Would anyone ever guess that Iomhar had ever been a person of nobility? Would anyone ever guess that the young man with dark brown tangles and shabby clothing had ever set foot inside one of the finest houses in all of Lomedor and maybe even all of Arda?

Sometimes Iomhar himself could barely believe what he used to be and what he had now become, all because of someone's careless miscalculation.

He closed his eyes and breathed in the fresh sea air, the strong smell of fish brought in by the boats reaching his nostrils. The wind ruffled his hair and tugged at his clothes before it moved on to dance around someone else. Iomhar sat up in his chair and just lived--something he was under the impression he did not do nearly enough these days. No, maybe he never had lived as much as he ought to have, so overwhelmed with the hustle and the bustle of city life. If he had it his way, he would move out to the countryside to be free from the constraints of urban society. But then again, finding food out there would proved to be much harder, and how would he collect scraps when there were no people to beg from. Right now he had a few pennies in his pocket and he hoped that he would be able to purchase something to eat that night once the sun finally sank below the horizon.

The last rays of the twilight danced upon Iomhar's pale skin before disappearing for the night. The young man opened his eyes and looked around the port, now quiet since the sailors had moved on to pubs and bars, their work finished for the day. A few people moved about here and there, but for the most part Iomhar was alone. No one ever seemed to notice the crippled beggar in his makeshift wheelchair, a contraption he himself had made after the accident. He lost his family, he lost his house, he lost his life and he lost his dignity, but he was not going to lose his ability to move around freely. For freedom now was the one thing Iomhar possessed, if it were posssible to possess it at all. He took great pride and joy in the fact that he could move around at will, even if the ride over the cobblestones was a bumpy one. Oftentimes he traveled in night when the streets were empty, long after the bars closed. Late morning was not so bad, either, as long as he stayed out of the markets where people crammed in like sardines in order to get the best prices. Of course, markets were the best places to get a few scraps of food here and there, though it was generally stale and usually not worth eating for fear of illness.

Iomhar watched the sun sink completely below the horizon and he let out a long sigh. He oughtn't be here; he really should be near the tavern where he could get a piece of gold or two so that he could afford to feed himself. Last night he was fortunate enough to collect enough gold that he could rent a room in the inn and clean up a bit. Now he had had a bath for the first time in--he shuddered--awhile, and he was cleanshaven and orderly. His hair was long and his clothing ill, but at least he did not look like complete trash. A few gulls cawed near the water's edge and fluttered away, and Iomhar followed them with his eyes. What he would do to be able to fly! He sighed longingly, then shook his head. He had to be realistic; that was the only thing which would get him through until the next day and the day after that and the day after that. Realism was Iomhar's life philosophy now. It was hard and brutal, but so was life.

His hands hovered above the wheels of his chair and as the last of the gulls flew off, Iomhar's fingers spun the wheels carefully, and he turned around to face the city. Every building was lit up with the flickering of candles, and he wondered for the millionth time what everyone was doing. Were they enjoying a nice dinner with their families? Maybe a game of cards or a drink after a long day's hard work? Ah, those were the days.

Stop it, he sternly ordered himself. That'll get you nowhere. Yes, yes, he had told himself that over and over, yet he still couldn't help but think back upon happier times. But what, he wanted to know, was so happy about back then? He had had wealth and he had had a family and he had had friends. But those had all vanished in a puff, rolled away like late morning fog, as soon as the cart accident. Suddenly having a lame friend, a lame son, a lame brother was daunting. Frightening. Too much so to keep him in the same house and to feed him with their food. He shook his head. Iomhar, get a grip. And with that, he glanced once more towards the long piers which jutted out into the water where the gulls bobbed up and down on the waves.

So what had been so great about such a life? He lived in pure ignorance, oblivious to everything. Oh, it seemed so cliche, but it was the truth! He ignored the poor in the street just like many people did. Sure, he gave them gold and food just like other nobles. But he was too immersed in the pursuit of knowledge to pursue wisdom; he had considered himself very wise indeed for he knew about bridges and politics and the economy and philosophers. And that, he decided, was the saddest part of his existance before the accident.

