RPG.avioc.org

It was like a whirlwind for the companions. They had just returned to Rhosgobel and already they packed their gear for another ride north.

Arbogast was the most troubled by it, as his home and family were but a short ride east and he hadn't seen them for close to a year. His daughters were growing and he wondered if they were now toddling about the homestead. He prayed to the Powers that they were all well, but no news had come to him telling him differently. Only that the Black Tarn itself was becoming more dangerous, which only increased his worry.

Save for weariness, the others were not worried about moving on again. In fact, the Halfling was excitedly anticipating the next leg of their journey. The companions readied the horses with traveling gear and hard tack. They did not know how long they would be gone, or where the travels would take them and so they prepared for the worst, but hoped for the best. It was decided that Udo would ride with Esgalwen - partially because she had brought him, and also because a friendship was growing. Esgalwen was pleased to see her horse again - returned here to Rhosgobel by Arbogast and Grimbeorn. The two men had led her horse back, too, when they found that all three were safe in Beorn's stockades.

The day was spent with preparations and then they returned to the long house for food and drink. The Fellowship would leave with the rising of the sun. And so, when bellies were full and tongues were tired they made their way to their beds and fell into restful sleeps. Only Morirúsë espied the Brown Wizard as he silently entered each of the companions rooms and took their weapons from where they lay.

"What are you up to, old man?" inquired the Elf in a whisper.

"I send these young people out to face an enemy of a type that they have only once confronted. I will not let them go with mere weapons of Men."

"And you have the craft to make Shadow bane weapons?"

"My crafts are many, but it is my place to advise the folk of this world. I will leave it to those who possess Middle-earth and who have the craft to enhance these blades."

Morirúsë immediately knew who the wizard spoke of - Elves. In particular, Noldorin Elves, and there were only two places where such craftsmen resided. "Do you have wings, Radagast? Can you spirit yourself away and return with the sun bearing gifts that these Second-comers perhaps do not deserve?"

"You underestimate these folk at your peril, Morirúsë. Great are their deeds thus far and many more will they have before them. Do not discount them, for was it not Men that aided the Noldor long ago against the Unnamed One? He that was cast out through the Doors of Night?"

The Noldo knew this to be true, but it was Fingolfin and his sons that took the Second-born as allies. The Sons of Fëanor - the house he still served though none now lived, save perhaps one - made use of their aid, but never gave them dominion over any of their lands. And so to Radagast's questions, Morirúsë merely grunted.

The reaction caused the wizard to scowl. "No matter," he said, dismissing Morirúsë with a wave, "Yes, I can fly...or at least my friends can."

The Noldorin Elf walked out of the small house in which the Company slept, to watch as Radagast strode towards a great shadow in the night and climbed atop its back. "Come now Gwaihir, we have far to go and much to do before the sun rises again."

There was a rush of air as the eagle swept its great wings outward and flapped into the night. Morirúsë continued to watch as long as his Elf-sight would allow, as the great bird disappeared to the west.

---

:ooc: Give me some time tonight to determine what 'gifts' I can come up with as enchantments laid upon your weapons.

These rewards will not be counted among those you earn with advancements.

Morirúsë watched long before he fadded from sight, the wizard had not been wrong in all he said. If the story he heard about the companions  fighting the Specter of Gundabad and the great spiders of the forest were true they were courageous fighters. The wizard was wrong in one point only, his master had invited the Folk of Haleth into his service. They had declined. Overlate it was that Caranthir saw their worth, and in that battle they fought like beasts brought to bay in a last desperate fight. This place reminded him a little of those sanctuaries of old that the Edain had built, though he again turned his mind from dwelling to much on memories of the old days.

Returning to the sleeping space the elf took a piece of rolled birch from among his things and in the fadding light of the fire he began to sketch a picture of Esgalwen and Udo as he had seen them first in the forest. With quick and slow strokes the Elf spent the time before dawn bring fine detail to his work. The picture almost done, he tossed the bark into the fire and whispered to himself, "love not too well the work of thy hands Noldo Elf."

