Bandy was not very keen on boats, but he was intrigued by the market. He was curious to see that Woodman culture was a lot more diverse than he had intially expected and he was sure that he would be able to collect some new and wonderous stories here.

Seeing that Arbogast did not rise to the remarks, Oeric nodded and then smiled, "Very well, good brother, I will ride ahead and tell them you are home."

With his leave, Grimbeorn also departed leading the young Verwyne on a tour of the hamlet. He had been here before and knew the places he thought she might like to see.

"Is trouble brewing there?" asked Esgalwen, when the two had left. Her other companions gave her a look that they, too, had such thoughts. The Dúnadan woman shrugged and looking at Bandy smiled, "Master Brandybuck...I believe you are of river-folk, yes? Come, let us take a walk to the river and market. I see you eyeing it with great interest." She looked to Rorin, "Care to join us Master Dwarf? This will give time for our friend, Arbogast, to see his family and spend the time that is needed." She then looked at the Fire-watcher, "Go and see if you can make peace with those that are your kin. Do not let them leave this world without knowing that you are their son or brother. Too many brothers and sons have fallen in my homeland for counting, and there is no sense in having such a rift. Come, Bandy."

With her words, she turned and began to walk towards the river quarter. She did not turn to see if the other two followed.

Arbogast gives Esgalwen a slight nod.  "I shall.  Enjoy the market, though I fear it will be poor fare to those from greater lands." 

After seeing to his horse, Grimbeorn took Verwyne through the streets and markets of the town.  Normally he wouldn't worry so much about his safety more or less anywhere, but the presence of his charge though caused him to be more aware of his surroundings, on watch for the occasional pickpocket or worse.  The lady noticed his vigilance when he was describing where some produce came while looking in a direction completely elsewhere to what they were doing.  She remarked as such with a slight tease and laughed when his cheeks brightened in embarrassment.  He knew that she meant no ill-will, which cause his complexion to deepen.  Her laugh delighted him more than he'd care let on.

As time was getting on, Grimbeorn thought it best to return Verwyne to her father.  "Certainly no need to cause problems with that man nor her betrothed," he thought.

Rorin saw the wisdom in the Esgalwens words and followed along with his friends. He had no great desire to see the river market, but perhaps he could find some food to whet his appetite before they dined with Arbogast later that eve. As they went he joked and laughed with his companions and was glad that they were travelling together again.

The companions now split into varied groups, the rest of the afternoon passed blissfully. The men of Woodmen-town were quite gracious and welcoming once the companions were introduced as to who they were. Esgalwen walked the maze-like market area between the many sellers, quietly crunching on an apple. She tossed one to Rorin and the Dwarf gladly accepted the gift. Smells of brewing ale, salting fish, and bake goods filled the air and Bandy's stomach growled. Once or twice, the trio caught sight of Grimbeorn leading the young Verwyne throughout the same areas of town.

After an hour had passed, Esgalwen looked to her friends, "I think time enough has passed to allow for Arbogast to hopefully clear the air of his house. Perhaps we should go there now and then find out where Ceawin has made his camp? I am sure the masters of this town will gather in his honor."

Bandy and Rorin nodded and the trio made their slow, winding way back towards the hill and to where Arbogast's family lived.



Grimbeorn listened to the soft, fair voice of Verwyne as she made comparison of the markets of Sunstead to those of the men of the Anduin Vale. She walked in front of him, laughing and joking, and at times she would glance back with a wry grin.

"In Sunstead, the markets fill with merchants and it is a sight to see. Men of the East and North, with skin of alabaster or bronze, and they bring such treasures that you would not believe." A smile, "Wines that are so sweet that they please the taste and then wash warmly deep into your belly. Honey that comes from the hives of bees that dance around the golden flowers of the plains of Rhovanion. Gold jewelry that was crafted by the hands of Dwarves, or white-smiths of Dale! T'is amazing! Surely you will join me one day and see them..." Her voice trailed off as she heard herself.

There was a change in her mood now and she quietly pulled a cooked leg of mutton, paid for it with coins from her purse, and then shared it with the tall Beorning. "I have spoken most the entire way and you only sit quietly, my tall giant. So, tell me, Grimbeorn of the Beornings, what is your lands like? What do you do to fill your days?"

The Fire-watcher had not been idle.

