Elendor - Thursday, July 16, 1998, 6:34 PM
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Mirabelle:
  You find yourself staring at a woman that has known the streets for too long, the palms of her hands are dirty, and the backs are as white as a china vase. She is slim, like the goods she sells, a flower..her waist the fragile stem. Around her waist is a leather cord, tied around in the front like sailors rope, tethering her torso to her legs. She is tall for her figure, giving her a lanky appearance. If you could see her legs, they would be pale as the snow, but a long greasy swath of a gray blouse hangs down to her ankles. Held up by the belt, which is no more than a rope, is a dirty apron. Smudge marks from her wiping on them perminantly mare much of her shabby clothes, especially her apron around her lap. Around her long and slender neck is a purple shawl.
        Always under her arm, overwhelimgly as large as she is wide, is a wicker basket. This basket is full of violet bunches normally, tho all sorts of flowers, depending on the season, are held here. A lilac usually dresses up her bonnet and tucked under an ear that sticks out from it. On her head is a light blue and lilac bonnet. Her face as striking features, a small thin nose, only slighly rounded. Her bright blue eyes are disporportionatly large, moonlike as they look at you pleadingly. Her hair is always in a bun, only glimps of her long raven black hair can be seen hanging down from her bonnet before she tucks them back in, and off her forehead or neck. Her cheeks are pale at night, but rosy and plump when she shares a camp fire with her street urchins.

Arya:
  You catch sight of a young lady, no more than a child, perhaps eight years old. Her dark brown eyes are large with curiousity, and her face is far from pretty. One would call her a plain child. Pulled back in a tight braid down her back is her long and thin black hair, reaching almost to her waist even when braided. Her mouth is usually straight, and a puzzled expression often adorns her childish face, though you can almost imagine from that the look of joyful glee she must get when solving those puzzles which often occupy her mind.
        Her clothing is plain. A simple, white smock covers a faded dark red dress which almost hangs on her thin frame. A pair of brown leather boots cover her feet, boots that are small and come up only just past her ankles, their tops hiding beneath the hem of her dress. The bottoms of her boots are, more often than not, either dusty or muddy, depending on the weather.
        She appears to be a sweet young girl, though intelligence lights in her eyes.

End of Stonewright's Street -- The Barracks

The end of Stonewright's Street runs right up against the side of the mountain here at this sheltered location. The long low buildings of the garrison stationed here take up most of the available space around this square, with the soldiers' quarters to the outer edge, sheltering the officers' houses from the brisk winds. The sounds of drilling and sword practice drift up from behind one of the myriad building - the commanders' voices yelling above the noise of the trampling feet. Now and again, some soldier or another dashes across the cobbled square on errand to or from the Citadel and the higher officers stationed there.

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Weather:            Cloudy
Time:                Early Morning <about 7 AM (breakfast time) >
Season:              Winter
Date:               Trewsday - December 5, 3014

Real Time:          Thu Jul 16 18:36:41 1998
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Dawn has broken only a few hours ago, and the city is still stirring, still awaking from the long night. The action from the change of shift within the last hour or so has already dissipated: there is little happening outside the barracks and training ground. Snores can be heard from within the barracks, as well as the sounds of the men at their breakfast, those who have just come off shift at least. And down in the training ground are many Guardsmen, dulled steel drawn and already at practice.

A small figure can be seen sitting quietly on the stone wall surrounding the practice grounds, legs folded beneath her and eyes ever on the men battling below.

Through the early morning fog, one can see in the distance a figure of a woman. However thin and frail she appears to be, it is her loud argot piercing voice that no amount of fog can cover, "Flow'rs Capt'n, I've gotchyour Violets ya like to git for the ladies", she paces from stranger to stranger speaking to them as if she knew them, and to her, they are all apart of the family of the street.

