I'll take the high road..., And I'll be in Paris before you

[Fida'Al-Jurr]

(Fida does not have her personal horse in this thread, and is instead riding a wagon faring horse.)

Fida's auburn eyes narrowed against the glare of the Sun, as its rays glistened across the dew lapped grass on either side of the muddy path upon which she rode. It had rained the night before and such was still blatantly apparent, even despite the sunny and clear sky overhead. As the sunlight filtered through the leaves, it cascaded down through the newly greening canopy of the thinly covered coniferous to send an almost emerald glow across the ground. Fida could have appreciated the serene beauty of the woodland path, had it not been for the rather perturbing reason she had been sent back from Aquitaine a full week early. Alone, no less.

As she trotted her horse down the soggy road, the dark skinned rider reminisced about the events that had transpired as early as two days before and questioned whether it had been wise to leave her affairs so quickly. Her business in Aquitaine was important, though not quite as vital as her relations in London and Mecca, and it was disconcerting that unforeseen circumstances could so impede her means.

Fida sighed quietly and lifted her hand to tenderly massage a mixture of weariness, restlessness and unease from her eyes. At least with the couriers still in Aquitaine, she might be able to pick up the scent of another steady anchor in one of the cities. Right then though, she was looking forward to returning to her Parisian home and getting some rest.

"Whoa there!" Fida heard in drawling french from the side of the path, as something of sizable girth and height rose upon the path in front her. Her thoughts having been elsewhere, the rider hadn't the reflexes to steady her startled horse as the make-shift blockade barred the path directly ahead of her. It was all she could do to heave the shocked nag to the side, and convince him not to buck. Before she had the chance to properly absorb what was going on, and indeed was just in the middle of spotting the ropes which had been used to lever up the barrier, a figure darted out from the shrubs, and threw a knotted line of rope over the head of her horse.

A cry came from the woman, as she tried to guide her mount away from the bulwark, with only a minor recognition of what was going on. The horse upon which she was seated had different ideas, and simply shock its restrained head as Fida yanked vainly upon it's reins. "Well, Well..." She heard, as a gruff figure revealed himself from the same shrubs the first interloper had sprung, "what have we here?"

"What is the meaning of this!?" Fida demanded sternly, as she yanked again at the horse's bridle in a pointless attempt to get the equine moving. "Now, Now... lets not get too out of joint, eh?" the burly figure bade her, even offering a patronizing motion from one of his grit slathered hands, which Fida guessed was meant to encourage her to calm down. "Release my horse and drop this wall immediately." she responded in a tone as simple as it was curt and venom coated. Her demand was not exactly met accommodatingly, as no sooner had she finished the instruction, than did Fida suddenly jerk backward as her mount was yanked forward. She did not fall from the massive beast initially, but as she recovered her balance the strong stallion bucked back angrily and her both backward and off of his back.

"There you go... Didn't I tell you not to get out of joint?" Fida heard, as the spinning world straightened out abruptly, to find herself upon her back in the thin mud. A light whimper left her lips as she tried to stand, and became uncomfortably aware a dull pain in her ribs and back. Despite watering eyes, she lifted her attention to those responsible for her impromptu trip to the ground. The burliest man aside, Fida could now see two more amongst the trees, pulling at a long strand of rope, which she presumed was connected to her horses neck by way of a winding way through the tree limbs surrounding them.

"Come now..." Fida kicked her riding boots into the slick ground as the burly man drew closer to her, trying to find enough traction to push herself back, or perhaps onto her feet, "Lets not make this any rougher than it's already been." he appealed with a thinly veiled threat. "Everything I've got is on the horse." Fida respond, biting back the sinking feeling in her chest with each step closer the rogue took, "Spices and maps..." It wasn't just the sinking that she felt, though. Fear would have been too light a word for the mixture of disgust and grim realization that was welling up in her about the reality of the situation she'd landed in. "Be that as it may..." the ruffian responded, "I'd like to check myself on you, make sure you're not hiding nothing..." the downed woman almost wretched at the thought, "And those robes are silk, aren't they? Bit soiled, but still worth a pretty price..."

