((Note: The following story occurs directly after Xanderian's Legal Matters- Part 1, Legal Matters- Part 2, and Duplicity: Thy Name is Now Yolanda. It has been pieced together from the in-game emotes of several players and, therefore, each person should receive credit for the words and actions attached to their characters, I did not write them. Also of note, the player of Xanderian wrote for Gareth, the player of Ahmo wrote for Gareth’s Corporal, and the player of Hawke wrote for Sîrdir, Horthon and the herbalist.))
The large, wrought iron doors to the Keep of the Swan-Knights fly open as Gareth, Captain of the Hounds of Anárion, sweeps into the room; his cobalt blue cloak lightly touches the stones on the floor behind him as he leads the way through the main hall. He pays little attention to the swan-knights as they practice their combat drills on the first floor of the keep, his focus instead on Xandilif. "If you truly believe there is a breech of discipline, Banshee, then I will look into the matter as is my duty; but do not presume overly much upon our service together. I will not interfere in the duties of the Swan-knights without good cause; they are worthy soldiers and deserve our respect, even yours.”
Xandilif walks behind him as he makes his way across the large, open room. "Just take a look ya tin plated knobhead. If everything is above board, I will shut up and leave you be; but if it ain't, I expect ya to do yer feckin job...unless you really are just the Steward's lapdog now.” Gareth’s corporal gives Xandilif the stink eye for questioning the chief and though Eduwiges also wants to glare at Gareth in a similar way for questioning Xandilif, she keeps a straight face and stays by the elf’s side, emotions in check, as they continue to walk toward the door that leads down to the prison.
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Beneath the main floor of the Keep, hidden in one of the empty cells of the lower prison with a bucket at her feet and scrub brush in hand, Addie- known here by the name Yolanda- remains perfectly still and listens to the two guards in Hawk's cell. Even though she cannot see what is happening at the end of the long corridor, the sounds that echo through the prison are enough to cause her to wince as tears well up in her eyes. She had successfully delivered her report of the guard’s abuse, complete with their names, to Xandilif the night before and now she can only wait and hope that help arrives soon.
Unaware of her presence, Sîrdir leans against the wall of Hawk’s cell, watching through the bars to ensure the corridor is still clear. He's faintly worried about their activities, especially as Horthon is getting more and more aggressive with the prisoner. "He's had naught to say, Horthon. We should get back to our patrol..."
Meanwhile, Horthon is questioning Hawk with his fists. He shakes his head and pulls Hawk off the floor by grabbing the collar of the lad's home-spun tunic. "He'll answer, Sîrdir, they always do." The tunic tears, which causes Hawk to slump back down to the ground, his branded shoulder now visible in the guttering torchlight; upon seeing the brand, the two guards recoil. The viper is a known sigil, and Horthon makes a cry of triumph. "He is part of that cult! Or an underling, I'd stake my life on it!"
Sîrdir tries to stop his younger partner with a cautioning hand. "We should report this."
Horthon ignores the older guard and stomps his boot upon Hawk's hand; the resulting scream brings a twisted smile of satisfaction to his face and he continues with his interrogation. "Where are your masters? You serve Aglarrâma, admit it!" Sîrdir reluctantly keeps watch as the younger guard’s strikes hit Hawk harder and harder with each question asked and each accusation made. Seeing that Hawk still refuses to confess, Horthon hurls him down on the ground and begins heating the end of his sword in one of the torches.
Fearing for Hawk’s life when she no longer hears the strikes or the cries, Yolanda makes a run for the stairs so that she can go get help, scrub brush still in hand- this had gone on long enough and something had to be done, even if it meant risking her disguise. She quickly hurries up the stairs, but freezes when she hears footsteps and voices on the other side of the door. Unable to flee back down for risk of being seen by Sîrdir, she stands perfectly still, hoping that those on the other side will pass by.
Gareth pushes the door open wide, nearly hitting Yolanda with it, and does not seem to notice the servant woman- to him she in invisible for the moment as though she were just part of the decor. He holds the door open for Xandilif as he continues his conversation with her. "We will set your mind at ease, Firstborn, and then be on our way. I have no desire to linger in this Bog.”
