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.
:ooc: 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?
:ooc: I'll give this until tomorrow morning (my time) and then just make some stuff up.
:ooc: 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.
:ooc: Alright, fair enough. Sorry for sounding snitty.
:ooc: 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.
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?"
"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?"
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?"
"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.
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?"
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."
"Well perhaps this will be the journey where we fight only those things which draw breath and can bleed. I'm with you Woodman."
"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."
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?"
"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."
:ooc: Are we still in Summer/Fall of 2957 or did the winter pass and we are picking up in Spring/Summer 2958? If the former, I will just consider Esgalwen's return north interrupted when she arrives at the Dwarf Road.
If the latter, I will add another narrative to her finalization of responsibilities in Dale - being actually excused from those duties for her absence, even though she had good reasons (this ties to her Grim Year results, she is kind of shamed). If it is this latter situation, it will have been Tate that informed her that he had been contacted by her friends and that they had plans for some new excursion. Released from her duties in Dale, she returns west to the Vale.
:ooc: Hey, glad to have you back on deck. It's now the summer of 2958. Narrate as you will.
:ooc: Paul, feel free to move the story forward. I will have a narrative post up today to bring Esgalwen back from Dale.
The evening brings rain and a Ranger, the former soft and whispering on the thatch and grass, the latter footsore but jubilant at the sight of old friends. The news of the day is rehearsed once again, and Esgalwen also finds herself surprised at the seeming abruptness of Grimbeorn's decision. "Why," she says, "I have known since we met that you were your father's heir, but I suppose the weeks and months on the road together pushed that matter aside until I forgot about it. Or else I assumed that the old bear would simply live and rule forever!"
She also shares in the intrigue that surround's Arbogast's new venture, and so as the darkness gathers outside, the Fellowship draws away from the hearth, leaving the wood-workers to their ale and weary grumblings, to hold their council amid the chips and sawdust.
"I have heard tales," the southern wanderer says "of kingdoms that rose and fell in Wilderland after my kinsmen withdrew west of the mountains. The Dwarves who once dared the passage betwixt the northern wood and the Grey Mountains speak of treasures lost when a city of Men was abandoned, though whether buried and forgotten or simply carried away to lands far to the south, they do not know, or in any event do not say."
Her eyes aglow to match the candle that burns in the centre of the table, she leans inward. "Might your fair-haired skald, Grimbeorn, steer us on the straight road toward his people's lost treasures?"
Arbogast, who has sat silent since exchanging his warm greetings, taps the table softly. "Before we consider such things, I would have you all know why I ask this adventure of you. You all know of the corruption of the River-maiden who dwells in the Black Tarn, and I need not retell my own tale in connection with her. The Brown Wizard, having ventured perilously far into Mirkwood to consult the birds and beasts, the trees and the stones, has vouchsafed unto me that she is ensnared by a curse that binds her heart and twists it against her allies and kinfolk. What is more, he believes he knows the author of this foul sorcery."
Seeing that the full attention of his companions is upon him, he continues, his voice scarcely louder than the rain. "It is the spider Tylquin, whom the Elves named for the Weaver. I have known of her deviltry, and fear to contend against it, but this must be done if my home is to survive. Fortunately," he continues, "such a creature of ancient blackness will never be without enemies. Radaghast believes that in this case, her own kind might be turned against her. So it is that, once we have a gem, bright and beautiful, to offer as a peace-gift, he and I intend to venture into the blackest heart of Mirkwood, and make our case before the Parliament of Spiders."
"YOU WANT TO....you want to speak before the Parliament of Spiders? Are you both mad?"
Grimbeorn gave Esgalwen a look of "we'll talk later" regarding her aghast query and she kept quiet on the subject.
"From what I know of Eorlingas, as what they call themselves in their tongue, they hail from a land farthest north. They contended with dark powers of Mount Gram and Gundabad and even Angmar. Monsters and wyrms of the mountains and desolation strove for the lands as well. Long they endured until eventually plagues and draught sent their numbers from their home and they moved south. From there, our friend of Gondor can fill in the rest I'm sure. From those great and fell times, the only name I've heard of a great dwelling and hall was Fram and Framsburg. As for that skald, like so many like him before, he did not return out of the north, at least not along our roads."
At the mention of the spiders and their bedeviled convocation, he gave the harshest of snarls. "I cannot advise this course of action given our previous encounters. Not to mention the lives of my people they have taken, including my mother. If you go, I cannot follow."
"Surely there must be another way to break this curse. What is the nature of it? These fish women are woodland spirits, maybe we should go to the elves?"
"Fram, was he the northman who slew the wyrm? Are we hunting a dragon hoard?"
Hathcyn laughed, "Firewatcher, you have come from the south with fey tales and impossible quests have you lived off of mushrooms from lack of fish? But I will go north with you at least. This matter of the spiders needs more consideration. Especially if we find a living dragon and not a long dead one."
