Ered Wethrin, South Slope

The sun is long set, and a dark sky has cooled like the ashes of a spent fire. Indeed with the thick clouds, which blot the thin crescent of the moon, and most of the nights stars, it is the same drear grey. Under this shade, the thick blanketing snow, which clings to the mountains gleams not brightly, but still betrays ought dark in its midst. One such object stands, a boulder of size, too jagged to be wholly covered.

Yet unseen perhaps, in the shadow of the bolder is a man. He stands higher up the slope, in a slight hollow, seemingly the sign of a buried path, deep under snow. Many layers of wool and cloth he wears and over a heavy coat of dark green, a lighter cloak of white is clasped. Two heavy hoods seem to hide the fact that the mans pate is capped with a leather helm, yet so he is. In his hands a longbow sits, and the white fletched arrows at his side, reveal a full quiver fast buckled at his side. An idle hand rises to scratch in a snow flecked beard, which pokes from the deep hoods shade. Soft warm breath hisses out quietly, it clouds on the icy air, even as a the man motions to some, as yet unseen other.

Moving throughout the shadows is a dark clad figure, his form bent over to make him look somewhat like an odd shaped rock standing out from the snow. The scout peers about the area silently, beginning to make his way over toward Baradil quickly. Harlow stops as soon as he reachs his area next to the man, glancing over his shoulder to make sure of leaving little to track behind him, then looking back over toward the bearded man, giving him a quick nod.

Up from the bottem of the pass struggles a small group of travellers. Muffled in heavy cloaks and with scarves wound about their lower faces, two are mounted while the others lead their horses up the path. The second in line leads two horses, while in the front is another muffled figure. The footing is slippery due to the depth of the snow and the ice that has formed from the small amount of melt during the day.

Rhiana is bent almost double as she leads the group upwards. Although she knows there is a path there, it is almost impossible to be sure if they are on it. One hand holds a spear, which is at times is used almost as a walking stick. Lifting a hand, she motions for a halt and the group straggles to a stop as each realizes that the one in front has stopped.

The stooping scout, presses himself against the boulder and peers down the slope. A long moment he takes, blinking in the cold, offering little to the sight of those below, than a white hood, Snow. Stooping again, the mans gaze turns back to Harlow and pulls his hood away from his mouth. Softly he begins to speak, no one save the man at is side would mark the words or the Marachian even they were spoken in. "They are back to the path, but they wander wide of it and they move slower for it." His face wrinkles in distaste as he looks to the other. "If they are orcs, a queer sort they are. For horse they bring. I like this not, if friends they are they perish; and if foes they are they may not, and the pass may be found." Stooping the man pulls an arrow from his quiver, "I shall walk to the left of the path, you make for that boluder, see..." A hand points out to a boulder half way between the dark file of men and the two scouts. He then sets the arrow in his quiver. ".. and I'll get nearer to them. So that I may see whether they are fair or foul. Keep your bow fixed on them, till I have come back to your side. And be as quiet as you might be."

As the hushed words draws to a close with a flourish of frosted breath, the tall man stands, pulling his hood again overhis face. Plodding down the slope, he tacks left and right, finely keeping from sight as he approaches the Beorians below. Perhaps his passage may bring the slightest of snow rolling a pebble down the steep slope, nought else, and no herald of noise.

Nodding again in the direction of the fellow scout, seeing as there's no need to converse for now. If one speaks with the other too long, attention may be brought to the two. Harlow slinks off toward the before said destination quickly, and as stealthy as possible, slipping into the shadows of the boulder. Unslinging his bow, bringing about an arrow notching it on his bow. He now waits silently for what next to do.

In the sky above this scene, the black feathered avian companion of Harlow, Magnar, circles silently, watching what all happens. Wondering exactly what is going on as well, he also decides to wait until exactly what all is happening is pointed out to come down.