As a familiar voice rings out, the small figure on the wall leaps off and down into the training grounds, taking something of a tumble down a stretch of dirt and finally landing at the foot of a tall Guardsman who jumps back with a start and a yelp, allowing his sparring opponent a decisive blow. With a sheepish grin, the young lass presses herself against the dirt and wall to keep from being seen by the flower-selling lady. A number of men stare at her curiously, as she has drawn the attention of much of the grounds.

Malahir comes out of the barracks, bracing himself against the Gondorian winds.
Malahir has arrived.

A tall guard, whose back was to the street and busy with his breakfast in the training grounds, turns around to find a little girl roll down in the dirt and bump his legs. Recognizing the dirty lass to be the troublesome Arya, Malahir immediately bends to pick her up. He breaks into a smile, just being able to see the child is ok, "Arya, are you alright? What happened to make a nimble child as yourself fall off the wall?", he inquires with a raised brow, as he rightens the girl on her feet.

Casting a glare up at Malahir, the young girl dusts herself off, and tries once more to look inconspicuous yet standing close to the wall as if she did not wish to be seen from over it. "I didn' fall, my good sir," she says in her best superior tone and finest accent, "I jumped. I am quite fine, thankee, sir. If you'll just leave me to my hiding..." Trailing off, a worried look imposes itself over her high look.

The lady selling flowers by the curb begins to make her way toward the barracks, spotting young guards, who possibly might be in love and in need of a bouquet. Tapping one, then drawing back into a defensive posture she speaks in her loud argot accent, "Canna Trouble you good sir, for a copper ye can make a lady blush with these", and she pulls out three violets, wrapped up in a homemade string made of flax. The Soldier, coming back from his post no doubt and very tired, all but ignores her on his way to the barracks. Dauntless, the flower girl continues in this way.

Malahir nods, seemingly quite satisfied with the girls excuse, he leans up against the wall while talking down to her, "Can I ask what your hiding from?", looking around in the dense fog, "the fog seems to be lifting every second, maybe I can be your eyes and watch out for who ever your hiding from", he suggests with his own boyish mischeivious grin.

As the lady above speaks, one of the very few feminine voices to be heard in this side of the city, espicially at this hour, the young lass below visibly pressed against the wall. Malahir's words only cause her to turn, put a finger against her lips for quiet, and once more attempt to hide. However, she does whisper, "M'mama's up there."

With a shocked look written all over the guards face, Malahir lifts his eyes and takes a peak toward the road, where it seems the flower girl, the only other woman in the vicinity, is heading strait toward the guard and child. Opposite of the wall, her tall figure slides between the fog and suddenly like a ghost, she appears in front of Malahir, her hand on her waists, "Aye capt'n, it's like ye cat got your tongue. Dontcha know how to treat a lady", she whines, while reaching out her one gloved hand, expecting to be helped over the opening where the barracks and the wall separating the activity of the street from those of the guards. Malahir stands dumbfounded, perhaps at her alluring eyes. All he can manage to mutter is, "your mama is she?".

The small lass breathes sharply, glaring up at Malahir and her mother. Finally, with a resigned sigh as she is now in plain view of the flower woman, she stands, dusting some of the field's dirt off her already dirty dress. "No, Lieutenant, she's yours. 'Course she's m' mama." Shaking her head in disgust of the officer's behavior, she casts a worried glance to Mirabelle right after her outright speach.

Mirabelle is preocuppied with the guard, looking up at him just so, "Ohh..you are a fine lad, you're a guard aint ye?", she puts her fists on her hips and smirks, "guards are nothing but two timing, snake in the grass, low births", she scowls as she spots her daughter alongside the guard and flashes from her face to the guards face and back again, "Arya! Git over here you little pipsqueek, I told you if I ever found you hanging around these parts again I'll have your hide", she raises her hand, just then when Malahir places his hand on her wrist, "she has done no harm, m'lady", he says deeply.

