WW XXVII: Wolf of the Rings

[Finnius]

And then all the Dwarves were gone. Filk wandered the paths of Lothlorien, letting the beauty of the forest ease some of the loss and loneliness in his heart. He thought about finding his fellow hobbits, maybe sit down to a nice four-square meal while they had the chance, and then put it off for later.

 

Right now, he needed to think.

 

He'd wanted to think the best of the Company, and had tried not to have suspicions. But Jin... Filk had stayed near the dwarf for a long leg of the trip, and had huddled near him often in Moria, both because he always had a lantern, and because Jin's balance had been nearly as good as a hobbit's.

 

He wouldn't have just slipped in a river, even one as deep (to a hobbit, anyway) as the Nimrodel. But who could have done it? Filk wasn't well-versed enough in the Wide World to be more suspicious of an elf than a ranger, or to know the difference between a Man of Gondor and a Rohirrim, but he was hobbit enough to be slightly distrustful of the big folk.

 

The elves, for the most part, had been courtious enough, if a bit distant... but could that distance be a sign that they were secretly plotting against the rest of the party?

 

The men were... well, men. Stalwart, ready to fight, and a little bit rough around the edges. Maybe more viscerally inclined towards violence than the elves, but then the recent deaths hadn't been violent as such. They'd been subtle.

 

Filk shivered despite the warm, and finally contemplated what had been tickling in the back of his mind since Moria. Who knew more about subtlety than a hobbit? Even a child could hide so well one of the big folks would never find them at the drop of a hat. And one hobbit in particular had made a point of stressing those skills...

 

Filk shook his head again. He just didn't know. Couldn't, really. But he had his doubts, and he was learning to trust the instinct that told him to be careful of everyone, even his own.

 

Horrid thoughts, anyway... and this really wasn't a place where you could be sad for long. Putting a smile back on his face, Filk went off to seek out Irvin, and maybe share a meal with him. Or two.

 

~~Doubtful Vote for Vahktang/Yeager~~

[Ayshela]

Linador sat a bit apart from everyone, leaning back against a tree as if he were merely napping. No hint showed of the seething rage beginning to flow through his veins, or of the dark suspicions bubbling through his thoughts. Careful breathing kept him under tight control until Haldir came to stand looking down at him. His voice was low enough none else heard, but that he confirmed Jin's loss was clear as Linador looked up at him, then leaned rapidly forward to put his head between his knees, as if he might be ill.

 

A few of the company drifted nearer as Haldir bent down to rest a hand on Linador's shoulder. As he took a shuddering breath and sat back up, Haldir asked, "This may be a poor time to ask such questions, but if I may, why were you bringing a dwarf into Lothlorien? It is unusual to have so many strangers here at once, but unheard of that one of them should be a dwarf."

 

"Did not Elrond send word?" Linador asked.

 

"He did, though I think none but the Lord and Lady understood," Haldir said with a small smile.

 

Linador nodded. "Jin was... a friend to several of us in Rivendell, though none of us knew much of who he was. He himself did not. Elrond found him wandering, near death and remembering only his name and his father's name. He was brought back to Rivendell for reasons known only to Elrond, who took a personal interest in Jin's recovery and continued health."

 

Linador rose and walked with Haldir back toward the rest of the party, continuing to explain: "The two things Elrond could never overcome were Jin's amnesia and his desperate fear of the dark. Wherever he came from, whatever drove him from his home, it must have been horrific enough to have caused both together, because unknown as a fear of darkness is among dwarves it was rooted deeply enough to be as immovable as his amnesia. He was uncommonly considerate with his precautions, ensuring always that the lamps and candles which were ever with him did not even slightly offend the noses of those around him."

 

"But why," began Haldir, trailing off at a nod from Linador.

 

"Why was an achluophobic dwarf part of an expedition traveling at night, and possibly - eventually through Moria? I asked that also. In part, because Jin wanted to come. His fear had been growing, despite all efforts at treatment, and he felt himself to be a burden to his friends. He wanted to face his fear, hoping to overcome it. Elrond permitted it because he knew his ability to ease Jin's fear had ended, and because he knew our path led through here. I was to bring Jin here, to bring him to the Lady, in hopes that she could help him recover his memory of himself and the peace he had lost when he lost himself." Linador stopped and turned a pained gaze on Haldir. "In that, I've failed. Wherever he may now be, may he find his peace at last." Face hardening, Linador growled, "And may I bring that peace to the one who killed him."

 

 

 

OOC: vote for Phoenix/Megwyn, for listing Jin as dead before his wolf-kill death had been posted.

[Vahktang]

Yeager walked amoungst the forest of mythical Lothlorien.

But it wasn't a myth, it was here.

Rich and wild.

With _really_ mean squirrels.

Big ones too.

He was surprised they weren't armed.

He heard a team of elven guards up ahead, stopped, then trod silently into a nearby shrubbery.

They passed without noticing him.

He kept silent because he knew if he surprised them he'd be arrowed before he could ask them not to arrow him.

Too much had been happening.

They were dropping like dumb bunnies.

This one dead, then that one.

Too many.

And someone was the cause and not just the dark lord of Mordor.

Who amoungst us seemed to be above suspicion?

Not he. He got looks from some of the others.

Yeager's mind turned back to the elves.

And one in particular.

He seemed to have the opportunity to do things to let people die.

"Linador," he said aloud, then looked around, almost panicked that someone had heard.

But no one was about.

That one to watch now.

 

________________________

OOC: this is a vote for:

 

Ayshela => Linador, horse-master elf (male) from Rivendell

 

I haven't checked but I think Linador has not had a vote yet.

Don't want Linador to feel left out.

[Patrick]

Through the eternal dark of Moria and now into the mysterious realm of the elves they had travelled and all the while Seothen had mostly remained silent. Much as Warud, he did not particularly like the narrow passageways and stairs of the dwarven mines even though in his youth he had spent long months in the glittering caves at Helm's Deep. But the dark of Moria was different, opressing weighing down any pleasant thoughts and foreboding the tragedies which had struck within. Seothen had known even at the beginning that not all of them would reach their destination, but he had not expected so many to fall so early. The travel through Moria and into the golden forest had been especially cruel against the dwarves. Three of them had set out from Imladris, yet none survived now.

 

As Seothen reflected on this cruel fate, he could not help but notice the beauty of the forest around him. Much of the stories circulating in Rohan about Lothlorien and it's lady did not speak well of the forest, some even calling it's ruler a dark sorceror, who could dominate over mortal men. In these aspects the stories did not differ much from those available to citizens of Gondor.

 

Yet none of the stories spoke of the beauties of these woods, a beauty not only that of nature but of the elves living in these magnificent forests. Despite even the female elves carrying bows and outfitted for war, Seothen could not help his heart being drawn to their beauty. He had already noticed the beauty of the elves in Rivendell, but here they seemed to posess a rawer beauty, more natural, closer to the Rohirrim's heart.

 

Seeing the real thing with his eyes, he knew all the stories and legends about this place to be false. He realised that he could live his whole life in this place, given of course if adequate facilities were provided for Warud.

 

Yet even through all this beauty and the calmness which dwelt in these woods, the recent wave of tragedies to strike the fellowship troubled Seothen. It almost felt to him as if one or several persons acting from the inside of the company were trying to cause it's downfall.

 

Some bore more suspicion than others. The hobbit Irvin for example. Seothen could not remember him uttering a single word since they left Rivendell. Could he be hiding something with his silence?

 

OOC: vote for Sinsor => Irvin Bartholomew Muskfoot, Hobbit of The Shire

[Sinsor]

Irvin was enjoying a nice little meal along with Filk, they discussed a wide variety of topics, from Irvin's latest inventions to the death of their friend Stoomp and Filk's thoughts about who his murderer was.

 

Irvin thought FIlk's words made sense so he pondered on them some more.

 

"The ent is a strange one aswell, who ever heard of an ent meddling in the affairs of men" he thought.

