A tangled skein - adventures in western Middle-earth using the LOTR5e system

Gwinion lets his sword tip drop as the orc crumples to the ground, the killing blow delivered by Orin's steady hand. He turns to the dwarf with a tired but genuine nod. "Well done, friend," he says, the words carrying more weight than their simplicity suggests — the kind of gratitude that passes between fighters who understand what it means to have someone at their back.

He allows Eryndis to guide him to a place to sit, lowering himself with the careful movements of a man taking stock of his own body. He watches her work with a critical eye, noting the deliberate sureness of her hands as she assesses his wounds — no hesitation, no wasted motion. She clearly knows what she is doing. "My thanks," he says quietly, meaning it, before his gaze drifts away from her and back out across the surrounding area.

Even seated and wounded, he cannot quite allow himself to rest. His eyes move steadily from shadow to shadow, tracing the spaces where threat might still be lurking. The silence that has settled over them is the kind that follows violence — heavy and uncertain, not yet trustworthy. His sword hand stays loose, close, ready. He will accept Eryndis's care, and he is grateful for it, but he will not be caught unaware a second time.

Hildebrand's triumphant grin lingered only for a moment. "Ha! Right between the eyes!" he cried, lowering his sling. "That'll teach—" Then he heard Aethelbrim call for Constance. The hobbit blinked. "Constance?" His eyes dropped to the reins in his hand. Or rather, to the absence of reins in his hand. The color drained from his face. "Oh." His gaze darted left and right. "Oh dear." A heartbeat later realization struck him with all the force of an angry mule. "Constance!" The cry escaped him before he could stop it.

He had been so focused on the battle—the wolf, the goblins, keeping stones flying—that at some point the frightened pony had slipped free. His stomach sank. When Eryndis pointed after Aethelbrim and barked her command, Hildebrand did not argue. "Right! Yes! Going!" Without another word he slung the weapon over his shoulder and broke into a run after the Barding. His short legs churned furiously over the rocky ground. "Captain!" he called as he hurried after her. "Wait for me!" The wind caught at his cloak as he ran. "I was supposed to be watching her!" The admission sounded painfully honest. "If anything's happened to Constance, I shall never hear the end of it."

Despite the worry, he pushed himself onward, determined not to let Aethelbrim face whatever waited ahead alone. As the unknown voice rang out from further up the track— "Who goes there?" —Hildebrand slowed slightly, breathing hard from the sprint, and instinctively reached for another stone for his sling. Not to attack. Just in case. One lesson from the last few minutes had been learned very quickly: Today was not a day for taking chances.

(OOC: @LM Is Zarak dead?)

Quote from GrantFromCanberra >>

While the tracks are not clear, Aethelbrim can determine that Constance had headed back up the track the party had been travelling along. As she continues to backtrack she hears the sounds of galloping die away and shortly thereafter a voice calls out in Westron  “Who goes there?”

Aethelbrim:

Looking up carefully from the tracks she had perhaps become a bit too focused on, Aethelbrim responds, “I am Aethelbrim.  My pony was spooked after we were ambushed by orcs.  Have you seen her?” as she slowly turns, bow still at a low ready, trying to locate the speaker.

Orin returned the nod to Gwinion, if though in a more absentminded manner. As most of his attention remained on Hildibrand. As much as the dwarf appeared skeptical at first over Hildebrand being the one to see to Aethelbrim, he doesn't have long to dwell on that, before the command from Eryndis leaves him groaning in exhaustion as much as it was exasperation. But rise to his feet he does eventually, and with painstaking effort, the dwarf hobbled his way over to a closer rock to sit on and wait for further treatment. But all the while he grumbles over the process. And if he isn't grumbling, he's either muttering words of concern for Aethelbrim or staring off in the direction the woman had ran off.

