CHAPTER 8: The Field of Heroes

[tomcat]

A quick note before I start - sorry for the delay. I have not been in a Middle-earth state of mind for a couple weeks now. I run another game live and it has taken a great deal of my creative input. We also are going to be at our annual game gathering at the end of May - all of my friends from our old gaming group in Florida meet up every year for five days to play games and hang out for a guy's weekend - and preparations for the two one-shot games I will be running over the weekend has also taken a lot of my thoughts. Finally, Game of Thrones and Endgame consumed a lot of this weekend.

To Paul - thanks for the idea bullets to give me some clarity on how to start. I am not certain where it will lead, but at least it is a start...

And here we go.

[tomcat]

It was the coldest winter he had ever known.

Snow blanketed the forest and storms seemed to rage up from the south, one after another. The winds were bitter and the sun was blocked from view for weeks at a time due to heavy clouds, and the moisture they brought was then dumped in seemingly endless snowfall. The news that did come to each village was the same - from the Toft north and then east all the way to the green fields of Dorwinion, the lands were blighted with freezing ice and snow.

Though fuel for fires was aplenty, the stores of food quickly ran low for many of the communities of Men along the Anduin Vale. The old and sickly began to perish at alarming rates.

The bitterness of winter could not match the bitterness in his heart. The loss of light in his wife's face was enough to devastate Arbogast, and not hearing Wilone's gentle sounds made his house empty. Neither he or his wife could find comfort in each other, nor with their children that looked at mom and dad with worried faces. They were cold. They were hungry. Their father's indifference to the matter scared them, and their mother just stared at the ice-covered lake in silence.

And so was spent their days.

To the north, it was the same for his companions - the winter seemed to go on without end, and the people were suffering. Grimbeorn did not know how to ease their burden and in truth there was nothing he could do. It was a leadership function that he would someday need to accept - there were times when even he would be unable to help his people. They watched as the old faded in the night and the sick perished from unabated suffering.

It was hard.

But as it is with all things, even this cruel winter at last released its grip. A new Spring bloomed and the activities of day-to-day life began anew, even as many put to rest the losses that had been experienced.

Arbogast stood and looked to where Lindwine stood silent and remorseful. He had listened to her speak in her dreams - nightmares - and the question that always came was why? Why had she let the twins take their little sister to the water's edge? Why did she not go and sit beside them as they played? Why was the River-maiden now so cruel? She was of their blood! Certainly she and Arbogast's children would be protected. Why?

The Woodman then looked to his house. It was in need of much repair. The storms had done a good job at undoing his craftsmanship. He sighed. So much was broken now and he did not know how, nor have the desire, to fix it all. It was March of 2955 and he would need to find the desire, lest they spend the next winter without shelter. Time moved quickly and the seasons and the sowing waited for no man.

He felt a tug at his hand, his daughter was looking up at him, "Father?"

It was Cyffa. Her face clearly showed an inability to understand what he or her mother were doing, or where they were.

Arbogast cleared his throat, "Yes, my love?"

The girl's eyes brightened at his words and a crook of a smile formed in one corner of her mouth. Still, she nervously spoke, "Amaleoda has asked me to get you."

Her statement was simple but it suddenly made him jolt - Amaleoda sent Cyffa? When did Cyffa wander off? Where had she wandered to that Amaleoda found her?

Cyffa noticed the tension in her father and she recoiled, her hand pulling free from his in fear. Arbogast felt and watched it all play out across her beautiful face. It leveled him. He quickly went to a knee and scooped her into his arms and he held her tight.

Cyffa began to sob. Arbogast could not help but to join in and so they stood there for a while letting the pent up emotions of the terrible winter flow from their bodies. Arbogast found strength again as he held his daughter close; Cyffa found the warmth and comfort of his protective arms and knew her daddy was still there.

Arbogast stood back up, wiping at his eyes, "Thank you, Cyffa, I will go to her. Maybe you could go and sit by your mother for a bit - she could use you holding her hand."

With a nod and glistening eyes, the two separated.

It did not take long to find Amaleoda, as she directed two carpenters in the necessary repairs to the southern gate. The clan leader looked up and gave a compassionate smile, "Hello Arbogast..."

