Perhaps he travelled in the other direction when he left the Cornucopia. My search has been limited, and if he has not come within this quarter of the Arena, it is not surprising I have not seen him."

[drinkupmehearties]

Jack's first week had been spent holed up in the city area, staying mostly out of sight in the abandoned homes, scavenging whenever and wherever possible. He hadn't braved the Cornucopia this time, not wanting to take on the risk and knowing that the second week would most likely bring Sponsor gifts and supplies. Food, in the meanwhile, has been scarce for him.

The shrieking and constant commotion in the city at night had stripped any hope of restful sleep from him, and early in the second week he'd made the decision to strike out and find a better place to settle. Nowhere in the Arena was safe, of course, but at least he'd be far away from whatever creatures made such horrible noises. So he travels north for the better part of a day, along the base of the mountain and among the trees.

When the snow storm eventually hits later that night, Jack is forced to find shelter -- and so stumbles across Meduseld. Normally he'd be incredibly leery of buildings that stood out like this, as these types of places tended to attract other Tributes and stir up violent confrontation. But there was no choice at this point. He didn't want to freeze to death.

The door slams loudly behind him as he enters the hall, followed by a gust of icy wind. He leans back against the door, cursing colorfully beneath his breath and drawing the knife from his pocket, quickly skimming the room for occupants and shivering from the cold. He spots someone almost immediately, and tenses a moment before realizing who it is. "Eowyn?"

[shieldofrohan]

Éowyn sits up sharply from where she lies on the table, woken by the slam of the door and the freezing wind. When she hears his voice, though, she laughs under her breath, dropping her sword back onto the wood beside her and getting to her feet, a tapestry held around her shoulders like a cloak.

"Jack! Of all intruders, you may be the welcomest!" Reaching over to the little pile she's made of cannibalised furniture, she puts a little more wood onto the dying embers of her fire, prodding it back to life before she crosses over to him. Seeing how he shivers, she stands a bare moment in consideration before pulling the tapestry from around her shoulders and proffering it. "The storm will last some hours. Come sit by the fire, and warm yourself. There is some stew left - I will heat it for you."

[drinkupmehearties]

The wariness that had creased his brow softens, giving way to warm cheer as Jack tucks the knife away in his jumpsuit. "I'm glad to see you're well." She'd been one of only a few that he'd kept an eye out for when the day's death toll was splashed across the night sky, hoping to not see her face among the dead. But, of course, naturally, she'd been doing well for herself.

He takes the offered cloth, wrapping it snug around his shoulders and then pressing his hands together in a appreciative gesture. "Very much obliged, luv. I've not eaten much these past couple weeks." Hot food and warm shelter sounded like absolute bliss at the moment, especially after escaping that snow storm. Jack moves to settle down next to the fire, the heat of the flames blessedly warm on his numb face and icy hands, then takes a few seconds to drink in his surroundings. He's oblivious to the hall's meaning to her, but fascinated by it nonetheless.

"This is quite the place to settle in to, blimey."

[shieldofrohan]

"You should see it at its height," she comments with a little laugh, going over to fetch the battered iron pot of stew from its place on the end of the table, and settles it in the quickening fire. "With the candles lit, and the burnished copper on the table, and the whole of the hall echoing through with laughter, song, and story... ai, you cannot picture its beauty. Oh, shh, Brandybuck, shh..."

This to what might at first glance have looked like a pile of tapestries in the corner, but which, as it whickers and moves fractiously, reveals itself to be a large bay horse blanketed with as much fabric as she could find. Éowyn crosses over to it, squatting down to stroke its ears and murmur reassurances to it. "It's only Jack, sweetling. Easy, easy. That's it." Then, back to Jack: "How long were you caught in that weather?"

[drinkupmehearties]

He bundles the tapestry around himself tighter and sticks his palms out near the flame, the shivers that wracked his body earlier slowly subsiding. A lifetime spent beneath the hot Caribbean sun and, for a time, in the sweltering heat of Africa has left him incredibly ill-prepared to deal with freezing storms like this.

His brow lifts, curious, as she talks with familiarity about the hall. "Is this place from your home -- ?" He's distracted from the question, however, as the pile of cloth in the corner stirs and uncovers, of all things, a horse. So he adds in with some bewildered amusement, "I'll be damned, you managed to find another one?"

Then, to answer her own question: "And nigh on two hours, I'd wager." It was hard to tell, honestly, with the storm above and no other way to tell, but it'd felt like an eternity. Long enough to be woken up from a light sleep, though, half-buried beneath a pile of snow, and then forced to stumble around in the darkness searching for better shelter. He had a jacket, at least, but that hadn't really done much to protect him from the weather's chilly bite.

[shieldofrohan]

Éowyn laughs at that second question, striding over to sit at the fire with him. "It must be my fate, I think, to find good horseflesh in trying times. Else the Gamemakers sought a repeat performance of that last Arena. Let me see your hands," she adds, the humour gone for the moment, and puts out her own. Two hours is a long time in this cold, and if he has frostbite, better they know it sooner than later.

"This is Meduseld," she tells him, after a moment. "The great Golden Hall of Edoras. Here for generations have my fathers sat in state, feasted of old in this room, waged war and wagered trade in the chambers to the north. Here I lived for fifteen years. It is not from my home." Her smile is small and sad. "It is my home."