Fida could only help but thing that if he came after her clothes, then he was bound to find her concealed weapon. As gratifying as such an experience would be, she held no illusions about her chances with the second two, and however many more were hidden off the side of the road.

[Arthur Herodian]

The rhythm of a horses hooves ripping up the ground underneath and the movement of the muscled body as they powered onwards was the reason behind Arthur’s love of the great outdoors. The roads that were farther out from the towns allowed the application of speed because of the distinct lack of traffic holding up the progress. The speed Arthur was holding now was far from extreme, but it was far faster than a mere walk. It wasn’t a pace he’d be holding up for long, merely until he got out of the thick forest. Even as he carried no valuables, there was a chance for bandits to strike and try to harass him. It was not a scenario he wanted to allow happen, which was why he was hastening through this part of the woods.

Despite the dangerous nature of the woods surrounding him, Arthur was having a fairly fun time, as was Castus as the horse stretched its legs. The warm horse beneath him had a good steady gait, trained from when he was a foal to be a deadly war horse. Castus was surprisingly gentle however compared to the work he was used for, but on the battlefield Arthur couldn’t help but liken him to something of a demon, calm and deadly even when trampling living screaming men beneath his heavy hooves. Vicious when he chose to be, but not unnecessarily so.

Neither were heavily equipped, Castus wore no equipment other than his bridle and war saddle, carrying Arthur’s small bundle of things in the saddlebags, while Arthur himself wore the simple woodsman style outfit he took into use when travelling. Wearing heavy armour would only slow both him and the horse down, after a long days travelling, they’d still be fresh enough to fight off any eventual difficulties should they arise. He looked nothing like the noble he was, besides from the horse he rode and the sword he wore.

Arthur’s hand was entangled in the chargers mane, his bare fingers feeling the rough texture of the hair, the other rested on the solid muscle of the neck, holding the reins in a relaxed manner. The hand slid out of the longer hair to give an encouraging pat on the rippling muscles of the neck. The slight surge in speed told Arthur the horse had responded in kind, but he held the speed to a modest pace, only letting the horse increase the speed by a bit.

Coming to a bend in the forest road, he edged back on the speed, slowing the horse as the pair continued forward, adjusting the course to compensate for the turn. As the trees sped past, he came upon a peculiar scene, as well as a block in the road. With surprise, he pulled back on the reins, causing Castus to stop his forward motion. The horse came to a stuttering halt, and an arrow hit the ground just by his left hoof. The charger reared up slightly, a whinny accompanying the motion.

An archer leapt out of the forest, no doubt to keep him away from the wagon up ahead and the makeshift roadblock. He could only see a heavyset man ahead, nothing else; it appeared something had the man’s attention however. Arthur had more immediate concerns than the man though, with the archer having revealed himself and bringing out another arrow, he would have to be quick to neutralise the threat.

Spurning the charger forward, his hand gripped the hilt of his sword and drew it, within moments he was upon the archer, who gave a cry as he wasn’t quick enough with his arrow. Arthur held the sword high as Castus deemed it necessary to crush the bandit under his hooves. Another arrow from the other side of the road managed to embed itself into his right arm, and with a frustrated growl he grabbed the part of the shaft closer to the bladed tip and gritted his teeth as he tugged it out. The blood ran from the wound, but he ignored it as Castus wheeled around to face the new adversary. The archer was poking out of the trees, where Arthur couldn’t get to him on horseback.

Leaping off the horse, he ran at the second archer, sword at the ready. The archer’s eyes widened in surprise, before he scrambled to his feet and ran for it, bow in hand. Having gotten rid of that threat, he turned his attention to the third man and for the first time saw the entire scene. A woman was in the mud being accosted, the wagon must’ve been hers. The other bandit, seeing his allies had fled or died, grabbed the woman and held a knife to her throat, yelling in French that he’d kill her.

Arthur froze, eyes widened as he realised he couldn’t act if the bandit had the woman.