Xandilif sneers at him. “If all what you do is just look in to say all is well and then flounce out, I will kick your lily white ass.”
Gareth seems unfazed by her words and even smirks at the challenge, but in an effort to appease the elf so that she will get off of his case, he turns to the corporal and says, “Corporal, I expect you to note down the situation so you may attest to it later.”
The corporal nods curtly and looks toward Yolanda, who is still standing before them in the stairway, wide-eyed, "She may have seen something...the wench"
Gareth looks up."What wench?'
The corporal frowns and motions his hand toward Yolanda. “The cleaning wench, sir; you almost squashed her.”
Gareth pauses, finally seeming to notice Yolanda. He peers down at her as he speaks of her, "What could such a thing have seen, and if she did, she would not understand it. She serves her purpose, and that is all.” Gareth looks down at the scrub brush in her hand and then to the flagstones. "She keeps a proper floor at least.” He flippantly waves a hand toward her, “You, woman, present yourself smartly.” She curtseys as well as she can on these steps toward him and he gives her a slight incline of his head out of deference for the fact she may be someone's mother.
The corporal now steps toward her, mentally filing away the woman’s face, "You- what is your name? Be quick."
Yolanda keeps her head down, and though it might outwardly look as though she is showing the men their due respect, it is only to keep the others from recognizing her. “Yolanda, sir.”
Gareth nods at hearing the name, but the name of a servant woman is not something he concerns himself with. "Woman, you have seen no sign that the guards who labor here with these miscreants and traitors have grown lax in their duties, have you?'
She shakes her head and tries to offer what information she can to incriminate the guards without it seeming as though that is what she is trying to do. "Nay, my lord, it seems as though they are doing what you have asked of them and are beating the prisoner at the end of the hall, just as they have done each day since he arrived."
Gareth nods again, satisfied in the response. "Excellent! And which traitor has earned such special attention?”
Yolanda manages to keep her lowly servant composure even though she is thoroughly angered by the man’s response. Her voice remains calm and respectful as she replies, "The one that was brought in by your men a few weeks ago, my lord."
Realizing that the woman speaks of Gwaelion, Gareth looks over toward Xandilif. "That is against protocol. Even if the charges are correct, the filth is still of royal birth and should be treated as such.” He snaps his fingers toward the soldier, "Corporal...Take note of this.” The corporal nods 'yes sir' to his superior and takes out a small leather book and charcoal pencil to dutifully write down the information. Gareth then turns back to the servant, “Which cell, woman?”
She points the scrub brush toward the end of the corridor. "Straight down the hall in the last cell, my lord. I am sure that you will hear the screams since they are still in the middle of their work."
As though on cue, a scream echoes throughout the prison, but Gareth does not flinch- this is a prison after all, not a Belfalas resort, and a cry or two is normal for such a place. He turns back to the corporal, “Bring the Watch Commander my compliments and inform him that the Sword of Anárion and The Champion of the Azure Faithful await a moment of his time.” The corporal salutes briskly and dashes off to find the Watch Commander. Gareth starts down the stairs toward the cell that had been indicated and casually continues speaking to Xandilif as though this were just another day, "I fail to understand what interest you take in the common folk, Banshee; even in Ithilien you were always rescuing lost lambs. That is more in the Monk's line, isn't it?"
Xandilif hisses back to him, "I don’t give a bucket of Nazgûl piss what ya think of what I do, ya Golem....just watch yer step, don't wanna be blamed when ya break yer neck.” She looks over to Eduwiges before following the man down the stairs, "Make sure no fish flop out of this bucket, Greyhound, and watch the fecking doors.”
Eduwiges cracks her knuckles and leans forward on her toes, hand on her sword hilt and ready to obey Xandilif’s command. She grimly shoves Yolanda down the stairs as she passes by her, “Back to work with you! And keep to your area!”