Elrond watched the eagle land and Radagast slide from its great back. He smiled as the old man hobbled forward, leaning on his staff and carrying his burden under his other arm.

A sword. Two bearded axes. A spear.

"Hello, old friend," said the Master of Rivendell. The moon shone brightly above the vale.

"I come with their items. It is my wish that your craftsmen might be able to aid them in their task. Can it be done?"

"Whatever powers that the Elves still keep here within the bounds of Middle-earth shall be put forth, but long gone are the days of the great makers."

"Yes, I know," answered Radagast. "The destruction of Eregion erased the world of crafts and makers that shall not be seen again. Even the Dwarves and Númenóreans could not achieve their abilities. Yet I know that within your house, Master Elrond, some still here keep that knowledge."

"It is true. Come, time is short and there is much to do."

And so the forges of Rivendell were fired and those Elven-smiths that had worked their crafts when Beleriand still was above the waves took the weapons of the Fellowship.

Udo's spear was quickly determined to be of crude and simple make, and so instead a spear was chosen from Elrond's armory. Its haft was shortened to the same length as that preferred by the Halfling, and thus set aside until the rest of the weapons had been treated.

Nimronyn and the two axes were shown great respect, for the Elves could see that they had been crafted by smiths of great skill, but there were things that could be done. The hafts were removed and the axe-heads were set within the fire. Esgalwen's sword's pommel, grip and hilt were removed and its length from tip to tang was also fired.

Heated to great temperature - greater than what could be achieved by Men - the weapons were hardened along their edges. Keen and grievous they were made, but superior to what they had been, and when done they were set to cool. The sword was reassembled and soft leather was wrapped around its grip. The two axe-heads were placed on new hafts of hardwood of a kind that only grew within the protection of Rivendell. Each were measured to the same length as that previously removed, and leather was wrapped where each weapon would be gripped.

Once done, the weapons were sent to the white-smiths in Elrond's house. Here the metal was worked in elegant inscriptions - the sigil of the House of Anárion was laid into the metal of Nimronyn. Esgalwen was not of direct descent, but it was this house that her line had served back to the days of Númenór. A bear's head was inscribed into Bear Claw and a tree into the Warden's Axe. Along with the sigils representing each of the weapons' owners, were placed runes of Elven work. Into these runes were laid spells of keeping and banes to the Enemy.

Lastly, the Elven handmaidens of Rivendell worked through the night on sheathes for each weapon - crafted of fine leathers and made so that none of the weapons contained would show tarnish for all of their days.


The sun was rising as Gwaihir swooped down over the Anduin Vale. The river sparkled below like a golden ribbon across the land. Radagast was pleased. They would make it to Rhosgobel before breakfast was finished. He smiled to himself as he thought of the companions rummaging about, looking for their items.

:ooc: Awesome post, Tom!

Remember, too, that Haleth declined but Maedhros made alliance with Ulfang the Easterling who took up residence within the realm of Caranthir. Ulfang's betrayal caused Caranthir to lose his lands and retreat to  Amon Ereb.

So - Morirúsë may have a bit of spite towards Men because of this, too. Just food for story!  ;)

 :ooc: oh the doubt of faithlessness is waiting for a chance to come out too! Still working on getting a feel for this guy.

Reluctantly, Arbogast stirs from his bed beneath one of the large tables of the hall.  Standing and stretching quietly, so as not to disturb the many folk who still slumber around him, he spies the company's weapons neatly arranged in a pyramid by the hearth, like a well-banked fire.  Puzzled, he looks to Morirúsë, who sits nonchalantly, his countenance giving no hint of what went on in the moonlit hours.  The Fire-watcher cocks an eyebrow at the Elf.  What has taken place here, he clearly means, and how are you involved?


:ooc: I'll never gripe about any part of my kit being improved, but it's kind of a shame that all the attention's being lavished on an already-enchanted axe.  The shield is more what Arbogast has always been about.  :P

"Twas no trick of mine, Woodman. In the dark of night they rose from your sides and took flight, then returned glowing with dweomer craft and stacked themselves by the fire."