As Aethelbrim looks up from the path, she first notices a powerfully built horse with a gleaming grey coat, a flowing mane, and an intelligent expression. Then she notices the rider: a tall, broad-shouldered man with a powerful build. In his late twenties, he possesses a stern, weathered face framed by a short beard and long golden-blond hair falling past his shoulders.

He wears a heavy linen tunic beneath a reinforced leather jerkin and a mail shirt, all partially covered by a thick, weatherproof dark green wool cloak fastened with a simple brooch. A plain round green shield rests on his left arm, while his right hand grips a spear with its tip lowered.

"I am Eofor, son of Éomund, a Rider of the Mark," the man answers, his voice deep and steady. "I saw your pony not long ago on the path leading here. I heard sounds of battle and rode with Windhild to offer my spear, but it seems that you and your companions had everything well under control."

Aethelbrim:

”Nobly said,” responds Aethelbrim, “Though ‘barely survived’ may be a more apt description.”

Aethelbrim’s blond tresses are bound in long braids. She has fair skin, and light blue eyes, and is currently sporting an arrow wound and what seems to be some fairly significant bite wounds.  Rents in her mail shirt are visible through her sturdy traveling clothes, but she moves with fierce determination, her bow ready.

”One of the orcs attacking us us got away—the archer who put an arrow in my pony.  I would appreciate any help you can offer to retrieve her and ward off further orc attacks before she comes to further harm,” Aethelbrim continues, already headed down the path towards her lost pony.

Aethelbrim does not have to go far - less than 150 feet - back up the path before she finds Constance standing by edge of the path.There are still two arrows in her flank and she occasionally trembles and looks around nervously.

Aethelbrim:

Approaching and soothing her pony, Aethelbrim says, “Let’s get you to the healers.”

With a sudden stumble, Aethelbrim realizes that she has lost a good amount of blood herself.  Catching herself on Constance’s strong neck, she corrects, “Let’s BOTH get to the healers.”  

Aethelbrim starts a slow but steady trip back to the rest of the party, sparing a thankful glance for those who are watching over her, vigilant for any returning orcs or other threats.

Hildebrand slowed as Aethelbrim addressed the stranger, his breathing still a little heavy from the run. At the sight of the great horse, however, his eyes widened. For a moment he simply stared. The ponies of the Shire were fine creatures—sturdy, dependable, and sensible—but this was something else entirely. He stepped forward and offered a respectful bow. "Hildebrand Took, at your service, Master Eofor." Straightening, he looked up at the Rider with open admiration. "It is good fortune that brought you this way. A Rider of the Mark would be a welcome companion on any road." His gaze drifted back to the horse. "And if I may say so, Windhild is magnificent." The hobbit shook his head slightly. "I have seen many ponies in my day, but never a horse quite like her."

As Aethelbrim located Constance, Hildebrand hurried over to help soothe the frightened pony. He kept a gentle hand on her neck while speaking softly. "There now, Constance. Easy, girl. You're among friends." Seeing the arrows still lodged in her flank made his heart sink. When Aethelbrim stumbled, he immediately moved to steady both pony and rider as best he could. "Captain..." He hesitated, looking genuinely ashamed. "I'm sorry. I lost hold of her reins." The apology was quiet and sincere. Then, glancing at the wounds in both pony and woman, he added, "Let's get you both back to Eryndis before either of you decides to collapse."

Aethelbrim:

Allowing herself to be slowly led by the loyal Hildebrand, Aethelbrim says, "No blame from me, good Hildebrand.  Holding onto a frightened pony after it has taken two arrows is a difficult task for anyone.  I just feel like a failure that I couldn't defend myself well against that wolf, but we did at least survive."  She plods along and looks up at the magnificent Rider of the Mark, adding tiredly, "I apologize for not offering a proper greeting, Eofor, son of Éomund.  Come with us and meet the others, if you will."

