CHAPTER 12 - Treasures of the Earth

[Eclecticon]

Warm and bright, summer has settled over Wilderland and the shores of the Black Tarn echo with splashing and laughter as children, under the watchful eyes of spear-armed mothers and aunts, leap from the broad back of the petrified troll, now tumbled and half-sunk in the mud, into the water.  Snatches of working songs, and the rhythmic striking of axes into wood, drift from further inland as the score or more of young men, recently arrived in response to the entreaties of the Tarn-folk, put their strong shoulders to use felling lumber and raising new buildings inside the repaired palisade: here a home, here a granary, here (at last) a forge.  Still more might have come south, but for the call for aid from Hartfast of Mountain Hall, for many goblins have the miners of the Woodmen heard on the march through deeper delvings in the Misty Mountains. 

"They will be safe, husband," Lindwine assures Arbogast with a squeeze of his hand.  Her other does not leave the haft of her spear.  "Were you she, would you try such a ferocious band?" 

"Nay," he replies, his gaze leaving the shallows for the first time, "though all the treasures of the Dwarf-King were theirs to guard!  Very well, I shall go, and hasten back when I may.  In the meantime..."

"In the meantime, we know very well how to live without you, and have done so for many long months in the past.  Go, and trouble yourself not over us." 

The Fire-watcher leaves his wife with a kiss, and his daughters with a wave.  Pausing only to dry his feet and don his boots, he sets forth.

Two days later, having followed familiar paths to Rhosgobel, the same boots tread the path of crushed white stone to the house of Radaghast.  He does not pause to knock at the door, for the ease with which he is able to approach the cottage is itself invitation enough.  Within, creatures of fur and feather flutter and scurry aside with clearly audible umbrage as the Brown Wizard looks up from his cooking fire.  "Ah," he says, "you're here.  I wondered when you and I might find ourselves having a chat face to face.  Come!  Sit and be comfortable.  I have here...  I think..." 

As the wizard's train of thought descends into incomprehensible muttering, Arbogast takes the opportunity to practice small talk.  "The white one dwells no longer with you?  I had thought he planned to stay for years?" 

Radaghast's head emerges from a cupboard fashioned out of an enormous oak-gall.  "Yes, well... there were some disagreements between the two of us in the year gone.  I think it came as a relief to both of us when our grey friend arrived with urgent tidings and the two of them had to leave." 

"Are you..."

"Oh, yes.  Just fine.  Saruman is the Wisest of the Wise, after all, and not the type to let a petty personal matter turn his eye from the goal of all our order." 

The Fire-watcher nods his approval, as if Saruman were here to receive it, or would deign to do so.  "I have been thinking." 

"This surprises me not at all," answers the wizard from within the depths of a barrel, voles and shrews running unheeded up his arms and over his back. 

"Black Tarn Hall is rebuilt as strong and fast as before, and young seekers of glory and fame have come to reside there."  With the blessings of their family, he thinks.  How some things have changed! 

"Well," Radaghast returns, a cup of ale in his hand and some slices of meat upon a half-clean plate, "they shall provide good sport for the womenfolk of Amaleoda's clan.  I hear they prefer such," he says, eyes mock-innocent. 

Arbogast ignores the jest.  "To endure another siege, though, we need the Tarn.  With it, we could bring in supplies with ease, and ferry out the wounded and sick." 

"You speak of the River-maiden?" the wizard asks, a sadness now come upon his countenance. 

"She must either be healed, or slain.  I see no other option that allows my folk to survive." 

Radaghast sighs, and for a while is lost in his thoughts.  The Fire-watcher waits, allowing him time as he would one of the clan elders.  Finally, the wizard speaks again, his voice soft.  "I would that you had no cause to speak of slaying, though I know well why you would do so, for I knew Duskwater when she was the youngest of her sisters and delighted in the swift and shallow waters where the river comes forth from the mountains.  Long have I sought to make right the wrong that has been done to her, and is being done still this very day!" 