Morirúsë smiled. "Wizadry mortal man, wizadry."

Arbogast detected the hint of a joke, but also that in substance the story were true. He also noted that already the elf's speech was adapting to the current speach of his folk.

"Today we hunt the beast, and on this day your deeds will draw closer to the great stories of your sires of long ago. Let us get the others."

Grimbeorn was roused by the talk by Arbogast and their new "boon" companion.  "I've heard that Elves haven't slept since the time before time and that it is their mouths running that have kept them awake since," he yawned.  Upon seeing what happened with the weapons, he was a bit perturbed that his ancestral weapon had been taken but hefting it and inspecting the work, he gave a grunt of approval.  "Let's roused the others, the hunt can't come soon enough."

:ooc: Weapon changes have been added to all PC sheets  :csu:

Understand that if you had originally purchased Keen or grievous for your weapon, the Elves made it Superior Keen or Grievous. The benefit is just increased to the superior bonus and the original cost of Keen or Grievous is still part of your PC's Valour rewards usage.

---

The companions rode in silence.

It would take them the full day to reach Woodmen-town, as they skirted the woods, riding instead along the western eaves. It did not offer any cover for them, but it made for quicker travel. There was no fear, too, of a horse harming itself from the unsure footing under the boughs. Roots of Mirkwood grew thick and they could twist the ankle of any traveler.

Song birds sung and insects buzzed in the late summer heat, but the sounds were not common - or normal. They were more a warning. The feeling of the forest was ever present, as if it watched their passage. Arbogast felt it - though he could not put his finger on it. Mirkwood seemed more oppressive now, more so than it ever had. The shade under the leaves was more threatening like it hid new secrets and foes. He had always been careful in the woods and treated it with great respect, but now there was something more...something...evil.

The man could not shake the feeling. He wondered if it was just in his mind. All of the talk of spiders, wolves, ghosts, and more, along with all he had done and seen - was it just amplifying his own fear? The potential threat to his family - was that the problem? Arbogast stared into the trees and thought of the beauty there, but it was quickly suppressed by images of Dol Guldur and the bridge; the horrific green mist that hung over the moat; the terrible Shadow in the hills of the northern vales. He shook his head and expected the cobwebs of fear and doubt to disappear...but they did not.

"What is wrong?" came the pleasant voice of Esgalwen, as she rode up next to him. "You look like something is about to bite you."

The trill of her laughter at her joke both eased Arbogast's nerves, but also upset him. She should not make light of this place, he thought.

The sun crossed the sky as the miles passed.

At long last, they turned east and entered the woods. They would ride for ten miles, or so, under the leaves until they came to the river and the hill upon which sat the town.

It was dusk when they arrived and the gate wardens monitored their approach. As soon as the Fellowship was within ear shot, a call was made to halt their advance.

"Oi! The hour is dark and strangers at the gate need stop a'distance. State your names and business at this hour. Be quick, or be on your way back the way you came!"

"madiglihe, as you are saving your words for winter I shall announce you."

Morirúsë pitched his voice deep and loud.

"Grimbeorn Madiglihe son of Beorn has come, with his companions. Throw open your rude gate and praise him with great praise!"

:ooc: Grimbeorn "Honey Eater"... wow, this Elf may truly be a dick.  (-D   ;)

The two guards on the gate looked to each other at the mention of the name.

"Let the scion of House Beorn come forth and speak for himself. We ask that he ride up to the gates while his banner-men await our decision."

The Beorning bristles at being spoken for, no less in imitation of his own voice.  He mutters something under his breath regarding Elves and their suspect lineages as he proceeds forth.  Though people of this village are known to him and his folk, he approaches with caution.  His visage bears no less a scowl than when he was called forward.  "With whom shall I speak to gain entrance?  The road is long and weary, for we hunt the scourge of these wood."

In the grey of dusk, the hulking shape of Grimbeorn can be seen below and is quickly recognized. The Beorning had been to Woodmen-town before and many had marked his shape and appearance.