 

"But on the other hand, Yeager is a sneaky fellow, knows alot of tracking and such... and his Poppa had always told him to stay away from the hunter hobbits, living by the edge of the forest"

 

------

OOC: Vote for Vahktang/Yeager

[GLJordan]

Baelstimah and his brothers tried to let the beauty and clamness reinvigorate them while his pack horse was taken care of. They also tried to extend their sense to figure out who if any where being corrupted by nearness to the one ring. The time in Moria weighed heavily on them and the lost of Jin so close to Lothlorien troubled him. His mind was drawn back to the hobbit that hid and hunted well. nobody noticed any actions was that because the one was good at hidding them?

 

ooc Conditional vote for Vahktang/Yeager. withdrawn if a certain phrase is used

[Lord Panther]

Garnorn listened intently to what the others were saying, about themselves, and about the others in the group. Not all knew that he was listening, as he didn't interact with everyone, in fact, he was taking in the beauty of Lothlorien. And a beautiful sight it was.

 

Things were also mulling around in his head, thoughts that were half there, images that were half seen.... Trying to put together who could be the source of the evil that is plaguing their journey.

 

Everyone in the company knew that the ring must be destroyed, at all costs, but was the mounting cost of lives worth it to the others in the fellowship? He hoped that the quest would be seen through.

 

Turning back to who could have been causing the troubles, he had several faces come around him, some he dismissed, some he was curious about. One face did stick out... this face could be acting vengefully for the loss of her friend... after all, friendship is a huge bond out in the wilderness...

 

[ooc: vote for Phoenix/Megwyn]

[Akallabeth]

Turin dwelt on the thoughts swimming through his head...

 

The company had been to stranger places than he expected that they might travel, stranger from any he had known... first going into The Pit, and now into the Golden Wood, this place which seemed as full of elves as Rivendell, and yet... different.

 

Time was moving at a different pace... he could feel it in his bones. And nothing seemed to change.

 

Many conversations had occurred amongst the members of the party. It was already common suspicion that a member of the fellowship had been thinning down the number of members.

 

Those who seemed to be suspected the most were Megwyn, and the Hobbit Yeager.

 

Turin had held suspicions of Yeager for quite some time, as he did not trust the way he had been acting, nor the suppostion of him being a hunter of beasts in the Land of the Halflings. Perhaps he didn't hunt the beasts of the wild only...

 

Megwyn had behaved oddly also, and Turin was nearly certain that she had assisted Yeager in these deeds.

 

But he didn't think it would be wise to reveal his suspicions of more than one member of the party at once.

 

Megwyn would have to wait.

 

Sighing at these grim thoughts, he turned to cleaning his mail.

 

(OOC: vote for Vahktang/Yeager)

 

(edit: post completed)

Edited May 22, 2006 by Akallabeth

[Ayshela]

Linador had spent much of the day checking over his gear, fitting a new string to his bow and making new arrows. His blades had been taken to be sharpened, which was a weight off his mind as he knew little of the plans for their stay here or when they would be leaving.

 

Haldir found Linador wandering among the trees when his tasks were complete. "It's a shame you arrived in winter when the beauty has faded," Haldir said in greeting. "Yet, faded or no, there is a peace here which may aid your rest before you continue. To further ease your mind, the messenger from Elrond has agreed to meet us to discuss your request. Shall we return?" Linador relaxed a trifle as he nodded in agreement.

 

When they neared Linador's gear he looked up from conversation and stopped in surprise. "Dunlan!" he called. "A bit out of your usual haunts, aren't you?"

 

Dunlan smiled and said "I'm glad to see you're well, Linador. Elrond sent me to forwarn the lord and lady that you all would be arriving, but we'd become concerned by reports even before I left. I must return soon, is there a message you wished to send?"

 

"Less a message, really, though that goes with it," Linador said as he knelt by his pack. He took a small box from near the top, removed the lid and took from within a small cloth-wrapped bundle. "I've been carrying much since the night the pack mule was killed. I asked Jin, since he'd had several heavy items on the mule, if there was anything I could carry so the load would be more evenly distributed. He refused then, and every time I asked from then until Moria. Once in Moria, though, his fear grew nearly by the step and I could barely keep him calm enough to continue. I believe that only knowing he was walking steadily toward the far gate and lighted spaces enabled him to walk at all. After battle, while we rested in the 21st Hall, he gave me this and asked that it be given to Elrond for him."

 

"Couldn't he have given it to him himself?" Haldir asked.

 

"No. He said it wasn't quite finished before we left, and he spent portions of the first few mornings working on it. He said that calmed him enough to sleep, and in that way he completed it. He intended to take it back after the journey, but he worried that his fear would overcome him and he would do something rash which would get him killed. Not knowing if everything he carried would go with him, he gave this to me to deliver for him if it came to that."

 

"Can't you deliver it, as you evidently said that you would?" Dunlan asked.

 

"If I survive this journey, I will explain more fully to Elrond. Since that is not guaranteed, or at this point even likely, I ask you to please take this to Elrond for me and tell him it is Jin's gift of thanks." With that, Linador removed the cloth wrapping and gave to Dunlan a small figurine. It was just longer than an elven hand, and the man posed there was exquisitely wrought in gold and silver.

 

"It's wondrously done," Dunlan said, his finger unconsciously moving to smooth a strand of the somewhat ruffled hair. "It looks as though it could be a younger Elrond."

 

"It does," agreed Linador. "Jin did not know Elrond in his youth, yet this shows a power of imagination to rival his skill with metal and gems. The body itself is skillfully formed, even to the fingers on the sword hilt. Every fold of clothing is right, the lacings of the boots are perfect, but I believe the master's touch is in the cloak. You can almost feel the breeze which lifts it, and to work the metal so that it flows like cloth is amazing! Did you note the gems?"

 

Dunlan and Haldir leaned in to look closer, eyes widening as they saw the tiny gems, each perfectly placed on the sword hilt, the sapphire eyes which looked so real it seemed they watched you, and finally a gasp as they saw the emerald brooch which clasped the cape. "The Lady's eagle! It's done in perfect detail, yet he could never have seen it!"

 

They looked up in wonder, and Linador took the figurine to wrap it and place it in its box once again. "You see now, perhaps, why I asked to speak with you before you left. I must ask this favour of you, in case I should not return. Please take this to Elrond. It was Jin's last gift, his gift of thanks. I would not have it go ungiven."

 

Dunlan nodded, asking "I will, but is there nothing else? From word I was given, it seemed there was more."

 

"Only to tell Elrond that somewhere among our company there hides the hand of death. I've nothing more to send, since I've brought nothing of value to others but my blades and, unlike Jagkatha, unless they kill me within these borders, my blades will go with me." Dunlan looked perplexed, and Linador explained," Jagk was supposed to have gone, while on watch, to investigate a suspicious noise. She was found with an arrow in her, fallen from the bridge we'd battled at the day before." Linador paused in thought, then said, "Now, if I were investigating noises and expecting attack, I'd certainly take my bow, but have my blades strapped on and ready. Yet, somehow, Jagk was killed by goblins and Meg has her blades now." Linador shrugged. "No, there's nothing else for you to take. Not from me, at any rate. You might ask among the company before you leave. Baelestimah may have word for Lady Arwen, or anyone else remaining may have messages to send. This, and warning for Elrond, is all I have for you. Those I give you with a caution to travel carefully, a wish for safe and speedy travel, and my gratitude."

[Tanuchan]

The Company spent a day recovering from their ordeals in Caradhras and in Moria, each one aware that their goal was still far and away ahead, full of perils. Elves and rangers breathed the healing air in Lothlorien, while hobbits enjoyed once more food and a soft place to sleep. Rootmaker draw the attention and wonder of the elves, and spent most of the day talking to them, and telling them of Ents and Fangorn.

 

But at last Haldir came again, and calling all of them took them through a path into the heart of Lothlorien – Caras Galadhon, the city of the Galadhrim where Lord Celeborn and Galadriel Lady of Lorien dwelt.

 

 

 

”The sun was sinking behind the mountains, and the shadows were deepening in the woods, when they went on again. Night came beneath the trees as they walked, and the Elves uncovered their silver lamps.