[tomcat]

In his hall, Grimbeorn spread butter across the large piece of bread that was still warm within his hand. Next he scooped a large helping of redberry jam and spread it across, only to then take a mouthful.

As he chewed, a dark raven flew in through one of the upper windows of the hall and landed on the table. It strutted around a moment or two, flitting its head up and down and back and forth, staring at the large man with one eye or the other.

"Messages, my lord," said the bird in the speech of Men. "From far to the north and east comes word from the King of Dale. He sends his greetings and invitation to join him in his city for a long awaited Council of the North. Word is being sent now for all to prepare, but the gathering will not take place until once more the summer passes and winter has taken hold. Not until those snows have melt will the men of the north gather - and the Folk of Beorn are invited."

It pecked into a bowl and pulled forth one of the raspberries, only to then choke it down its throat. The raven then continued, "Also, Master Grimbeorn - word comes from the clans to the south and east. It is the summer of the seventh year since last held and so the Woodmen make ready the Field of Heroes!" It cawed. "The tourneys are announced and all Men of the Vale are to come and present their champions."

"Hmm," thought Grimbeorn at that news. Had it been seven years already since he last competed? No... it had been longer. When last held, the games had been smaller as Ingomer had called the Folk-moot and Beorn had sent his son to represent his house. Everything had changed for Grimbeorn that year - and darkness had followed. Maybe it was time for some good wholesome fun in the field and under the sun!

Of course, summer tournaments and games were not separated by seven years - on the contrary, warriors of all the clans gathered with each season to test their mettle. But this event was something that all the clans agreed would happen each seventh year, and it was a grand gala! Competitors and their kin would come from far afield along with merchants and purveyors of food, games and fortune.

It was a binding event that kept the Men of the Vale united.

The Beorning finished his bread and jam and then quickly prepared another as he stood from the table to go look for his father. Surely Beorn would have some words on whether the timing was right for his folk to head to the Field of Heroes.

Certainly Hathcyn would enjoy the distraction, thought Grimbeorn to himself. He had been nothing but gloomy the winter through.

[Eclecticon]

"Hello, Amaleoda," the Fire-watcher answers, his eyes instinctively wandering to the work on the gate.  The timbers are seasoned but still rough-cut, with none of the decorative work that adorns the entrances to the older halls of the folk.  Though he is no craftsman, he also sees that the cross beams are heavier than is perhaps necessary - the gate will be sturdy, but slow to open or to shut.

Still, he cannot find it within himself to criticise.  The work is near done, and if it will scarce defend his kin from the true threats they face, he cannot fault them for desiring a prominent symbol of safety.

Having taken all this in, he continues.  "What would you ask of me?"

[tomcat]

"How are you?" she asked, to which Arbogast gave a nod.

"We are alright." The eyes did not match the words.

Amaleoda pointed to the work, "The new gate will be sturdy. The winter was harsh and it seems are efforts at building our home here is always at odds. Walk with me?"

Again a nod and the two friends strolled away from the carpenters. The chieftain led Arbogast from the busy town center and towards a quiet, secluded area. Once out of earshot from any that might hear, she turned to the man.

"You look tired. How fare's Lindwine?"

"She is holding up. She is strong."

Amaleoda stared with an eye that read more than he spoke, but she nodded at his words. She turned from him and bent to scoop up a short branch that lay on the ground and began to idly swing it at the other branches that hung low. She spoke, "While you were gone over the summer last, you know that our gates were set upon four times?"

"Yes," answered Arbogast. His voice was dry and it came out as a croak. Amaleoda turned to look at him, but he cleared his throat and continued, "I was told by my wife and children."

His leader nodded, "Of course." Another idle soft swing of the stick. "Spiders. Orcs. Men. And now the powers we believed would protect us. It is as if the Black Tarn is blighted and we face ruin no matter how hard we try."

Arbogast cocked an eye at her trying to perceive her message. "We cannot give up. This is our home."

Again Amaleoda nodded. She tossed the branch to the ground. "This was my ideal. Do you remember? The Folk-moot long past? How inspired I was? How inspired the others were that followed me?" She breathed in deeply, "We have seen fire and death, but still we stand. Still we rebuild. But with each attack, each loss, a little bit more is taken from us. The fishermen move back up the river to find their catch. Young families no longer come to settle with us. Fewer children are bor..."