The guard on the gate shouts an answer, "Forgive us Master Grimbeorn! These days, the wood spills forth more dangers than certainties. Due to the hour, we needed to make sure. You and your company are welcome!"

With that, the wooden gates were unbarred and they swung open to allow entrance. As the Fellowship rode through the arch, they could feel the watch's eyes upon them. These men were being very cautious. Something was wrong.

They wound their way through the village streets, passing through the second palisade until the House of Balthi was seen. Soft light glowed from within welcoming their arrival. They dismounted and strode the few remaining steps to the hall and opened the doors. Inside, the folk of Woodmen-town were finishing up the day's feast. A minstrel played music while a trio performed acrobatics. On the opposite side of the table, a huntsman was holding his longbow with its string to his cheek, though no arrow was nocked. Other men around him spoke and questioned him in regards to its use.

The first face to be recognized was Fridwald the Runner - the man had attended the Folk-moot years passed, representing the folk of Woodmen-town. He looked up from his seat on the dais and saw the newcomers. He held up a hand and the music stopped, as well as the cacophony of talking soon after.

"I recognize these face! T'is Grimbeorn of the Carrock, and Arbogast, now of the Black Tarn! Welcome travelers! Come, take rest at our table and we shall fill you a cup."

From his left, Arbogast heard a familiar voice. "Welcome home, brother."

He turned to see the fiery-red hair of his younger brother, Oeric.

Morirúsë dismounted and gazed at the light coming from the house.

"Esgalwen, what light from yon window breaks? Tis a strange and wonderous light me thinks and no hands of Mannish smith had the make of it, nor Gonnhirrim in secreted halls. What know you of this?"

With a hearty laugh, Grimbeorn did join the others and joined in their merriment.  Drink flowed and others called for meat while song and story was spun.  As time went on, tongues loosened and eyes became heavy.  It was then that he began inquiring more into what has been happening of late and why the overbearing eye was given them and others who approach.

:ooc: Okay, just moving the timeline back a step...



"Oeric, my brother.  Grim is the hour of our arrival, for as my companion says, we are come to hunt the fell Beast of the Wood.  Tell me, how fare our kin?  I have heard also of elves abroad nearby.  Know you aught of this?"

Quote from: Telcontar on Jul 29, 2017, 05:56 AM"Esgalwen, what light from yon window breaks? Tis a strange and wonderous light me thinks and no hands of Mannish smith had the make of it, nor Gonnhirrim in secreted halls. What know you of this?"

Esgalwen looked to the light that shone mutely from the upper tier of the Woodmen hall. "I know naught, Morirúsë? Is there something special about the light?" To the woman it seemed dim, as if it were covered with a sheer blanket or it shone through dark glass. "Perhaps you can ask Arbogast, for he grew up within this town."

Across the room, Oeric nodded at Arbogast in response, "Yes. News came to us some weeks past of Elves across the river. They have not approached our town, but we do not know why they are here. It is rumored that they hunt the creature that has been filling the nights with dread. A terrible howling that keeps woman and child awake with fright." Arbogast did not hear the same curtness in his brother's voice, as he had during his prior visit. The younger man seemed...afraid. "Mother and father are well, though father has left with others from the village. Uncle Lafdag joined him and they are scouring the territory to assure this beast does not attack. The hope is they can find it and kill it where it sleeps."

And so did the conversation continue as others from the room began to tell their tales. Room was made at the table for the new arrivals and mead cups were filled. Fridwald was here to maintain the town as the other elders hunted the beast. No shame was extended to the man, as he was no longer young and he would have been a liability to the other hunters.

"Men from Woodland Hall have come south, also, to aid in this task, but no word has come from the wood since the parties left."

It was early and often that Morirúsë heard that seldom the elves of the woo came to the Woodmen. He despaired of explaining that he was no wood elf and instead spoke only that he was here to help slay the beast in question.
He was struck by how youthful a people they were, even that it was mostly the old who had been left behind as a people they seemed young to his eyes and ears. At first it was the irritation of being surounded by children, but soon he warmed to them. It had been long since he had sat at the board with the Atani. 