 

Suddenly they came out into the open again and found themselves under a pale evening sky pricked by a few early stars. There was a wide treeless space before them, running in a great circle and bending away on either hands. Upon the further side there rose to a great height a green wall encircling a green hill thronged with mallorn-trees taller than any they had yet seen in all the land. Their height could not be guessed, but they stood up in the twilight like living towers. In their many-tiered branches and amid their ever-moving leaves countless lights were gleaming, green and gold and silver.” J.R.R. Tolkien, “The Fellowship of the Ring”.

 

 

 

Haldir finally stopped by the mightiest of all the trees, and blew a clear note on a small horn. It was answered three times from far above, and he turned to the Company.

 

“It is the wish of Celeborn and Galadriel to talk to you. They have been warned of the presence of an Ent, so they will be waiting for you yonder,” the elf pointed, “and you will not have to climb to their dwelling place.”

 

Filk looked upwards, and wondered at the height, and at the branches far up that held several flets, and still above them he could barely glimpse the wide talan upon which the house of Celeborn and Galadriel was built.

 

Not much later they were in the presence of the Lord and the Lady of the Galadhrim. Soft were their voices, and wisdom was in their eyes as they greeted each one of them.

 

“We have had news of your departure from Rivendell, and we have been waiting for you. But Haldir now tells me that you have come through Moria, and that some were lost since you last saw Elrond.”

 

Falmar nodded, and started the tale softly. Others added to his voice at specific points, and so their adventures and losses were told in full, under the stars in Lorien. Linador told again of Jin and his quest for peace, and of Elrond’s wish to have him talk to the Lady Galadriel; of Stoomp and Frerin, the other dwarves who should have been with them. Seothen and Turin remembered Raus, and Mattias; Neriam, with a hand resting softly on Megwyn’s arm, and Garnorn brought back the memories of Jagkatha. And by talking and remembering their fallen friends, their grief was also exposed, and washed clean in the soft breeze of the Golden Forest, and their hearts found again a measure of peace and comfort.

 

Filk and Irvin sat quietly, feeling comforted by Rootmaker’s presence behind them, while Yeager sat on the other side, silently listening to all that was being told.

 

 

 

“There was a silence. At length, Celeborn spoke again. ‘I did not know that your plight was so evil. I will do what I can to aid you, each according to his wish and need, but especially that one of [you] who bears the burden.’

 

‘Your quest is known to us,’ said Galadriel. ‘But we will not here speak of it more openly. Yet not in vain will it prove, maybe, that you came to this land seeking aid. For the Lord of the Galadhrim is accounted the wisest of the Elves of Middle-Earth, and a giver of gifts beyond the power of kings. He has dwelt in the West since the days of dawn, and I have dwelt with him years uncounted; for ere the fall of Nargothrond or Gondolin I passed over the mountains, and together through the ages of the world we have fought the long defeat.

 

‘I will not give you counsel, saying do this, or do that. But this I will say to you: your Quest stands upon the edge of a knife. Stray but a little and it will fail, to the ruin of all. Yet hope remains while all the Company is true.’

 

And with that word she held them with her eyes, and in silence looked searchingly at each of them in turn. None could long endure her glance.

 

At length the Lady Galadriel released them from her eyes, and she smiled. ‘Do not let your hearts be troubled. Tonight you shall sleep in peace.’ Then they sighed and felt suddenly weary, as those who have been questioned long and deeply, though no words had been spoken openly.” J.R.R. Tolkien, “The Fellowship of the Ring”

 

 

 

That night they slept in a pavilion among the trees, spread for them by the elves. For a little while they talked, though what they had felt or thought when the Lady Galadriel looked at them was kept to themselves. Little by little they looked for their places to sleep, some still choosing to walk among the trees at Caras Galadhon before finding the comfort of sleep.

 

Yeager was one of those who chose to walk. He felt somewhat restless, and he wondered at the way ahead – they were so far from the Shire, and from known lands. He had hunted long, and farther than most hobbits, but even so he felt a sudden wish for the comfort of his hobbit-hole back in Hobbiton. His mind wandered back to days not so long past, and his steps took him through the trees and paths that wound around Caras Galadhon. The elf-wardens eyed him curiously, but they knew he was one of the guests of the Lord and the Lady, and so Yeager walked on, dreamily, lost in memories.

 

When he finally noticed, Yeager was alone, in a clearing where no trees grew. The evening star had risen and was shining with white fire above the western woods. Down a long flight of steps there was a deep green hollow, through which ran murmuring the silver stream that issued from the fountain on the hill.

 