After the three had walked a good distance down the long corridor, Yolanda picks herself back up and slowly inches her way down the rest of the steps so that she can hopefully overhear what would be said. Also making her way down the stairs now, well behind the others and trying to catch up to them, Nethrida walked with her hands behind her back in somewhat of a rigid pose trying to appear as official as possible, her badge affixed to her chest piece. She spotted Addie at the bottom of the stairs, but did not recognize her in her Yolanda disguise, only seeing a servant woman that was not working; she cleared her throat and spoke toward the woman with a sharp tone, “No time for slacking." Yolanda inwardly grumbled at Neth’s words, but she held her tongue and turned to scrub the walls. Satisfied that the woman appeared to be working again, Neth hastened her pace and walked right past her without paying her any further attention. ______________________________________________________________________
At the other end of the corridor, Sîrdir hears the approaching footsteps and opens the cell door to call to his partner to cease his actions. Horthon, however, is gripped by mania and determined to force a confession out of the prisoner. "Stop whining, Sîrdir! The Hounds be damned...he'll use magic any moment, then we'll have reason to execute him!" He raises his sword and swings it toward Hawk who holds his broken hand close to his chest and rolls, attempting to escape; however, Horthon's strike connects and slashes Hawk's back open.
Gareth sweeps the door open, his massive armored frame blots out the light from the torches in the hall and his cloak snaps behind him even though there is no wind, given life by the sheer force of his nobility. "Stay your hand Varlet, that prisoner is of the blood royal and is under the charge of the Hounds by writ and right.” Xandilif is right behind him, smirking to herself slightly, and Eduwiges is right behind her, face blank and insides seething. Eduwiges grimaces as she sees the prisoner that was being abused, but she does not recognize him yet; he is a mess and is curled tight against the wall.
Sîrdir stumbles back and stands at attention, giving up on his foolish partner and clearly of no mind to argue with Gareth's order. Horthon rounds upon Gareth, sword held mid-strike. "That may be, but this prisoner is charged with crimes against Dol Amroth, and I nearly have a confession!"
Gareth intones, “I care not if you have a first born son of the crown of the West in your hands; you have been commanded by a Pillar of Minas Tirith.”
Sîrdir is still standing at attention, painfully respectful, and he offers his partner a look of panic. Horthon finally seems to come to his senses and sheathes his blade, kicking Hawk's leg out of his way as he approaches Gareth, offering him only the barest salute. "What would the Pillar of Minas Tirith have wished us to do? Coddle this traitor, this witch's child?"
Gareth backhands Horthon with his gauntleted fist without looking at him, as one would strike a dog. "I would expect you to follow your commands as it is befitting of a soldier of Gondor. If you cannot, then your memory will instill us with greater drive.”
Horthon staggers back, the blow striking him before he could even register what was happening. Enraged, he nonetheless steps out of the way, seething and red-faced. "By your order....sir."
Nethrida arrives now and stands behind the rest; she sees just enough to know that someone is slumped down on the floor. Eduwiges finally recognizes Hawke and all the mirthfulness she had at seeing Horthon getting slapped around vanishes in an instant, followed by molten rage; she burns the two abusive guards faces into her brain- there will be a reckoning, oh yes, there will be a reckoning. Xandilif shakes her head as she leans in the doorway and looks toward Hawk, “You do get into pickles, don't ya, hamster?”
Now that Horthon has been controlled, Gareth looks to Sîrdir. "What is this foolishness about black arts? Have you been at the grog?”
Sîrdir salutes again. "No, sir," he quickly denies- they were in enough trouble without being accused of taking spirit. "There are rumors of a cult that worships the Shadow. This prisoner here bears a mark we believe connects him to that cult, and his arrest brought to light certain questions we wanted answered."
Gareth scoffs, and turns to look at the prisoner, the torchlight glinting off his burnished breastplate. "What mark do you speak of?”
Horthon takes it upon himself to answer, his eyes full of cold resentment. He moves to the prisoner and roughly shoves aside Hawk's hair and torn tunic to reveal the black coiled viper on his left shoulder; Hawk doesn't resist, either biding his strength or unconscious. Horthon motions to the brand, “This snake burned into his shoulder."
