LO! Behold on Carrock's crest, high and noble seat of the folk
With dawn of a new day, the end of an old reign:
Beorn, giver of laws, of the mighty judge, of the meek protector
Now to Grimbeorn his son, Wolf-Slayer, Wood-Treader, Speaker to Kings,
His hearth and mantle leaves, his home to forsake
In realms known not to Men, lone and forlorn
His doom long-awaited at last to seek...
Brilliant in the sunlight shine the eyes of Beorn as he embraces his son. "Ah, my boy!" he roars, pride clear in the timbre of his voice and every fibre of his body, I can't tell you how good it feels to set all that rulership nonsense aside. I feel stronger than I have in many a long day!"
"You look it, too," Grimbeorn answers. True are his words, for though the old bear's limbs have shrunk from their legendary girth of old, they have still the rangy strength of a man who has laboured, and fought, all his life. The fingers on his hands, though gnarled and twisted, hold the new chieftain's shoulders with a brick-crushing grip. "Are you sure that you won't stay a little longer? I'd not mind your advice."
"Bah! You don't need it." Holding his son now at arm's length, Beorn looks him up and down. "You're a hero to the people, beloved by our friends and feared by our foes. The hounds of the hall love you, and old Iwgar tells me that the ancestor spirits hang on your words. Why, I've even seen the thengns stop their bickering when you talk, and they won't do that for just anyone. And if there's a problem in all the world that can be solved with an axe, then you're the man to solve it. No, you're already everything I could have made you. I just wish your mother were here to see it."
The exchange between two men of few words now seemingly at an end, Grimbeorn turns to those he has invited here: Hathcyn his loyal man, Arbogast and Esgalwen his boon companions from long before he rose to fame and power, and Gwaithlim, new-arrived in Wilderland but bearing a wealth of lore of elder days along with bow and blade. Silent and solemn they stand, bearing witness, and ready they are thereafter to give aid. For Beorn has announced that he intends a journey high into the Misty Mountains, from which he may well not return.
"Well," the older man says, "We'd best be going 'fore the day draws too long. Many miles lie ahead!"
:ooc: Any RP you want to do, I'm throwing the floor open. After a bit, or if nobody wants to say anything, I'll move things along.
:ooc: Paul, I promise I will get a post up soon in the Fellowship thread, as well as here. We are in Tennessee on a trip before school starts again for the kids. Don't lose hope! ;)
:ooc: I have nothing to add
Even though the request was genuine as was the response, the way of politic, as is everywhere, no man can sit atop and lead if the previous one is about -- neither the captains nor the people heed his will. It is a solemn moment for Grimbeorn as his father leaves too soon, before he has wed and then sired an heir to carry on the family name and stand with his people. His folk are hearty and hale but they know when their time has come.
When the elder Beorning had left the chamber, Esgalwen looked to her friend, "So, congratulations are in order."
To which Grimbeorn quickly dismissed, "There is no need. It was an eventuality that has come to pass. To congratulate me on this day would be no different then congratulating the river for moving down its length to the far horizon."
The Dúnadan laughed pleasantly and she took Grimbeorn by his arm, "Well, it is not everyday that I bear witness to a man's coronation as king."
"KING!" said Grimbeorn with a guffaw. "Do not make me out to be one of those high men of your lands of Gondor, m'lady! I am merely a simple chieftain of the people I love and live amongst."
Arbogast laughed as well, "Aye - he is no king for I hear they do not smell so badly!" To which the new Bear gave a great scowl.
"No, he is no king, but he is my Chief and Liege-lord and always shall I be at his beckon," said Hathcyn, not sure if he was enjoying the jests being made at such time.
Getting the hint, Esgalwen changed the subject, "And with said ascension to Master of the Hall, I can only presume that we will see you less, my friend?"
With a thoughtful sigh, Grimbeorn gave a nod. And so did the celebration turn into a time of sharing tales of past deeds both great and sad. Each of the members of the Company of the Helm wondered at what would come now...
:ooc: Not sure if I am reading the above correctly, but Beorn is going up the mountain by himself, right? We are not accompanying him, are we?
If not, then my post above stays with Esgalwen making chit chat with her friends. If we are, then I will need to delete the above and give you something new.
:ooc: Oh, no - you guys are very much going with him. Grimbeorn has made that clear, even if I haven't.
Beorn being Beorn, he hadn't said why he wants you with him, but it seems very important.
"Father of my friend, fair fortune to you in your wanderings," Arbogast says "though I judge that you need not my blessing."
"Your blessing, hardly," Beorn replies. "What I need from you lot is your company!" Casting a sidelong glance at his son, he asks "Did you not tell them? I told you to tell them!"
Grimbeorn's rolling eyes speak volumes. "Understand, father, that you're hardly famed for bringing companions along on your mysterious jaunts. What's more, these are folk accustomed to knowing why they're heading into the dangers over the edge of the wild."
The older man harrumphs. "I don't deal in 'why's. 'What's, yes. A 'how' from time to time. 'Why' is a crooked letter, and a question not lightly asked, or answered."
He turns and makes for the rough-cut stairs leading down to the base of the Carrock. "I could find others to go with me," he calls back, "but of all the strays and wanderers of Middle-Earth, I'd have you with me if you're willing."
:o
Grimbeorn gives a side-long glance, a shrug, and nod to the others. Even grown as he is, he is still his father's son and will always be in his presence. Gwaithlim unfazed by the peculiarities of the mortals smirks inwardly and follows at the rear to keep a keen on the others, almost studying them.
"I had not come here prepared to travel any great distance, but it seems I have no choice."
Beorn glances back at the Longspear. "You have your spear, and I doubt that fancy new helm of yours is far away. Anything else you really need, I'll call in old favours along the way to have for you. But I'm not for tarrying any longer! The day draws on," he finishes, indicating the sun now well clear of the peaks of the Mountains of Mirkwood, and the Lonely Mountain far beyond them in the east.
Without looking back, Beorn begins to stride along the path down the Carrock. "Go," Grimbeorn says. "You may not believe it, but I'll manage here without you."
:ooc: Having finally gathered some steam to devote to this, I'll move the story on tomorrow, but there's a chance here to add any last parting words.
"If I live through this trip to the mountains facing my wife will be another matter. However, the Great Bear calls and I must answer."
Hathcyn said nothing, but wondered if this trio was the long delayed personal revenge of Beorn against the slaying of his son's wife. Blood had been spilled of course, but now that the old Bear was responsible only to himself he could take his own revenge.