 

~~~~~

OOC: Yeager/Vahktang is separated from the Company – I can’t have a “lynching” in Lorien (please see OOC thread) . It’s now Night Phase. Specials, please send me your targets within 24 hours (around 11pm EST on Monday).

 

More info at the OOC thread.

[Vahktang]

Yeager noticed his surroundings because he smelled smoke.

Not a good thing in winter, with everything dry.

He ran towards the smoke and came out of the forest onto a plain.

He was at the top of a tall hill, thick with grass and a few trees that led into the forest.

There was a group of humans, some in armor, one directing the others who had barrels & tinder along a line 100 yrds wide.

'They mean to burn the forest.'

He saw that there were half a hundred barrels on pack animals a upwind few hundred yards back of the group lighting the fire.

And they could do it. A large enough fire would jump the wells, and the walls. Lothlorien itself would burn.

The forest itself would survive and come back, but all the elves and animals in the forest would leave.

'There's probably an army on the far side to kill things that run from the fire.'

As he watched two more groups went to the far sides of the line and began to make more fire.

He quickly ducked down and slid his way down the hill, making his way to the well protected herd.

Getting past the guards was simplicity itself for him, there not being a ranger amoungst them, slitting the harness so they were weak and the tie lines so that the animals could run while spooked was harder.

Halfway through his task he heard a voice boom.

"What ho, what is this?"

He looked up and saw a huge human in plate looking down on him from the biggest horse he had ever seen, , another smaller man in leather running beside.

"Dwarf, my master, Sir Agrave," said the running man.

"Nay, too short, Neffi. Midget human perhaps. Of stunted growth & weak character. Grab him."

The one called Neffi came forward and Yeager ran towards a horse, seeming to jump up, but instead went between the legs of the animal.

Neffi yelped when he lost Yeager, then called for help from some of the guards, while the armored man yelled at him and laughed at the hobbits actions.

He did not see when Yeager snuck up and hamstrung his horse with his sharp knife.

The horse began to fall and Yeager expected the armored man to fall under the animal but he jumped clear, rolled and came up with a long sword ready in his hands looking directly at Yeager.

"That animal cost me good gold and you ruined him. I'll get my price from your hide, midget."

Yeager knew that his rocks would do no good against a man in full armor, and that the guards would soon capture him.

His hopes of outrunning the man would prove fruitless if the man was as fast as he seemed. He could think of only one weapon.

"Hobbit, actually," he said, sneaking a flask out from his ruck sack. "Of the shire. Yeager Tickle-Bottom, _not_ of your service."

As expected, the armored man laughed at his name, as did several others within earshot.

Yeager threw in a high easy lob the flask of light acid, used in tanning and preparing hides, acid usually diluted but here in a concentrated form, not nearly enough to kill, but should be enough to distract.

The armored man was as quick as Yeager thought and swept his sword at the path of the object flying towards him, hoping to deflect it but instead smashing it, the liquid inside splashing all over his head and chest quickly soaking past the armor onto his skin.

He screamed in rage and pain, and the Neffi and the guards heard Sir Agrave say:

"Wash it out. Douse me with water, you idiots. Wash it off me."

Neffi and several of the guards ran forwards with waterskins, washing the lye off the top of his armor and making more flow inside his armor, spreading it, so that more of Sir Agrave's skin was covered by it.

He roared in more pain, distracting all but Yeager, who used this opportunity for him to escape.

He blessed again his mimic ability and stopped at one of the last pack horses upwind of the herd.

He snapped the harness which caused the barrel to drop and break, allowing Yeager to use his flint and steel.

The oil caught with a few snaps, burning fiercely, catching the grass, the smoke now spreading amoungst the animals and causing them to panic.

The guards, off position, were hard pressed to catch any animals, loosened as they were from their bonds.

They bolted across the plain, this way and that.

Yeager went about in the confusion, cutting lines further, giving orders in others voices, and having a grand time.

Until two feet of steel slid through his kidneys and out his stomach.

"Got you, you foul thing," said Sir Agrave.

Yeager had never knew pain of this sort before. He wished it on his enemies.

"Yes," he gasped, "but your plan failed."

Sir Agrave looked at the confused mess of the men, the horses still running, his supplies spread out.

Then he heard the cries of men being arrowed near the small fires already set.

"The forest will live. The elves will come onto the plain to kill you.

"And I alone stopped you."

With a roar Sir Agraive twisted the sword and Yeager died.

There were no horses of size to get him out and safe. He would have to fight and die there or give up his armor and hope for the best.

He heard an elven warning horn from the forest.

[Tanuchan]

”They remained some days in Lothlórien, so far as they could tell or remember. All the while that they dwelt there the sun shone clear, save for a gentle rain that fell at times, and passed away leaving all things fresh and clean. The air was cool and soft, as if it were early spring, yet they felt about them the deep and thoughtful quiet of winter. It seemed to them that they did little but eat and drink and rest, and walk among the trees; and it was enough.” J.R.R. Tolkien, “The Fellowship of the Ring”.

 

 

 

In the days spent in Lothlorien they found some measure of peace again. Filk would sometimes talk to Irvin and wonder how they felt almost at home, though he would never get used to the Elves’ houses on top of trees. Thankfully for both hobbits, they kept sleeping in the pavilion that had been set for them in the first days. They would also remember Yeager, of how his body had been found by a company of Elves when investigating a fire near the border of Lorien, and how they had been suspicious of him.

 

“We will never know, I guess... unless before the very end someone tells us who among us was responsible for the death of so many.”

 

Not voiced, but present in the thoughts of not only the hobbits, was the fact that while in Lorien they had been safe from any enemy among them, and the knowledge that they couldn’t remain there forever.

 

Neriam walked softly among the trees, talking to Garnorn and Megwyn. Both rangers had spent their days in similar ways, talking to the Elves and getting ready for the day they would have to depart. Neriam smiled at some comments, and shrugged – he had never left aside his habit of gathering useful things and tucking them in his many hidden pockets, always ready to leave at a moment’s notice. They passed by Rootmaker, who was standing besides a young mallorn tree and rumbled softly in the Ent tongue, his fingers caressing the branches of the tree.

 

Linador and Baelestimah spent long hours with their brethren, making new friends among the Galadhrim and find soothing for their sorrow. Turin and Seothen were not so close to the Elves, but both learned how wrong their legends about the Golden Forest had been, and vowed to correct that specific part of the lore in their lands.

 

The day arrived, though, when the company was called again to the presence of Celeborn and Galadriel, and they knew that they would depart soon. Falmar then talked, laying out his plans.

 

“We know that we are being watched, or at the very least the Enemy is searching for us and our burden. We have been safe while here in Lorien, for his powers cannot yet unveil the protection of the Lady Galadriel and hopefully this time has been enough to divert the searching parties. However, we cannot linger here forever, and when we leave we must go swiftly before the Enemy bends his eye again towards us.”

 

There were nods and agreeing mutters, and he continued, “We will go through the Great River. The Lady Galadriel has offered boats, and we will gain in speed and safety.”

 

Seothen and the hobbits raised their eyes in surprise, but for different reasons.

 

“What about our horses? They cannot go into boats, or swim while we do.” Seothen’s heart contracted in something akin to fear, though he knew that Warud would be well cared for in Lorien. Linador’s voice came, for he had also been consulted by Falmar being the horse-master of Elrond.

 

“I have already asked that same question, Seothen. We cannot take horses with us, as you have well noted. But Warud and Baelestimah’s Horse-Brother won’t be left behind – I have no doubts in my heart that both would leave Lorien on their own accord to follow us. So, Baelestimah and I will go with them in a raft. We should be able to control them well enough so that they aren’t in more danger than the rest of us. However, we cannot take more than they both, for doing even that is already taking more risks than the advisable.”

 

Seothen murmured his thanks to the elf, aware that it was probably just his presence that had allowed him to have Warud with them. Falmar then turned to the hobbits, who were eyeing him warily.

 

“You are the only ones whose skill with boats I’m not aware of, and I have heard before that hobbits do not take water rides very well...”

 

Irvin nodded wholeheartedly, but Filk sighed grimly. Garnorn looked at him, and nodded. “It seems one of them isn’t strange to boats, Falmar...”

 

“I am not,” agreed Filk. “I have rowed small boats up and down the Bywater as a small hobbit, for my grandmother’s family was from Buckland and they have the love for the Brandywine flowing in their veins. I guess it is weirdish for a hobbit... but I can manage a boat if needed.”

 

Irvin gasped, and Filk patted his arm with a smile. “We will do fine, Irvin... we have all the big folk to look after us...”

 

What he didn’t say, but thought, was what kind of looking after they would be doing. All of them.

 

 

 

“In the morning, as they were beginning to pack their slender goods, Elves that could speak their tongue came to them and brought them many gifts of food and clothing for the journey. The food was mostly in the form of very thin cakes, made of a meal that was baked a light brown on the outside, and inside was the colour of cream .

 

The Elves next unwrapped and gave to each of the Company the clothes they had brought. For each they had provided a hood and cloak, made according to his size, of the light but warm silken stuff that the Galadhrim wove. It was hard to say of what colour they were: grey with the hue of twilight under the trees they seemed to be; and yet if they were moved, or set in another light, they were green as shadowed leaves, or brown as fallow fields by night, dusk-silver as water under the stars. Each cloak was fastened about the neck with brooch like a green leaf veined with silver.” J.R.R. Tolkien, “The Fellowship of the Ring”.

 

 

 

Next morning they did a trial run of the boats up the Silverlode. To their surprise, as they turned a sharp bend in the river, they met the Lady Galadriel in a great boat shaped like a swan. Falmar stayed his boat as the Swan-ship drew alongside, and then followed it. In the last end of Egladil upon the green grass a parting feast was held: and there the Lady of the Galadhrin talked to each one of the Company, and gave parting gifts that were precious in the hearts of each one.

 

 

They departed Lothlorien in three boats. Falmar and Garnorn were in the lead boat, with Megwyn. Filk, Irvin, and Seothen followed, and last came Turin and Neriam. The raft with the horses was manned by both Linador and Baelestimah, and was kept between Falmar’s and Seothen’s boat. Rootmaker just floated last of all, rumbling something about feeling like a log with eyes.

 

The first hours passed calmly, though their hearts felt heavy for leaving Lorien. Filk kept staring back, wondering if he would ever be back to the Shire. Falmar looked ahead, heart set in their goal. Turin rowed silently, thinking of Gondor and the Great River that bathed the fair city of Osgiliath.

 

Suddenly there was a startled shout, and Seothen pushed both hobbits down while rowing with all his skill to avoid flying arrows. “We’re being attacked!”

 

Garnorn was quick in taking his bow, as were Falmar and Linador. At the East bank, they could see Orc archers, and some arrows that came were afire. Elven arrows flew true, and the Anduin took them swiftly away from the attackers – but not before a cry and a splashing sound came to their ears, and those nearest saw arrows aimed at their unfortunate companion.

 

For, hit by two certain arrows, Neriam had fallen and now floundered, while the river took the boats away.

 

 

 

”So the Company went on their long way, down the wide hurrying waters, borne ever southwards. Bare woods stalked along either bank, and they could not see any glimpse of lands behind. The breeze died away and the River flowed without a sound. No voice of bird broke the silence. The sun grew misty as the day grew old, until it gleamed in a pale sky like a high white pearl. Then it faded into the West, and dusk came early, followed by a grey and starless night. Far into the dark quiet hours they floated on, guiding their boats under the overhanging shadows of the western woods. Great trees passed by like ghosts, thrusting their twisted thirsty roots through the mist down into the water. It was dreary and cold.” J.R.R. Tolkien, “The Fellowship of the Ring”

 

 

~~~~~~

OOC: Venefyxatu/Neriam was taken by Orc archers, who knew where to look for. It’s Day Phase, and you have around 48 hours (until Wednesday at roughly 10pm EST) to vote.