Nethrida raised an eyebrow, naturally she couldn't see the snake, but she could hear what was being said and that was enough for her to purse her lips and pat her chin in thought.
Gareth sighs."A snake it is, but no mark of a cult. I know that mark and it raises questions I had hoped not to need to ask.” Gareth looks down at Hawk again, “Prepare the prisoner; we will be departing for Minas Tirith as soon as the paperwork may be completed. I wish him in isolation, no further questioning or interaction save by the Hounds. Is that clear?”
Both hapless guards blink at Gareth's remark. Horthon squares his jaw and glares at Gareth, "The order you lot waved in front of the Commander…"
Sîrdir interrupts the idiot. "Yes sir, perfectly."
Down the hallway, the brush scrubs furiously against the wall; Yolanda is enraged that Gareth doesn't seem to be of the mind to punish these guards for Hawk’s mistreatment. She works to calm herself, but is moments away from throwing the brush down and walking down to the cell to deal with the guards herself.
Back at the cell, Eduwiges has already decided to kill the stupid one first and is formulating a plan for his demise; she hasn’t quite made her mind up on if she will kill the older guard yet and so she looks over to him. Sîrdir remains standing at attention, still tense and waiting for the danger to pass. Gareth turns and looks back at Xandilif. "It seems you were correct, Banshee, and all was not proper. Beyond that, that mark raises...possible questions which must be pursued, but not by such as these.”
Xandilif smirks."Fancy that, the ageless daughter of the Valar was right while the dung sucking whelp of lateborn garbage was wrong. Well, well, well...but it seems your memory is faulty, we had a wager,” Xandilif smiles, "and you have a task to perform.”
Gareth narrows his eyes. "Do not push your advantage, Banshee, or it will go badly for you in the fullness of time. I remember our wager, but must I pay penance now?'
Xandilif nods. "Now.”
Gareth nods, and snaps to attention. "Hee Haw, hee haw, I am an ass." He then sighs and looks back to her, "Satisfied, Slut?”
Xandilif nods, "Perfectly...”
All eyes turn toward Gareth when he chants his song at Xandilif’s command. Eduwiges momentarily forgets about her plotting and her eyes pop incredulously as her mouth drops open. Likewise, Nethrida’s eyes also widen and she clamps her hands over her mouth to cover up the errant chuckle that escaped; she quickly twirls around to conceal her face until she could regain her composure. Horthon, however, is enraged by the antics between Gareth and the Champion. He draws his sword, the shing of the steel harsh in the confined space. "Are we to be ordered by such fools? I shall do what should be done." He looks toward Hawk, clearly planning to execute the prisoner.
Eduwiges quickly yanks Morinehtar from her scabbard, intending to intervene; however she was not quick enough to get to the man before the captain. Gareth half turns and catches Horthon with one hand, pulling him close as his other hand raises into a fist of wicked spikes that were covering the steel Gauntlet. Gareth slams the fist into the man’s face causing blood to spray and one eyeball to pop out as part of his face is torn open. A second blow is then delivered and the sound of his neck breaking echoes in the cell much like the sound of a mop handle being broken over a knee.
Nethrida was suddenly very glad she couldn't see what produced the sounds she heard. Eduwiges blanches at the sudden, swift violence of Gareth and watches as Hawke is spattered with gore as the blows land. Yolanda's heart stops as she hears the sounds echo down the corridor, her face pales as she can only think that the worst has happened to Hawk. Sîrdir barely manages not to vomit at the grisly demise of his partner, and he bows his head. "S-sir..." Can he expect mercy?
Gareth calmly wipes off his gauntlet and looks toward Sîrdir. "Obey my will, see to the prisoner's comfort and prepare him for transport.”
Sîrdir bows lower than his old back is comfortable doing. "It shall be done!" He bravely gathers Horthon's corpse as Gareth turns to step out of the cell and drags it out himself- it was more than the fool deserved. Nethrida watched the carcass being dragged out with a grimace and then glanced back towards the cell as Sîrdir paused to lock it. Xandilif also glanced back toward Hawk’s battered form and sighs to herself. Eduwiges has sheathed her sword and stands besides Xandilif, attentive but deep in thought.