For one reason or another, Fendrel was always dragged back to Lómëdor. Usually it wasn't by his own free will either. This time was no different. Victoria had dragged him back in order to shop around for a house. He didn't see what the problem was with living in that Ancient Tower in Salquedor, but Victoria insisted. Something along the lines of "not living like monsters". Whatever. As long as it didn't cost him too much money, then Fendrel wouldn't oppose it. These little side jobs he had been taking were really starting to annoy him. He needed the wage, though, to support Victoria. It was only a matter of time before he used it to get her something grand. Holding his hand with a grip surprisingly strong for someone so young, Victoria led him through all the streets and alleyways of Lómëdor. Here and there they would stop and inspect a house or cottage that they felt was affordable, but were turned away each time.

Fendrel's reputation seemed to be putting a damper on their shopping spree.

He left Victoria near the middle of the journey to buy some milk, eggs, bread and all other nutritious food to help Victoria along as well as some new clothes. The ones she was currently wearing were becoming sullied by the nonstop traveling they were doing. The citizens who knew Fendrel seemed to get a giant kick out of seeing him walk around with a basket of groceries in his hand and some small dresses under his arm, but a threatening glare from his predator-like eyes silenced their laughter almost instantly. This was far from humiliating; it was degrading, even. He walked back to their designated meeting spot, only to find Victoria in the company of an old woman. His confusion was greeted with swift answers of almost indecipherable jargon on Victoria's part.

"Fendy! Fendy! This woman says she has a house to sell us! And she doesn't know that you're a hated drunkard so we can finally buy this one!" She said at sonic speed. The woman chuckled at her response and even more so at the plagued look on Fendrel's face. Well, if the woman didn't know, she did now. Way to run your mouth, Victoria. Sighing in annoyance, Fendrel cast the woman a smile and followed after her as she led them to her small abode. Victoria instantly fell in love with it. It wasn't a large house, but it wasn't small either. Two rooms and a small guest room, two rooms for which to wash up, and even two floors. The kitchen was pretty dainty and the living quarters was cozy and serene. Yeah, this would do. Fendrel paid the woman her gold and bid her thanks as she and her husband left for Estolad. What they were doing there, Fendrel had no idea, but the house was his and that was all that mattered.

It didn't take long to unpack their stuff and settle in. They were homeless travelers, they didn't own much. After putting the last item of food into the pantry, Fendrel went up to fetch Victoria. She had wanted to walk the streets at night, and Fendrel didn't see a problem with granting her request. It was a calming experience and one Fendrel wasn't granted often. He had to admit that Victoria was a life changer. Until she had come along, Fendrel was nothing more than a alcoholic ruffian with a chip on his shoulder. Now, though, that Fendrel had something to protect, he was loosening up. He didn't want to admit it at first, but gradually it became to hard to hide. He loved Victoria and she was unintentionally making him a better person. He claims to have saved her life, but instead, she saved his. It was good having such a positive influence always near him. He looked up at the night sky with a content smile on his lips. He didn't know what the future held, but it seemed a bit brighter all of a sudden.

"Oh my gosh! Fendy, look! It's Iomhar! IOMHAR! Heeeeeeey!" Victoria shouted before releasing his hand and running towards a particular man strolling around in a rather crappy looking wheelchair. Perking a brow, Fendrel followed after her. He had no idea how she knew this guy or who he was, but he had to keep a close eye on Victoria. He knew only too well how people were in the dead of night.