[Fida'Al-Jurr]

What an unfortunate position for Fida'Al-Jurr to be dropped in. It was bad enough that she was going to lose what she had road out of Aquitaine with her, but that was the least of her concerns at this point. The burly man continued to draw nearly, gesturing with one of his sausage finger for her to stand up and requite his request for her clothes. With a quiet sigh, and nary a flick from her stoic, auburn eyes Fida started to raise herself. If she wanted even the barest chance of living long enough to see Paris again, she had no choice but to do exactly as the rogue instructed, no matter how unpleasant his requests might be.

Before she could even force her body upright however, as it was still difficult to move after being jolted off of her horse, Fida heard the surprised outcry of an equine, though it was not born of her useless wagon pulling nag. No, this one possessed strength and outrage. Both her attention and that of the bandit was suddenly sent in the direction of the disturbance, though Fida's did not remain there. She didn't care what the cause was, because if it was unexpected for him, then it was the opportunity she needed to avoid being taken advantage of. On hand slipped up the baggy sleeve of her thobe and caught the concealed hilt of a slender weapon, secured to her ribs by thin straps of leather. Two cries of surprise and thundering hoof steps cut through the quiet forest, but Fida paid them no mind and continued to focus on the rogue who had most affronted her with a dire intention.

She'd only just managed to get to her feet before he seized her, and pulled her in a most compromising position. Fida whimpered quietly as his grubbing hand entangled itself in her long, brown hair and pulled her head back at a most awkward and uncomfortable angle. The noise bubbling in her throat, that being a stream of curses and insults to the vagabond, was abruptly silenced when the sensation of something cold and keen passed across her neck. "The closer you get, the shorter her life... Gets!" even when he was making perfectly valid threats, the bandit managed to make Fida groan on the inside.

It was clear that the intruder did not share her sentiment, however, as he stopped dead in his tracks the moment the threat was uttered. "Idiot." She muttered in her native tongue, as she turned her head painfully, to spy her assailant out the corner of her vision. Not only did the other man possess a horse, and no real reason to concern himself with the fate of a woman he didn't know, he was foolish if he thought the bandit would actually harm her, rather than flee the moment he started charging. Men who attacked lone women were cowards, the kind of coward who would not sacrifice a split second to make good with a threat and take a life, when that split second could be spent running as though hell were on his heels.

A few moments passed, and the stalemate did not end, much to the ire of the woman trapped between the two startling polar examples of masculinity. Very slowly, she slipped her dagger from her sleeve and let it drop into her waiting hand, before hiding the action by using her other hand to plaintively grasp her hair. If Lord Valiant was not going to do something about the immediate danger he'd put Fida in, then it fell to Fida to make the bandit regret his misogynistic prejudice.

With a quiet whimper to mask the fact that her hand was tightening its hold on her own hair, the trapped woman suddenly forced backward into her assailant, yanked her hair upward to allow her head to straighten, and drove the tip of her dagger directly back into the bandit, piercing him directly though the cod-piece of his pantaloons. The resulting outcry of high pitched agony was abruptly silenced when Fida twisted her knife free and pulled away from the crumbling man. "there are two more in the trees." She said simply to the mounted man, before turning her attention to the fallen bandit, and punishing his arrogance further with a solid kick to his face. She'd later reflect on the kick as naught but a merciful end to the pigs consciousness, and inevitably regret not letting him suffer a bit longer.

[Arthur Herodian]

With the dilemma before him, a bandit holding a woman hostage with the very real threat of ending her life should Arthur attempt to take care of him, he was for the first time in many years faced with a problem he was having difficulties solving. Despite his work as a would-be mercenary, Arthur still had his morals intact, believing in some form of honour despite the untraditional nature of it. While he didn’t hesitate in ending lives, he didn’t want to increase the body count of innocent bystanders killed in his encounters with bandits. Situations like these were always far easier without civilians being held hostage.

The adrenaline in his blood continued to course as his mind raced through the options he had before him. As the object of the bandits attention was revealed, it was easy to conclude that this particular group had been cowards, unwilling to pick on a target their own size, but despite this cowardice, Arthur was not about to risk believing the man wouldn’t do the deed based solely on that. He knew how sometimes irrational thoughts surfaced when one’s life was in danger, based on this, he was sure the bandit was in some form or manner speaking the truth as far as how he’d deal with the woman if it’d hold off Arthur for a little longer. If he used this distraction to his advantage, he could easily shove the woman away and run once Arthur had proven himself unwilling to risk her life for the single life of a worthless bandit.

