FELLOWSHIP PHASE - Bonds Renewed

[tomcat]

Her convalescence was spent in Rhosgobel under the care of Idunn, as well as the Brown Wizard, Radagast.

Esgalwen could do naught but moan through fevered, sleepless nights and she prayed the gloomy days would end. Many of which were spent being incoherent due to the wizard's bitter medicine. Her ribs were mending, but the ailments that come from broken bones plagued her. The flesh along her right side and breast maintained a terrible purple and red hue and the woman worried if it would ever return to what she knew. Radagast would only mumble and say, "All is well. Time will show." And then he would pace off on some other errand. Only Idunn gave Esgalwen any bedside manner, applying cool clothes when the fever's raged and rubbing the aching muscles whenever Radagast's elixirs wore away.

After two weeks of rest and care, Idunn finally thought Esgalwen was ready for the news of the battle - having avoided the conversation with her all along. She told of the victory at the door's of Sweartmereseld and how Lindwine had saved Esgalwen with a bow shot that took the monster in the skull, killing it before it could make any other strike on the fallen Ranger. She told how with the slaying of so many of the great orcs and then the troll, that the Shadow host broke and dispersed into the darkness of Mirkwood. Idunn spoke of the losses among the Wood-men and that many would not find their way home. Lastly, she told Esgalwen of the death of Bandobras the Halfling and Esgalwen was stunned. Throwing her arms out in rage and disbelief, Esgalwen swooned as the pain of her broken ribs shot through her like an electric bolt.

NO! NO! NO! was all she could say in her agony as the sobs wracked her tightening muscles causing the pain to continue. Idunn quickly gave her a draught of the bitter medicine and it soon had Esgalwen in a stupor, quietly weeping. The healer cursed herself and made her way from the tent.

Days turned to nights and back again to days. May passed into June and the Dúnadan woman slowly began to feel herself again. She got herself out of her healing bed and began to take walks about the small town. It was during one of these quiet walks that Esgalwen came upon a Dwarf - his hair and beard speckled with the gray of age. It took her a moment and then a smile broke across her face, "Rorin? It has been so long."

"Lady Esgalwen, it is good to see you well and to hear your voice once more." Rorin held his hood in his hands and fumbled at the fabric. "It has been long and I wanted to make sure that I saw you before I was on my way once more, back north."

Esgalwen could see that the Dwarf was agitated and she knew at once why he had come, "You heard?"

"Aye, the news of death of a dear friend can travel quickly. I came south to pay my respects. Bandy and I had our business..." Rorin looked about, "just over there."

"I remember," smiled Esgalwen. "That fool of a Bracegirdle would walk about delivering your wares and a smile, no matter if the items were larger than himself." A laugh came but it was stymied by the sudden ache.

"He brought cheer wherever he went... even in the darkness," said the Dwarf, his eyes wet with tears. "Do you remember in the watchtower, along the Dwarf Road before it had been cleared. We were beset by spiders but never once did his bow falter. He had more bravery and mirth within his small stature than some of the tallest Men I know."

"He did indeed," agreed Esgalwen with a happy grin on her face and a good memory in her soul.

"I am also pleased to see that you were not lost as well. Trolls are no easy opponent and I understand you met the beast head on. You are brave, Lady, and I daresay one to bring light to the heart. Please don't ever let that light be snuffed out - not by something so crude as a troll or orc."

Esgalwen thought about his words and nodded, "I will do my best, friend Rorin. Still, I have my duty to Steward, Queen and friends."

"Aye, I know... I just hoped that I could convince you that you have done enough. I also bring this..." Rorin reached to where a tree grew tall and grabbed a sword in its scabbard.

"Nimronyn!" she beamed, "I thought it lost! I had not seen it since the battle."

Rorin handed it to her, "It is a good blade. Blessed by the Elves and given a strong name. It was given to me by Grimbeorn on my journey south to Rhosgobel, as he returned north. He asked that I keep watch of it until I saw you and knew you were ready to receive it. As my business here is done, I could wait no longer and so I return it to you now."

"Your business is done?" Esgalwen's heart sank at the idea of her old friend leaving. She had seen no one since the battle save her caregivers.

"Aye, Lady. I head north with the dawn. I have paid my respects to Bandy and wished him on his way. I hope that he finds green fields and hills so as to dig the deepest of holes. A Hobbit hole, of course!" The Dwarf gave a wink. "It gladdens my heart to see you, too, and I wish you strength and healing."

Esgalwen could do nothing else but embrace Rorin causing his large nose to blush with his cheeks. "Strength and safety to you upon your road."