Shouts from drunken sailors echoed through the air, but Iomhar had nothing to fear; they were too distant to be much of a bother, though they reminded him of his encounter earlier today with another beggar. Iomhar now had it in his mind that he was the only sane beggar in all of Lomedor; after all, he was neither part of a gang nor strung out on Ardian drugs nor inflicted with an incurable mental illness. He let out a sigh as he recalled dodging out of the way of the fist which had decided to meet his face; it took all of Iomhar's efforts to not dish out his own werewolf attitude upon the scruffy-looking gutter dweller who had tried to steal Iomhar's bread. He let him have the food, and simply wheeled away.

But just as soon as the shouts reached his ears, they were gone, taken away by the wind within but a split second. A few cries of joy bubbled up here and there, but the memory of that morning had vanished to a faint trace, no longer jabbing his mind so sharply. The waves of the ocean lapped at the piers jutting out of the water, and Iomhar wondered what it would be like to swim.

However, before he could ponder such things, new cries reached his ears. At first he just dismissed them, but these sounded different. He realized with a start that they belonged to a child, and he wheeled his chair around to see a girl come rushing at him.

"Victoria . . . ?" he said, the words lingering in the air for a moment before disappearing into the night. She ran over to his side, her cheeks pink with a healthy glow. "Victoria," he repeated at a loss for words. His eyes scanned over her as he made sure that she was safe and in one piece; he knew the gutters well enough to be wary of sending a child off alone in the streets. Hadn't he told the girl to stay with him after he had rescued her from that suspicious stranger but a few months ago? And now--Iomhar looked up and saw another man approaching. Iomhar raised an eyebrow suspciously and looked back to Victoria. "Didn't I tell you not to follow strange men?" he asked her sternly. As if it wasn't bad enough that the gentleman who had found her on the street had tried to grab her up; now she hadn't even learned from the experience.

Iomhar grunted as this new man approached and watched him carefully, but said nothing at first. He did not look like the type to take care of little children like Victoria, he noted with a frown. "Who are you?" asked Iomhar gruffly.

Fendrel's eyes immediately narrowed as he watched the man in the wheelchair look over Victoria; his eyes holding the care of a sibling. Victoria never mentioned having a brother, least of all a crippled one. He didn't know why, but people with disabilities and the like really bothered him. It showed him how fragile humans really were and the thought of being weak was a nightmare to one as proud as Fendrel. So it was only fair that Fendrel's short-temper began to flare as he listened to the man before him speak. Even as words left the lame man's lips, he held eyes of analytical caution. Typical. He was being judged from the start.

"Who are you?" The guy known as Íomhar asked with a less than friendly tone. Victoria winced at the sound of it. She had been with Fendrel long enough to know that he didn't like being looked down upon. It didn't take one skilled in the realm of clairvoyance to foresee how this was going to play out. She turned and looked at Fendrel with worried eyes, but it was too late. He was already curling his upper lip in disgust and anger.

"Eh? You've got some mouth for a raggedy cripple. I 'ave half a mind to--" Fendrel started, cracking his knuckles as he moved forward, but Victoria's brows furrowed in anger and she stepped in front of Íomhar with a determined expression. Fendrel was a bit taken aback by this notion and stopped dead in his tracks. "Victori--?"

"No, Fendy, I'm not going to let you hurt Íomhar! He's a good friend of mine!" She said with a stubborn pout. Fendrel stood there for a moment, trying to decide what to do about the situation, before sighing in annoyance and turning from the two of them.

"...Whatever, do what you want with the guy." He muttered before folding his arms against his chest and leaning against a nearby street lamp. The fire blazing inside of it burned furiously against the night air. It supplied relative light to small area where they all were currently standing. He closed his eyes and began to drift into his own thoughts, leaving Victoria to catch up with her 'good friend'. He still didn't like the guy, though. Victoria smiled but shook her head and turned back to Íomhar.

"Sorry about Fendy, Íomhar. He's just as protective as you are. He's a good guy, though, really! He saved me from the streets, Íomhar, can you believe it!? We even have our own house now!" She said with a giggle. Her face was aglow with excitement and happiness. No matter how she looked at it, she was glad to be by Fendrel's side. He had truly made her one of the happiest girls in the world, despite the way he acted. She knew it was just one of those tough guy acts. Deep down, Fendrel was a kind-hearted man with a nurturing spirit. He just needed a little push in the right direction, was all. What she didn't know was that she had already given it to him.