But perhaps the bandit still held some bravado due to remaining allies in the surrounding trees. Further thoughts on this were silenced however when the woman seemed to take matters into her own hands. Her quick and precise movements were delivered with such deadly force that Arthur had to react with surprise and a wince when he realised what she’d done exactly. It wasn’t unheard of, a woman to fight back like the one he’d just seen geld the bandit, but Arthur hadn’t exactly witnessed it himself. It was a new thing in a world that viewed such with disdain. He didn’t feel the same disdain, however, knowing that in the end it would be for the better.

Just as the woman spoke, warning him about the two others, he ducked by pure reflex as an arrow whizzed right past his head, almost taking his ear off. The arrow that had missed its mark embedded in a tree with a harmless thunk. His head turned to deal with the new archer, but a yell coming from the other side of the road caused him to do a quick one-eighty repositioning of his eyes. Out of the forest leapt a man with a rusted sword in hand, running for Arthur now that a distraction had been provided. He set his stance and brought his sword up; parrying the bandit’s first blow and knocking it back, causing the bandit to recoil. His own attack was fended off with a sloppy parry from the bandit, but Arthur turned the bandit’s incompetence with the blade into an opportunity for himself. With a twist, he knocked the bandit’s blade away and proceeded to bypass his defences. With a push, his sword penetrated the man’s skin and went straight through his heart.

Shoving the man off his sword with his boot, the limp body of the now dead man tumbled into the thick of the forest and into the ditch, out of the way should anyone come this way. Having finished that challenge, he promptly ducked behind the wagon as another arrow embedded itself into the wood. Taking his chance, he came out from the cover as the archer was preparing another arrow, sprinting towards the area he’d seen the archer last. Reaching the archer before the arrow was ready he took a swing at the man, but the sword ended up embedded in the tree as the archer took the option to run for it.

Pulling the sword free of the tree, he wiped the blade on the grass, cleaning it of the blood and put it back in its scabbard. He came out of the forest right where Castus stood and took the reins of the horse into his hands, leading the way towards the wagon and the woman.

“Milady,” he began, eyes studying her as he realised she wasn’t from around Europe. By her dress, she had to be from the East, but where in the East Arthur couldn’t guess. “Are you wounded?”

[Fida'Al-Jurr]

Fida lightly brushed her grit covered palm across her neck, lightly caressing her palm across a light scrape born from the bandit's hapless knife. She was glad she'd been quick enough to avoid anything life threatening, but it still hurt, and would likely leave an unsightly mark. Still, she hadn't the time to think about it, not when two of the rogues were still very much alive. With a glance to the interloping horseman, as he ducked an arrow no less, Fida stumbled sorely towards her wagon. While her intent was to free her horse, when she heard the sounds of conflict continue, her attention shifted. Rather than pull the rope from the drawing equine's neck, she mantled onto the back of cart and pulled a large trunk towards the stock-hold.

While there were weapons present in the cask, display weapons but still lethal, Fida pulled out something else contained within the oaken chest. It was a case which contained a number of glass jars, each labeled in the sandscript of her native tongue. A quick survey of the contents confirmed that nothing had been moved or rearranged, and Fida hopped back down with the closed case in close tow. She did so just in time to hear a frenzied yell and a pathetic yelp, followed by the sound a woodsman's axe would make upon striking a wooden limb. With one hand still upon her neck to cover the line of red, that had been drawn from beneath the middle of her jaw to just above her shoulder, Fida rested the carrying case upon the tail end of her wagon, and opened it.

She wiped her hand upon the front of her, close to ruined, thobe and then traced her fingers delicately over the parchment labels set into the cork stoppers of the numerous flasks. Her hand hesitated on one of the jars, which simply read 'Lye'. Fida looked over her shoulder with that thought, and stared down the road to spot the horseman returning. The grime covered woman did not move her hand from the flask, even once he'd gotten close.

