Staddle meeting

It is just after noon this spring day it would be pleasant but for the misty rain that comes down from the clouds above. There are few about in Staddle, doubtless because it's some food time or another. Yet, there are some who move around the small village. Particularly two Dwarves, coming back from the hill they seem to be making for the encampment where two more Dwarves sit, tending to a sputtering fire.

One of the Dwarves approaching from the hill is the Thane, Ovor. Grumbling into his beard, he seems to be using his hammer as a bit of a walking stick today the other Dwarf is doubtless one of his Huskarls, like those tending the fire.

Stepping gingerly along the muddy path is a lone figure - a hobbit-sized one, at that. The cut and fine material of his garments are no doubt designed to proclaim him a Person of Substance, but the rain's drenching has slicked his clothes to his body and caused the feather in his hat to droop, giving him instead the air of a bedraggled sparrow.

"Wretched weather," mutters Torebras Bywater miserably, lifting his head with a sigh. It is at that point he spots Ovor. "Ah, good day to you, sir," he calls out more loudly. He does not look pleased - maybe that's just the water dripping from his hat, though.

As the Thane hears the called greeting, his eyes flick around until they come to rest upon the hobbit. An eyebrow is arched a moment before he nods a few words are murmured to the Huskarl before he walks off towards his fellows around the sputtering fire. The Thane, meanwhile, adjusts his course to bring him to Torebras.

As Ovor approaches, Torebras doffs his hat, surreptitiously shaking some of the water from it as he does. "Fine spring weather we're having," he remarks conversationally. "Good for the crops." If not for unfortunate hobbits. A short pause later, he gets to business. "Can you tell me, good sir, who should I speak with about your people's .. ahem, recent activities? They really are most irregular." His nose wrinkles a little.

"Good weather indeed! Spring should be a time for rain. Refreshes cisterns and is good for the crops, as you say." Comming to a stop before the hobbit, the hammer is carefully swung up and wide to come to rest upon the Thane's shoulder. He eyes the hobbit as he speaks of the activities, eyebrow arching again. "First, let us introduce ourselves, Master Hobbit. Ovor, son of Ovar, a Thane of the Lonely Mountain." A slight bow.

From the direction of Bree comes a particularly bedraggled looking dwarf, stumping along the muddy road with only a mild regard for the gathered puddles of water. The silver merchant Frarin is wrapped in a sodden grey cloak, hood drawn up and spilling a constant rivlet of water down into his long, dripping beard. The bottoms of his once black trousers are splattered and caked with mud. All in all, he appears to have endured the rainy weather for some time at least.

Head bowed and eyes downcast, the dwarf is silent as he makes his way down the road, drawing closer to the village of Staddle, though as yet still only a wet grey figure in the distance.

Torebras eyes the hammer suspiciously - these uncouth weapon-wielding Outsiders! - but as Ovor goes on to give his title, the hobbit's eyes grow rather rounder. "Why, then it is you I should be speaking to! How fortunate." He essays a rather forced-looking smile, but then good manners take over. Placing his free hand on his chest, he leans forward slightly and announces grandly, "Torebras Bywater, Mayor of Bree. At your service." Introductions over, he replaces his hat on his head, adjusting the feather, and glances back down the road toward the approaching Frarin. "Now, I wonder who that is," he murmurs, seemingly to himself.

The Thane follows the gaze of the hobbit, eyes coming upon Frarin as well. Though he does not remove his eyes or move, one of the Huskarls around the fire stands, walking towards the silver merchant with a steaming mug in hand. After a few moments, the Thane looks back to Torebras, the seeming now to have registered the title: he smiles briefly.

"Ah, so you are the Mayor? Excellent. I am not sure I would be able to deal with a manling." A few moments silence before he speaks again. "What do you want to know about our preperations?"