While his friends had been visiting the market, he rode to his family home where he had grown up and finally left behind. Arbogast sat tall in his saddle and saw the small wood house as he rounded the hill. In the front garden a slender, graceful woman with long, silver hair bent to collect the onions that grew. He could see the dirt on her hands and knees, the calloused feet from her rope sandals, the web of crows-feet that stretched from the corner of her eyes. In his mind, Arbogast saw the vision of his mother as she was when he was a child - tall and straight, with honey-colored hair. She had been beautiful then - still was, but now in a mature way.

Somerild saw the son that had left long ago, riding up the road and she knew him at once. Her hands dropped the wicker basket, spilling the onions, and they went to her mouth in surprise. She lowered her hands and revealed a wonderful smile - tears glittered in her eyes.

"Hello, my son," she said.

A small smile gave way on the lips of the young man called "grim" at the wistful ramblings of the maiden, yet still aware of his surroundings.  He heard her words and his heart leaped at the notion of joining her on just a day walking through the market places of her homeland, but it stilled remembering his charge and oath, and then darker thoughts unbidden came reminding him of the perils of this world and those beyond the borders which none of these folk have any inkling... his poor friend lost to the quags of Dol Guldur.

Yet she became silent a moment, offering a bit of her mutton and he accepted with brief smile to her.  Then she queried him of his homeland and of himself, two things hardly ever asked of him.  Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he thought absently for a moment.  "The lands of my father and his people are varied.  Our western borders are close the Misty Mountains and not far from Gundabad, where we have many dealings with orcs, wargs, and worse.  Though, thankfully, the battle at Erebor greatly weakened them.  Our eastern border is nigh Mirkwood and the far reaches of the Woodland Realm.  We have hills and moors, plains and streams, and the Great River flowing through.  My father has vast lands with animals of all sorts and nowhere can you find better honey as none dare go near their hives for the bees are the size of my thumb."

"But my days have been spent of that of warrior and protector of my home.  I long lived away from my father near the Dark Wood.  My mother was killed during a raid of the forest's spiders and so have roamed far and wide along the wood seeking their destruction.  That is until my father gave me charge as speaker of my people to the Wizard's council at Rhosgobel and now hear as your guardian."

Grimbeorn took a moment and noticed he was both out of breath and parched.  He never spoke so much nor was so anxious over it.

"The size of your thumb?" she giggled. "Surely you jest?" When Verwyne saw Grimbeorn shake his head, her face took on a look of amazement. "Then I must surely taste this honey and see these hives, for only the black and yellow bumbles of the prairie are so big."

She listened more to his words, "I am sorry for the loss of your mother." Her eyes became sad, "For I, too, lost my parents. As you know, Ceawin is not my father, but acts as surrogate until my marriage age. He took me and my sister into his house when my father and mother - both merchants - were slain by raiders, as they traveled home from Dale. I can still see them as they waved goodbye to me that day, three years past. All of my father's wealth was taken up by Ceawin and now is the dowry for the man I am to marry in Woodland Hall. The Master of Sunstead has treated us well, but he uses me, and so soon my sister, to forge alliances. I will miss my homeland."

Grimbeorn watched her eyes drift away into past memories of a flat, green, prairie land that he had never seen.

Verwyne returned to their place there in the market, "It is too bad that I cannot choose my husband. It is worse that I have never seen this man, named Aodhan. But such are the duties of women...at least that is what I have been told." A conspiratorial look crossed her face, "What if I were to ask you to carry me away, Grimbeorn, to some far off place? I do not wish to dishonor my Lord Ceawin, but I would rather not be placed into this contract of marriage. Would you take me?"

Across the small settlement, Arbogast gathers his mother into his arms, noting as he does how much thinner she seems than when he first left for Rhosgobel.  The winter has bitten harder here than at the Black Tarn, he realises.

"Mother," he says, there being no need for anything more. 

He then notices be examining the cut, still not quite healed, that he received from a raider's sword.  "It is nothing," he says.  "Merely a mark of the wood's dangers."  Pulling his shirt over the wound, he continues, "tell me, how fares Father?  And uncle Lafdag?  If you have the time, there is much I would hear."

"I, too, am sorry for your loss.  Marrying to establish alliances or to increase one's position is a time-honored tradition, that is true.  Marrying by your own for love is another matter entirely and for those in the position of power, I've seen, not so much a luxury.  Lady, you are most endearing and the offer is more than a little tempting, but I cannot.  We could go far as I know these lands but our honor would be tarnished and that is a stain hard to erase.  Besides why me? And, as you said, you haven't met this man you are betrothed to -- he may yet be an honorable and good man, worthy of you." [Unless we know otherwise]

This is the first reveal of the name of her spouse-to-be, but it has been stated that it is a relation of Arbogast.