“Milady,” He said to Fida without a detectable hint of irony, which offered a least a bit of security for the bruised merchant. It was unlikely that he would intervene on a robbery, only to pursue some immoral means of his own, but men did strange things sometimes. “Are you wounded?” Lord Valiant added, again without any irony. It was obvious that Fida had received a very small scratch for her efforts, or rather a long scratch which was not at all of life threatening concern, but it was still considerate of the nameless horseman to ask.

"I am not." Fida responded as her hand traced down the row of jaws contained in her less-than-compact carrying case. She hesitated while she considered what to say next, while her eyes dropped to a large stain of red upon the horseman's right sleeve, just beneath a tear in his shirt. "But you are..." Fida remarked finally with a sigh, before turning towards her carrying case. After a moment, she pulled free a half-empty flask of a pinkish sand, before taking the water skin off of her hip.

"Did you kill all of them?" was the next comment to leave Fida's mouth, as she stepped towards the warrior. He was a good foot taller than she was, but his shoulder was still within reach. With one hand, she grasped the horseman's arm, just beneath his should and on the side of his bicep, before tearing the hole larger with her other hand. It was either that, or have him remove his shirt, and Fida was not comfortable with making such a request. Besides, she had what she needed in the back of the wagon to mend his shirt. Before her savior could interrupt, she then poured the water skin out upon the open wound in the man's should. It looked to have missed anything which might be needed, and the flesh was not too badly torn up. Still, he was lucky she was the one he'd gotten it saving, otherwise a painful cauterization would have been the only option. Once the wound had been cleaned, she poured a small amount of the pink sand upon it, and pressed it into the wound with her free palm. It was then that it would become clear that the pink granules were actually a very rare variety of salt.

"This will make the wound heal faster." Fida bade him, as it was no doubt an uncomfortable sensation to have the salt devour the disease about the open wound. He'd have to be rather forceful with her to get her hand off, but then, it didn't really matter whether she held the salt on or not, as it had already accomplished its task by the time she spoke to him. The only reason she held her hand to his shoulder was to keep pressure on the wound, and avoid the blood diluting the salt that remained.

[Arthur Herodian]

Arthur let his eyes investigate the foreign woman, looking over her now grimy clothing to check if there were any outward wounds on the woman. His search told him that she seemed fairly fine apart from the light scratch on her throat from where the brigand had placed his blade. This was good, but he was sure she was sore from whatever fall she’d taken; there was no other reasoning behind her soiled dress, which was now less pretty than it would’ve been originally with the dirt clinging to it. He was not one to judge fashion, which was why he gave her appearance little thought other than noting the dirt that was most likely caused by a fall.

She was currently looking through something in her wagon and he ignored the urge to make an attempt at catching a glimpse of it. His business was more or less over; he’d dispatched those who had attacked him and unintentionally warded off any serious trouble for the merchant he was now standing in front of. While he was not one to play a hero, he did attack rather than look out for his own skin when things like these happened, a side effect of growing up attending jousts and then finally participating himself. While the real world was not a tourney and far more deadly, the chivalric code they liked promoting was hard to shake off.

"I am not."

Giving a nod, he was glad that his initial diagnosis had been correct. She was not wounded according to herself and she was not displaying any sign of blood. He didn’t think she had a reason to lie to him in any case, but women were mysterious things. She did seem rather distracted, looking over her case of items, which Arthur had yet to see what was contained within. He was in no hurry to find out, anyway. He noticed her gaze falling on his sleeve, remembering the shot he’d taken at the beginning of the fight. His hand went up to check the bleeding, poking his finger through the tear and feeling the slick blood still trickling from the wound.

"But you are..."

He looked up from his investigation, seeing her turn towards her case and then turn back towards him a moment afterwards, holding some peculiar beholder with what looked like pink sand. Arthur thought to ask what it was, but became slightly distracted as she picked up her waterskin and asked him a question.

"Did you kill all of them?"