The two spoke a few more words and then the Dwarf smith was off on a new errand. Esgalwen was left alone in the wooded grove and she looked at her sword. She pulled the blade from the scabbard and it gleamed with the sun, but lifting it caused her pain.

She slid the weapon back into its sheath and continued her walk in silence.
I will have some more up soon.

[Telcontar]

Hathcyn sat brooding in the Fox's Tale. The business along the road was steady and the high hill of the standing stone of the Fox had expanded and grown. The long hoarded coin of the Warrior was put to good use at last and the the hall was almost properly an inn and the hill of the stone now had the adornment of other menhirs and dolemans of the folk of Beorn. Hathcyn had even been made Moon Keeper to maintain and enforce the prohibition of hunting around the area of the stones, in fact the site now was recognized to stand witness to the distance of a league in all directions of the central column and a weirding fence had been set. A league out white warning stones in a ring had been placed at interval in the manner of the Beornings. All this was due to the work of Hathcyn Longspear and his rising standing among the people, but still he brooded.

Harhold his old friend earlier in the year had asked to stand for him in his oaths to marry Uppala and he had agreed. His friend was now the keeper of his herd, an honor he bestowed upon his friend in perpetuity for as long as he should own one beast of the flock. Likewise the herd of Uppala grew still as the agreement between she and Hathcyn still stood. Both were happy and in good health and the fortune of his friend who once lay butchered beneath the knives of the orcs increased. The Longspear was glad for his friend and still tipped many ales with him, but still he brooded.

At times he was called to the House Of Beorn for councils. No longer just to hold the standard of the Bear and stand by the Aetheling, but also asked for his opinions and thoughts on matters, though he could cast no votes his opinion was sought none the less. And in the Hall of Beorn was Aestid, who obvious to all but the Longspear,  sought to be near him and speak to him. Men spoke behind his back how she tied the braid ribbons of a wife to her shoulder straps to show she was betrothed. To who she would not say, but many guessed, but still he brooded.

Months passed.

"Longspear!"

The baritone voice of a dwarf redounded among the timbers of the tavern.

"I've come far and want to see for myself what the men of the Carrock say of your beer. They say the hand of the keeper brings the best tasting beer, so where is the  Master of the House?"

Stirred from his thoughts Hathcyn rose from the side table he kept to himself.

"Who... Lord Balin?"

"Indeed. At your service and your family." 

"Why, I?"

"Well your tavern keeping needs some work, but by all accounts your spear is still keen. I've come for beer and a talk, this is no chance meeting as they say."

The two were soon ensconced at the side table tall beers in hand.

"I've come from across the mountains visiting a friend. I've also brought a stone with me. Word reached me that Grimbeorn lost a friend in the battle away south. One of the little folk, and my friend secured a stone to mark his grave in a place they call the Great River Farthing. The details are lost to me, but I was coming this way and back again and said I would help. But, the beer is good and the traffic of the road improves, so what is ailing you?"

The two talked long into the night. The Longspear finding the dwarf a good listener and a wise fellow. As they spoke Hathcyn learned more of the history of the dwarf and the trials and tribulations he had undergone as well as those of his folk.

"The night grows long and I must travel tomorrow, but let me part with this Hathcyn. Long years me and my folk toiled. Long years we were bereft of home and the stones of our fathers. We have regained a part of our heritage and the halls of our father's ring again. The halls of our grandfather's still are dark, but that is a story and a dream for another night. My point is that no mater how hot the fire, or strong the enemy remember and endure. Those are the traits of the Sons of Durin, but they will work for you and yours as well. Remember and Endure. I will add also this, and this comes from my own travels. Make where you are a home such as it can be. Long dwelling in loss will poison you in heart and deed to the point that when you achieve your goal it will taste like ash or drive you beyond reason to compromise or see good counsel. Poor Thorin...."

Then the dwarf smiled at the Beorning, "and two more things. The fields about are suitable you need more mushrooms in your fare and dig a cellar for the beer, it will keep better in the summer, your honey brew however is the best between the wood and the stone. I'll take some with me."

The next day the dwarf Balin headed east and the Longspear headed north to the Hall of Beorn.

A two wheeled cart bore the marker stone from some place called the North Farthing and Hathcyn walked with the cart thinking of all that was said and unsaid since the battle of the Tarn. His mind and heart after speaking with the dwarf had shifted. The brooding had lessened, the sorrow grown less, and his mind thought less on dwelling and again towards action. His stride lengthened and his spear lighter in his hand as he made his way to Beorn's Hall.