Nethrida purses her lips and looks towards Lif. "How long do you think it'll be before the transfer?" She murmured with a quiet tone.
Xandilif pulls her gaze away from Hawk and looks toward Nethrida. “Depends...I don’t know what he was saying about that mark, but it won’t be long considering that little show.”
Nethrida’s shoulders slouched as she nodded and frowned. "Perhaps I should begin preparations to depart myself then. That mark, and the Viper's escape has me concerned."
Xandilif nods in agreement, “We need to talk to Steelheart.”
Nethrida sighed a bit. "Very well... But I still wish to depart before the Hounds. The stop in Linhir will cost me a day at least."
Xandilif turns to catch up to Gareth who is already halfway down the corridor now. "Steelheart, what has you in a twist about that mark?
The captain pauses."It indicates there is more here than expected, and that other forces are involved. The prisoner may not be safe here.”
Eduwiges snorts and mutters under her breath, “That’s the truth.”
As the group approaches the stairs, Yolanda tries to make herself as unnoticeable as possible as she still pretends to scrub at the wall. Sîrdir pauses at the stairs and sees Yolanda. "You, girl," he calls over wearily, tense and maybe forgivable for not recognizing her. "I will need you to attend me upon my return." He needed to get Horthon's remains taken care of, then, fetch an herbalist to assure the prisoner didn't die before the transfer.
Yolanda keeps her head down as she nods once in response. "As you command it, my lord." her teeth clenched as she has to speak those words. “I shall wait here for your return.” She watches as Gareth, Xandilif, Neth, and Eduwiges walk up the stairs and out the door to the upper floor followed after by Sîrdir.
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Now that all the commotion had ceased, the corridor resumed its sorrowful quiet, broken only by the occasional sound of prisoners shuffling in their cells or muttering. After reporting Gareth’s slaying of a man of Dol Amroth to one of the attending commanders, Sîrdir returned to the lower prison with a few knights and a stern, half-blind herbalist. He directs the knights to gather Horthon’s body and take it back up the stairs and then turns to Yolanda to motion for her to follow him and the herbalist into Hawk’s cell. Yolanda’s heart drops at seeing the condition Hawk was in and it takes her a moment before she can gather her senses enough to start scrubbing the blood off the floor.
She busied herself with scrubbing, a task she couldn't just pretend at doing now, and remained as quiet as possible so that she could hear everything the two were discussing about the patient- the prisoner, Hawk. The medical treatment was little more than a courtesy, a temporary fix so that the prisoner could be transferred. After Horthon's grisly demise, Sîrdir didn't dare disobey one of Gareth's orders, even if he was only barely following it to the letter. The herbalist calmly retrieved items from his satchel and began patching the gashes on Hawk's back. Hawk remained motionless and Sîrdir seems faintly nervous. "The prisoner lives?"
After some poking and prodding by the old man's gnarled fingers, Hawk stirred, and the herbalist nodded. "Don't hover, the boy is still breathing."
Yolanda watches the practitioner out of the corner of her eye, taking note of what he is using and applying to the wounds as her hand continues to move the scrub brush in small circles. She takes in a deep breath at seeing the gashes and slowly, but quietly releases it in a sigh of relief upon seeing Hawk move. Perhaps due to a low budget or the standing of the patient, or perhaps simply because of the old medicant's practice, the wounds on Hawk's back received no bathing or special care, just a simple foul-smelling salve and a strip of linen.
Sîrdir rolled Hawk onto his back so the herbalist could continue. "Put this in his mouth; don't want him biting his tongue," the herbalist chuffed. Sîrdir obediently wedged a bit of worn leather between Hawk's teeth while the old man took hold of Hawk's broken hand, brusquely squeezing and moving the fingers to see which bones were damaged. Yolanda turned her head and cringed, knowing that the old man was working on resetting the bones, a task which Hawk woke to, but the leather in his mouth spared all of them his scream.