"I know well what lunacy it seems that I speak," Arbogast replies. "You are not the first to tell me so. Lindwine," he pauses, mulling over the memory like a man running his tongue over a bad tooth, "had thoughts on the matter, and I am still uncertain how much she is won over."
He spreads his hands. "If you will come as far with me as the ruins of the horsemen's city, then that much I will accept for now."
What came before...
The winter had passed in Dale and now the trees bloomed with the coming Spring.
Tate walked the maze of side roads that led him towards the Market Square and the Missing Scale that sat along its southern edge. Next to the Scale was the small livery run by Artemis Hannigan - a stabling yard and smithy that cared for the many traveler's horses, oxen, or carts. He had heard that she was there and the bard did not want to miss her.
As expected, Esgalwen was in the stables tending to her horse. Tate had become accustomed to the Ranger's habits - always tending the animal prior to any long journey. Of course, it used to be that he had to make his way into the palace grounds where his friend had lived, but other news had made it to his ears.
"You are here. I figured you would be. So, is it true? I can only assume yes, as I find you here rather than in the palace stables."
Esgalwen gave a tired nod, as if she was weary from the constant questions. Still, a smile formed and lit up her face to see Tate. She liked the rogue - maybe she could like him more if she would allow herself to, but always the challenge of caste entered her mind.
"It is true. The King has graciously asked for my resignation." Tate could hear the sarcasm in her words.
"Was he angry, then? Does Bard get angry?" The second question was more a spoken thought than an intended question. The King of Dale had always seemed genial whenever he was addressing the people. Still, there were stories of the re-founding of Dale when Bard was quite serious of his role and displayed it so to Thorin Oakenshield, after the death of Smaug.
"Oh, I would not call it angry," said Esgalwen. "Perhaps disappointed is the better term. He lauded all that I have done for his city and how I have served in representation of Gondor far away, but he kindly told me that he had no use for a queen's guard that was not here."
"Well certainly he knew the reasons, yes?" asked Tate. "For the sake of stone, you were fighting to protect a village in the southern vale! You almost died from it, so I have heard. Our King could not offer you the slightest lenience?"
"No, Tate," sighed Esgalwen, "and I understand his reasoning. It is the same reason that I do not return home. To do so would fulfill a duty, but to do so would tie me there... and that is not yet my calling. Besides, he has confirmed to me that his patronage will continue and I will always be an honored guest within his court. He has told me that my services will always be appreciated and that Dale would always welcome my sword. He has even let me maintain a residence within the palace for times that I may be here for long durations."
"So you intend to leave again?" The question cut her off and had more meaning than seeking a simple answer.
She nodded. "I am. And where this next journey takes me, I cannot say. I will return to the Vale. My friends are there - family really - and I would help them to rebuild what has been lost." A smile, "You know, Tate, you can always join me."
"And leave all the pleasures of the city? I am adventurous, Lady, but only when there is a warm cup of spiced wine at the end of the day."
The woman laughed, "And a warm bed, I am sure."
The bard gave a wry smile of his own, "Well that goes without saying, Gwen."
"And instead of being a lady of the court, I am a lady of the grass and fields with ticks and fleas. Certainly not the company you would want to keep."
"I could see me looking past a number of things, Lady, but I would rather you enjoy the comforts of Dale instead of the root and knot of the field and forest."
She finished with the brushing of her horse and looked at her friend. There was something there, but she would not let him in. "We live two kinds of lives, Tate. Still, I will always look forward to your smile, your song and stories each time I return."
Tate walked up to her and took her free hands and looked her in the eyes, "I know, Gwen. But know that it would break my heart to see the world lose someone so fair. Be careful out there, all right? Leave the trolls to that giant bear of a man with whom you spend your time."
"I will," again she gave him a warm smile. Tate kissed her and then turned to walk away. Esgalwen watched him disappear into the market and then finished her preparations. An hour later, she rode through the city gates and left Dale and duty behind her. It grieved her to do so and to have lost her standing with the King, but her duty was to her friends.
Outside of Dale, Esgalwen joined up with a merchant train of Dwarves that were heading south to the Dwarf Road. From there, she would pass through Mirkwood and find her way back to where she belonged.
What goes on now...
"I fear you have received one too many blows to your head, Arbogast, for you have obviously forgotten our battle at the Roadwarden's Tower those years past. There, at least, we had Dwarf-wrought stone to stand between us and those horrid creatures. Now you would walk into their very den?"
Arbogast could offer nothing more than a shrug - his mind was set.
The Dúnadan breathed out a sigh but also gave a nod. "I will help you find this horsemen's city and from there to the parliament of spiders. If it will help restore your home where your children can grow in peace and safety, then yes, I will come."
"Aye, I will come on your quest but I would hope a more sensible course of action instead of the spiders appears," replies Grimbeorn.
"My thanks to all of you," Arbogast says, sincerity plain upon his countenance.
:ooc: Great stuff, guys. I'll move things on with a new thread (most likely tomorrow).