In a short time the Longspear found himself seated at the board of Beorn. Honeycakes upon the table and honeyed beer in hand. The hound Sardoc lay idly by the bench licking a beef bone Hathcyn had brought with him for the purpose of the dog's amusement. What would have been out of place anywhere but in the hall of Beorn the man and the dog were friends and spoke often.

"I'm a fool Sardoc, but I'm man enough to admit it and will wish her all the luck."

The paws gripped the bone, but the head rose to speak.

"Rathkin, you are fool. You rav the mind of a fox, rumping river and ron. Ruff are you talking about?"

"Lady Aestid. I have been slow to fulfill my promise of being a greater man and winning her a crown."

The hound laughed in breathy weezy way.

"Roo are blinder than a mole Fox man. She's waiting for you. Rust last week she rebuffed Jormir Brokenclaw and said, 'badgers are prickly and sour, but the fox is cunning if maybe slow.' Your nose needs training if you cant follow that trail."

"I thought.."

"Rumans are always thinking instead of following their nose. Case in point."

The lady of the north had entered the hall silently behind him.

"Wassail the Longspear, troll fighter and horn blower, standard bearer of the Wolfslayer, and cutter of roads. I find you here again."

"The hound out foxed the fox for once. You heard my words then."

She smiled, "a fox may be cunning and quick, but the field mouse is silent and listens."

Hathcyn gently kicked the dog in jest, but began in earnest.

"I thought that my ambitions were your own. In my desire for fame and personal glory I projected it on others. I read in others what I wanted for myself. I misunderstood you, I misunderstood myself."

"I would have come south if you asked."

Hathcyn stood in silence for a long moment, even the licking of the bone had stopped.

"I am called the kinslayer because I killed my brother. Foolish accident of youth or not it is true. My father lost two sons that day, one from my spear and the other from the lawgiver. Since then I have sought to redeem my name and standing. I sought gold and wealth out of desire for lordship. I sought glory and fame so my name would rise above the death of my brother and men would know me. I sought you out because you were lordly and came from a lordly family. I sought to use gold, and glory, and even you to further my own standing among men."

"That may be Hathcyn, but in your pursuits you have shown another man. One who stands by his friends, one who is willing to fight for the people, and one who is generous. You stood by Grimbeorn and Harhold at the steading, you saved and cared for the slaves of my father, you cut the forest road with your own hands, and you showed kindness to me when I was a fosterling from the north with no home and came the daughter of a Lord of a hated people. You say you were selfish and I say you have brooded over long on past deeds and motivations of your mind. Your actions speak louder. Cast aside this grim mood and brooding thoughts. You are a spearman of Beorn, you are to be my husband, and you are a good man."

Hathcyn took her hand in his and looked at her, really looked at her. He noted the hair braid ties decorating her apron, embroidered in her blouse a mouse the totem of her mother's people and a fox. Her loose raven dark hair and kind eyes.

He stood transfixed by her beauty and her keen kind mind. "Your hair will be braided soon..."

Then another voice.

"Longspear." Grimbeorn's heavy voice broke the spell of the moment.

Hathcyn sighed, "This hall needs doors!"

The hound by the bench laughed, "terrible noses."

**********
Hathcyn spoke in council with Beorn and Grimbeorn. A strange council even for that of men for in truth they cut and stacked wood for the hall. But the task left time for informal discussions on weighty matters.

"Wolfslayer, the battle of the Tarn showed us several things. One, that Arbogast is the most stubborn man I've ever met. Damn fool wont leave his poisoned lake. Two, a home and a people are a powerful thing. I have pondered how we are to use our stubbornness and our home to our advantage. The White Wizard and the Ghoul were both right about one thing, we dont have the strength to withstand the hordes and the evil that is coming. At least not as we presently are. I have thought on this."


I think we need to raise the tolls. The Carrock is secure and now so is the way to the forest road. By the strength of the Bear the mountain to the wood is passable, and it is the only such way. We have asked only for enough money to pay those who take up the task of watching, but we could ask for more and it will be paid.  I say this not to hoard the wealth, but with it we could buy better arms from Dale and the Mountain, and improve the settlement defenses that we have. The Tarn was weak in design if not in courage. The men of the Lake have water, the men of Dale have stone, we must be the men of wood and earth. With the money from the tolls we can pay to move earth and timber for stronger walls and deeper and higher dykes. And the water of the Duskwood would connect the woodmen. I have heard your friend Bandy say as much before. 'The water of the wood is a road free of mud.' To that end we must seek out and settle this issue with the River Maidens.