 

Note: due to the nature of the scene, there was no helping hand in the kill. But the Orcs have been forewarned, and that was the role of those corrupted by the Shadows.

 

Scorecard and more info at the OOC thread.

Edited May 23, 2006 by Tanuchan

[Ayshela]

The last of the orc arrows fell, and it appeared that for a time there would be no more. Linador relaxed and let his bow drop to his side. He would have liked to have dropped back to ask Rootmaker if he'd been able to catch hold of Neriam, but from the glimpses he'd caught they would have focused all arrows on Rootmaker if he'd moved once more. As many arrows had been sent at Neriam, he was probably dead before the boats got out of arrow range.

 

These thoughts, and many more, flickered in and out of Linador's mind as he scanned both banks carefully for signs of movement or of threat. Seeing nothing, he stretched mightily and turned his attention more fully toward calming the horses. "Thank you," he said to Baelestimah. "No easier to calm Warud and Horse-Brother while guiding us all out of danger than to do so while returning fire and trying to knock flaming arrows from the air before they strike their target."

 

"How many were there?" Baelestimah asked, guiding their raft around a small log in the river.

 

"I couldn't see, truly. A dozen that I'm certain of, and more that I suspect were there but covered enough I'm not certain how many. Too many, either way. They shouldn't have been there. They shouldn't have known we were here."

 

"No," Baelestimah agreed. "Our stay in Lothlorien should have put them off our track for a while."

 

Linador nodded. "It should have. And the last report I got from the border guard, they knew of no orcs in this area. The nearest ones were two days away, or back near Moria. None who followed us across the river ever returned to Moria, so there should have been no report of our being there or continuing downriver."

 

Baelestimah simply said, "I wonder how they knew to be there?"

 

The horses stamped and moved a bit, knowing Linador and Baelestimah were disturbed. Linador spoke soothingly and continued to calm them, wondering the same thing himself. He had spoken with those of the border guard who returned to Caras Galadhon, but had himself never been far from the city. There had been much to do, and those who made the raft for them had needed a good amount of time and information. Meeting with Dunlan, with the guard, replenishing supplies, and talking with those who wished to hear of Rivendell - there'd been little more than time enough to rest once all else was done.

 

As he looked across from one boat to another, Linador wondered who among them might have had time and ability to slip across the border and send word of their plans. Baelestimah had been nearly as occupied in Caras Galadhon as he had been. Seothen had been seen often, as had Turin, learning what they could to take home with them, correcting the lore and legend of their lands. Garnorn? He could, perhaps, and there had been times none of the company had seen him. Megwyn? If Garnorn could, she could the easier for being smaller. It wouldn't be the first time she had had opportunity when things went badly.

 

Linador calmed his thoughts again as much as possible, since the horses sensed his disturbance. Yet as he sat between them, he wondered.

 

 

 

OOC: vote for Phoenix/Megwyn.

[Akallabeth]

Turin cursed himself silently as he continued down the Anduin, in the boat that was now only manned by him.

 

The current had nearly taken them out of sight of the bobbing form that had once held the paddle which lay in the back of the boat. Meanwhile, black thoughts strode through Turin's head as he did his best to keep the vessel under control.

 

Could he have managed to turn them from the orcs, and taken them out of range before any arrows struck home? Would he have seen the orcs, and been able to warn the others if he had been watching the banks more carefully? And where did the orcs come from, and how did they know where the company would be?

 

Turin knew that it had been some time since upper Anduin had been used for regular traveling by any race, so surely the orcs wouldn't have been randomly waiting to ambush some unfortunates. He also knew that there should have been no way for any orcs to have known when they had left the land of Lorien, for he had seen that it would be impossible for anyone to do more than watch the land at a distance with the vigilance of the elves commanding the borders.

 

It must have been one within the company that alerted the orcs.

 

And he already knew one who certainly could have.

 

(OOC: vote for Phoenix/Megwyn due to the accident of predicting the demise of Jin)

 

(EDIT: wording)

Edited May 24, 2006 by Akallabeth

[Guest Phoenix]

As the boats pulled away from the ambush Megwyn beathed a sigh of relief. Having no great aptitude for the bow, she had concentrated on pulling her oar through the water as hard as she could, and avoiding the arrows that whistled towards them. now she stretched her arms between strokes, trying to ease out the tension that was growing again in her shoulders.

 

Their brief stay in Lothlorien had given her some measure of peace, and she had wandered among the trees, feeling something of Jagkatha in the breeze playing about her. her absence was still like an open wound in Meg's side, but the numbness that had cut off communication with the outside world was slowly lifting. unfortunately, as it lifted, she had noticed suspicious stares pointed in her direction. The company was growing fewer by the day, and though losses were expected from the start of their journey, at this rate none of them would see Mordor. and somehow people were suspecting her. it seemed that now her isolation in Lothlorien would count against her as well.

 

she sighed. Since Jagk... left, nothing was the same. she found it hard to care about the food she ate, the clothes she wore, or even about the companies suspicion of her. it was hard enough to continue on with this journey when every particle of her ached to stay in Lothlorien, near the trees that sung with Jagk's voice, or to return to Rivendell, and spend the remainder of her life in the places they had loved.

 

Tears welled. Blast it! She was the one who should have died first! they'd never really talked about their difference in lifespan, but she had always envisioned Jagkatha having to continue alone, never imagined she would be the one...

 

Meg shook her head to break her reverie, and felt the weight of suspicion fall over her again like a shroud.

she couldn't imagine who could possibly be so bent on the failure of their mission than to destroy the company, killing those they called friends. but she supposed different species might see things differently. Hobbits, Humans and Elves she had experience with. Ents, however, were a distant myth, and in all the mythology she had never heard them described as fast thinkers or far travellers..

 

with a huff of breath she turned her mind again to rowing. others may be suspecting her, but that was no reason to suspect others with no real proof.

 

 

(OOC: half-hearted vote for Katzaniel/Rootmaker, not that i think it will do much good..)

[Lord Panther]

Garnorn let his paddling pace slow somewhat, now that they were out of range from those horrid orc archers.

 

How had they found them so fast, and so close to Lothlorien? The orcs that had attacked them on their way into the forest were no more, so they couldn't have got a message to their bretheren that way... someone had to have told them where and when their party would be found.

 

Garnorn had strong suspicions already as to who that person was, thus why he didn't mind being boated with her, so he could keep a close eye on her actions, and reactions. He was still puzzled, and probably would be for all time, as to why anyone would betray them to such vile creatures of the darkness...

 

[OOC: vote for Phoenix/Megwyn]

[Patrick]

Oh sweet Lothlorien. How sorrowful it is that I have to leave your golden trees, and the one I had met under them. Heavyhearted am I at this parting, I feel that a part of my heart has forever been torn and shall eternally remain with her.

 

Such were the thoughts of Seothen, son of Seoras as he gently guided the boat down the slow currents of the Silverlode. Celebrant she had called it, her voice the sound of gentle bells ringing. Seothen found his thoughts meander back to the last couple of weeks, weeks which he would readily admit to anyone, had been the best in his life so far.

 

He had met her after the meeting with the Lady Galadriel and the Lord Celeborn. Tári she was called. Her hair was golden as that of the Lady of Lothlorien, yet reached down longer, almost to her waist. Her face was, to Seothen's aged eyes almost angelic, yet it was her eyes which captured the rohirrim's attention at first. He had never seen such blue eyes before, not even among the women of the rohirrim, who were known wide and far about their blond hair and beautiful blue eyes.

 

Seothen had thought that he would never fall into love again at his age, yet nothing could have prepared him for her. Tári was quite young for an elf, barely older than Seothen himself, and she did not seem to care of Seothen being aged in the reckoning of his own kind. Seothen did not know why she had chosen him, but he did not think about it much either. Each hour he spent with Tári was as if he had been granted a glimpse of the legendary lands of the Valar, where the legends said, no sorrow was known.