A spark of defiance lights in the young girl's eyes at her mother's anger, and she straightens her posture to one of attention, not unlike a Guard. Yet, as a hand is raised against her, she ducks behind Malahir for protection, staring at Mirabelle from behind the Guardsman, eyes shining brightly, "I'll go where I wish, mama." is all she says, head cocked to a side.

Mirabelle wiggles out of the big man's grip, overexaggerating her plight, "AaaaOOOOH", she whines dreadfully, "your hurt'n me capt'n". Malahir releases her quickly and steps Arya over the wall. He gives the lass' hand over to her mothers and looks down at her, "I'm sorry my lady, I didn't mean to get you in trouble. I'm sure if your mother only knew..", and he looks up to see her, "that I am an honorable servant of this fair city. Perhaps she'll decide you may see me again", he looks down again and gives Arya a wink that her mother probably didn't see and espies the flower basket above Arya's head, "May I buy a bouquet from you madam?".

Arya casts Malahir a nasty glare as she is handed over to her mother, and thumbs her nose at him, "You coulda helped me get away, you know," she says in a hurt tone. "Maybe I'll not wish to see you again because of it..." Trailing off, she sighs lightly, her hand held tightly by her mother. Glancing around, she catches sight of a guard she obviously knows, and gives him a wave in defiance of Mirabelle.

Attempting to hold a dignified posture, Mirabelle sticks her chin out and says, "If you wish", holding the wicker basket out for the acting Lieutenant to see, he inquires, "how much for all of them", she then bringing it back with a start, "all of them M'seur? it'll cost you", she thinks for a moment, "two silver pennies", she says with finality. The tall guard quickly reveals the coinage, as if it meant nothing to him, and places them in the basket. He takes out the collection of violets and carnations, yellow and white being predominant among them, bends at the waist and hands them to Arya, "Please do not hate your mother, she is only doing what she thinks is best for you. Take these flowers, make Ismeralda jealous with them", he grins as he allows the lass to take the bouquet if she wishes.

The young girl's eyes widen as the bouquet is offered to her, and she looks from her mother to Malahir. Finally, she shakes her head, and folds her arms decisively. "I don' care what she's doing," she pointedly speaks to Malahir, not her mother, "I jus' want t' go where I wish. And talk to whom I wish. And learn how to swordfight and horse ride, but she says those are unladylike, and..." she trails off, sticking out her lower lip in a perfectly practiced pout.

The rejection of the flowers stuns both guard and mother. With a pained look, Malahir looks away and says nothing. Arya's mother is not so understanding, grabing a hold of the girl's hand even tighter, "There ye go 'gain 'bout, 'I want to come and go as I please, talk to any stranger if I want to' nonsense", mocking the girls words, then looking pointedly at the guard, "Wha'do you say about this M'seur, sur'ly you can see my point of view, a decent girl, I am". Still, Malahir says nothing, save "It's not up to me to decide madam", and he tucks the flowers under his arms.

A tear starts rolling down the young lass's face as her hand is gripped tighter, and she begins to wriggle her way out of her mother's grip. "C'mon, mama! Lemmee go! I've been safe eight whole years now, I'm not about to get in any trouble now." Though she is unable to get her hand from Mirabelle's, she does put up quite an angry fight, ignoring Malahir as she does so.

Mirabelle blushes, as she pauses too long to consider the guards simple statement, but the wiggling of her daughter breaks her gaze of the man. She bends at her skinny waist and points her cream colored gloved finger, "Mind your manners Arya, or so help me I'll give you a lesson you soon wont forget", unable to keep her eyes of the guard she looks up, "Eight years, and you think she was a lady. I'm a respec'able girl, I am. But for eight years I raised Arya on my own. It's been tough minding this little guttersnipe", she sneers at Arya, making a nonverbal communication to behave.

