Early End

[tomcat]

The companions rode back to the Field of Heroes under a graying evening sky. The wind had picked up, pressing against their backs, and with it came the dampness of rain clouds.

The sight that greeted them as they approached surprised them.

The banners of the many houses still fluttered in the wind, but it was plain to see that the south men were packing their tents and supplies. They prepared for a morning march to return to the Toft, and perhaps some to Tyrant's Hill.

Other camps also showed signs of preparation. The Field sat empty and seemed hollow of its joys and victories, as well as it sorrows. A cloud darker than the oncoming storm now hung over the Field of Heroes. What was meant to be a unifying gathering of people was instead tainted by the death of three men along with their murderers.

Grimbeorn led the way to the main council tent. At their approach, the companions could see that Ingomer and other councilmen of the Vale were gathered in talk. There was no sign of Mogdred or any of his representatives.

The figure that drew everyone's attention, though, was the brown-robed man in the center. Radagast had come from Rhosgobel to hear and offer counsel.

[tomcat]

One of the men of Dale took Esgalwen's horse's bridle, as she dismounted. They gave each other a friendly nod and she patted the mare's neck before entering the tent. Behind her followed the rest of her friends.

The old wizard looked up at her arrival and smiled, "Esgalwen of Gondor, well met! How long has it been since you last brightened my little corner of the wood?"

"It has been almost two years, Master Radagast," she smiled in return. "It is good to see you."

"Where have you been keeping yourself?" he asked, though the Ranger was quite certain the wizard new full well where she now resided. Little passed in Mirkwood that Radagast was not aware.

"I have been in Dale these last fifteen months, or so, in service to King Bard."

"Oh, how nice. Perhaps you will return to be among us soon?"

"Mayhaps, Master Radagast. I serve where I am needed, as well as at the behest of the Steward of Gondor."

"Of course," he smiled and then returned his attention to Ingomer and the council at hand. "What has been discovered by you? We have received Mogdred's news, but what more can be told?"

[Eclecticon]

Arbogast gives an account of the companions'discoveries in spare terms up until their meeting with Mogdred and the discovery of the killers' bodies.

"Hathcyn believes, and I agree, that the three Men were slain by orcs of a tribe not formerly known to the Men of the Vales.  It may be that these are drawn from deep beneath the Misty Mountains by that voice which had already called so many of their kind to the fortress of the Enemy."

He concludes "we have returned to bring you these tidings and to provision ourselves, whereupon we shall once again make a pursuit and learn what fell business is afoot."

[Telcontar]

  did I miss something? When did we think they were men?

[Eclecticon]

Damn, you're right.  Reading back over the last thread, I think I just read way too much into the 'arrow craftsmanship unlike that of the Mirkwood orcs' comment.  Let me revise the post above, if you would be so kind!

[Eclecticon]

Done.

[Telcontar]

Hathcyn whispered into the ear of the Firewatcher,"should we not persuade them to have one last celebration before the folk depart? A joint funeral for slain may do much to bring the people together. Squabbles are one thing, but an attack has been made against all the folk. To just pack up and leave would be to give a measure of victory to the enemy."

[tomcat]

Radagast saw Hathcyn lean in and whisper to Arbogast, "Speak up, boy! This is a counsel - there are no whispered words. All voices are to be heard."

Though each of the council knew that not to be true - it was the place of some advisers to advise, quietly and for their master's purpose only - but the wizard would not be corrected. All eyes turned on Hathcyn and the Beorning nodded and spoke his thoughts out loud.

Ingomer nodded seeing merit in the idea. He looked to Grimbeorn and the others that sat around and was given an approving look from each.

"There is wisdom in this idea," said the older man of Woodland Hall. "It would be a shame to allow our celebration to be undermined, and all our efforts to unify the people undone." Turning to a page that stood near at hand, Ingomer gave orders, "Gather a few of you forthwith and send word among the clans that are encamped about the Field of Heroes. Tell them that the Council sends word that our celebration is not ended, though it has been marred by a dastardly act. Tell them that there will be a celebration of life - a feast this night - that will prove that we are unified as a people! And for those that will stay. For those that wish to prove to outsiders that wish to corrupt our alliances - that the games can and will continue, should they stay.

"And make sure that word is sent to Mogdred - and him directly. Tell him that his father bids he and his people stay... so as the celebration on the Field of Heroes can be completed for this septennial cycle."