 

Their parting had been painful to both, but moreso to Seothen, who knew that he might never see her beautiful face again, never feel her tender skin again. He promised her that should he survive his current endaviour he would return to the woods of Lothlorien and spend the remainder of the time given to him with her.

 

Heavy had been the parting, but Seothen found that he did not feel much sadness at it until they had cleared the golden woods. The magical powers at work in those forests had not let sadness reach him until he had overstepped their boundaries. No gift had the Lady of the Galadhrim given to him, unable to offer anything greater to Seothen than what Tári had already given to him.

 

It was the sound of the hobbits behind him happily munching on some of the provisions provided by the elves that brought Seothen out of his daydreaming. He couldn't help smiling at the hobbits ability to feel hunger and the need to satisfy at almost any time in the day. During his travels with them he had already managed to observe their almost unsatisfiable appetite and love for food. The litte folk were pleasant companions and their hearts were much stouter than Seothen had suspected.

 

The smile was almost wiped off the rohirrim's face as the whistle of an arrow passed barely an inch from his face. With a wide sweep of his paddle he turned the boat perpendicular to the current, presenting the smallest possible target and protecting the hobbits with his own body. Luckily no more arrows came so close to their boat and thanks to the fast currents of Anduin, which Tári had explained to Seothen meant long river in Sindarin, their boat was soon out of range.

 

One of their number fell to the foul arrows of the orcs, disappearing into the currents of the river. The attack seemed much too coincidental, even to Seothen. Orcs patrolling the banks of the Anduin weren't unheard of, but for them to venture this far north, they had to have had some reason. Seothen suspected more and more a member of their fellowship. One who had predicted the death of a member of their fellowship even before it had happened, as if knowing that it was going to happen.

 

 

OOC: vote for Phoenix - Megwyn

[Tanuchan]

In spite of the initial attack, the ride down the Great River was swift and almost uneventful. They would stop for the night in shadowed, hidden places in the west bank of the river, with the watch set to take special care on the east bank. The days went by rather quietly, and finally they approached the Argonath.



”Slowly the sky above grew lighter, and then suddenly the clouds broke, and their draggled fringes trailed away northwards up the River. The fogs and mists were gone. Before the travellers lay a wide ravine, with great rocky sides to which clung, upon shelves and in narrow crevices, a few thrawn trees. The channel grew narower and the River swifter. Now they were speeding along with little hope of stopping or turning, whatever they might meet ahead. Over them was a lane of pale-blue sky, around them the dark over-shadowed River, and before them black, shutting out the sun, the hills of Emyn Muil, in which no opening could be seen.

[He] peering forward saw in the distance two great rocks approaching: like great pinnacles or pilalrs of stone they seemed. Tall and sheer and ominous they stood upon either side of the stream. A narrow gab appeared between them, and the River swept the boats toward it.

‘Behold the Argonath, the Pillars of the Kings!’

As [he] was borne towards them the great pillars rose like towers to meet him. Giants they seemed to him, vast grey figures silent but threatening. Then he saw that they were indeed shaped and fashioned: the craft and power of old had wrought upon them, and still they preserved through the suns and rains of forgotten years the mighty likenesses in which they had been hewn.” J.R.R. Tolkien, “The Fellowship of the Ring”.



Turin stood on his boat, looking at the likenesses of Isildur and Anárion, and silently vowed again to do what was in his power to protect the Realm of Gondor. At his side, sharing the boat, Seothen rowed and thought of Eorl’s meeting with the Men of Gondor so long ago, and their friendship since.

Others also stared at the mighty statues, and Filk huddled against Irvin wondering what their road would bring to them. Garnorn, who was in the same boat as them, smiled.

“Fear not! Mighty as Isildur and Anárion they might not be, but there are people in both Gondor and the now lost realm of Arnor that still have the blood of Westernesse running in them, and will fight Sauron to the end.”

Falmar looked past the Argonath, seeing with both eyes and mind the road ahead of them; for far away, he could guess at the dark clouds above Mordor. Linador followed Falmar’s gaze, a hand on Warud’s neck while Baelestimah steered the raft.

Silently, they passed under the vigilant statues and came into Nen Hithoel. They could see the shadow of Tol Brandir, and Rootmaker felt in the current the pull of the Falls of Rauros.


“Here we leave the River,” stated Falmar later, almost at the foot of Tol Brandir, and steered his boat to the west bank. The others followed, and then pulled the boats safely away from the Anduin.

“Falmar, what is our road from here?” asked Turin, his gaze turning south. “For we are close to my people, and they would help us.”

“The Rohirrim also would, if they knew of our plight,” added Seothen. “Across the plains, south of Isengard, we await a sign that the time to fight the Enemy has arrived.”

A low rumble brought Rootmaker’s voice, while he enjoyed the wind and the sun that started to dry him. “I should bring news to the Entmoot... Fangorn is not far away, to the North and West.”

“But we cannot go all directions at once, and didn’t Elrond say that our hope was in secrecy and speed?” ventured Filk in an impulse.

Megwyin nodded, and again asked Falmar. “What is the road we take, then?”

The Elf Lord sighed softly, troubled.

“What you say, all of you, touch the truth. Our numbers have dwindled swifly, and help would be welcome. At the same time... we need speed, and secrecy. But secrecy is already compromised, and I dare not go into Mordor without...”

He didn’t complete his thought, but the meaning was clear. Going into Mordor while they harbored one or more enemies in their middle was to give the Enemy the Ruling Ring.

At length he spoke again. “Let’s stop here for the day. This is the lawn of Parth Galen: a fair place in the summer days of old. I need time to think and make the right choice, and we could all benefit from the rest.”

After unloading the boats they ate a quick meal, and little by little each one of the Company drifted away from the others, straying into the woods. Falmar himself walked silently among the trees, seeking the path to Amon Hen. Troubled, he wanted to have a look at the country around him, the decision he had to take heavy on his shoulders.

All of a sudden there came cries, and the clamor of metal against metal, and the unmistakable cries of Orcs. Cursing, Falmar ran down the hill, unsheathing his knife and shouting a battle cry, trying to warn and rally the others.

From among the trees Garnorn came in a rush, and Seothen after him. Nearer to their camp the cries were louder, and they fought their way through small groups of Orcs. Baelestimah and Linador were on the other side of the camp, protecting the horses. Turin shouted, his sword slicing through the guard of one more Orc as Rootmaker just stepped on the three other Orcs circling Turin.

Pinned by arrows to a tree not ten steps away from him, Megwyn stared at the sky with an eerie smile on her face.

“Jagk... love of my heart...”

As the last Orc fell, Falmar ran to Megwyn. She kept looking through him, eyes starting to glaze but still smiling.

“Megwyn! Megwyn, talk to me! What happened, where are the hobbits?”

She finally focused on him, and with her last breaths gave the news that froze his heart. “Uruk-hai took them... North... I tried, but Jagk was right... not fast enough...”


Falmar bowed his head, and kissed Megwyn’s brow. Closing her eyes, he looked and saw the others all around him.

“Orcs... and Uruk-hai. They took Filk and Irvin.”

It wasn’t long before the Company was speeding northwest, after the Orcs and their missing friends.



”They then left Parth Galen. The afternoon was fading (...) as they picked up the trail of the Orcs. It needed little skill to find.

‘No other folk make such a trampling. It seems their delight to slash and beat down growing things that are not even in their way.’

‘But they go with a great speed for all that, and they do not tire. And later we may have to search for our path in hard bare lands.’

‘Come! With hope or without hope we will follow the trail of our enemies. And woe to them, if we prove the swifter!’

