fandomhighdorms | Outside the stables

After his visit to the library, Faramir decided both Baru and himself would be grateful to stretch their legs and go for a ride around the island. Mindful of the warnings he'd received about invasions, he'd donned his leather armour and had retrieved his sword from the weapon's locker. The weight was familiar and reassuring, but those were thoughts that seemed to more belong to Boromir than to himself. Perhaps he was thinking like his brother to compensate for his absence.

Baru was eager to see him and he led the horse outside to enjoy the sunlight. When he returned inside the stable to retrieve the saddle, Faramir found that the saddle was currently occupied. By a disembodied hand who seemed to be doing some sort of dance. His hand fel to the hilt of his sword and the hand stopped dancing.

"What are you?" he demanded, even if reason told him that a hand without a mouth could not speak. Still, the meaning was clear as the hand made itself small, shivering a little.

Faramir frowned and he wondered if this would be one of the harmless, but embarrassing invasions Bruce had warned him about. "If you do not threaten me, then I shall not harm thee," he told the hand.

It instantly perked up, jumped off the saddle and grabbed one of Baru's brushes, dashing towards the doors with it where it was hopping impatiently for Faramir to follow. How it kept its balance holding a brush that was bigger than himself, Faramir did not know.

"Perhaps I'm merely losing my mind," Faramir told himself quietly as he picked up the saddle and followed the hand.

[Open, of course.]

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Gabrielle wasn't heading toward the stables because she had any particular rapport with horses; much the opposite, actually. She and horses, she thought, didn't at all get along.

No, she was heading that way because the persistent and very helpful hands following her wouldn't leave her alone.

"I understand you want to help," she was telling them as she passed the stable doors, "but the way I write my stories is very personal to me, you get that, right? It just wouldn't be the same as a collaborative effort. No, no, don't feel bad, please? It's not an insult! I'm sure you're very creative."

The sound of someone approaching and mostly of her talking made Faramir look up from grooming Baru. It seemed the girl had gathered a much larger herd of hands, while Faramir still had the company of merely one. Which was trying to braid Baru's mane.

"Perhaps they merely wish you to read to them?" he suggested, his amusement rather obvious.

"Ha! I tried that already," said Gabrielle, who looked a bit harried at this point, clutching a rolled-up parchment in one hand and trying to fend off an overly-helpful (not hers) hand with the quill in the other. "They seem to keep wanting to try and rewrite everything for me -- no, I told you, get your own if you want to write so badly!"

"It is a matter of wanting to be too helpful then," Faramir chuckled, but he took pity on her and moved forward to try to releave her of the pestering hand. It was best if he didn't try to think too much of what he was doing.

"There now, you should know better than to come between a lady and her pen. Leave her be," he told it.

Edited 2010-09-05 23:17 (UTC)

The persistent hand actually relented there, scurrying away to follow Gabrielle from a less intrusive distance; the others seemed to let up as well.

"Thanks," she said with obvious relief. "I've been trying really hard not to hurt their feelings."

The fact that she said that without so much as a double-take . . .

"Oh, hi," she added after a beat. "You must be new; I've never seen you before."

And yet, Faramir would never fault her for who wanting to save someone's feelings.

"I am new," he agreed, though the term still greatly amused him. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Faramir," he said with a slight bow.

Gabrielle was used to dealing with men in leather armor; it was just that they usually tended to be either Roman warriors or crude warlords' flunkies, and while the former tended to smell a little better than the latter, neither category was very representative of courtesy. (The Romans she'd met were better about it, but, well, they were Romans.)

It had her a little bit charmed.

"Gabrielle," she replied, inclining her head slightly in a bow the way Queen Melosa used to do. "Is this your horse? She's really beautiful. Or he," she added, almost an afterthought.

"Well met, my Lady," he said and straightened up. There was a hint of pride as she complimented his horse.

"He," he confirmed. "His name is Baru." He paused as he only now noticed the braid the hand, sitting on top of Baru's shoulders, had put in his mane.

"And he needs no braids for he is no lady's horse," he added, moving back to the horse to undo the braid. The hand looked dejected.

"Oh, but can you blame them for wanting to braid that mane?" Gabrielle asked, wanting to make the poor dejected hand feel better. Of course, she felt compelled to point out, "Ladies' horses don't need braids either, you know."

"Perhaps not," Faramir agreed, patting Baru's neck. "But it is much more likely to happen to a lady's horse than it would to that of a ranger or a soldier."

He turned towards her again. "Should I take that to mean that you would not braid your horse's mane?"

Outside the stables - Early afternoon

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