Arbogast takes in the sight of his younger brother, marking how he has changed in the nearly two years since they last saw one another.  Oeric's beard is fuller – now that of a full-grown man – and the cares of manhood have just begun to line his face.  Little trace now remains of the boy who once boasted that he would climb the tallest tree in the wood, and spiders be damned!  

The Fire-watcher listens with some alarm Oeric mentions that his father and uncle have gone to hunt the Werewolf.  Lafdag in particular is no suitable hunter of such a thing, with his lamed leg he would be little better than bait.  Yet, as he listens to his brother's accounting of the livestock and property already destroyed, he understands.  Lafdag's steading, lying some distance from the protection of Woodmen-town's palisade, has suffered more than most from the depredations of the Beast.  Now that the local men seek to bring it to bay, they have made sure that they count among their number the one who knows most of its comings and goings.  

Still, though, we ought to find them and send them home, he thinks.  Else we shall find ourselves trying to pull them from a fire they have unwittingly built underneath themselves.

Returning to the others, he relates what he has learned.  "Men of my folk are abroad in the wood, seeking the lair of the Beast, and there are elves nearby, across the Dusky River.  I would seek out both, if such be possible."  

"Well the hour is late, Arbogast? Is it your wish to pursue them now or do you want to wait until the morning?" Esgalwen looked at him and waited for a reply.

Grimbeorn's inquires yielded same as Arbogast, hard times and strife where the best was concerned.  When he heard his friend made his call, he returned it with a look of eagerness to return to the road and seek out the men, elves, or beast.

Morirúsë sat and talked and laughed with the men in the hall, the wine and mead seemed to be in endless supply. The elf was not able to rebuff the requests for a song or a tale and eventually he yielded. Bending he picked up an axe and showed the keen edge of the blade to those who stood near him, he set it down and stood, mead in hand.

"Hear now, oh Men of Greenwood the Great a tale of the fathers of the fathers of men. When they woke they first met the elves of the wood, from whom they learned speech and much about the world. Speech was a fine thing, though some here would use it sparingly, but other tools the Fathers of men would need to make their way in the wider world. The Dark Elves had naught but slender bows and hid their faces from the foul beasts of the forest, but not so these fathers of men. They looked to the west and light and would not permit these beasts to keep them from their fate. West they came through forest and plain, until finally they came upon Gonhirrim, the Masters of Stone.

At first the fathers of men ran from this folk, thinking them hoary beasts of steel and scale, but they also heard them speak so in time they approached them. The masters of stone wielded great axes, sharper than any short knife then known by men. In friendship the axe was given to men, and by the Masters of Stone they were taught the felling of trees and the building of halls. So from that day to this in memory of the gift the blade is still called a bearded axe, a gift from the dwarves."

There was laughter around the table at this simple story, "and what of these axes Master Elf, surely they cut more than wood, or do you jest with us Woodmen?" They all laughed again.

 Morirúsë took another swallow of wine, "oh so its tales of war you men of the wood wish to hear? those too I have in great store."

"Now these men were great friends of the folk of Durin, and together they went to war against the creatures of shadow. For even in the great and distant past the orcs and wargs were the enemies of all. Ever west however the hearts of the fathers of men yearned and they had heard tell of another settlement of the bearded folk further west, and beyond that the land of great and powerful lords.

The men of the wood were folk of few words, but strong and resolute. In conclave, after few words, but those that bore the truth of the heart, some decided to head west. In time they passed over the Mountains of Song and into the land of the great princes, and there in the woods of Thargelion they made their home, Haladin was there lord then. Quietly they came, as was their wont and dwelled in peace, for a time.

They were a private folk, and their homesteads were far apart from one another, for seldom was their need for the axes of the folk to come together. Upon a night they were beset by a great war party of Orcs from the north. Deadly and swift were the axes of the folk, but too many were the orcs and too scattered were the people to hold them at bay. Then is was that Haldad took up the mantle of chief, where before there was none. Leading the people their axes served as both shield and lance, for they fell the trees and built a great stockade."

