Ravnáriel the Fire Mage

“I do not doubt that the horses of Rohan may be more powerful, but our Iscarocco are agile and fleet footed,” Zivaith countered, “your horses may overpower us, but ours would out manoeuvre you.” “You’re thinking of our warhorses, but we have broad a range of breeds,” Lady Éowyn replied, “the coursers are both strong and fast we’d commonly use them for war and tourneys, while the destriers are strong and powerful, bred for war. But we have lighter horses too, such as the palfreys and rouncey—” Zivaith couldn’t help but give a gentle laugh. “Palfrey and rouncey,” she repeated with a smile, “I do so enjoy you Ondohos’ naming styles.” For a moment she feared Éowyn would take offence, but the Lady’s stern facade eased, a small smile tugging at her lips, apparently seeing the humour in the horse breeds names. {Zivait—Oh!} ‘Ulmo preserve me, what now?’ Zivaith thought privately as Nivast’s familiar voice heralded his abrupt arrival. “Lady Éowyn, forgive me for interrupting,” he switched to Westron easily, with a short bow and looking suitably apologetic But then he looked to Zivaith, a familiar glint of amusement in his eyes. {Mother would like a word. Now.} Ah. “I’m sorry, Lady Éowyn,” Zivaith hastened to say, even as her brother caught her arm to ensure she didn’t bolt, “family matters, I mus—” “I know how it is,” Éowyn was quick to reassure. “Perhaps we can speak more later?” A word of agreement, and Zivaith reluctantly allowed herself to be drawn away from the Lady of Ithilien’s calming presence. Being led through the crowd by Nivast, Ziviath tried to guess at what had rankled her mother this time. Had she said something? Snubbed an important Lord? Misspoke? Misunderstood? It could be everything or nothing with Adilaer, and the only way to find out was to ask. {Amil,} Nivast greeted, {one Zivaith, delivered as asked.} Their mother was stood with a well-dressed Lady, and two Lords, the younger of which bore a striking resemblance to both the elders. But at the sound of Nivast’s voice, Adilaer was turning to greet them, already reaching out one hand to usher Zivaith into the fold. {Ah, bless you onya,} Adilaer said warmly, her wide smile and bright eyes immediately reassuring Zivaith that this wasn’t a dire matter. {Now be a dear and give your sister space.} Nivast was quick to bow his head in acknowledgement, and turned about, winking to Zivaith moments before he vanished into the crowd. A sense of dread settled in her gut. {What is this about, Amil?} she asked lowly. “Zivaith, I’d like to introduce you to Lord Geldrong and Lady Úllothof Lossarnach, and their son, Lord Glaeron, Captain of the Rose Knights.” The emphasis on his title and the pointed look Adilaer gave her wasn’t necessary to catch the gist of what was happening. Zivaith could feel the pleasant smile on her face starting to stiffen, becoming rigid in alarm at just what her mother was proposing. {Glaeron is about your age,} Adilaer coaxed unnecessarily, {he is a Cáno, and unwed.} Oh by Ulmo’s waters this was not what Zivaith needed right now. “Lady Zivaith,” Glaeron greeted with a radiant smile and extended hand, “it’s a delight to make your acquaintance.” “A-and you, Captain.” Gingerly setting her hand in his, Zivaith blinked as he bowed over it, but –thank Ulmo– didn’t kiss her knuckles. “There is no need to stand on formalities, please, call me Glaeron.” Zivaith would very much rather maintain a respectful level of distance, but couldn’t figure out how to do that without making an ass of herself or causing a scene. “We’ll leave the pair of you to get acquainted,” Adilaer practically chipped. At which point she turned to the Lord and Lady of Lossarnach. “Now, Lady Úlloth, you simply must tell me more about these dyes your flowers produce, I’m always on the lookout for more—” {Mother,} Zivaith hastily whispered, only for her words to become a panicked hiss as Adilaer continued to move away. {Mother!} Too late, she was gone. ‘Fuck.’