Rhiana glances worriedly behind her at her companions, knowing they are all in need of warmth and hot food, as well as shelter. The horses are in a worse state, standing with head and tails down, for fodder has been hard to come by and the grain they carried is down to the bottom of the bags. Shaking her head slightly, she makes her way back to Ardon, who has been leading her horse and his own. They speak too quietly even for the next in line to hear them, and as she turns back to look at the pass, Ardon drops the reins of the horses and moves back along the line to check on the wounded and pass on the news of a rest.

With a quiet sigh, Rhiana starts back up the pass, her eyes on the ground as she searches for the path upwards. She stumbles once, but catches herself with the spear haft on the ground before she slides too much. Pausing for a moment to rest, she strains to see any movement above her, but the night is too dark and the way unfamiliar. A small groan escapes her as she once more puts one frozen foot ahead of the other, her eyes dropping to the ground again.

Baradil's decent is swift even in the thick snow, and the shrouded landscape is oft trodden too. So he comes to a small shelf just up from the file of soldiers. A moment he takes, as if to descry the folk, or place a name on one, yet this he cannot do. Turning his head a moment, he sees if Harlow is in place. No sight of the other Marachain has he, and so with a soft sigh of misgiving, and a cloud of breath, the man stoops and moves nearer to the edge. Fixing his aim on the front of the line, he breath some of the air. "Halt! What is your purpose on these borders? Announce your purpose, and be swift if friends you be." The man moves back from sight, and scuttles quietly along the ridge, in case of a feathered answer.

Apparantly Harlow was too good at his hiding. Well, since there presence is now known, the Marachain within the shadows steps into sight for the others, the bow and arrow he carries pulled into a ready position to fire upon any advancing enemies. He now just stands silently as he watches all this play out.

And with that hint of others being around, the crow in the sky flies downward, making a slow and soft landing upon the boulder next to Harlow, adjusting his wings a bit. Magnar looks from Baradil, to Harlow, and then to the party ahead of them.

Rhiana's eyes are on the ground again and the sound of a voice calling out startles her. It takes a moment or two for the meaning of the words to penetrate her cold-numbed brain and she straightens carefully, looking in the direction the voice seemed to come from. There is no one in sight, and she hesitates before answering, glancing behind her at the rest of her group who are still resting farther down the pass. None of them appear to have heard anything, but they are still close enough to be in plain sight of the owner of the voice.

Reaching a hand up to pull the frozen scarf away from her mouth, she calls out softly in answer. "Friends, I hope, if you be of the House of Hador, or their allies?" Her hand tightens on the spear and she readies herself to hold off whoever the speaker is, should he prove to be an enemy in the hopes the rest of the group might find a way to escape. The sudden appearance of a bow-wielding figure from another direction causes Rhiana to take one step backwards, the spear coming up automatically. Her eyes move back and forth between the one in sight and the other, still hidden.

As Harlow comes from cover, the other scout does not. Keeping out of Rhiana's sight, yet he calls aloud now. "Well you be friends or so you say! Yet call your name first, then let you come hither. Leave your weapons and you shall not be harmed. You alone!" He stands and waves on Rhiana, pointing to her with his bow. "If you be friend you shall not be hurt, thus swears Baradil, a scout of Galdor; a man of Hador's house." Even as he calls this, a waved hand, motions for Harlow to take cover. "Yet if you bring treachery to this fence, your life and that of your company back their, shall be forfeit to the arrows of my men!"

Stepping back again from the sight of those below the shelf, he jogs along the path to meet any who might come."
Long distance to Moradan: Rhiana grins.. it's Rox/Bran/Nienna...

Receiving the message clearly from Baradil with the space inbetween his words, Harlow steps backward keeping the tip of his arrow trained on the front of the party. More specifically, trained upon Rhiana. Slipping his way back into the shadow of the boulder, and then stepping closer to the large rock, attempting to use it as cover.

And with him not actually being noticed, Magnar keeps his perch on the top of the boulder, scanning over most of the members of the party.

When the sound of the scout's voice carries down to Rhiana's companions as well, they react with various degrees of alarm. Arion, who had been watching with his bow strung while leaning against his horse, takes one step forward, then stops, though he brings his bow up to cover his commander where she stands farther up the pass. Though he can hear the name Galdor, too much has happened for him to trust a voice in the dark.