Then the elf paused, having the attention of many, he took up the tale again.
"Here is a portion of the tale, as was sung long ago.

The hall of Haldad stood of fir and oak
Around his hearth the stakes of stockade stood planted
A ditch too was dug, deep and warg proof.
Being well pleased Haldan King took to feasting,
In mournful dirge and song for departed kin many cups were raised.

In quiet dark, an orange flame sprung, kindled from some unknown fire
'Lord, our roof has been taken, the hall was built too green'
Cried the young men of the hall.

Then the king, a novice in battle, said:
'This is no dawn from the east, no dragon
flies here, the gables of the hall are not burning,
but orcs are making an attack. Birds of battle screech,
the grey wolf howls, spears rattle,
shield answers shaft. The wandering moon gleams
under the clouds; evil deeds will now
be done, bringing grief to this people.
But rouse yourself now, my warriors!
Grasp your shields, steel yourselves,
fight at the front and be brave!'
Then many a thegn, laden in gold, buckled his war-belt.
Then the stout warriors, Haldad and Haldar,
went to one gate and hefted whetted axes;
Ordlaf and Guthlaf went to guard the door,
and Haleth herself followed in their footsteps.
When he saw this, Haldar said to Haleth
that she would be unwise to go to the hall doors
in the first rush, risking her precious life,
for fearless Haldad was set upon his death.
That daring king drowned the other voices
and demanded openly who made war upon his gate.
'I am Haldad, a prince of the Haladin
and a well-known warrior; I've braved many trials,
tough combats. Even now it is decreed
for you what you can expect of me here.'
Then the din of battle broke out along the wall;
the hollow shield called for men's hands,
helmets burst; the deepening coomb boomed.
Then Garulf, son of Guthlaf, gave his life
in the fight, first of all the warriors
living in that land, and many heroes fell around him,
the corpses of brave men. The raven wheeled,
dusky, dark brown. The gleaming swords so shone
it seemed as if all Thargelion were in flames.
I have never heard of sixty warriors
who bore themselves more bravely in the fight
and never did retainers better repay
glowing mead than those men repaid their lord Haldad.
They fought for five days and not a few of the followers
fell, but they held the gates firmly.
Then Haldad withdrew, a wounded man;
he said that his armour was almost useless,
his corselet broken, his helmet burst open.
The guardian of those people asked at once
how well the warriors had survived their wounds
or which of the young men remained.
Fortune was not with him, for the gates were burst
and the filth of the north spilled forth,
into the green clearing of Haldad's Hall.
The sap had not dried, the bark not curled
When Haldan lord of the Haladin drew his last.
Axes swung, and the black ichor flowed
as Haldar came into his birthright early and in grief.
The gates they closed again, though fewer now were the men
To bar wooden gate against iron and wrath.
Pitch and fire there came again on the sixth day
and then truly were the gables alight
the green beams licked as if by dragons in the moonlight.
Thrice again the gates were bent and burst
and thrice again they were closed
the helm of Haldar stood like gold in the fire light
Though the head that bore it was not Haldar.
He too fell in the bursting of the gates.
To Haleth now, a woman brave and true, the lordship passed
for in her cries and effort the gates were mended and shut once more.
All not in vain for the Haladin
for smoke and fire were not unheaded
And upon the rear of the filth the horses of Caranthir broke the siege.
Though late they were, with their coming
the dirges of Haldan and Haldar were sung
And the Men of Axes took a woman as their lord."

 

"A hunt swiftly over is a hunt well done," comes the reply to Esgalwen, as Morirúsë declaims by the hearth, "and therefore I would be away as soon as you are ready.  Besides..." he trails off, his mien dark. 

Besides, if those fools are not already returning, then they are likely already in peril.



:ooc: Tom, that was awesome!    :>

Morirúsë Finished his tale and bowed.

"Now if anyone can tell me the tale of yon lamp I would consider myself repayed in full!"

The elf let the warriors of the hall toast and laugh and came upon his companions.