She stopped herself.

Amaleoda straightened, "I tell you this in the utmost confidence, Arbogast, and know that I do not claim defeat. But, I fear that the Black Tarn is doomed. I fear that our days under the sun here along the shores that I love are almost over."

"T'is just the bad winter that has made you low, Amaleoda," countered Arbogast. "We shall see another good season and once more the people will return." He was not sure if even he believed his words.

The Tarn chieftain gave a wan smile, "Perhaps," and then her mood changed. "Word has come down from the north - all the way from Dale. The King, Bard, is calling a Council of the North for next spring and he has invited all clans of the Vale."

Arbogast nodded at the wisdom of such a council and began to speak, but Amaleoda continued. "Also, the clans prepare for the games."

"Games?" he asked, but then realized of what she spoke. "Has it been seven years?" The last time Arbogast remembered one of the grand events was when he was young. He smiled at the thought of how excited he and his brothers were in their youth to see the great warriors as they competed.

"Yes it has, surprisingly enough. The word is the same - after such a terrible winter, it will be good to have the warmth and cheer of such a gathering. I am in agreement with the counsel of Woodland Hall, and the others - it will be good."

"Why do you tell me this, Amaleoda?" asked Arbogast, still not knowing why she had isolated them. "You do not ask me to stand for the Black Tarn, do you? Have you seen the men and women that compete? Some are as big as Beorn!"

She laughed, "Though I would never discount your prowess, Arbogast, for it has been thrice proven! If not more. Nor your loyalty to my hall... for great has been your sacrifice, I do not want you to be our champion."

"Then what?"

"What do I ask of you, Arbogast?" There was a true concern and warmth to her words, "I ask that you take your beautiful wife and your splendid daughters north. I ask that you take them to see the games and the events, and the shows. Treat them to foods that are fresh gathered and cooked! Dance with Lindwine at the festival. Let your girls see something that they will remember for the rest of their lives."

Arbogast made to object, but she spoke over him, "And when they are through!" He pressed, but she continued sternly, "When they are through! You will accept my appointment as my embassy to the King in Dale. You will represent me and the folk of the Black Tarn. More will come, yes, but you will speak as my voice. You will take your family north."

Amaleoda looked directly into the man's eyes. "You will do this." She breathed deeply, "And when you are done... you will stay. You will not return here!"

"But..."

"You will give your family a better home! A better chance!"

"Amaleoda... this is our home."

"It is! It was! Arbogast... you owe nothing else to us. Do this... for me. For them."

He made to argue more but his chieftain... his friend... turned and walked away from where they stood. Her voice carried back to him, "I will expect your family to be packed up and ready to be at the Field of Heroes by the end of next month. The games begin in early May."

A tear rolled down her cheek as she returned to the chaos of the small town. She knew he would listen to her orders and go to Dale as her represtentative - Arbogast had been, if nothing else, a faithful friend. She hoped he would take her advice on the other. Amaleoda knew she would also have to give a stern word to Lindwine and she hoped she, too, would listen. They needed it for themselves and their family.

Amaleoda looked at the south gate once more, as the carpenters worked. They were good. It was strong. What none of them knew was that it would one day be the gate the Reavers would storm as the Black Tarn was destroyed.

[tomcat]

Tom, I am trying to understand where Hathcyn is at with the end of winter and the beginning of spring. Your Fellowship Phase narrative said he went home but then back to work on the road. I am good with all of that through year-end 2954, but did he stay through the season? Or did her return back to his home?

Let me know and plug in your own narrative with how I have opened up our new chapter.

[Telcontar]

  Hathcyn was up there all winter and i thought we were all meeting up there. I'll redo where I ended. He is loathe to be around Uppala because all he sees is the wight. And he did offer Abrogast and his family to come north with him and he would help them settle in the north.

[Eclecticon]

When Arbogast once more finds Lindwine, it is by the hearth of Sweartmereseld, braiding black heron feathers into the twins' hair. For a moment, it is as if Wilone is simply sleeping, and it is with the greatest reluctance that he intrudes.  "You are leaving," Lindwine states as he approaches.

"I am," he answers, "but not alone.  Amaleoda has bid me go nowhere more perilous than the Field of Heroes."

