(121-04-16) Lost and Found
Lost and Found
Summary: Eonn finds the missing Lady Blackmont on the edge of escape.
Date: 04/16/14
Related: Wickham's Nest Plot Logs

There is a lot of forest between cities and even more between the reach and the vicious, meandering line of the Red Mountains that contain the sands of Dorne. A stream runs through this particular copse, to the East of Oldtown, the sharp lines of the mountains just becoming a marker on the horizon. The birds chirp distantly. Their wings scattering them here and there amid the high peaks of greenery and the lush throws of bushes. The dark shadows cutting across the river, causing the dark haired woman next to it to jump in surprise.

Yael has seen better days, with her dark hair making wild halo about the dirty shoulders of her white dress. Scratches heal slowly on her skin, the gold of her snake shaped bracelet glinting as she lifts her hand to splash water on her face. A horse stands not far, ground tied so that it can drink with ease, with equally dirty bags strapped to its saddle. Rubbing her fingers against her scarred lips, she lifts her head to regard those peaks in the distance. "Far to go yet, I think," she says to the horse, sun and sand deepening the grit of her voice. The horse whinnies. He agrees.

There's movement, coming from that direction, along the merest of the game-trails between the trees. Something big, something white. It stops. Yael's horse is probably pleased to smell the big mare. No horse likes to be away from its own kind.

The horse whickers pleasantly. Its ears twitching in a wary greeting as Yael rises slowly from her bend at the stream, water still wetting her lips. Cautiously, quietly as she can manage on the stones, she steps towards the beast and reaches for the reigns.

The big white mare whickers back. Her rider seems to decide that there's no sense in hiding amid the greenery with this having happened, and so the beast trots out, a light movement for such a big animal. The tall shabby red-headed sellsword has sharp eyes, and they find Yael easily. He raises his eyebrows, looking a bit surprised.

There is no recognition that touches Yael's sharp features, dark eyes raking over the beast and its rider with narrow suspicion. Lifting the reigns, she elegantly lifts a wrist to flip her hair back over her shoulder with a crooked smile. "Good day," she bids lowly, looking just as if she is taking her leave.

"My lady," replies the man. He slows the mare, but keeps coming. "I am, I think, meant to find you."

"I rather think not," Yael decides sharply. She seats her foot in the stirrup and hoists herself onto the mare.

Eonn stops his own big mare. "Wait. Not to make a prisoner of you," says the man. "But to rescue you. I seem to be late." He smiles bleakly. "I am called Eonn. I work for the Maiden's Knight, Prince Daevon Targaryen. Ride with me, I beg you."

Poised atop her steed and every bit as contemporaneous as a Lady at her best, no matter how dirty and woebegone, Yael stares at Eonn through the dark veils of her lashes. "You will forgive me if that seems unlikely and all too easy," she says slowly, husk of her words dry. "How did you know I needed rescue?" Other than the obvious. Her mouth flattens in a thin line. "What use has a Targaryen Prince of me?"

"He wishes to know what happened to you," says Eonn. "There has been much blood shed over it." He watches her. "It is important. And I thought you needed rescue because I thought you were not missing on your own accord. Or if you were, I was sure not to find you here." A grim smile. "Nor in such a state. How long ago did you come to begin this ride, my lady?"

"The blood was not on my account," Yael bites out sharply, the tremor of her voice causing her teeth to grit. "Nor by my measure." Lifting a hand, she shifts her torn dress into a better place at her shoulder. Of anything, he words cause her laugh bitterly. "Then you are all too late, good Sir. I had aimed not be found, if you'll forgive me." She extends a hand, the other tightly fisted on the reigns as she eyes his sword. Licking her lips, she allows, "Some days."

Eonn urges his mare a few slow steps closer, and doesn't take her hand yet. "No. I don't think it was," he says sadly. "And I am no knight. Where will you go, to not be found? And have you eaten, all this time?"

It is well he does not try, for as his horse steps nearer she draws it back to herself. Yael angles her chin with amusement, tilting her head towards the mountains. "Just beyond their red peaks and I could be home." Her mouth simply thins at the mention of food. "Somewhat… Does your Prince seek my head or only answers?"