For herself, Rhiana gives a sigh of relief and lets the spear drop from her hands to the snow, lifting both gloved hands to show them empty. "I am Rhiana, Captain of the Guards, of Dorthonion. And it is the people of Galdor I seek, as an emissary of my people." She pauses, then asks more quietly. "Will you show yourself and let me signal my people, so they will not think I am being taken prisoner?"

Baradil himself stops now, just away from the Beorian. His breath clouds and he calls aloud once more, yet this time his voice is warm and moreover filled with kindness. "I know such a person would indeed be a friend. Indeed signal them, and tell them to worry not." The man stands away from the rock and comes out into clear sight, he stands to his full heght, and pulls his hoods back, showing golden hair, falling from beneath his helm. Again a deep hoary voice rises, warmly spoken. "I deem that you are true, yet in such dark times as these, my duty lets me take no such chance. Come hither and let me see your face. I shall not keep you long from your business if you prove as you speak."

Harlow looks over the situation. Baradil in sight, and the sound of his voice, he finds it easy to guess that he no longer needs to aim his arrow at Rhiana. Gently beginning to relieve his pressure from the string, Harlow places his arrow back into the quiver, and then slings his bow over his shoulder. He then goes to lean against the boulder, yawning softly and waiting again.

Magnar spreads open his wings and then begins to take a small flight over to perch upon the known friend's shoulder. Cawing softly toward the Marachain perch, and then looking over to the female from the house of Beor, the crow gives a caw in her direction.

Arion lets the bow drop a bit when he sees no harm coming to Rhiana from the figure near her, but the arrow remains nocked until she turns and gives the party the signal that means safety. At this he lowers the bow all the way and steps back to lean wearily against the his horse again. The rest of the party relaxes some as well, though the two mounted figures have barely moved at all.

As Rhi turns back to the scout, leaving her spear where it lays, she unwraps the scarf from around her lower face and neck, then reaches up to pull down the hood. Grey eyes, clouded with fatigue and worry study the man in front of her. Shoulder length black hair, some of which has escaped from the leather thong holding it back, is topped by a metal helm. There are dark circles under her eyes and the face is thin, yet she manages a smile and her voice is warm, if a bit thin. " I cannot fault you for your caution. You know not what a relief it is to have finally made it this far. But I must ask, is there shelter anywhere nearby? Two of my people are wounded and all need something hot to eat and drink."

The scout steps forward and bows deeply as he finnaly marks the face of the other. As he stands, he dusts snow from his hose and shakes his head. "Forgive me M'Lady, sad times. And I would have offered you the care you asked without need of asking." He signals to Harlow, waving him uphill, towards the cave. "We have outposts, little more than a cave with dry rushes for mattress. Yet we have a store of blankets and a crock of broth, fire too. Please follow, my companion M'Lady, and call your company onward. Be as swift as you might, for these hills are not watched by my folk alone I fear. Let me follow you last of all, I'll cover your passage as well I might, so go swift. There is ale and some rest for you this night, and a warm greeting too. I'll ask your forgivness, after you have seen my folks hospitality."

Perking up at the signal from his friend, Harlow raises a hand and giving him a return wave, slinking himself from the shadows again, moving along slowly so that he doesn't move too far ahead. He glances over his shoulder to the group of others behind him, still keeping sure that he doesn't lose the others. Once reaching the entrance of said cave, he stands fully and at the side of the cave, so that he doesn't exactly stand in the way of the party.

Magnar opens his wings again, taking flight once more and then following after the golden brown haired scout, flapping his wings as he comes in for a landing upon the man's shoulder.