"Yes, Master Ingomer," replied the young man and he quickly turned to find the other pages that stood near.

Radagast gave a nod of approval, "Mayhaps this will work and the people of the Vale will overcome this terrible act and not let the fun end. For certain life is hard and cruel enough that we only get these fleeting moments to celebrate the good we have done." The wizard looked back to Hathcyn and his companions, "I suggest that you continue on your path in investigating this further. Long have I known that something lurks within the Elf-tower, but whomever they are they have not moved beyond their own secrets. The Gladden Fields, though... that disturbs me more. Since the breaking of Dol Guldur, a shadow has pressed upon my heart from that direction."

[tomcat]

"It would seem we are to ride together once more," said Esgalwen cheerfully. It was somewhat off-putting since their last gathering and how little hope the woman had had left. Arbogast smiled and gave a slight nod, even as Esgalwen continued talking while she strode from the tent. "I have some things to gather and people to tell. I will meet you all here in the morning."

[Eclecticon]

It is with apprehension of strife that Arbogast returns to the tent where he and his family have slept these last nights.  Within, he finds no sign of Lindwine or his daughters.  Their blankets, waterskins and basket for food are all missing.  His quizzical look catches the eye of Amand as the brother of Amaleoda passes by.

"My cousin has gone ahead with some of the others," he says.  "She and the children will be half way to the wood by now."

Arbogast begins to protest, but the larger man speaks faster.  "I have it from my sister that she did not expect to see you return before the end of the games.  They all are used to your vanishing for weeks, sometimes months, at a time.  What would you have done?"

The Fire-watcher cannot find it within himself to criticise his wife's decision.  Nonetheless, he finds the final festivities, muted as they are, passing strange without their company and he spends the dark hours alone and dejected until sleep finally finds him.

[GandalfOfBorg]

"My people will not leave either, we came for the games, the challenge, not to mention the other fare.  In the absence of myself and Hathcyn, I will leave Eosca to speak for the Beornings during the remainder of the events.  It seems he has made a name for himself among the folk with his colorful commentary and quick wit."

( By the meaning of Radaghast's words we should continue our investigation immediately, not waiting until the end of the games, unless I misunderstood.

--
When he is able to speak with Radaghast alone, he presses him further for more of his wisdom.  "Do know know any more about the East and those who dwell there?  How is that we would have enemies about us without any known grievance?  We know not more than stories from the Old Forest Road and the rare merchant."
--
"Now Arbogast, cheer up, it is a boon to have at least a day among the festivities without charge.  Here, drink this and may your sorrow be drowned away.  We will have need of memories like these days for they come not often and will serve as bright spots in the darkness to come."

[tomcat]

The pages were sent to all the clans and Ingomer's words of a celebration and his request that all should stay was given.

The celebration tent lanterns were lit and cookfires were ignited. It was Ingomer's hope that perhaps the gathering would heal some wounds and maybe keep the people together through the remainder of the games.

To his relief, the clans did arrive at the main tent and the night was filled with cheer. What's more, Mogdred and his people set aside their packing of gear and joined the celebration. Father sent word to his son to join him at his table.

"You sent for me?"

"I would have you sit with me this night, Mogdred... or may I call you Ingold?"

The Toft-chieftain moved to take a bench across from his father and sat. He gave a reluctant sigh, "Father, you may call me by the name you have given me, but know that that man is dead. He died within the pits of Dol Guldur and Mogdred came forth - forever changed and scarred."

"I understand this, my son, and I will forever be sorrowful for my loss." Changing the subject, "I have watched as your people break their camp. Can I convince you to stay? Can we not see the games through? Your people have showed well on the field, and though there are some among us that bridle at said successes, it is accepted. The people of the Toft are among us and we among them."

Mogdred looked around at the celebrations - there was lights, music, dancing, and people laughing, eating and drinking. It was truly a merry fest. There were some of his people among the others - some who sat alone in silence and maybe resentment, while others made merry and boasted the successes of their players. They were so close to... something.

But a shadow resided in the heart of Mogdred, and always did it whisper to him of ulterior motives and bitter ends. He gave another sigh, "Ingomer... father, I will... see." The older man could see the struggle within his son.

"Ingold..."