She stepped towards him and grasped his arm, just below the shoulder. Confused at her behaviour, he leaned down slightly as he answered her question. “No, some ran off.” He watched with a frown as she tore his shirt, but knew she probably had a purpose behind her actions and so he kept his silence. “I didn’t see it of any use to pursue.”

The water she poured on the wound was cold, but more welcomed than uncomfortable. Arthur allowed her to continue as she cleaned out his wound. He was sure she would only be doing if she knew what she was doing. She appeared to be appraising the damage, and once she’d washed out the blood, poured on the pinkish sand. Arthur, wondering briefly what she was doing, experienced a rude awakening when she applied pressure, pressing the granules of the substance into the wound. He let out an abrupt yelp, the octave higher than he probably would’ve liked, and he came with an indignant “Hey!”

"This will make the wound heal faster."

Those words were the only thing keeping him from yanking his arm back forcefully, the discomfort was barely tolerable, but he knew, having now identified the substance of some sort of salt, it was for the better. No pain no gain, as he’d heard one rugged mercenary say once. Of course, that had been right before they’d chopped off his useless arm.

“A warning would’ve been nice,” Arthur quipped, somehow managing to conjure up some humour.

[Fida'Al-Jurr]

His response was far from surprising, and revealed to Fida that there probably wasn't any other impairing injuries that might affect his ability to think. After all, the reaction was quite immediate once she'd pressed the salt in. The smaller, younger creature tilted her head with her savior's question, and simply shrugged in dismissal of its validity. "If I had warned you, you might have resisted." Fida responded simply, as she eased the pressure upon the shallow puncture wound, and gently pressed her finger around it in a light circular motion which began easing some of the undissolved salt out. It was at this moment that she wiped his arm once more with his torn sleeve, before turning her attention back towards her wagon. "Don't touch it just yet."

She rummaged about in the back, with a vague idea of where what she was looking for would be found hiding, and eventually turned up a stout roll of silk. She hated to take any amount of length off of the valuable textile, but it would be the strongest tourniquet she could provide, and he had just saved her from a rather unfortunate future. Speaking of, she really had no idea who 'he' was, and she'd certainly like to know the identity of her Good Samaritan. As she sheered off a strip of silk to use upon his arm, before grasping some cotton-wool to pad it, Fida bade the man, "what is your name?" Her reluctance to use the word 'sir' could be identified as a result of the language barrier, but that wasn't actually the case. Further more, her impolite request for his name was not the result of any cultural gap either.

Finally, she dropped back to the ground with the tourniquet prepared, as well as some alcohol-soggy padding to impeded any additional chance of infection. With her brown eyes upon his, she secured the strip of silk tightly around the wound in his shoulder, though she had to battle to get it into a position where it did not immediately slip off.

[Arthur Herodian]

“... you might have resisted."

Arthur felt like arguing with the woman, knowing that had he known her intentions he wouldn’t have resisted. He was familiar enough with the process of someone applying the various remedies for the various ailments he’d been subjected to through the years to know that he was better off accepting them than putting up any resistance. However, he let any words he had potentially thought of speaking remain in his head. This woman was an unknown one; it would be of no use to argue against her misconceptions about his person. She wouldn’t care and he didn’t believe it was any time to argue with the person who was currently doing what she could to prevent any infection in his wound.

He felt the gentle pressure of her finger circling around his puncture wound and he curiously regarded her motions. He knew the basics of keeping himself healthy and alive as well as dressing wounds, but her methods seemed far more advanced that the simple battlefield methods that Arthur and his fellow knights utilised. He knew little of the herbs that could help with wounds and the different substances that also could help, but it appeared that she was quite skilled at this sort of work, and he wondered if she was a healer by profession or merely a merchant that had picked up on the skills underway. Her heavy load suggested the latter.

"Don't touch it just yet."

Giving a slight nod to confirm that he’d heard her, he let his eyes follow her closely and curiously as she turned her attention back to her loaded wagon. She rummaged for a moment, seemed to procure what she wanted, started to prepare whatever it was as she asked him a question.

"What is your name?"