We must prepare for the coming storm, and to my mind it is by coin and by brave deeds we can set the course of our people in motion. Increase our strength and prepare for the coming storms."

[Eclecticon]

Holy crap, I love 'Great River Farthing'.  This stuff is pure gold.

[Eclecticon]

I know what I want to post now, but still have to find clear air to do it.  Tonight?  If not, then tomorrow. 

[Telcontar]

  paul I was thinking of writting another short bit that may factor into your portion. Bandy's wife was going to gift the stone of arsillon to the tarn and Lindowine the Trollslayer. So that its light would provide for the prople Bandy fought to save and their current great need of hope.

[Eclecticon]

Arbodag, son of Scyldag, bends his back in time with his son as together they row out upon the smooth, green surface of the Black Tarn.  When the battle was done, the corrupted River-maiden seems to have slunk into the deeper parts of the lake.  The foul mist that beset the village has given way to bright sun and the choking weeds have died back, allowing the black herons to return to their fishing in the shallows. 

Reaching a spot not so far that they cannot make out the figures watching from the shore, Arbogast stops rowing, stows his oar and, bracing his feet against the strakes, takes forth a net and flings it into the water.  Arbodag leans back against the gunwales and watches as his son draws the empty net back in and throws it once again.  "I never took you for a fisher," he says at last. 

"I have done most kinds of work that are to be done here," the Fire-watcher replies.  "But no, I am a poor fisher.  I do not think to return with a catch worth the effort." 

"Then what, if I may be so bold as to ask, are we doing out here?" 

Arbogast pulls the net in once more, gives it an appraising look, and throws it a third time.  "We are appearing unconcerned.  After a while, we will be returning safely to the shore." 

The older man cocks a bushy eyebrow.  "Is such a thing needful?" 

"I think it to be." 

"It is well to do it, then.  Why am I here?" 

The reply to a clearly-expected question is quick.  "You are here because you are known and trusted among the other clans of Woodmen-Town.  When you, Oderic and Cendag return home, the news will spread that you ventured forth on the waters of the Tarn and nothing more remarkable happened but your son failed to catch any fish." 

Arbodag frowns quizzically.  "Why should that matter?" 

"Because the folk think that the Tarn is cursed, and as long as that is true we can never truly rebuild.  Several of my kin here perished in the fighting, or of the privations of the siege.  Others will leave to seek a more secure home and will not return.  Word that the folk of the Black Tarn Hall are rebuilding and have a broad and calm lake to fish will draw some of those who even now seek new pastures in the Dalish lands beyond Mirkwood." 

"As it drew you, years ago." 

Arbogast's shoulders, working steadily as he draws the net in yet again, slump.  "Father, I know you think me to have abandoned..."

He is interrupted by his father's callused hand slapping the outer hull.  "No.  Once, yes, and for many years, but hear me now and hear me true: my brother perished this winter without even kinfolk by his side to bury him.  We had many differences, he and I, but it grieves me beyond measure that he was alone at the end." 

Arbogast looks his father in the eyes and is both surprised and not to see him weeping.  "You are so unlike me, and so like him.  For many years, I did not understand him, or you.  Likely, I still do not, but nor do I care.  When the news came that my son was beset, I could not bare the thought that you too might die without my saying another word to you." 

The old hunter wipes his nose on his already grimy sleeve.  "I know not how, for I never meant for such a thing, but I have fathered a hero.  I knew as much the night you and your companions found us in the hollow of the basilisks across the river, but could not say so.  Now, there is no room in me for any other thought: I give you my blessing, my son, and I give you my love, for I take great pride in having fathered you, even if you were raised by another."   

Never before has Arbogast seen such an earnest look upon his father's face.  "All I would ask of you, son, is that you give thought to leaving this place and returning to your kinfolk in Woodmen-Town.  My granddaughters are a delight to me, and your mother greatly desires to meet her daughter-in-law.  Please," he says, reaching for the younger man's hand and taking the net from it, "cursed or not, this place is not safe.  If you remain here, it will be the undoing of you." 

"Safe?" asks the Fire-watcher, his own eyes filled with tears at his father's unexpected words.  "Father, many years have I fought the Shadow, and I have learned its ways enough to know that no place in Middle-Earth is truly safe.  Even far-off and mighty Gondor, or the hidden halls of the Elves, are not truly safe, for the Enemy will send forth its hunting-hounds to find them, and its hosts to crush them, if the Free Peoples do naught but hide and think their strong gates or cunning wards protect them." 

