Empty home

[Telcontar]

Celdrahil liked the way in which this plan was starting to come together. "Yes, the scribe would be a valuable asset. How good are you at scribing things and how familiar are you with the royal writs and seals of the Kingdom?
  So, we ride out to the manor, where I will claim the responsability for giving the girl away in mariage since her brother can not in order to fulfil the forms. I will try and remove the Lady from the House as it is improper for them to be dwelling together and stall the wedding by any other means I can. If we are forced to remain in the house then we will have some inside help for the sallying, and riding forth plan. Hmmm, Dirnhael, what about giving us some time to try this plan and if we run into difficulty you could challenge him to single combat. I recommend getting donkey, dressing a scarecrow to look like him, coat it in feathers and then ride around his villages and manors challenging him to a duel. that will get a response out of him. We used a similiar tactic fighting in the south to bring on a battle with an illusive enemy."

[tomcat]

With the ground work laid for their initial confrontation with Methilir, the companions took to the dining room and the warm food that had been set out for them. The warm potato soup was thick and creamy, tasting of rich, churned butter and cracked pepper, while the bread was fresh from the ovens with cracked wheat adorning the top of its golden crust. The men and elf sat and firmed up all plans that they saw necessary, and once done they retired to the main room and hearth where they enjoyed the contents of one of Durgil's kegs. Slowly, as the evening settled in, the group made their way to their beds.

With the coming of dawn, Pethron and Celdrahil rose early and prepared their gear for another journey. Dirnhael was a man of action and he was having trouble with leaving the fate of Ioreth in others hands, but he knew a direct approach would most likely escalate the conflict. It was better that he leave the situation for the noble and his royal writ from the king. It would take the two men a day and a half to make the ride to Methilir's lands, and so Dirnhael would need to exhibit patience.

Edrahil saw to the two men once they had finished the preparations. The Sindar drew upon his arcane talents and placed a glamour upon both, granting the ability for either to call him - no matter where, he would hear them. Once done, Celdrahil and Pethron mounted and rode away from the quaint villa and town of Dorthad. It was on the tenth day of Narwain (Sindar name for the month of January), called Afteryule by the simpler folks including the Hobbits of the Shire, that Pethron and his companion crested a snow-covered hillock and then looked down upon the small settlement and keep of Methilir.

They spurred their horses on until they came to the gates. Methilir's lands lay closer to the northern marches of Angmar and so his home was fashioned for war. Watchers from atop towers above saw the riders approach and cried out their arrival. A small man-door opened off the main gate doors and an armoured warrior came forward.

"Who calls," was the simple, but gruff, request.

[Telcontar]

Celdrahil approached the keep with the appraising eye of a military man. As they drew closer he evaluated the bearing and condition of the keep and the surrounding area from habit as much as for the particular mission at hand. As he approached he tried to think how his father or brother would carry themselves and act and he sought to imitate some of their mannerisms. He sat high in the saddle with his head in the air, as erect as possible while his head surveyed the countryside like a goose observed its surroundings. The bells of his harness jingled as they approached the keep and he took note how they were spotted from the walls.

Celdrahil looked at the man who had challenged his approach and at the countryside around him. He thought of waiting for his companion to answer for him, but this was not something that they rehearsed and initial reception and impressions would govern the outcome of this little adventure. So he answered in the Elvish tongue,

"I am Lord Celdrahil of Ithilien come to call upon the Lord of this keep and his hospitality."

[tomcat]

The thing that most caught Pethron and Celdrahil's attention was the sparseness of Methilir's compound, as if what could be salvaged was used and all else was sold off or put to some other service. The fields lay fallow, of course it was winter, but the two men could see that what was once manicured plot lines were now overgrown with bramble and weed. Lastly, the two visitors could see how martial the compound was set, but this came as no surprise to either as Methilir's lands were the frontier of the contested north. Beyond these lands was where Camentir, the Marshal of the King's Third Host, had returned to his watchwarden with the armies of Arthedain. In any case, the place did not exude any warmness or homeliness, as did Dorthad far away.

Celdrahil sat a moment, waiting for the reply from the gate keep, but none was forthcoming. Pethron could see that the man was of Eriadoran stock - those middle-men that had resided here from the times when Númenor was still in its glory - and most likely did not know the Sindarin tongue.

[Telcontar]

Celdrahil sat upon his mount and gazed towards the voice that called out and then looked to his companion.
Still in the Elvish tongue of the Dúnedain, "Pethron, by the seven scepters and the seven crowns what errand is this that we have been sent on? How am I to be a military observer and advisor under these conditions? Are the men of the North versed in the culture of the Elendili or is this man being rude on purpose?  Speak in whatever clicks and clucks that will make us understood instead of standing on this doorstep all afternoon."

Celdrahil looked around him and at the keep. "The defenses seem solid, the available strength inside would be the true test."

Celdrahil caused his horse to stamp and neigh impatiently to further his display of impatience.  Clearing his throat he called out to Methilir. "Lord Methilir!" He hoped the name at least would translate into the common tongue of this man and then glared at Pethron again and motioned for him to speak.

The companion at his side was close enough to see the slight smile on the warriors face as he acted out his part.