"And we are to go with you?"

He nods.  "Our home is awash with dark memories and sorrows.  She feels that time away will loosen their hold on it hearts."

"Perhaps," she says, without conviction.

Arbogast regards her impassively for a moment, watching her fingers weave their daughters' hair.  "Think on it," he says at last.

Her answering nod is almost imperceptible.  As he turns to leave, she catches his hand, still not meeting his eye.  he waits as she tells the girls "Go and look in the vegetable patch.  There may be snails trying to eat our plants." 

As the twins rush off, Cyffa excitedly opining about slime and Lafwyne making a disgusted face, Lindwine speaks, her voice steady.  "My heart is adrift, pulled this way and that by forces I neither understand nor can control, but know that I do not blame you.  I saw you run for them, and I know that you could not have run faster.  I..."  Her voice falters and she lapses into silence, her face still turned toward the ashes of the fire. 

"Nor do I blame you," Arbogast replies, after a few moments.  Then, with a farewell squeeze of her hand, he goes to finish the re-thatching of the roof. 


 I'm basically done and happy for the story to move on when we've dealt with Grimbeorn and Hathcyn's situations.

[GandalfOfBorg]

As Grimbeorn rose to leave, he pushed the remainder of the berries to the bird.  "Have a care and don't let these be the end of you lest you be the end of me.  You're one of father's favorite and mine."

Light was the son's step to the great hall of Beorn even though he knew the usual bickering and tempestuousness would be found.  The weather turned for the better so that meant that more of the thegns would be present squabbling needlessly and uselessly over what little they had.  So wasted time bending their lord's ear, rued Grimbeorn.  If they only cared more about the bigger picture, managing the affairs with the borders of the lands, the affairs within the borders would take care of themselves.  The noise grew as he approached, keeping himself out of view lest he be pulled in or aside by some grasping thegn seeking his approval.

When there was a lull in the talk, Beorn saw his son off to the side and thought he should share in the misery of leadership. "Boy! Oi! Where you been off to?  A herd of cattle have wandered onto  Cathar's land from Jara's.  The rivers and tributaries swollen by the winter's snow have decided to redirect themselves giving some of Ottar's holdings to Vildan.  What have you to lighten the mood?"

"The King of Dale sents word of a great council over the Wilderland realms, including ours.  Oh, and there is to be the seven-year games to be held... The Field of Heroes will come ere this summer blooms."

Less so the Wilderland council news and moreso that of the tournament brought the din of chatter again akin to chittering squirrels.

[Telcontar]

Hathcyn again spent the winter in the north along the road, but as agreed he heeded Grimbeorn's call and returned with Harhold to their own lands. The winter was long and cold. Despite the abundance of wood it was hard to keep the cabins warm. They also knew the constant threat of wolves and spiders. The later grew more and more audacious and open in their attacks, through natural hunger or an attack upon their work he didnt know. What he did know was his hatred of them was no less deep than before and he bore more scars upon his body from labor and struggle both upon his return.

The signs of struggle were not the only change in Hathcyn. He moved with more wariness were once he had a measured mix of curiosity and boldness. He wore his bears longer now as well, and it was plaited and braided as well as  bedorned with silver rings  and woven silver strands. The redness of his beard was tipped in white hair like a foxes tail, a natural occurrence.

He turned to Beorn's hall, met the dogs he now knew as friends and took ale and honey with Aestid. She still dwelled in the hall and took interest in all the news from afar. Hathcyn saw still the pride and beauty of her profile and was not unwilling to spend his time with her. Her dark raven hair was accentuated by her pale skin and lovely neck  with a chin that cocked when she laughed.

He found too that the winter had been good for the price of beef and Hathcyn find his herd well and soon would have coin enough to improve his standing among his people. He wondered where he would go this time in service to Grimbeorn.

[tomcat]

game update tomorrow.

[Eclecticon]

Though the weather is warming and the forest of the western eaves is not the lightless tangle of the deeper woods, still the progress of Lindwine and Arbogast from Black Tarn Hall to Rhosgobel can proceed no faster, nor longer, than a small child can travel, and the small family spend several days in the woods before the home of Radaghast comes into view.  The brown wizard is not there to aid them on their journey, but they are in time to join a small caravan of their kinfolk who likewise are going to the Field of Heroes.  Though they proceed no faster, still it is a relief to have new children for the twins to meet, and additional eyes to watch them. 