Iomhar's lips pulled back in a mixture between a snarl and a smirk as the man approached, cracking his knuckles. Did he really have the nerve to punch the crippled man in front of the little girl? So many people would not hesitate, but if he really cared about the child, he would not lay a hand upon Iomhar. Why should the man hurt Victoria just because Iomhar looked at him wrong or some other preposterous idea?

But the girl stepped in front of him to form a shield with her small body. If the man wanted, he could snap her in half, Iomhar knew for certain. But she seemed to hold a power over this man, he noted with a small wistful smile. Ah, did not her powers of charm extend over even Iomhar, who wanted only what was best for the child?

However, he was not certain that staying with this man would be the best. Maybe he had given her a roof over her head and food in her stomach, but gods only knew what else he gave her. Iomhar's eyes flickered away from the man and back towards Victoria's kindly, round face. Her eyes shined wide with excitment and Iomhar could do nothing but smile at her. "Is he treating you well?" he asked to her. "He isn't hurting you, is he?"

Victoria shook her head almost instantly, her pink pigtails flopping back and forth as she did so. Her smile never wavered even in the presence of the doubtful Íomhar. Her stay with Fendrel had been the most exciting thing to ever happen to her. She'd stick up for him even when no one else did. He was her brother, after all, so how couldn't she defend him?

"Nope! He's been protecting me ever since we met! He buys me clothes, feeds me good food, and protects me from bad guys all the time! And he's soooooooo strong! You should see it when he does this thing called Lion's Storm and he swings his sword a bunch of times so fast that I can't even see them! It's so cool!" She said with a giggle. She always got excited when talking about Fendrel fight. It was weird, seeing as she was a child, but she loved watching Fendrel fight. He always seemed so calm and in control. Even when things looked tough and he was taking a beating, he had that cool smile on his face and just kept pushing forward. He hadn't lost a fight since she knew him and always came out victorious in the end.

Usually because he was fighting to protect her. Yeah, having someone to protect sure pumped power into you. Fendrel didn't notice that until recently. Every time Victoria was in danger, he always pulled this immense power from within himself that he didn't even know he had. He had always been a strong guy, but there were several fights that he couldn't have won with his own strength. It's the power to protect the ones you love that gave the key to victory. Fendrel didn't know how he managed without it. He smirked as he listened to her exaggerated ramble. A child's illusion of what was really just mundane strength and speed. He wasn't that strong. She just thought he was because he fought to protect her. That wasn't his strength. That was the strength of their bond. He opened one eye and looked over at Íomhar to see the reaction he'd give at hearing the girl's story.

Iomhar raised an eyebrow and listened with a small smile as the girl spoke, her words shooting out at him at a mile a minute. Normally he was not the type to take well with children--there had been far too many underfoot back when he used to live in a house--but Victoria was something different. She seemed both mature and utterly childlike at the same time, dealing with both the present and the fantasy simultaneously when many simply reverted to one or the other. Even now as he listened he could tell that she spoke with the utmost sincerity with the heart so pure that only a child could bear it.

His eyes flashed towards the man for a moment and then back to the girl's youthful face as he listened closely to what she said. Good, she was safe; he had had the worst feeling that there was something terrible between them, but upon the girl's insistance he finally let that disappear. After all, food, shelter and safety was more than most people could provide for the child; Iomhar should be happy that she found someone like him.

But he wasn't entirely sure. Someone so apt to beat up a cripple in a makeshift wheelchair took in stray children? He frowned at this thought and looked back up at the man. "Good sir, I fear that you have failed to answer my question. But allow me to introduce myself first. I am Íomhar; I met Victoria several months ago near the Inn. Who are you?"