Rhiana's smile widens, lighting her eyes for a moment. "Your hospitality is most welcome, for I thought not to find any but the Enemy watching the pass. And the sooner we are out of sight, the better." Motioning to Arion to bring the others ahead, she pulls her hood back up against the bitter cold, wrapping the scarf loosely around her neck. As she watches her small group begin to struggle the rest of way up the pass, the smile is replaced by a look of weary anxiousness. Unwilling to follow the other scout to the warmth of the cave before her people are safe, she stays where she is, then falls into place next to one of the two who are mounted. Once they reach the cave, she helps one of the wounded off his horse, while two others help the second one. With the wounded inside, Arion and one of the others manage to lead the horses in as well, though it takes a bit of coaxing and nudging to get them through the opening and into the back.

The scout plods down the hill towards the back of the file, nodding to all solemly. As he reaches finnaly the last of the horses and riders, he drop his pack from his shoulder and rummages in it for a moment. After a pause, the golden haired man pulls out an odd sort of mat, with a piece of rope matted to it. With a grunt, the tall lad hoists his pack again to his back, and lifts his hoods. Walking back he comes a little way down the path to a fork, three ways the slope rises evenly, and three ways would all be as fair a guess as any. Stooping the man loops the mat about his middle and begin to drag it over the churned snow left by the soldiers and their steeds. Slowly and lightly does the man tread, leaving the snow visibly disturbed, yet less so than the open ploughings. And so in the wake of his guests does Baradil come, masking their passage. Finnally at the caves entrance he nods to Harlow, and he smiles as he waves him inside, even as he unties the 'plough'. "A good way to hide numbers, and the sky is full this night, and those tracks will be lost the morrow, has I left them, trackers could mark the lumps and bumps." As the man steps inside himself, he shrugs his pack away from his shoulder and drops it in a corner.

In the cave there is an immediate blast of warmth, for a generous cooking fire crackles away and a decent pot of broth crackles to. A low table houses a barrel and a few loaves of bread.

The taller of the scout turns to Rhiana, and he then looks to the wounded men. "How grave is their need? I am no healer, nor is my companion, yet we have store of herbs here at need?" He spins on his heal and picks a leather pouch of a sheld hewn of the rock and passes it to the Guard. then turning to Harlow, he speaks in Sindarin and warmly. "Please friend, get our guests ale, bread, broth and a blanket a piece. I'll tend them too, as soon as I know their needs fully."

Harlow stands silently at the entrance for a few moments, scanning about just in case. With the sign of Baradil, and no sight of other travellers out of the cave, he turns and makes his way in. The scout looks over toward the taller man, nodding a bit and then preparing the needed items available, walking amongst the party and handing out bread, broth, ale, and a blanket to each one of them. After finishing with this task, he steps over to a wall of the cave, leaning against it, watching the others. Pausing for a moment before he moves his avian friend onto his hand, then sending him outside the cave. To serve as a look out of sorts.

The black feathered creature flaps his wings, riding on the warm wind, and then making his way out of the cave, off toward the same boulder that he had been purched at before.

The Dorthonion Captain turns from stripping off her cloak and other winter gear, having just carefully lain her weapons on top of them. Taking her pack from Arion, she nods at the taller scout and reaches for the offered pouch. "I am a decent enough field healer, but the herbs will be welcome. There was little time to gather more before we set out from Brethil and too great a need for what there was." She glances worriedly at the two wounded guards where their fellows are trying to make them comfortable with the proffered blankets. When the Dorlominer turns back from speaking to his fellow, she takes a step closer in order to speak more quietly. "Dreidre took a spear in the leg as we crossed the Teiglin and Barlow an arrow in the shoulder. Neither were bad wounds, but we have had few chances for a more than a cold camp and there was something on the arrow that Barlow took. I have tended them as best I could along the way, but the pace and the cold have kept both from healing as quickly as they might have."

Kneeling down near the fire, she pulls out a large leather pouch from her own pack and places it next to the one handed her by the scout. As she goes through the contents of both, it become obvious she is favoring her left arm, where the cloth shows dried blood around where it is cut and the white of a bandage peeks through.