He looks back to Arbogast.  "And, since you mention Saruman, I should credit him with giving me the seed of the idea I have nurtured for restoring her to the side of the Free Peoples!"  Before Arbogast can say another word, he continues, his words coming in a rush.  "Tell me, how much do you know of the Horse-lords?"

Another week, and the Fire-watcher's boots, dusty from travel, tread the well-worn path past the weirding fence and up the hill to the Fox's Tale. 


Over to you guys for a little scene-setting.  Arbogast has come looking for the rest of the Fellowship - who does he find here?  What are they up to?  What news do they bring from places further afield?

[Eclecticon]

I'll give this until tomorrow morning (my time) and then just make some stuff up.

[Telcontar]

  Paul im on the last couple days of my vacation and flying back to germany tonight. I'll get something up when I get a chance.

[Eclecticon]

Alright, fair enough.  Sorry for sounding snitty.

[tomcat]

I will be doing a post here, Paul, but I want to see if the encounter in Rhosgobel pans out for anything that might interest Esgalwen.

Maybe this could give us another dungeon crawl? The old Elftower is said to be haunted, or house a sorcerer.

I also will be tying in her grim year result with my next post.

[Telcontar]

When Arbogast asked to be pointed towards the Fox's Tale he was surprised to see that it was one of the larger buildings by the mouth of road. The building seemed to be both open and under construction at the same time. A great fly was hung from one of the walls, but as he drew near he saw that it's shade was cast over tables and benches so travelers could feel the cool breeze blowing from the wood and still drink honeyed mead and ale. The inside was wide and spacious and shared the same under construction aspects of the exterior. Benches lined the walls of the hall and interspersed could be found craftsman drawing upon the timbers or chiseling out their work. Hathcyn it seemed had been impressed by the work of Woodmen hall and was emulating their style, but with Beorning themes. The loud voice of the master of the house seemed to provide the only song above the din, the Firewatcher's coming did not go unnoticed.
"Well, well, well, here he is the shield of Stone Troll Lake!" Hathcyn greeted him in good cheer.
"I did not expect to find the Longspear of Stony Ford wearing an apron..."
"Nor will you Arbogast, nor will you. An Apron is too much responsibility for a wandering rouge like me. But come sit down."

Hathcyn brought his friend to a side table and dropping a mug on the table disappeared for a moment. On his return he carried parchments.
"I'm glad for the visit for it will save me from having to send these to you."
Hathcyn cast the parchment on the table and unrolled the first. "I had a boatman in the tavern several weeks ago. I promised him a barrel of honey beer if he would favor me with some information. Here is the map he drew of the river as it runs through the wood and into the Tarn. The distances are vague, but here from his memory are the markers and landmarks the polemen use. I thought it would be of use to you."
He rolled another document over the first. "But here is something that will surely be of interest."
The parchment was a plan of something. They outlined a timber structure and listed the angles and views of timbers and supports.
"This I just received from Tate from the Long Lake. I asked him to send me a drawing of the great decks of the floating city, but he has done me one better. Here is a plan of the gangway and the tower of Laketown. I thought that the skill of the Lakemen would be of use to you even though your home does not sit on so broad a lake. Perhaps a pier or a great hall upon the lake would serve you and your folk should the need arise again."
He pointed to the drawing, "Here. The approaches are narrow and the water itself would be a barrier, fewer of your folk would be needed to watch the approaches of the water or to defend the gangway. And you could draw water and fish still from the lake should you fall under siege, or provide a means of escape in the darkest of need."
Hathcyn smiled, "I still think you a fool for staying, but I though these would help you. So what brings you here to the north?"

[GandalfOfBorg]

"He comes from the South and the way the birds speak of it, from further than his domain.  Rhosgobel maybe?" interjects Grimbeorn as he pulls a chair up to the table with his friends of old.  "Pardon, my friend, since the business with the spawn of the Misty Mountains terrorizing you, I sent some of our most trusted feathered friends to keep an eye down your way.  The scion of the Bear had grown and seemed even more bear-like in his manner and visage since last either Arbogast or even Hathcyn had laid eyes upon him.  "His arrival and your plans, methinks they are not so far removed from one another?"