"Stop! I am Mogdred. Father - not seven years past did the Folk-moot dismiss me and mine. We have lived a bitter life within the ruins of our Enemy. We bled and suffered within His pits! And when we were at last delivered from that shadow, we found our own distrusting and unmerciful." The last word came out as a hiss. "My people followed me and we have grown strong. I took the seat as leader of the Toft after Vidugalum led his foolish campaign into the mid-vale, and I now include those people as my charge. Their former 'king' was a cruel master and there is bitterness - both of their loss at the Beornings' hands and that they have made themselves outcasts. Do you believe that a few meals and a couple games would heal that?"

Ingomer replied, "Then why did you come, my son, if not to heal? Are you here to tell us that the Toft and Tyrant's Hill is strong and a threat to us?"

The question left the younger man speechless. Why did he bring his people here? He wanted them included among the clans of the Vale... but was that to be achieved by forceful words and strength?

Father stared at son and there was discomfort. Mogdred resigned, "I will talk to my folk. I will see if I can convince them that it is the right thing for us to finish the games. I cannot promise anything, father, but I will try."

Ingomer nodded graciously. The people of the Vale suffered many threats from all sides, but if he could at least unite them, they would all fare better. He once more rubbed at his chest, a thing that he oft found himself doing. There was a tightness there that did not want to relent.

At another table in the gathering, Grimbeorn sat in council with Radagast. The scion of Beorn asked his questions regarding the Easterlings and what he might know.

"Aye, I am knowledgeable of the men of the East, though I would say others of my order would be better suited for this tale." The Brown wizard gave his chin a thoughtful scratch - it had been many long years that he had heard any word of the Blue wizards. "I have spent most of my years learning of the tree and bird and other things that walk on four legs than of the ways of people. Still, you cannot be in one place and not learn about those around you..." Radagast chuckled at his joke and then began to tell Grimbeorn what he knew.

The history told went back to the times before the Necromancer and before the days of no king in the south, or Dwarves in Erebor. The folk of Dorwinion and the region around the Sea of  Rhûn - some of these people were nomadic and made few cities, or villages. They were known as the Easterlings and long did they prey upon the settlers of Rhovanion.

Many times had they been in service to the Dark Lord - whether it be in the lands of Angmar in the north, or to serve in his armies against Gondor. It was the wain-riders that almost broke the line of kings in the south. The tribes grew and shrank as the years passed, each under great leaders that sought to dominate all that they could. The Brown wizard spoke of one in particular - Harizän the Easterling who led his people to the junction of the rivers Redwater and Running and enslaved most of that region. The inhabitants of eastern Mirkwood were known as the Éothraim and it was they who unified under one leader and released themselves from the Easterling bondage.

"They are a migrant people, Grimbeorn - sell swords and mercenaries. It is not surprising that they might be within the Vale. This is not a guarded land like that of Gondor, but one of open fields and roads. It is no different than the warriors out of Harad, or the assassins of Umbar - they will go where there is money to be made. Sometimes they do it for a darker purpose - openly for those that purchase their skills, but secretly in service to their dark master - Sauron.

"As a future leader, you must learn that not all actions of ill-will are due to a grievance between two folk. Sometimes those action are perpetrated for a far more evil purpose - the undoing of the Free Folk. I will end this by saying, you serve yourself and your people well by doing what you are doing. Some may little notice the actions of Grimbeorn and his boon companions - staving off the spiders, slaying the great Beast of Mirkwood, acting as emissary to other clans - but the sacrifices you all make are changing the vale and Mirkwood, as a whole. The small stream cannot see the vastness of the ocean, though it is ever changing it and adding to it. Remember that."

Grimbeorn did not completely understand Radagast's final meaning, as he too had never seen the vastness of the ocean and could not make a point of reference save the endless wood.

"Are you Master Arbogast? The one they call Fire-watcher?"

The Woodman lifted his sullen gaze to a small lad that was certainly one of Woodland Hall, based on the pattern of his garb. He had not been able to shake the gloom of his current situation, even after Grimbeorn had offered what advice he could. But the Beorning was not a father, nor a husband, and he did not know the sacrifice of not seeing your children grow or the cold distance that can grown between man and woman.

"Aye, boy, that is me."

"Oh good!" said the young lad, relieved. "I have been searching the camp through for you, to relay a message from the Lady Lindwine."