Finally settling down somewhat, the young lass glares up at her mother, extreme annoyance lighting in her eyes, "I've minded my manners long 'nuff to know you don't have any fun if you do. Anyway, the Lieutenant doesn't mind, does he?" she once more adopts her most stuck-up tone and casts Malahir a pleading glance. "I'm not a babe anymore, mama. Lemmee go!"

Malahir watches now with curiousity, he himself is seen idly ironing out the cuffs of his cloak with his fingers. He coughs uncomfortably and adds, "Could I speak with Arya madam, be kind and let two friends say goodbye". With that, the flower girl reluctantly lets go of her daughters red and soot stained hands. Malahir takes it in his big muscular hands and squeezes gently, "Sit up on the wall Arya, I want to tell you something", then looking over his shoulder and saying, "in private if you please ma'am", and the mother backs away hesitantly.

The young girl lets out a light sigh of relief as the officer convinces her mother to let go of her hand, though looks to Malahir with apprehention as he takes it in his own. She sits down obediantly on the wall, a hint of respect for the large Guardsman touching her eyes, but being masked over quickly. "What d'ya want, sir?" she asks, pure curiousity in her voice, yet also a touch of impatient defiance, as would be expected of any child being sat down for a lecture.

Malahir sets the flowers between the seated eight year old and himself as he takes a seat next to her. Softly, so as not to be overheard by her mother, he says to Arya, "I know you expect another lecture. That is all you've seen us adults do it seems", he sighs, "but you see, I'm not good at lecturing. I may be a nobleman, but I'm a simple man. What I see is a girl that wishes to grow up, and a caring mother that wishes her daughter to not follow the path that she has taken when she was young and foolish. I only wish there was some way I could help..", and he says ever so softly, "both of you". Perking up, but still whispering, "Arya, if you ever want to come to the barracks, I wont tell. This wall can be our safe place, it's where we first meet", nudging her, "dont you remember", trying to hide a smile.

Arya listens with wandering attention as Malahir gives her the long lecture on how her mother simply wants to keep her safe and all, nodding absently every now and again. When he pauses and perks up a bit, she almost smiles, nodding more attentively, "Aye, sir, I remember well. You were lecturing your men pretty well then, though, I remember." A shy smile grows on her face and she adds with her ears turning a bit red, "I wasn' eavesdropping, though. Jus' watching the soldiers, and tryin' to get out before I got caught." She casts a nervous glare to her mother, however, and the smile fades.

Malahir smiles as the young girl does and nods, "Aye my lady, good times we will never forget. Now I want you to do me a favor", he gets closer to whisper as the flower girl begins to edge closer, "I know you want to be a soldier. I've seen that look in your eye when you watch them train. You have adventure on your mind, and travel in your blood. So listen to me. I'm making you my honorable guard", he draws back and looks at her seriously, "Do you accept, soldier?", he smiles slightly.

The young girl jumps up off the wall, landing with an almost cat-like agility on her booted feet, and mimics a position of attention. Balling her right hand into a fist, she brings her arm across her chest and presses her first to her left shoulder, she snaps an impressive salute. "Yes sir, Lieutenant!" she cries, grinning from ear to ear. However, as her mother coughs behind her, she drops her arm back to her side, grin disapearing slowly.

Malahir stands at a more relazed attention and salutes his first recruit as a lieutenant back, as imaginary as her position may be, "Very well soldier", he says bravely with the mother watching on, "Carry out your usual duties. The keep boys need to kept in line, I look to you to work this problem out". Mirabelle, exasperated with what is going on brakes in and grabs Arya, "rightee, enough is 'nough. Good day capt'n she says over her shoulder as she drags Arya away, but not before the lieutenant says to Arya, "Your dismissed", and he says, "good day to you madam", and he bows before turning around to face his humdrum officer's life.

Before her mother drags her off, and with the skill of a pickpocket, Arya steals one of the violet flowers from the bouquet and sets it in her hair. Casting a glance over her shoulder as she stumbles away, the young lass also casts Malahir a smile and a nod.