Her informal manner of questioning him didn’t bother him; he was used to it and did it himself plenty of times to not be bothered by it despite his noble lineage. Dressed as he was, he didn’t expect to be greeted with any semblance of formality. For all who saw him as he was without any credentials as to his identity would not believe him to be a noble of any kind, the only outward signal to his upbringing was the manner in which he carried himself, straight and proud, but this was not unheard of among commoners.

“Arthur Herodian, milady,” he replied easily.

When she dropped down and approached him again with her pieces of cloth, he remained still as she secured the makeshift bandage she’d put together with the suitable textiles. He noted that she seemed to be looking directly at him and returned the gaze for a few moments before he turned his attention towards the bandage and, momentarily admiring the textile she’d used in his mind, used his free hand to help her secure it.

Finally he turned his eyes back to hers. “And you, milady? May I inquire your name?”

[Fida'Al-Jurr]

Again, he said Mi'Lady, and spoke in that proper way which most o the noblemen Fida did business with insisted on speaking. It was becoming increasingly apparent that the man who had saved her life was not the ragged stable hand he looked, but his demeanor raised him above the rung which his swordsman ship had stuck him at. With the tensions between England and France, many men had served in the militia, or indeed the established armies of the kingdoms, but these men were seldom well spoken and chivalrous.

"my name is far too long to burden you with." the mud covered woman responded, as she placed her hand upon the one Arthur had set upon the bandaged she'd fashioned. She hesitated a moment, and then slowly moved the calloused appendage out of the way. He had hands which proudly wore the scars left by years of handling reins, weaponry and and was similarly heedless when it came to avoiding injury... If she didn't know any better, she'd swear that her savior was a knight, or at least a squire. Fida's analytical eyes turned Arthur's hand away, as she applied a pence sized piece of pitch to the edge of his bandage, quite obviously meant to hold the fabric in place.

She searched her memory, but came up empty. Herodian was a vaguely familiar name to her, but it certainly belonged to no french house which she could think of. And while Fida might have been willing to admit that her knowledge of the Parisian Nobles was far from encyclopedic, she was absolutely certain that none of them were named Arthur. In fact, she was fairly certain that the europeans were not named Arthur outside of England.

"In this land, I am referred to by my ism... my personal title." She placed another spot of pitch upon the other tail of the bandage, and bowed her head approvingly, "Fida'Al-jurr." she then wiped off what remained of the sticky substance on the tattered edge of Arthur's sleeve. The merchant woman raised her eyes from the knight's shoulder as she said that, curious to see how he accepted her title, briefly forgetting that few European men understood Arabic. Upon realizing her minor lapse in common sense, Fida drew her hands from Arthur's arm, and she turned back towards her cart, to begin properly packing up her wares, though it also gave her the chance to hide an awkward expression of embarrassment.

"I must thank you, Arthur Herodian. I do not care to think of what might have happened if you had not arrived when you did..." Fida remarked as she organized the items she'd moved to find what she needed for the knight's injuries. She spoke in a matter of fact tone which seemed remarkably level considering the nature of what had transpired only a few moments before. "I am the first attendant to Abdul-Habai Ta'anari, The Merchant Prince of Taif." Fida went on, with her matter of fact tone swaying only slightly nearing the last words of her sentiment. "My master will want to properly reward your bravery..." before she could finish that thought however, a loud groan and an extremely pained whimper came from the grounds towards the front of the dirty merchant's cart, interrupting her.

It seemed that, against Fida's prediction, the bandit leader had regained consciousness before dying of blood loss. As the whimpering continued, the merchant woman shrank a tiny bit, while simultaneously chewing back her disgust and unease. "The wound I inflicted is certainly fatal..." she remarked softly, "I had hoped he would not awaken before it ran its course." killing one man, and a scoundrel at that, was not high on the list of horrible things Fida had done, but she seemed to be incredibly uncomfortable with listening to him as he died.

She resisted the urge to go shut him up however, mostly because she was unsure of how a nobleman might react, and did not want to cause additional, unneeded problems. After all, the half-conscious rogue was in no position to resist her, should Fida endeavor to punish him for ruining her moment of heartfelt gratitude. Arthur, on the other hand, might be incredibly disturbed by a woman finishing the job she had started, especially now that he caused neither of them any real threat. So she just stood there, awkward and still, unsure of how to proceed.