Arbogast felt his heart jump as if into his throat, "Speak boy! When were you given said message?" The page was suddenly afraid, thinking that his delay had created a problem. Arbogast reached out a gentle hand to touch the boy's shoulder, and spoke in a calmer voice, "Forgive me. Your news of word from Lindwine is of great joy to me. I reacted with surprise, not anger."

The boy's face broke into a smile, "No pardon necessary, Master Fire-watcher. The lady gave me the message earlier this day when she decided to return to the Black Tarn with her folk. She told me to relay this as spoken, Do not worry about us, my love." The boy's face reddened as he spoke, "We know that duty calls you once more and that you must do what it is you do to make sure we are safe. Be safe. Return to us when your task is complete. I will do my part to keep your girls and see to their needs. When you are done, then we will take Amaleoda's advice and take the path to Dale to be part of this gathering in the north next Spring.

"That is all, sir." Arbogast was quiet in his thoughts, but he reached out to put a coin in the boy's hand, which he graciously accepted. Such things were a rarity indeed! The lad started to walk away, but then turned back to the Woodman. "Oh wait... forgive me, Master. She also said, Worry not about my cousin. If Amand were to ever get off his arse and do more than lord over us within the Tarn, then mayhaps he would know the meaning of love and family. He did nothing but gripe since your parting. I fear him jealous of you, my Love.

"I did not mean to not speak you those words, sir. It is just not oft that I am asked to speak such words of an elder to another elder." The boy was not certain that Arbogast still listened. "I do not know to what task you are responsible, Master Fire-watcher, but thank you for keeping our lands safe."

The young lad walked off into the crowd.

[tomcat]

The new day found a change in the Field of Heroes. What had been a gray day prior, and a feeling of broken spirit, had disappeared with the sunrise. The new day showed the contenders re-setting tents and banners still flapping in the summer breeze. Even the Toft-men were resettling their camp - Mogdred had succeeded in relaying Ingomer's wishes.

Whoever had tried to break them had failed. The vale would remain unified, if but for the celebration of the Field of Heroes.

At the central tent, Esgalwen stood by her horse and filled her mare's saddlebag with supplies. Grimbeorn and Hathcyn came shortly after, leading behind them the stout, more shaggy horses used by the Beornings. The Fire-watcher was the last to arrive.

Esgalwen saw him and smiled, "I have prepared a horse for you, Arbogast. I was not sure if you had a mount."

[Telcontar]

Hathcyn drank deeply of morning tea from a leather mug and knuckled his head.

"Now that was long and hard work to be sure."

During the night Hathcyn had made it a point to seek out the Toft men and those of the Hill. He was know to be Grombeorn's companion, and also his Standard bearer so the reception was at first cool. However, wherever he could he raised a glass and toasted to victors and family names. He moved with ease through the crowd was few were the drinks or toasts refused. He smiled and slapped backs, spoke kindly and merrily to all. He buried his grievances and his wariness in song and drink and attempted to sew good cheer among the folk. His passing left every table laughing and toasting and he in his own small way tried to bring gaiety to the celebration.

"They are a hard people these southerners. The shadow and suffering has made them so. I see now the worry you carry Firewatcher, as the Tarn is feeling now the cares they have borne. We must remember that when we deal with this folk. Always they see deceit and threat, because they have survived it so often that good will is believed ri be a trap. I pity that folk, and I see Mogdred now in a different light now that I know more of his people."   

[Eclecticon]

Nodding his thanks to Esgalwen for the loan of a mount, Arbogast listens to Hathcyn's words.  He stays silent for some time after the lanky Beorning finishes speaking, running a hand over the stubbled side of his head in a distant fashion, perhaps in memory of an old wound.  He does not meet the other man's eyes as he speaks. 

"Pity him you may with my blessing.  But do not let that pity blind you to him.  The Shadow leaves its mark on all that it touches, never to be erased by time or cares.  It has left its mark on me, and I am the worser a man for it.  I have thereby an inkling of what it must surely have done to him." 

He lets his hand drop.  "I have heard accounts of the words that passed between Mogdred and Ingomer last night, and they trouble me.  For it was Mogdred himself who led the host that drove Vidugalum from the Toft and sent he and his followers fleeing into the wild, to live as outlaws until in their desperation they took Stánford in thrall.  Now either he speaks falsehoods to his father or he falsely recalls acts done by his own hand.  Neither would shock me.  And both bode ill."