Barely a day later, they cross the thinning underbrush and come wholly into the open world of the middle vales.  As Arbogast watches, his daughters' faces come alight in excitement and fascination at the breadth of the blue sky above, the feel of the wind and the song of strange birds.  Lindwine turns to look at him, and he sees in her eyes the same sadness he feels that Wilone was never able to know a world not bound by trees.  But at the same time, it is as if emerging fully into the sunlight has reawakened something within each of them that had lain unknown during the winter like a seed in soil.  They share, for a moment, neither smile nor speech, but simple understanding. 

There is no magic in this new feeling to lighten their loads, nor to give new strength to weary feet.  The way ahead stretches out before them, but Lindwine takes Arbogast's hand in hers and they walk on, side by side.

[tomcat]

"What is that, Father?" asked Cyffa, as she pointed west.

Arbogast sheltered his eyes from the bright daylight and tried to discern about what his little girl inquired. Her small finger pointed to the horizon.

"The green fields?" he asked unsure.

"No, Father! I know the green grass and I can see the blue sky, but what is the grey in the middle?"

And then the Fire-watcher understood, and he smiled. They had never seen them before either!

"Mountains, my love. The Misty Mountains for sure. They rise up to the clouds."

"No!" his other daughter gave an incredulous reply.

"They do! I have been there and I have climbed into those mountains."

"You have? Do stone giants live there?"

"Rock trolls?"

"Are they filled with goblins and mewlips?"

Arbogast shrugged at the possibility of all, "They just may be."

Lindwine smiled, "We will need to get these two to sleep at some point tonight. Don't go filling their heads with snarks."

His wife walked from the conversation, leaving father and daughters to explore, while she went to help with the unpacking of needs for the night's camp. The caravan was like a small, traveling community and everyone chipped in with their own to make sure that bellies were filled and people were kept warm and safe at night.

Arbogast picked up a daughter into each arm and they stared at the gray ribbon of mountains as it stretched away north and south. "Do they really go on forever, Papa?" asked Lafwyne.

"I am sure they stop somewhere, far away," he replied. "Maybe someday you can explore and find out." Causing the girls to both giggle.

"When will we be there at the fair?" continued Lafwyne, to which her father said, "Well we've come to the outskirts of Rhosgobel and the Field of Heroes is just a few miles beyond. So, maybe tomorrow or the next day depending on how fast our van moves. It might not be too exciting there yet, as it is still a bit early before the games start, but you will definitely see it rise around you! The tents and pavilions! The games and rides! And the toys!"

"Toys?!" said both girls. "Rides?"

"Yes, yes," said Arbogast excited by their own excitement. "Dwarf craftsmen come and they bring toys of wood and metal - tops, jacks, and hoops!" The girls clapped with glee. "And the rides are wonderful - swings and carousels, ponies and hogs!"

Their conversation continued with a multitude of questions and anticipation until Lindwine finally came back to let them know that the evening meal was ready. The twins took her hands and they went to wash up, while Arbogast continued to sit quietly for a while, staring out at the mountains. He breathed deeply of the fresh air that blew across the open vale - something that you did not get within the Tarn and the forest. A bird alighted to the ground and pecked about for a bug or worm, only to flitter away when the man turned to look.

Hopefully my message got through, he thought. Before they had left, Arbogast had spoken to one of his feathered friends and asked that a message be sent north to the land of Beorn, and to Grimbeorn in specific, to let the Beorning know that Arbogast would be attending the games. "Maybe they will come."

With that, the man stood and walked back to the small caravan and the dinner fire that was now encircled by his family and others.

[tomcat]

I will post again tonight.

I am doing some research on games of field and strength that would have been played by such people. Also what events might have been at fairs. It will be primarily for colorful narrative, but I might also start a competition board that will come down to champions in each event. Again, useful only for narrative and dialogue, but still fun to have for the records of our story.

If you guys get a chance, maybe name some competitors that you know from your clans in your character narrative/dialogues - Paul is great for coming up with names of people for our game! That will give flavour to the story, too.