His name is Aodhan, and he is son of Arbogast's mother's brother - so it is Arbogast's first-cousin on his mother's side. You can see the lineage on the Tale of Years page. He lives with his family in Woodland Hall.

What kind of man he is? I think I am going to leave it to Arbogast to give us the first insight as to what Aodhan is like, and I will build off of that.    

Verwyne's face fell at Grimbeorn's answer, "Why you? Why not you? You are strong and kind and a handsome man...he is someone I have never met, nor seen, nor know." The Beorning watched as her face turned from sorrow to anger - and maybe shame or embarrassment - but what he was sure he now saw was resentment. "I am ready to go," she said quietly. "Please take me back to the camp."

Somerild only shook her head when she heard her son's reasoning for the scars and wounds - she knew all too well what the forest exacted from those willing to live under its boughs. She replied to Arbogast's inquiry, "They are both well, as are your brothers and sister. Your father and uncle are even now down at the market. I needed them to find me two more lambs...a herd was brought in yesterday from the fields, outside of Mirkwood. We need at least two more, if I am to get enough wool next season for my loom."

Arbogast looked over to the animal pen on the west side of his family's small home. The paddock was filled with chickens, a milk-goat, and four sheep. They were doing well, it seemed, especially if they were able to afford to add two more animals to their stock.

His mother continued, "Sunne is helping me with my loom, now, and she is even beginning to learn how to make the clothes. I sell it then at market, what we don't need, of course. But your father was recently asked for Sunne's hand and we must come up with dowry - and there is only so much we can do." She sighed, "We shall see. So...how are you, otherwise? How fares your new home? Have you found someone at last, now that you have settled?"

The woman looped her arm into that of her sons and led him towards their quaint, forest home.

---

I attached a picture of your mother - at least what she might have looked like in her youth.

The halfling was greatly more encumbered when he left the market than when he arrived. Hanging from his pack was a rope of cured sausage links, from his shoulder a bag of roots and nuts from the forest, and upon his head was a floppish hat that surely was meant as a joke, but the Halfling was convinced it was perfect for 'expeditions'. He was there only a short time, but had already met two wood runners and a river boat captain who traded and plied along the river. His companions shook their heads as he munched on nuts and whistled a new tune he had learned from a river boat pole-man.

"Lady, I'm sorry if I have given any offense, but you have only known me a very short time, too," and he sighed heavily.  Grimbeorn was now very downcast at her change in mood.  He pitied her for her predicament and was sorrowful because he made her mad.  "Verwyne, you call me kind and I thank you for this kindness comes from respect for you and in the word of honor I gave.  I cannot deny I see the same things in you that you say you see in me, yet is that enough to live on while on the run?  In time, you'll see it my way.  Don't think for a moment, though, I wouldn't desire to seek your favor and Ceawin's leave if it came by an honorable means."

"Then Sunne is at last to be wed?  This is wonderful news!"  Though a dowry will be hard to come by, he thinks, but does not add. 

"As for myself... there is one who waits for me, though we are yet to be formally wed.  I have a life by the Black Tarn, but it is hardly a rich one, and her kin are as proud as any.  My wandering ways have delivered me much strangeness but little fortune.  Know, though, that I will share such wealth as I may come in to with those dear to me." 

As he and Somerild talk, Arbogast finds himself feeling strangely superfluous, the rhythms of the house having changed in his absence.  His mother, and Sunne soon after, are all a-bustle as the evening's meal is prepared, while the Fire-Watcher occupies a lacuna of calm in one corner.  As his family gathers, he exchanges tales of small things.  None ask him of unknown raiders or a re-occupied Dol Guldur, and he says nothing that is not already common knowledge among the Woodmen. 

Such matters, however, clearly include the identity of Verwyne's betrothed.  "Aodhan," he remarks.  "Then word of his carvings has spread clear across Mirkwood!  And a good word indeed it must have been, for the Master of the Sunstead has come himself to give away the bride and is spending freely on his way."  Absently, already beginning to lose himself in thought and the flickering hearth-fire, he hands Sunne the stew-ladle.  "But will it be a good match, I wonder?  For the lady Verwyne strikes me as one who loves song, and not even the magic of Radaghast could give Aodhan his hearing..."