(Why is everything going so slowly?! Geez...)

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Can you even dare to look or bear to think of me: this loathsome gargoyle, who burns in hell, but secretly yearns for heaven, secretly... secretly.... Fear can turn to love- you'll learn to see, to find the man behind the monster: this repulsive carcasse who seems a beast, but secretly dreams of beauty, secretly... secretly....

(It does in this case because, in fact, you have probably never experienced real betrayal outside of, perhaps, Steven. If you have, A: you have either not told me, or B: it is eluding me at the moment.)

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Reasons I love England #217:
I saw "whilst" on a traffic sign

or i was supposed to tell you and didn't or i forgot
and the dream guy IS NOT YOUR BROTHER!

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Lips, ripe as the berries in June
Red the rose, red the rose
Skin, pale as the light of the moon
Gently as she goes

as always a hero comes home

(Deawen, I realise that. And how many times and to how many people must I saythat my brother's name is spelled S-T-E-P-H-E-N! Fools. *mutter mutter*)

Artinwe stood transfixed, shaking off his fit. He assessed the situation in a blinding flash: Deawen lay dying and a score of Dragon Tears were attacking him. He dove for Deawen's limp form. As he enveloped her in his arms , he vanished . Upon returning to the camp, he found Morwen practicing feints and various other maneuvers, but he could not now appreciate that. He burst into his tent, trying to find some cloth, something, to staunch the flow of blood from Deawen's neck. He paused only long enough to lay her gently on a soft pile of blankets. Finding nothing, he swore in desperation and turned to her. He hesitated slightly, then kneeled by her and pressed down upon the gash with his hands, praying that her blood would coagulate before he heart expelled it from her neck.

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Can you even dare to look or bear to think of me: this loathsome gargoyle, who burns in hell, but secretly yearns for heaven, secretly... secretly.... Fear can turn to love- you'll learn to see, to find the man behind the monster: this repulsive carcasse who seems a beast, but secretly dreams of beauty, secretly... secretly....

Deawen's eyes drifted to and fro not focusing on anything.

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Lips, ripe as the berries in June
Red the rose, red the rose
Skin, pale as the light of the moon
Gently as she goes

as always a hero comes home

(Morwen, if you're on a whole Lady M trip, how about you walk off the battlements of Minas Tirith? Or are your hands forever defiled by Fela's blood? God, I'm enjoying this. )

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Can you even dare to look or bear to think of me: this loathsome gargoyle, who burns in hell, but secretly yearns for heaven, secretly... secretly.... Fear can turn to love- you'll learn to see, to find the man behind the monster: this repulsive carcasse who seems a beast, but secretly dreams of beauty, secretly... secretly....

(Um, Deawen, hate to break it to you, luv, but you blacked out a while ago. Sorry.)

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Can you even dare to look or bear to think of me: this loathsome gargoyle, who burns in hell, but secretly yearns for heaven, secretly... secretly.... Fear can turn to love- you'll learn to see, to find the man behind the monster: this repulsive carcasse who seems a beast, but secretly dreams of beauty, secretly... secretly....

oh okay

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Lips, ripe as the berries in June
Red the rose, red the rose
Skin, pale as the light of the moon
Gently as she goes

as always a hero comes home

Some time later, Artinwe awoke with a start as he was prodded with a foot. He pened his eyes blearily to see Eohric looking down at him. He had fallen asleep on top of Deawen as he tried desperately to stem the flow of blood. Now he was covered in it up to his elbows. As he tried to stand, he found his hands glued to Deawen's neck by the coagulated mass. He wrenched his hands free (Deawen: ow) and immediately felt for a pulse. With an immense sigh of relief, he turned to Eohric. "You wanted me, I suppose?" Artinwe said shakily, as memory flooded back to him in waking. "Well, I will tell you; from the examples I have seen, this has not been a good day for women. One killed-" "Morwen got killed?" Artinwe's blood froze. "How? I saw her on the moor-" "No, no, no, Morwen is fine!" Eohric said hastily. "Well, she's not fine, per se, but she is most certainly not dead. I came to you right after Morwen collapsed from shock and stress. She is vaguely conscious; she keeps muttering about Grima and her father and other things totally unrelated to another. I wanted you to come see her, but it seems that you already have enough to be dealing with."

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Can you even dare to look or bear to think of me: this loathsome gargoyle, who burns in hell, but secretly yearns for heaven, secretly... secretly.... Fear can turn to love- you'll learn to see, to find the man behind the monster: this repulsive carcasse who seems a beast, but secretly dreams of beauty, secretly... secretly....

(Nice!)

Aelfred was in charge of sitting and watching over Morwen after Eohric left. He sat and shot stones into his helmet, eying the remains of broken crockery in one corner of the tent. He heard someone aproaching and tipped the dirt and rocks out of his helm, thrust it on his head, and pretended to look intently at Morwen as Eohric emerged from the tent flap. "Artinwe is busy. It is a bad day for them." Aelfred stood to offer his commanding officer the lone stool. Eohric waved it away and sat on the ground close to the small fire under the tent vent (it rhymes!). Out of the blue, Morwen began to speak, still dilerious. Eohric leaned closer to hear. "Nothing again, just something about her brother." He was silent for a few moments. "Aelfred, summon Artinwe. She is not getting any better. If anything, she is worse." Aelfred nodded and ran to Artinwe's tent. He burst in, surprising Artinwe. "She beþurfan geoc! Morwen's getting worse!"