Like a deer he sprang away. Through the trees he sped. On and on he led them, tireless and swift, now that his mind was at last made up. The woods about the lake they left behind. Long slopes they climbed, dark, hard-edged against the sky already red with sunset. Dusk came. They passed away, grey shadows in a stony land.” J.R.R. Tolkien, “The Two Towers”


~~~~~~
OOC: Megwyn/Phoenix was killed by the Uruk-hai raiding party. It’s Night Phase – specials, please send your targets within 24h (until Thursday at roughly 10pm EST).

The Company is now following the Uruk-hai, in an attempt to rescue Irvin and Filk. More info at the OOC thread.


Edit: Eorl's reference

[Finnius]

Filk bounced against an Uruk-hai's shoulder, getting the wind knocked out of him at every possible chance. The foul-smelling brutes talked among themselves as they marched, stomping down grass and beating at branches as they passed by instead of just ducking under like any hobbit would.

 

Beside him, he saw Irvin being likewise tussled, and offered him a small, if somewhat hopeless smile. The Company would come after them... they were friends, after all. Except, Filk thought, maybe some of them weren't.

 

A rocky outcropping signalled a drop, as the Uruk-hai carrying Filk hopped down, letting the hobbit jerk up and then down harshly as the horrid creature landed. Filk gasped and retched dryly on the Uruk-hai's shoulder.

 

He tried to shift, but the two hobbits had had their hands tied behind their backs, and then a rope had been run from their feet around their necks, making it very hard to breath if they moved very much at all.

 

And so Filk resigned himself to a long, hard march, until at last they stopped to make camp. The Uruk-hai threw Filk and Irvin roughly to the ground, and then went about skinning rabbits they had caught during the day. Filk turned away when they began to eat the poor things raw.

 

He slept fitfully for nearly an hour, and then he found himself being hoisted like a side of beef back onto the shoulder of one of the Uruk-hai. The brute banged Filk's head on a twisted piece of metal that likely served as a shield on the way up, and shortly after, the hobbit's vision went dark with equal parts fatigue, pain, and worry.

 

His last thought before passing out was a desperate hope that help would come soon.

[Tanuchan]

”Dusk deepened. Mist lay behind them among the trees below, and brooded on the pale margins of the Anduin, but the sky was clear. Stars came out. The waxing moon was riding in the West, and the shadows of the rocks were black. They had come to the feet of stony hills, and their pace was slower, for the trail was no longer easy to follow. Here the highlands of the Emyn Muil ran from North to South in two long tumbled ridges. The western side of each ridge was steep and difficult, but the eastward slopes were gentler, furrowed with many gullies and narrow ravines. All night the (...) companions scrambled in this bony land, climbing to the crest of the of the first and tallest ridge, and down again into the darkness of a deep winding valley on the other side.

 

There in the still cool hour before dawn they rested for a brief space. The moon had long gone down before them, the starts glittered above them: the first light of day had not yet come over the dark hills behind.” J.R.R. Tolkien, “The Two Towers”.

 

 

Falmar surveyed the ground, and then looked down the valley. They were in the last crest, and the way down was steeper than the previous ones. Linador gazed ahead.

 

“They are far, and we’ve lost ground.”

 

Falmar nodded. “The horses cannot ride double easily, and Rootmaker won’t go ahead of us. But also, going too swiftly might make us miss them if they change their path.”

 

Baelestimah whispered, “Hawk-Brother cannot find them right now. They might have already changed the route. Would they be going towards Isengard?”

 

“We have to find the tracks again.”

 

Turin, Garnorn, and Seothen went in different directions, intent on the ground. Falmar went halfway down the slope, but he already knew that the Orcs had not come that way. Rootmaker stood upon the crest, looking ahead towards Fangorn.

 

 

Turin, the farthest from Falmar and the horses, gazed down the slope, wary of the slippery loose rocks. As he walked, intent on the ground, some pebbles tumbled downwards, and moonlight cast a shadow over him.

 

 

The loud cry, and the sound of a small avalanche of rocks and loose terrain made Falmar scramble up the slope. Others were rushing towards the point where Túrin had been standing.

 

“Túrin!”

 

Rootmaker moved down the slope slowly, his feet finding easy purchase. The rest of the company followed more slowly, and Falmar couldn’t help but notice that there seemed to be no more loose rocks on the slope.

 

Garnorn shook his head, and Seothen closed Turin’s eyes. Rootmaker dragged the body down the rest of the way to the foot of the hill, while Linador and Baelestimah went up for the horses. Falmar gazed upward, frowning.

 

No other loose rocks... was it some kind of trap? If it was, who could have set it? And if it wasn’t... someone pushed him. Are we doomed, harboring evil among us...? What kind of traps the Enemy would have had time to set for us?

 

He closed his eyes, more troubled than ever. Elrond had given him the leadership of the Company, and of the seventeen that had left, only eight had come into Emyn Muil. And now, two had been taken and one more was gone. He did not want to suspect any of them, but he knew the lure of the Ruling Ring would grow more powerful closer to Mordor. He knew he did not dare to leave two of their company in the hands of Orcs... but he was not sure anymore if they were not all walking into a clever trap.

 

 

With a last soft prayer on Turin’s grave, the Company left again, running swiftly in chase of the Orcs, and Filk and Irvin.

 

 

”All day the track of their enemies led straight on, going north-west without a break or turn. As once again the day wore to its end they came to long treeless slopes, where the land rose, swelling up towards a line of low humpbacked downs ahead. The orc-trail grew fainter as it bent north towards them, for the ground became harder and the grass shorter. Far away to the left the river Entwash wound, a silver thread in a green floor. No moving thing could be seen. Often [he] wondered that they saw no sign of beast or man. The dwellings of the Rohirrim were for the most part many leagues away to the South, under the wooded eaves of the White Mountains, now hidden in mist and cloud; yet the Horse-lords had formerly kept many herds and studs in the Eastemnet, this easterly region of their realm, and there the herdsmen had wandered much, living in camp and tent, even in winter-time. But now all the land was empty, and there was a silence that did not seem to be the quiet of peace.” J.R.R. Tolkien, “The Two Towers”

 

 

~~~~~~

OOC: Túrin/Akallabeth fell from a cliff, either pushed down or victim to a clever trap. It’s Day Phase – you have around 48h (until Saturday at roughly 10pm EST) to vote.

 

The Company is still following the Uruk-hai, but nearer now to Fangorn. Scorecard and more info at the OOC thread.

Edited May 26, 2006 by Tanuchan

[Katzaniel]

Rootmaker had been filling with despair since voicing his suspicions of Mattias. The reason he'd thought it might be the elf was because he had been the first to accuse one who had ended up dead... but in so doing, after Mattias himself got killed, Rootmaker had put himself in the very same position. The company was growing steadily smaller - down to only himself and five others - and even their current course toward Fangorn was not enough to raise his spirits.

 

"Baelestimah, Seothen, Garnorn, Linador...certainly not Falmar," boomed Rootmaker in as close a whisper as he could muster. "Baelestimah, Seothen, Garnorn, Linador. Baelestimah, Seothen, Garnorn, Linador. Seothen wanted us to go the other way, but then so did Turin, and he clearly was innocent. Baelestimah, Seothen, Garnorn, Linador... Linador was the slowest in coming down to help Turin, but that proves nothing either." He lapsed into thoughtful silence, for which the others, concentrating so hard on the chase, were grateful.

 

OOC: That's the best I can manage for a vote for Ayshela / Linador.

[Ayshela]

Casting his steps up and down the ridge, Linador kept a determined watch for any sign of where the orcs and hobbits had descended. There was no other way, they must have come down here - but where? At Turin's cry Linador spun and slipped, catching himself and dashing the many yards across to where he'd last seen him. Looking down, Falmar was scrambling toward the now unmoving Turin. Linador stopped to look closely at the place where Turin had fallen, then scrambled down to join Falmar. "Is he...?" he asked. Falmar nodded, closing Turin's eyes. Linador and Baelestimah went back up to lead the horses carefully down, noticing no loose rocks on their way. A grave for Turin was prepared as quickly as possible, and after a soft prayer the company resumed the chase.

 

Linador strode up near Falmar and asked, "Did you find anything strange on your search?"

 

Falmar shook his head, saying "No, did you?"