The scouts face drops, crestfallen and pained. A slight sigh comes from his lungs and he shakes his head. "Tell me not that Brethil is fallen? Ill tidings and hard to bare such news would ever be." He walks himself to Rhiana's side and places a smaller pot next to the broth, seemingly to heat water. "We have water a plenty in snow, if you need more to staunch the wounds, we are yours to order." Stooping away from the pot, he taps off two mugs of ale, one he keeps, the other he passes to the healer. "Go canny with that wrist, if you wish it, I could at the least tend to that wound." He smiles, yet his faced is lined with concern.

Yet waiting for no answer he wanders closer to Harlow, he smiles warmly and speaks softly in Marachian. "Nice work friend, yet do not surrender your position so lightly. I walked into open sight deeming you where safe to get word back. Had they been traitors with skill in the bow, red snow would have been the only warning for the lads up the hill." He lifts his flagon and drinks from it deeply till his mouth is wreathed with froth. With a sigh, he places the mug down and moves around the men of Rhiana, asking if they need more ale of soup. Standing he speaks across the cave to the Beorian lady. "Good chance it is you found us this evening. We are only this low down the slope by my whim, indeed we are but a week left of Mithrim and came last night. I fear this night may have proven fell. We'll not go further till morning for a sky full of snow comes storming."

The scout of Dor-Lomin perks up slightly, looking over toward Baradil and nodding slightly toward him, "I'll remember this.. I also apologize.", Harlow replies to him as he walks off. Scanning over the group again, he runs his gloved fingers through his hair, pushing himself off the wall of the cave, and then making his way to the entrance of the cave, sitting down on the ground. He adjusts his cloak a bit, pulling it more around him before looking up toward the sky.

Rhiana gives the scout a quick grateful smile as he places the small pot on the fire, then returns to sorting out herbs and laying bandages in a pile next to them. Several different herbs go into the small pot and it only then that she picks up the broth instead and cradles it in her hands. The mug of ale gets a quick glance, but she leaves it where it is for the moment. Sinking down to a more comfortable position where she can tend the pot of herbs, she glances around at her small command to reassure herself of their well-being. Arion meets her eyes where he sits by Driedre, the worst of the wounded. The wounded guard had fallen asleep before even finishing her broth, but the nod Arion gives Rhiana indicates that Dreidre is no worse.

With a small sigh, Rhiana lets herself relax a bit, looking over at the taller scout where he leans against the wall of the cave. "My news is not that bad, for Brethil still holds, with the help of the Doriathrim. But it is likely well nigh besieged by now and we were lucky to make it past those the Enemy send to reinforce his attacks there." Leaning over to look in the pot and stir it with her dagger, she glances back at him. "As far as the weather, it would do us good to spend a day or two here. The last fire we had was too long ago to be more than a memory." She pauses and glances from once scout to the other, then asks with a weary smile, "Might I know your names, so I might more properly thank you?"

Baradil scratches at his beard and nods his head a news of Brethil. "That is good, yet I fear your road will have been dread. I went the same way ere Tol Sirion fell and already they had found ways to this land." his voice is quiet and he smiles. Casting his hood off, he removes his cloak and coat also, and places them with his packs. Yet he still stands in many odd knit cardigans of rough brown wool, letting not winter grasp at his bones. With a smile and a bow, "I am Baradil M'Lady; a scout of Galdor. And you may use this cave as long as you wish, but if I may offer my advice. I know the paths of the way, in snow, ice or rain. If you are well to walk, I could bring you to a more full camp ere the morrow has ended. And I like not fires or dwelling long so near the open lands. Up a height we can descry most of the ways, here is not so safe."

"I would be Harlow, m'lady. Part of Baradil's scouting party." Harlow replies to Rhiana, glancing over his shoulder, still obviously listening in on the two of them. He gives Rhiana a small nod, and friendly smile, looking back forward toward the sky. He lets out a soft sigh, reaching a gloved hand to move loose strands of his hair behind his ear. "The stars don't show themselves too well through the clouds it seems.." He says with smirk, scratching underneath his chin.