[BrianM]

Pethron smiled inwardly at Celdrahil's assumed attitude (or perhaps he really was like that after all). Moving slightly forward, the scribe addressed the confused looking gateman in the common tongue. "The Lord Celdrahil of Ithilien is come to speak with Lord Methilir." He leaned closer to the man, adding in a hushed but stern voice, "I trust that you will not keep my master waiting in this cold."

[tomcat]

With the common Westron words spoken, the man took on a more welcoming face, "Aye m'lords... forgive my ignorance. Not oft is the old-speech used here." The guard turned and made a signal to the men above in the gate tower, who in turn lowered their evident bows and made signal to someone below on the opposite side of the doors. A loud THUNK! was heard and then one of the gate doors creaked open to allow entrance to Celdrahil and Pethron.

Within the palisade, Methilir's home was better visible and both Dúnedain were even less impressed. The grey of the winter day only heightened the un-homely look of the noble's house. It was built of stone and great timbers, two-stories high with three-story towers that guarded its perimeter. The companions rode in and to the main house's entrance. There a hitching post was visible and they tied their mounts reins before they went to the doors. Word must have proceeded them in as the door swung open to reveal the thin, gaunt form of Methilir. The noble had a smile on his face, but both Pethron and Celdrahil could clearly see the viprous intent that it hid.

"Welcome travelers... to my home. I am Lord Methilir and I understand that I entertain one of my kinfolk from far off Ithilien?! Well met and far-travelled you be! My humble home is yours... please come in."

[Telcontar]

Celdrahil nodded to the gate keeper and examined the defenses as he rode through the gate. Once in the courtyard he looked around himself quickly drinking in the details for later assessment. With a fluid motion, of one who has traveled long in the saddle, he dismounted his horse and fastened it to the post. His shield with the emblem of his house hung still upon the saddle where he was accustomed to keep it and his sword hung lazily at his side.
    When the Lord of the Manor himself appeared at the door and gave his name the haughty outward appearance the noble carried lessened somewhat. Celdrahil planned to continue the act that his mastery of the common tongue was poor and was prepared to use the scribe as an interpreter to maintain the disguise if required and proceeded in the Elvish tongue.
     Celdrahil faced the lord of the house and touched his breast, bowing at the waist as he did so, upon raising he spoke the traditional words of the south.

"Lord of the House, son of Númenor, and scion of the Elendili, I seek hospitality within your home so that within its walls we may speak of the light of the west and lessen the burden of our exile."

"I am Lord Celdrahil, and would speak to you of matters of state for I come both as an emissary of the royal seat of Arnor, and a herald of the south." With a smile, "thus I am twice vexed and burdened with two masters and two tasks that have carried me to your door." 
Celdrahil did not know the skill of the man before him or who he might have in his employ so the words he spoke were the truth and would attempt to frame the truth in such a way that Methilir would come to assumptions on his own. While the formal request for hospitality would limit any overt help Celdrahil could provide he hoped that the ancient customs and sanctity of hospitality would assist and protect him more than hinder his mission as he entered the vipers den. As these thoughts played through his head he thought of his brothers and father in far Ithilien, and began to understand in a small measure the burdens they carried in dealing with the politics of the realm. The miles he had traveled seemed so far to him at this moment, but the words of the Lord drew him back to the task at hand.

[BrianM]

Pethron played the role of Celdrahil's scribe, walking behind his 'master' and speaking only when spoken to. All the while he took in the sombre view of Methilir's home, though to call it a 'home' was an overstatement. It certainly convinced the scribe that Methilir was capable of the evils he had committed and yet contemplated. Pethron also wondered if Ioreth and Gléowyn were being treated well in such a bleak place.

[sdrotar]

The waiting was getting to Dirnhael. Pacing back and forth in Durgil's family home, the Dunedain's deep breaths through his nose could be heard in the next room.
Yes, he was feeling more healthy all the time, but as much as he liked Pethron, he knew the scribe was no soldier, and Celdrahil - well, he didn't know a thing about him yet.

He had agreed to wait, and he would do so... but he would not like it; less with each passing hour.

[ZehnWaters]

"How are you feeling?" Vidugavin asked Dirnhael, sitting down next to the injured man.  "You look upset.  Fear not, I'm sure everything will turn out alright."

[sdrotar]

"How are you feeling?" Vidugavin asked Dirnhael, sitting down next to the injured man.  "You look upset.  Fear not, I'm sure everything will turn out alright."

"That makes one of us," Dirnhael grumbled.

He didn't mean to grouse at the man; he knew he was making a poor impression. But he couldn't help himself; it seemed that Methilir was ahead of them in every way and had his moves planned perfectly. Dirnhael didn't care about politics and the self-indulgent posturing of nobles, he just wanted Ioreth back safely. And frankly, he'd rather be doing it himself.

"I'm sorry," he said. "There is much on my mind. I have risen, quite by accident, to a station in this society that I never aspired to, and it has brought me nothing but sorrow, save the woman that Methilir holds against her will. To have no control over the situation further deepens my frustration, but it is not your fault. I appreciate your concern... once again."

[ZehnWaters]

"I understand your frustration," Vidugavin replied.  "You seem like myself; a man of action.  Not being able to do something, even if it be simply traveling, can be vexing.  What's worse, you're laid up with injury.  When you feel up to it, we could go riding, if you wish.  The fresh air might do you good."