He pushed off of lamp and looked at Íomhar with an irritated expression. Good sir, was he? Just a moment ago this guy was glaring at him with the scorn of Raku and now he was showing Fendrel a little respect? All because of Victoria. Bloody cripple and his makeshift mindset. How could Victoria make friends with such a trying person? The same way she can change the heart of a murderous alcoholic he reminded himself. He let out a sigh and scratched the back of his head. Guess he should just let it go and try to play it nice. For Victoria's sake.

"Fendrel. Fendrel Cheshire. Victoria here's been a pain in my ass for a few months now. ...Good to meet ya." Fendrel responded, though the last sentence came off as greatly strained and forced out. He wasn't even making eye contact! Victoria pouted. Not at his rudeness, she was well used to that, but at his comment concerning her. How could little old her be a nuisance to Fendrel? She was nothing but helpful if not a little careless when it came to talking to strangers. Many a fight had broken out because she talked to the wrong person and Fendrel swooped in to save her. But what he said was still unforgivable! Or as unforgivable as a child can deem appropriate.

"Fendy! You're such a meanie head!" She yelled before sticking her tongue out at him. Fendrel placed his hands in his pocket and leaned down to meet her eye level before narrowing his eyes.

"Eh? Meanie head? Ditsy brat." He said in response before sticking his own tongue out. This caused Victoria to open her eyes wide in shock before growling and smacking her fists into Fendrel's chest harmlessly. He chuckled and roughed up her hair in his own affectionate way before standing up straight and looking back over at Íomhar. It'd probably be good to get to know the guy a little better, especially if he knew Victoria. Might know something about her family.

"So uh...how'd you meet Victoria? Does it have something to do with those legs of yours?"

Iomhar watched in quiet fascination as the two of them interracted, a strange feeling in his gut. Iomhar, is that jealousy? he wondered to himself as the girl punched Fendrel in the chest with her weak little fists. Perhaps it was, he knew. After all, he had no companionship in the least ever since the cart accident, and now the one person with whom he had some familiarity had now found someone else to latch herself on to. Not like Iomhar carried little children around with him like pets, but it still struck him all the same.

He smiled gently at the girl, but it quickly disappeared as the man spoke to him, his attention suddenly upon Iomhar's lack of mobility. Iomhar smirked and said, "I suppose you could say that it helped. For if it were not for this--" he pointed at his useless legs "--I would not have been there to save Victoria from the gentleman who approached her by the Inn. Poor kid just wandered in for some food and didn't expect to be spoken to by the likes of that scum." Euphanisms and general dancing about the truth. But he couldn't say outright that she had almost been abducted, for he had no desire to revive that night in the girl's mind. It had been quite tragic and he had kept her by his side for two days before handing her over to a gentle woman who promised to keep her well fed and give her a safe place. Iomhar knew that he could barely afford to keep himself alive and the gutters were no place for young children; it was better, he finally decided despite his horrible desire to keep her around to help him beg, for her to go out and live a full life than to scrounge around amid the grim and earn her bread like, well, a beggar.

And every day Iomhar was grateful that he had made that decision, for he could not bear to think of the child in rags, searching through the trashbins and the putrid streets for meager tidbits of food. And today especially he was happy, for she had found a place to stay and new clothes to wear. He only hoped that the man treated her well, and if what she said was true (for there was always the possibility that he had threatened her to tell Iomhar what she did), then he was even more overjoyed that he had released her.

"So yes," he concluded. "In a very roundabout way, it does have to do with my crippledness." He narrowed his eyes at the man but bit back his tongue for fear of saying something nasty in front of the girl. Must he make fun of him? Must he teach Victoria that such speech was appropriate. Oh, sure, many people these days would not give Iomhar's disability a second thought (after all, his own family had thrown him into the streets after the accident), but that was no reason to rub it in. And it was even worse that while he was on the streets, he had been bitten by a werewolf. But no--he wouldn't say that. Never; it was none of their business.