"Only answers," he says. "Why would he blame you? I think you were taken to lay blame at the feet of another. So does he." He looks towards the mountains, "And will you be safe there? Ride with me. To Oldtown." He twists in his saddle to reach, not for that sword, which is so much better than the rest of his equipage, but to access one of the saddlebags the white mare carries.

Yael's horse steps back as the man reaches backward, carrying its Mistress with it into the shadows of a tree. The shadow of their branches shrouds her eyes, scar on her lip seeming to cut all the deeper left alone in the sun. "What then? Can you promise your Prince would see me home? Our lands are no great friends," she observes coolly. Her gaze catches on his sword.

"I can promise it," says Eonn. From the bag he produces a stem of dried dates. He holds these out towards her.

There is a long, silent pause that makes it seem as Yael will still refuse the offering. Then, hestitantly she guides the horse forward a step. "I will ride with you," she hazards after a quiet moment. "But only if I carry your sword until we safely reach your Prince."

Eonn nods. "All right," he says, "But you might rather I had it. Somebody is probably trying to find you. I am sure you know it." He still holds out the dates. "Take them. I have more. And horrible salt beef. And I can probably catch a fish."

"Very well. You need not trouble yourself, so." Yael takes the dates, then extends her opposite hand for his blade. "I might, should they find us. Yet, I find I have had enough blades pointed at me of late," she answers dryly, making a point of the fact that she will go nowhere if she is not the one to bear the blade. There is a quiet hiss as a snake coaxes its way over the curve of her shoulder, slithering out from the dark twists of her hair. "Haven't I, love"?" She says, questioning the snake in Myrish. "Your blade, Eonn of Westeros."

Eonn shrugs, and moves to unbuckle his swordbelt. "As you command, my lady," he says. He hands it over. It's a pretty sword, with its gowned woman on the pommel, and fine, but large and he offers it to her with both hands.

"Good." Angling her shoulders regally, Yael accepts the substantial weight of the blade with the care of woman who has at least held one before. Taking it in her hands, she binds it to her own worn saddlebags with a sure switch of her hands. Then, she eats a date. Crushing the dried fruit in her teeth, she regards Eonn with a coy curve of a smile. "Now," she says, "Tell me of what has passed. Need you water for your horses?"

"She'll drink a little," says the man, giving the mare her head and letting her walk to the riverbank before he dismounts. "Were you at Wickham's Nest?" He moves upstream of his horse to fill his waterskin.

Yael watches for several moments as Eonn waters his mare, one hand stroking briefly at her own steed's neck. "Yes," she answers finally, lifting a date and biting it in half. "What I saw…it was a slaughter."

Eonn nods. "And it was the attackers who took you from there?" asks Eonn, capping his waterskin and then drinking from his palms.

There is another long pause, this one of a different nature as Yael considers the man by the river. She finishes her date. "Yes," she says again, this time allowing her voice to break. Swallowing, she turns to look to the mountains with longing.

Eonn nods. "Where did they bring you?" asks Eonn, moving to mount his mare again. He pauses to look at her, "Do you want more to eat?"

Exhaling a low breath, Yael shakes her head and offers him back the dates. "I do not know. Some small cabin in some bit of wood," she says, rubbing her fingers together in memory. "Has my husband been searching for me?"

Eonn sighs softly and says, "I would sooner let my Prince explain." He eats a date, then feeds one to his mare before putting the rest back in his saddlebag. "I would prefer that we hurry."

"That sounds for ill," Yael manages with a level tone, regarding the man with fire in her dark eyes. "Then tell me, is my husband alive?" This is less a request and more of a demand, that fire in her gaze alighting in her tone.

"My lady," says Eonn, mounting his mare, "I am sorry, I do not know. Many of your countrymen are dead, and it may be that he was among them. I was not privy to the full count of names, and if I were I might not have remembered. My Prince will know, and help you seek justice if there is any to be sought. He is. True." He smiles at her, sadly. "I know that it sounds crazy to say such a thing, but it is true."

The fire does not fade from Yael's face so much as ice creeps in to fully encompass it. Her features schooling into delicate placidity, even as if they only spoke of summer and spring's whims. "Very well," she offers. "I will speak then, to your true Prince." Then, she shall judge for herself.

Eonn gives her an apologetic look, and starts to ride, looking back to see that she follows.

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