The Dorthonion captain takes the pot off the fire and begins to spread the herbs on the bandages as she answers. One of the other guards comes over and takes the bandages prepared for Barlow, and Arion takes the ones for Dreidre. She looks tiredly at the remaining one, then at her arm, before she lifts her eyes to Baradil and then Harlow.
Try as she might, Rhiana cannot keep the weariness out of her voice, though she manages a wan smile. "I would be grateful to get my people to a safer place, as you suggest. We have come this far, and truly we did not expect to find anyone this close to the pass, so one more day's travel will not be too much." Arion, who is half asleep himself from the warmth, comes over and sits beside her to change her bandage as well. She gives him a grateful smile, then looks back at Baradil again. "If the way is passable for the horses, it would be a help. They are as weary as we, but it would aid the wounded if they could ride, especially Dreidre."

The tall scout nods, "Horses may pass the morrow, beyond that the way is to steep. They'll need to be led by there bridle, mayhap even stabled till spring, that we can do, and tend them well if you will it. But afore the storm falls and blots out any sight that is left in this night, I will go out. I'll not be far, but Harlow may aid you if he can, and please rest, for though the way will not be hard with daybreak, I can see in your band weariness." He smiles broadly and kindly, even as he stoops to collect his cloaks again, "I'm sure your boots no longer lie about the cold around your feet and your bellies are too long empty. So tonight rest easy. We will keep you safe here." With that the man turns on his heel and secures his white cloak once more. At the caves entrance a few muttered words of Marachian he offers Harlow, and a smile."
Looking up to Baradil, Harlow gives him a small nod and a smile, soon standing from his spot and dusting himself off. The scout walks along over toward the fire, smiling over toward Rhiana and taking a seat next to her. "I apologize for being rude, m'lady, and not speaking with you." he says over toward her, clearing his throat. "And I will be glad to help you and your companions along to a more.. Well. Suitable place for you to be, other then this cave." he finishs.

Arion finishes rebandaging Rhi's arm and takes himself off to his own blanket, next to Dreidre. Rhi looks over at the Dor-lomin scout as he sits down beside her and manages a tired smile, even though it wavers a bit. Her voice is soft and warm though as she answers. "There is naught to apologize for, my lord. You were not being rude, but only doing your duty." Her gaze drops to the fire before them even as the smile disappears and she adds, "As do we all..."

Harlow nods over to her, continuing to smile. Observing though exactly how she looks when she gives him her smile. He keeps back a frown, glancing around for a moment or so to the others, and then looking back over to Rhiana. "I still apologize though.. Just to be sure and all.." he replies to her, looking her over slightly. "And just as a suggestion.. You could perhaps sleep. Seeing as you have been traveling. You may need it."

Rhiana lifts her right hand to face, as though to rub at her eyes, but one tear escapes anyway. Lifting her eyes from the fire, she glances around at her small group, most of whom have wasted no time in giving in to the respite from the cold and exhaustion, before she she looks back at the scout. "Aye, you are right and I am more than tired enough. Tis just the first time in days I've had time to think about more than keeping us together and alive, as well as winning through to Dor-lomin." Her eyes drop again before the kind smile and she reaches for the mug of ale that Baradil had given her earlier. "At least now I can drink this, since there is no more to be done before until we ready ourselves to leave here. It should put me to sleep quickly enough."

"Indeed.. Sleep well. And do cheer yourself up." he says with a smile over to Rhiana, beginning to stand from his seat next to her, beginning to walk along toward the entrance of the cave. "And there's no need to see a beautiful face such as yours sad.." he says over to her, smiling still, turning back forward and sitting down at the entrance of the cave, taking watch again of the area ahead of him.

Rhiana is careful to keep her eyes down as she sips at the mug of ale. The scout's kind words bring a fresh rush of grief, but exhaustion and the ale dull it to an ache she manages to hide. She glances up at him as he makes his way back to his post by the door, but does not trust herself enough to answer. For what answer could she make? Realizing that the ale is making her head swim, she stumbles over to her pack and pile of belongings. Fumbling slightly, she makes herself a pillow out of her pack and rolls up in the blanket. Sleep hits her almost as soon as she is settled, blotting all out in sweet oblivion.