"It may not be a battle worthy of a saga, but it is a battle won nonetheless," Eofor says as Aethelbrim soothes her pony.
As the hobbit comes closer and introduces himself, the Rohirrim leans slightly forward in the saddle to get a better look at him. "At your service, Master Took. You must forgive me, but you are the first halfling I have spoken to so closely. The ones I saw in Bree merely stared at me or at Windhild." Eofor gently pats the warhorse's neck. "She is magnificent indeed, and she knows it." The horse gives a gentle nicker as the rider speaks.
He turns once more towards Aethelbrim. "No offence taken. Your pony's well-being was foremost in your mind. I shall gladly follow you to the rest of your companions."
Eofor then addresses the hobbit once again. "It was not fortune that brought me here, Master Took. I am undertaking an important task, and Lady Gilraen kindly pointed me in your direction, as the man you call Gwinion may possess further information for me."

Hildebrand looked up at Aethelbrim with genuine surprise. “A failure?” He shook his head firmly. “Captain, I do not think anyone who was there would use such a word.” The hobbit continued leading Constance at a careful pace, one hand resting reassuringly against the pony’s neck. “It was a chaotic ambush. Arrows from the rocks, an orc hunter amongst us, and a wolf besides. We should be thanking the Powers that we all survived it.” He glanced briefly toward the distant hill where the battle had taken place. “And if you ask me, there is a very good reason we did.” His expression softened. “That wolf did not choose me. It did not choose Eryndis. It chose you.” He paused. “And you stood your ground.” A small smile appeared beneath his curls. “If you had not put yourself between that beast and the rest of us, I suspect this tale would have ended quite differently.” His eyes drifted toward the path behind them, where their companions waited.

The hobbit adjusted his pack and continued walking. “The wolf brought you down more than once, yet every time it did, you got back up. You kept fighting while arrows flew around you. You drew the goblins’ attention away from the ponies. In the end, all of us are still walking.” He gave a small shrug. “That sounds far more like courage than failure to me.” After a few more steps he added quietly, “And if a hobbit may offer his opinion, Captain… heroes rarely remember the lives they saved. They remember only the mistakes they made.” He smiled. “The rest of us tend to remember things differently.”

Hildebrand’s cheeks colored slightly. “Oh, no forgiveness needed, Master Eofor. None at all.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Hobbits stare at nearly everything that is new, and folk from distant lands are certainly new. Most of us seldom travel farther than the next village over, and many never leave home at all.” A smile crept across his face as he glanced up at Windhild. “And I suspect your horse drew at least as much attention as you did.” The hobbit chuckled softly. “A great many folk in Bree have likely never seen such a horse before. I know I have not.” As if to prove the point, his eyes lingered admiringly on the mare for another moment. “Constance and Saddleback are fine creatures, but Windhild looks as though she stepped out of one of old Mr. Bilbo’s stories.”

At Eofor’s mention of Lady Gilraen, Hildebrand’s eyebrows rose. “Ah!” Suddenly the Rider’s appearance made much more sense. “Then Lady Gilraen has sent you to the right place.” He nodded enthusiastically. “Gwinion is our guide and leader. A Ranger of the North, and a good one. If anyone knows these lands and their old histories, it would be him.” His expression sobered somewhat as he remembered the battle they were returning to. “Though I fear you shall find him a little worse for wear at the moment. We all took a rough handling from the orcs.” The hobbit adjusted his pace so he could remain beside both Aethelbrim and Constance. “But he is alive, and so are we.” A small smile returned.

“And if you are seeking information, I suspect you have arrived at a fortunate time. Strange things have been happening in these hills, and Gwinion has been giving them a great deal of thought.” He looked ahead toward where the rest of the company waited. “Come along, then. I think everyone will be glad to meet a Rider of the Mark.” After a moment he added thoughtfully, “And I daresay Eryndis will want a closer look at Windhild. She has developed quite an interest in horses and ponies these past few days.”

Aethelbrim:

Humbled by Hildebrand’s kindness, Aethelbrim nods in thanks and continues walking back towards the others…yet she seems to stand just a little bit taller and walk a bit more confidently after the Took’s encouraging words.