[Eclecticon]

From the moment he sees the plans of the Lake-men's constructions, Arbogast is transfixed.  For some minutes he stares fixedly at them, muttering now and then under his breath, until Hathcyn looks to his lord and says "I fear we may have lost him." 

The Fire-watcher looks up at his friends, a broad grin splitting his face.  "Ah, Longspear, no cook's apron befits you (or so you say) but a builder's perhaps?  This is magnificent, and your kind thoughts I shall not forget.  As to you, Grimbeorn Dire-beard, you are cunning as ever, for I have from Radaghast himself that there is a way to heal the Black Tarn, though it will be as harrowing a thing as ever we have done together." 

Carefully rolling up Hathcyn's parchments, he takes forth from his knapsack a third parchment, clearly much used, for though the crudely-sketched map of the Anduin vales is plain the stains where ink has previously soaked into it show through in many places.  "The full plan I will explain when we are all gathered, for I would not have it said that any were brought with me knowing not whither they would go, nor what they would face there.  But for now, I will say that our task begins with a treasure hunt." 

He plonks a callused finger down on a spot far in the northern vales, seemingly in the very shadow of a twisted and heavily-shaded peak that is clearly Mount Gundabad.  "I have listened to the tales told by the elders of my folk, and they speak of a people who once dwelled in a great city, here where two rivers meet.  Though they are many centuries gone, it is said that some of their treasures may yet remain, buried in secret places awaiting a return that never came.  It is my hope that there is some truth to these tales." 

"Tell me, men of the Vales," he says, sitting back on his bench, "What do you know of the Éothéod?"

[GandalfOfBorg]

"I'm sure you've encountered more of their folk than we have being further south, but there is occasion that one of those yellow-haired horsemen rides this far north.  Usually a skald of note seeking something of their history to please a lord or a token to prove their worth.  There is one family 'ere about that has distant relations with them, a warden of some sort as I understand it.  Of their horses, now, father and his herd know more than I," replies Grimbeorn.

[Telcontar]

Hathcyn stroked his whiskers. "A treasure hunt? How does this relate to the Tarn? Dont get me wrong we just recently spoke about the need for coin for defenses and better war gear for our people, but before I get ahead of myself how will this aid you?"

[Eclecticon]

At Hathcyn's question, Arbogast's demeanour darkens.  "Not directly, but by subtle means the like of which even I oft forget our brown friend to be capable.  The full plan I will rehearse to you when Esgalwen is here and, if I may, not before." 

Though his eyes do not shift, a subtle change in his posture, a pricking perhaps of his ears, indicates him to be paying attention now to the busy room about them.  When he speaks again it is softer, his voice masked by the sound of chisels shaping wooden beams.  "The Enemy has spies abroad, mayhap even here, so I shall say now only that, once we have what we seek, I ask you to accompany Radaghast and I deep into the heart of Mirkwood.  Deeper, perhaps, than Men have dared in this age of the world." 

[Telcontar]

"Well perhaps this will be the journey where we fight only those things which draw breath and can bleed. I'm with you Woodman."

[GandalfOfBorg]

"Mysterious you are, Arbogast.  There was once a day that I would have called you out on the mere notion that any of our people were capable of doing evil to our land, let along in league with the Enemy.  We have traveled to far, fought hard, and seen too much to discount those thoughts now.  After coming back from The Carrock, I have heard plenty of comings and goings and possible plots and schemes from here to the White Mountains, to the North, and even west and south beyond the great wood."

"But my own news has a similar tone in that it shall leave this table.  Once we have returned from the quest into the wood, my time as my father's right hand comes to an end and I will take up his mantle.  The moon and earth have spoken -- it is the way of things."

[Telcontar]

Hathcyn was taken aback by this last bit of news from the Wolfslayer.

"What was that?"

The Longspear was conflicted by this last comment by the Aetheling. The simple words were packed with emotion and deep feeling.

"What news is this held to the last and spoke so casually?"

[GandalfOfBorg]

"Not so casually, my friend.  I can speak no more of it now but with time it will come more apparent that it is the right thing to do.  The stars at The Carrock spoke as much."