"I wouldn't  be so quick to seek the Wood Elves, as big bear says, they are less wise and more dangerous."
The jest was gone from the Elf's face and merriment was set aside.
"Leaving in the night is not the decision of urgency, but desperation. We may miss many an obvious clue in our night haste which would be a telling signal in the light of day."

"Arbogast, the Brown Wizard spoke of the aid of birds. I'm sure if we inquired if the wrens they would tell us what disturbances they had, they wake and sing early and bring news while others are abed."

Arbogast's shoulders slump, barely noticeably.  Quietly, he says "my father is with the men now abroad hunting the Beast, as is the uncle who taught me most of what I now know of the world.  I know our chances of bringing it to bay are slim at best, but I would give much to see them safely home."

 :ooc: Awareness roll

Morirúsë places his hamd on the shoulder of the woodman.

"Though it be too dark for horses if it is the will of one long sundered from family I will go with you on foot if you wish Firewatcher. The night holds no terror for me and I was born under the stars."

"It is the Lamp of Balthi," replied one of the elders upon the dais. "Our forefather it was who formed the glass lamp and set it to blaze within our highest rafters. Thus has it burned there for nigh on fifty generations."

Morirúsë listened to the group of Woodmen speak of their ancestors and the skills possessed to create such a treasure that today still held reverence, but he knew better. The light that flared from within the glass case above was not wrought by Men. The Noldo knew that what he saw was a memory come to life - a memory of Eregion and the master craftsmen there who had come from the houses of his own father and had seen the Light of the Trees.

He smiled at the idea that these elders believed their kin had the skills to craft such a work. If it were a treasure of Eregion, or even more, one of Beleriand or Aman, did he have the right to take it from these Men? Morirúsë was of the House of Caranthir, of the House of Fëanor - the creator of the Silmarils which captured the light of silver Telperion and golden Laurelin. The light above did not rival that of the Trees or Fëanor's creations, but it was a captured remnant of that light. A memory...and by any right, it belonged to the Elves and to his lords in particular.

The conversation became thick with the grandeur of the Woodmen and the Noldo drifted from its content. He heard Esgalwen and Arbogast speaking and so left the elders to their stories, and the Lamp of Balthi for later decisions. Morirúsë listened to his new companion's concerns and thus was the decision made - they would cross the river and search for Arbogast's sires.

Esgalwen agreed with the Elf, "There will be no horses. The oakwood is too dense and rutted for easy travel by naught else but foot. Much that we need is stowed, still, upon our mounts. I will gather our things that can be easily carried and will meet you at the docks."

Arbogast nodded to the woman and Esgalwen rose to leave, only to be joined by Grimbeorn. He would aid her in the gathering of needed items. It was then that the Dúnadan woman looked to Udo. The young Hobbit sat at the table and there was a pall over his face. Fear was in his eyes with the sudden realization that they would be truly entering Mirkwood Forest in pursuit of some nightmare. He took a long pull from his cup and averted his eyes.

Esgalwen smiled and spoke soothingly, "Fear not little friend. You need not go. It was never my intent to take you so far from your home. But be safe here and whence we return, I will aid you in getting back to your holes along the river. This is not your task."

All of the companions could see the fear subside from the Hobbit's eyes, though his pride was now bruised. "But...but...I promised to aid..."

"It is okay, Udo," interrupted the Ranger. "I do not hold you to any contract or promise. You are free to come and go as you will, and I prefer you stay here and be safe. There may come a day when your skills are truly needed and I know then that your heart and courage will be strong. Let it be then that you make service to us and find some glory. Yes?"

Udo nodded sullenly in agreement, but all could see the relief upon his face.

"Come Esgalwen," said Grimbeorn. "We must away."

The Fire-watcher turned to his brother's voice, "Father bid me stay here and protect our home, Arbogast, in case this dread creature entered our town. I cannot join you in this, but I beg you...please bring him home safe."

A nod and a look between brothers. Arbogast was not sure that he had ever shared such quiet emotion with his younger sibling. And then he, too, moved from the hall with Morirúsë at his side.