[Arthur Herodian]

Arthur said nothing to her words, finding himself curious as to what exactly her full name was now as she was clearly indicating that she had no intention of sharing it entirely with him. Not that it was any of his business, but one could say he always became curious when faced with exotic new elements. The woman before him easily slipped into that category, particularly after she’d displayed the fact that she was fully capable of defending herself. He doubted such traits among women were common, but then again he hardly made a habit of spending time with them, he was far too occupied with his own business to chase after women.

He muttered a slight apology when she indicated that his hand was in the way and so he withdrew the hand as he laid her hand on it. He eyed the pitch, but didn’t hinder the woman from doing her job, instead turning his attention to the horse standing a few feet from him. The massive horse eyed the pair with its wide eyes, its nostrils dilated from the excitement they’d encountered earlier. As a horse of war, Castus was used to having the blood of men on his hooves. With his free hand, Arthur gave the horse a gentle rub on the muzzle, letting a slight smile grace his countenance.

"Fida'Al-jurr."

While he had no idea what an ism was, or what the name she provided eventually meant in her own homeland, he accepted it as easily as he accepted any name. Names hardly had any meaning; it was the actions of a person that defined them. “Pleasure to meet you, Fida Al-jurr,” he said, bowing his head slightly in respect and doing his best to imitate the pronunciation the woman herself had used on the name. The foreign feel of it made it impossible for him to really fathom the phonetics straight away. He did his best with the limited knowledge he had.

Her withdrawal from him was abrupt, as if she’d suddenly been reminded of something. As she turned away to tend to her wares, he eyed her slightly, bewildered at her sudden change of behaviour. While she hadn’t appeared relaxed before, she seemed even less so at the moment. It didn’t appear to be influenced by fear, but he had to assume her change of manner was caused by the reminder of the events that had just transpired, there seemed little other option for it, unless he was missing some information on her culture.

“... not arrived when you did..."

“Please, call me Arthur,” he said, finding her use of his name and surname far too formal for his tastes. At least she didn’t know his middle name; he wouldn’t be able to stand it then. Her tone was calm and composed, as if she hadn’t just been accosted by bandits, but Arthur put his thoughts aside on that matter. “I’m glad I could be of help.”

"My master will want to properly reward your bravery..."

A merchant, her words confirmed his original thoughts, and while he didn’t know who this Merchant Prince was, he was sure she was just as good a merchant in her own right. She’d have to be, being this Prince’s first attendant. He wasn’t sure how her kingdom functioned in matters like that; therefore he decided to forego commenting on it, instead merely taking in the information. He gave a slight start when she began speaking of a reward and he was quick to shake his head. “There is no need,” he insisted, but any further words from his mouth were silenced as the groan came from the brigand that had manhandled the merchant.

“... before it ran its course."

He gave a simple nod at the information, advancing towards the writhing brigand as his life slowly slipped from his fingers. By the apparent discomfort the merchant was going through, it was clear the man was not dying quickly enough for her own tastes. Arthur himself was not bothered by the sounds of a dying man, but he could understand her discomfort, most civilians hadn’t encountered such an event.

His hand found the hilt of his sword and he drew it without hesitation to finish the man off. It was quick work, the man was already gone as far as Arthur was concerned and he was not in the business of being worried about the survival rates of brigands. What the merchant would think of him finishing off a helpless man he didn’t think twice of, a soldier did what a soldier needed to do and to be frank, the bandit was better off dying by Arthur’s sword than by slowly bleeding out.

Wiping the blade on the bandits clothing, he returned the sword to its scabbard and made quick work of rolling the body off the road. No need to hold up traffic. He then turned to Castus, placing a foot in the stirrup and swinging himself up into the saddle. A brief investigation of the wagon informed him that it was in working order and all that remained was to remove the rope from the horse tethered to it.

“If you wish, I can escort you the rest of the way to the city,” he offered. “His friends might come back.” He gestured to the place he’d shoved the body.