He looks now to the shore, his expression hard.  "Our defences here have been sorely tested, but they have not failed, not at the utmost, and we shall build them anew, and stronger.  I wish for those to come and dwell here who seek not richer lands and greater ease, but who seek to challenge the darkness, for this place is a challenge, though softly-spoken, to the domination of the Shadow over Mirkwood.  If this means that the thralls of the Enemy will strike again, then it is well, for I know then where they shall attack and I know that I can fight them here." 

Now it is his turn to strike the timbers of the boat in his passion.  "I have striven all the days of my manhood to make myself a shield for my kinfolk, and for all the Free Peoples of Middle-Earth.  I would have this place become a greater shield, behind which Woodmen-Town, and all the great houses, and the folk of Beorn and Bard, and other folk beyond our ken, might be protected." 

Arbodag remains silent for several moments as Arbogast sits down and waits for him to respond.  Finally, he says "Well then, if I cannot dissuade you then I must aid you, for I would not have you fight your war alone.  Your brothers and I will spread the word to all who will listen: Black Tarn Hall has withstood the onslaught of the dark things of the Wood and will grow anew, like a cut-away branch of a strong tree.  Let all those who would curse the darkness and spit in the eyes of its servants come and dwell here, alongside my son." 

[Eclecticon]

Tom, I have an idea that I couldn't fit into that scene but which I can absolutely build off that.  Go ahead and lay it on us. 

Also, Arbogast and Hathcyn have done one Undertaking each.  Everyone else has two to choose from.  There's an index attached to the opening post if you need some ideas - I'm happy to explain anything you don't have the books for. 

For example, I think anyone attending Bandy's funeral could treat that as a 'There And Back Again' (Rivendell p 22-23) - the celebration of friendships past and present allows everyone to regain Hope equal to 1/3 of their starting score, but the tragedy that brought everyone together gives each character a permanent Shadow point (though not a negative Trait as with a bout of Madness). 

[Telcontar]

  i thought I used two? Guard the carrock and raise standing.

[tomcat]

Oooo... I will take advantage of the There and Back Again option! That will be one of Esgalwen's undertakings. I am working on the other as I read through them all. She had a Grim Year, so I think I want to tie it to Dale and the fact that she has been gone for at least 5+ months. I cannot see her holding a status within the Queen's guard and NOT be there.

That to me constitutes part of her grim year and effectively would free her from duty to Dale - unless we are going to be up there adventuring. Then I might rethink things.

[tomcat]

I marked Esgalwen with a permanent and increased her by 4.

[Eclecticon]

Tom, so you did.  My mistake was forgetting that raising Standing took an Undertaking.

[Telcontar]

  or does it.....

[GandalfOfBorg]

Grimbeorn will attempt the following undertakings:
1) There and Back for Bandy's funeral (+4 Hope, +1 Shadow)
2) Return to Carrock (Travel for Heal Corruption)

 

Travel -  1d12 : 3, total 3
Rolled 4d6 : 6, 4, 5, 5, total 20

[GandalfOfBorg]

Looks like all Hope restored and 4 Shadow removed, leaving 1 Perm Shadow remaining?
----------

Grimbeorn didn't immediately respond but continued to chop away.  Hathcyn did as well, eyeing his lord and friend to catch any of his mind, but also found himself thinking of his encounter in the hall.  Almost out of nowhere, the son speaks.  "I must away for the Carrock soon.  They've come, the dreams, the pull to the Heart by our ancestors.  When Hathcyn and I come back from honoring Bandobras, we will speak, and I will be off.  Hathcyn will stand in my charge until my return."  At that, he went quietly about the task in front of him.  Beorn nodded solemnly.

When another cord had been prepped and horn in hand, he spoke again, returning to his father's conversation.  "Provisions and preparation -- yes, I agree.  But with a new increase to tolls won't go well, especially with our friends and allies.  Sure to those further east or west or even south, but we should think differently about the others.  True trade might be our goal for our folk are not only hardy and grim, but skill and we have abundance of our own to share.  We might think to an exchange like stonecraft from Erebor for wood of our hills or husbandry for siegecraft of Dale or honey and herbs for Rhosgobel for, well, whatever the Wizard might seek of us?  We must be more in the world than tolls and a tidy road between the Wood and Mountains."

[Eclecticon]

Arbogast will also be present at the funeral, gaining one more permanent Shadow (taking his permanent score to three and his overall score to seven) and regaining five Hope, for a total of 11.  He's no longer Miserable! 

Which reminds me - though two Fellowship points got spent, the remaining two are still available for anyone except Esgalwen, so Grimbeorn and Hathcyn each regain an additional one, plus any for Fellowship foci.