Soon Hawk's hand is set and wrapped tightly, and Hawk cradled it against his chest while the herbalist checked the injuries to his face and made his way down from there. "Hm...no broken bones, the swelling will clear..." Sîrdir nods and continues to watch in grim silence as the man works. The medicant shook his head when he got a look at Hawk's bruised chest and abdomen, and he nodded as he prodded a few ribs, much to Hawk's agony. "Nothing cracked, no bleeding in the organs. He'll live," he pronounced, and Sîrdir was relieved. Yolanda was likewise relieved.
Mottled in purple and yellow bruises, with bruised bones and cuts, Hawk looked wretched but wasn't in any danger of bleeding to death. "He has some fever, I'll have to make him a tonic," the herbalist decided, and used Sîrdir's strong arm to get back to his feet, bringing his bag with him. The two men turned and began to leave when Sîrdir noticed the maid scrubbing the floor; he hesitates, but he needs to escort the healer. "Finish your work quickly. Do not speak to the prisoner, understood?" He decides to simply lock the maid in the cell until his return, which shouldn't take too long.
Yolanda pockets Horthon’s eyeball, as she waits for Sîrdir and the herbalist to ascend the steps- a gift that she intends to give Hawk once he is free, her thought being that the deceased guard will have no choice but to watch as Hawk lives out the rest of his life clear of these foolish accusations. Once confident that they are gone, she looks back to Hawk who is now curled up on the floor, lying on his side. She moves the bucket closer to him so that she can keep her voice down to a whisper, no longer making an attempt to disguise her voice, and continues with the scrubbing as she speaks. "I am sorry."
Hawke only barely seems to register that there's still someone in the cell with him; the voice is familiar and he uncurls, just a little, his cheek against the floor as he searches out the woman's face. "You... from before, the woman who brought meals... Addie?"
No longer keeping up her Yolanda facade, Addie looks over for a brief moment, her eyes full of guilt and sorrow. She continues to whisper and keep an eye on the hallway. "If they ask you, I am Yolanda… I am sorry that I could not bring help sooner, Hawk, it took me a while to discover the identities of those two guards; but I will bring some pain relief with your meal tonight."
Hawke still can't reconcile her voice with her appearance, but when her eyes meet his briefly he understands. “So, all this time? Oh Addie..." This had been terribly dangerous for her to have done. Part of him is beyond relieved to hear a friendly voice, but mostly he is ashamed that she should have to see him in this state.
Addie is starting to make quick work of the blood on the floor since she does not wish to press her luck upon the old guard's return, but she does glance back over to Hawk for a moment. "The old healer did not do a good job at cleansing and treating your back. I can bring a dish of warm, clean water tonight when I bring the meal and quickly tend to your back. I have a salve in my belongings as well."
Hawke attempts to sit up, to push away from the floor with his shoulder, but he quickly thinks better of it, and instead is forced to look across at her from his place on the ground. "No... It’s too dangerous," he responds, heat prickling in his eyes at her concern. "I'll live. Don't get caught."
The light of a torch is glowing at the end of the corridor as Sîrdir begins to make his way back toward the cell; Addie sees the light and sighs, knowing that her time is up. She places the scrub brush in the bucket so that she can stand and looks back toward Hawk one more time. "As you wish it, but I will continue to watch over you and put the pain herbs into your meal until they take you for transport in the next few days; I shall not do nothing. And please know that the others are still trying their hardest to find the solution to this."
Hawke closes his eyes, his cheek pressing to the cold floor, and he finally looks up. "Thank you, Addie..." His voice is dry and small, so Sîrdir doesn't hear him speaking as he unlocks the cell and beckons to Yolanda. "Quickly," he urges, glancing suspiciously at the prisoner.
Back to her duplicity, Yolanda nods toward the guard and leaves the cell without looking back toward Hawk; she keeps her head down and waits outside the cell so that it can be inspected by the man before taking her leave. A quick glance reveals nothing out of the ordinary, and it appeared the woman had cleaned all the gore from the walls and floor. Satisfied, Sîrdir spares a cold look at Hawk, then, locks the cell and follows Yolanda back to the Keep.