 

Linador nodded slightly, and said, "Just one thing. There were NO tracks of any sort. There was nothing at all near where Turin fell that was not ours. No track, no scattered gravel, nothing. Not even a rabbit track or fallen feather from a bird." Falmar looked at him curiously, so Linador explained. "It would have taken months of dry weather, or a very heavy rain to remove all the tracks. To sweep the area so completely clean, yet leave rocks piled dangerously loosely - I've only once seen that combination, in late spring in the mountains where there was no wildlife to be found. I don't see that happening here without helping hand." Falmar looked concerned again, and they continued on in deep thought.

 

"Anyone near could have pushed him, but WAS there anyone near? I saw Garnorn's prints behind Turin, but was he close enough? And when was he there? In time to push him, or simply passing by on his way to his own search? I don't know. And what of Rootmaker? He did not go down with the rest of us, yet found it easy to do so after Turin fell. He suspected Mattias, and Mattias died. He suspects me now - am I next?" Linador's face darkened as his thoughts shifted. "But then again, that trap could have been left waiting for any of us, and the area swept clean so we wouldn't suspect it was there. We know the orcs passed this general direction. They would have had time - it wouldn't take long if done as they rested and checked their direction. And they have two of us with them, either of whom could have told them we'd surely follow. They wouldn't have left a trap if they weren't certain we'd follow. But which? Irvin? He's quiet, as a rule. Would fear make him talk? Or would he have stayed quiet 'til now so no one would suspect him? What of Filk? Smooth enough, and likely enough to talk to anyone. Would he have told them we'd follow hoping they'd let them go? Or hoping they'd set a trap?"

 

"Do you know how far it is from Isengard to The Shire?" Linador asked Falmar, as his thoughts spun into a hopeless tangle. Falmar shook his head. "Farther than Fangorn," Linador suddenly realized, knowing he now had three to watch and one of them wasn't even with them.

 

OOC: meh, not a counter accusation, I swear. Pure randomness dictates a vote for Katzaniel/Rootmaker.

[Lord Panther]

Garnorn was once again saddened by the dwindling numbers of their fellowship. The fall that Túrin took did not look like an accident... not to someone who had spent so much time in the wilderness. But, to set such a trap, would take skill, skill of many, many years, and the strenght to arrange thing just so, so that it wasn't too apparent that it was a trap.

 

His mind could only come to one conclusion, though he had never heard of their kind doing such harm to the other races, they didn't exactly interact with the other races often enough to know for certain. He certainly had the strenght, and probably the knowledge of the land in order to set the trap. In Garnorn's mind, Rootmaker would be the only one able to set this trap, and pull it off...

 

[OOC: vote for Katz/Rootmaker]

[Tanuchan]

”Ahead and eastward they saw the windy uplands of the Wold of Rohan that they had already glimpsed many days ago from the Great River. North-westward stalked that dark forest of Fangorn; still ten leagues away stood its shadowy eaves, and its further slopes faded into the distant blue. Out of the forest the Entwash flowed to meet them, its stream now swift and narrow, and its banks deep-cloven. The orc trail turned from the downs towards it.” J.R.R. Tolkien, “The Two Towers”.

 

 

 

On and on they went, following the trail of the orcs. Once Baelestimah’s keen sight found the small, light tracks left by hobbit feet among the trampling of the orcs’. And Garnorn followed a branching track, to find the remains of at least a dozen orcs – apparently killed by their own.

 

“They fight among themselves.” Falmar was quick to examine the bodies, and point to something else. “See that shield... a White Hand. That was never the sign of the Enemy. I think we are dealing with two parties who joined for evil purposes.”

 

Seothen nodded, remembering some reports. “Before I left Edoras, we had some reports from near the Fords of Isen... the White Hand sigil has been seen on raiding parties.”

 

Falmar acknowledged the words, but kept his own counsel on their meaning. The Fords of Isen... near Isengard. I wish Gandalf could have found more about Saruman..

 

At last they saw a great column of smoke, and Linador could see a long line of riders departing from the place of the smoke, going westward.

 

“One hundred and five. Yellow is their hair, and bright their spears. Riders of Rohan, gone in some errand. Can you see them, Seothen?”

 

The Rohirrim shook his head, and smiled. “Keen are the eyes of the Elves. I cannot see them in that detail, but this is the realm of the Third Marshal of Riddermark. If Éomer is leading them, then he is indeed in an errand. May it be that they caught the orcs!”

 

They observed the Riders of Rohan making a curve, galloping away from the smoky hill and from them. Seothen reined Warud, who seemed eager to join his brethren, and kept his eyes locked on the leader of the Riders.

 

 

 

“They saw no sign of any trail to right or left, but here and there they passed single Orcs, fallen in their tracks as they ran, with grey-feathered arrows sticking in back or throat.

 

At last they came to the eaves of the forest, and in an open glade among the first trees they found the place of the great burning: the ashes were still hot and smoking. Beside it was a great pile of helms and mail, cloven shields, and broken swords, bows and darts and other gear of war. Upon a stake in the middle was set a great goblin head; upon its shattered helm the white badge could still be seen.” J.R.R. Tolkien, “The Two Towers”

 

 

 

“The Riders did find the orcs. But now, where are the hobbits?” Seothen started searching around for traces of Irvin and Filk, and was joined by the others. It was, however, Rootmaker who found the first clue. He rumbled from the river bank.

 

“Here... small footprints. They’ve stopped here... for a drink, I think.”

 

Soon Falmar found more footprints, and smiled. “They somehow got free... just hobbit feet here, no Orc or other creatures. They seem to have wandered into Fangorn, though...”

 

Rootmaker rumbled happily, thinking of his home forest. “So let’s go after them. I can finally deliver the message to the Entmoot!”

 

He started walking towards the forest, when from somewhere ahead of him a flaming arrow came. He cried in surprise and fear, as branches started to burn. Other arrows came while Seothen and Garnorn rushed into the forest, swords drawn. Linador and Falmar aimed their arrows at the shadows they could see, while Baelestimah sent Wolf-Brother to help them and tried to direct Rootmaker to the river.

 

“To the Entwash! Dive!”

 

Disoriented, fire enveloping him, Rootmaker stumbled and tried to follow Baelestimah’s shouts. At last he fell into the river, a great sizzling sound coming as the Ent rolled, taken by the swift current.

 

From the top of a rock wall not far from them, a huge figure watched silently. His branches trembled as he saw the Ent on fire falling into the Entwash, and a low rumble issued from deep inside him. His eyes turned towards the Elves and Man, who had just killed the few Orcs that had dared the eaves of Fangorn and were now entering the forest. The wind blew fresh, and he waited, bidding his time and pondering.

 

 

 

”The ground was rising steeply still, and it was becoming increasingly stony. The light grew broader as they went on, and soon they saw that there was a rock-wall before them: the side of a hill, or the abrupt end of some long root thrust out by the distant mountains. No trees grew on it, and the sun was falling full on its stony face. The twigs of the trees at its foot were stretched out stiff and still, as if reaching out to the warmth. Where all had looked so shabby and grey before, the wood now gleamed with rich browns, and with the smooth black-greys of bark like polished leather. the boles of the trees glowed with a soft green like your grass: early spring or a fleeting vision of it was about them.

 

In the face of the stony wall there was something like a stair: natural perhaps, and made by the weathering and splitting of the rock, for i was rough and uneven. High up, almost level with the tops of forest-trees, there was a shelf under a cliff. Nothing grew there but a few grasses and weeds at its edge, and one old stump of a tree with only two bent branches left: it looked almost like the figure of some gnarled old man, standing there, blinking in the morning-light.” J.R.R. Tolkien, “The Two Towers”

 

 

~~~~~~

OOC: Rootmaker/Katzaniel was the victim of the flaming arrows. It’s Night Phase – specials, please send me your targets within 24 hours.

 

The Company is now entering Fangorn, and is about to meet Treebeard. Filk and Irvin are already there. Have fun!

 

Scorecard and more info at the OOC thread.

Edited May 29, 2006 by Tanuchan

[GLJordan]

Baelestimah focused his frustrations at failing his lady into helping his brothers navigate the forrest