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Reasons I love England #217:
I saw "whilst" on a traffic sign

(Thank you. I still think the best compliment you ever gave my writing was "Wow...". Incidentally, that was a compliment paid to another piece of writing where Deawen was in mortal peril. Speaking of the "other writing" in question, I recognised the stone-throwing into the helmet. Oh yeah, the dogs have had another fight, and when Dad and I went to break it up, Tara chomped my face. Not bad enough to merit stitches, but Priority Care put some "Steri-Strips" on the two bites. So now Dad's ultra-serious about sending Tara away. This has been my longest Out-of-character ever.)

Artinwe was bathing Deawen's brow when Aelfred burst into his tent. He understood the message, as he had lived in Rohan for a time. He started to rise, but looked back at Deawen. He indicated her to Aelfred. "My lord, take her with you, my lord, if you must! Artinwe picked Deawen up and left the tent with Aelfred.

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Can you even dare to look or bear to think of me: this loathsome gargoyle, who burns in hell, but secretly yearns for heaven, secretly... secretly.... Fear can turn to love- you'll learn to see, to find the man behind the monster: this repulsive carcasse who seems a beast, but secretly dreams of beauty, secretly... secretly....

Artinwe followed Aelfred into Morwen's tent, carrying Deawen. Eohric was seated there, in sublime imitation of Artinwe back in his own tent. "Eohric, move aside," Artinwe commanded more gruffly than he would normally. Eohric obliged; and Artinwe moved forward, laying Deawen unconscious beside the fitful Morwen. Aelfred was looking helplessly at Eohric, his only commanding officer present. "Leave, Aelfred. Get some sleep," Eohric said. Aelfred bowed and left the tent. Artinwe and Eohric sat in silence for an hour, either occasionally getting up to redampen the women's brows. After an age had passed, Eohric spoke. "You love her, do'n't you?" he said dejectedly. Artinwe heaved a jaded sigh and replied, "Yes. I do." Changing the subject, he asked Eohric, "Do you know what is wrong with Morwen?" Eohric did'n't answer but for a small, noncommittal shrug. "Eohric," breathed Morwen's form. "yes," he said, taking her icy hand. But she spoke no more. Many more tortured minutes crept by. At last Artinwe said, "Eohric, this is mad. Let us divide the vigil in turns. Then we may each get some sleep. Is your tent nearby?" With a snort of feeble laughter, Eohric replied. "And what do you think? Every time Morwen and I have been stationed together, my tent has never been outside twenty feet of hers, and that distance is now greatly decreased." He gave a slight smile that Artinwe could not return. "Then one of us at a time should go to your tent after relieving the other. Then, we are both reasonably well rested. I assume you are familiar with the idea?" "Naturally," replied he with another snort. "Good. Then would you care to be the first shift off-duty?" Artinwe asked as steadily as he could. "No," Eohric said, choking. "No, I would like to be alone with Morwenfor a while." With that, Artinwe rose and left Morwen's tent, but was unable to resist glancing back at Deawen's still form.

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Can you even dare to look or bear to think of me: this loathsome gargoyle, who burns in hell, but secretly yearns for heaven, secretly... secretly.... Fear can turn to love- you'll learn to see, to find the man behind the monster: this repulsive carcasse who seems a beast, but secretly dreams of beauty, secretly... secretly....

*lip trembles* but but butbb tara is.....)

Drad heard of Deawen's Attack but with no time to see her he had to fight off the Dragon tears that attacked her. he sent Eston to check on her but she was not to be found she was somewhere else they dared not check Morwen's tent for fear of her.

Deawen coughed suddenly a small amount of blood appeared on her lips she opened her eyes and cringed from the pain she continued to cough.

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Lips, ripe as the berries in June
Red the rose, red the rose
Skin, pale as the light of the moon
Gently as she goes

as always a hero comes home

(What the bloody hell, Artinwe!?)

Eohric saw Artinwe hesitate as he went out. Hah! he thought to himself, Like I would think of harming and defenceless woman, enemy or not...He smiled grimly and poured more water into the pan heating on the fire. Morwen began babbling in Rohirric, "Faeder, he stole it make him give it back!" Eohric leaned closer, but she stopped talking, a tear running from the very corner of her eye. She shuddered, then relaxed, her breathing still irregular and quick. Eohric sat back, crossed his arms and frowned. Why was this happening?

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Reasons I love England #217:
I saw "whilst" on a traffic sign

Deawen looked around she was not in her tent nor artinwes she grew frightful she shifted slightly she brought her hand to her throat she wasn't sure what to do at the moment normaly she would heal herself automaticaly but this time she just felt around. she turned her head and saw Eohric she let out a sigh of dread.

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Lips, ripe as the berries in June
Red the rose, red the rose
Skin, pale as the light of the moon
Gently as she goes

as always a hero comes home

"Do not alarm yourself. I could care less about you right now..." He picked up the wet cloth again and put it on Morwen's forhead.

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Reasons I love England #217:
I saw "whilst" on a traffic sign