The distant grey figure continues along the road, turning north at last as he comes to the causeway leading towards Staddle. He glances up as he makes this change of direction and seems to catch sight of the Thane and the Mayor in the distance, as well as the approachung Huskarl. A small, sober smile lights Frarin face as the Huskarl hands him the steaming mug and he pauses for a moment, seeming to exchange words with the other dwarf.

Nodding several times, the silver merchant looks up and towards Ovor and Torebras. He raises his mug to the Huskarl as if in thanks and starts again towards the village. As he nears, Frarin raises his free hand in greeting. "Hail, my lord!" he calls, shaking rainwater from his hood. He bows deeply to the hobbit, though his greeting is altogether less familiar. "Master Hobbit," is all the merchant says as he rises from his bow.

At the mention of 'manlings', Torebras gives a sudden cough, and in the moment before he politely covers his mouth, his lips can be seen to be upturned. That moment is a brief one, alas. At Ovor's final question he frowns, ahems a couple of times, and then sighs. "I'm afraid there is no delicate way to put this. I wish to know why you are digging up good Breeland ground with barely a by-your-leave. Not to mention disturbing the townsfolk," he adds, the frown deepening. If he were taller, the attempt to look menacing might be more effective.

As Frarin approaches, Torebras gives him a distracted dip of the head - more bob than bow - and a harried-sounding, "Good day to you, sir."

"Hail, Master Frarin!" Comes the response of the Thane, a grin flickering on his face a moment. "I trust you are well?" An eyebrow is arched briefly before he looks back to Torebras, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly. And when he speaks, his voice is low. "No doubt you have heard the talk, yes Mayor? The manlings seem most willing to pretend it is not something that can happen. I hope you have more sense.

"Know that we Dwarves do not lie. But, there is an advantage in this for you, Master Torebras. Even if we are wrong, or they are drawn off... your town will be left better defended than when we came. And at the price of some inconvience. For I believe at least some of the Dwarves visit the Pony often?" A dark look crosses over the Thane's face for a moment, and he mutters something under his breath that sounds like 'fat cook'.

"Well enough, Thane," says Frarin, voice deep and grumbling, "given the circumstances. I had thought to bring you what news from Bree that was to be had." But he does not elaborate, instead falling silent as Ovor continues speaking to Torebras. At the mention of the hobbit's name, the merchant's brows rise ever so slightly and his dark eyes turn to regard the Mayor with more detail. He masks the heightened interest, however, by raising the steaming mug to his lips and taking a sip of the warm liquid within.

Still betraying nothing beyond a mild frown, Frarin speaks after Ovor, adding simply, "And those Breefolk who aid us in our endeavours would doubtless be little troubled by the extra coins in their pockets."

"Why, my dear sir!" Torebras exclaims, eyebrows shooting up. "Lying? I would never suggest such a thing!" He pauses, "But, well ... out in the Wild is one thing. It's a dangerous place - I've never understood why people go there, myself. I really don't think goblins would dare attack settled lands. And Bree's had no trouble with trolls since I was a lad." The hobbit rambles on ...

But somewhere beneath his hat, the book-keeping part of Torebras' brain has been mulling over the dwarf's words. Bree better defended - for free? "Of course, if you're set on digging ditches I won't disturb you," he adds more mildly, gaze darting between the two dwarves. "Assuming the farmers have agreed. And Dwarves such as yourself are always welcome at the Pony." He beams uneasily, as water drips from his feathered hat and past his nose. "Was there particular news you sought?" he wonders of Frarin, finally.

"Yet some of the manlings inside your township think us such." The Thane continues to keep his voice quiet, as if he was discussing a matter of no importance in front of a nice warm fire. "Ay, indeed, the wild is a dangerous place... but goblins have few qualms about attacking settled lands where else would they attack? Aside from their own, of course."

The Thane is silent for a few moments before speaking again, chuckling quietly. "I am sure the permission of the farmers will be obtained. Though, I must say I do not think I will be visiting Bree much. This little village is more to my taste." His eyes then flick to Frarin, interest in the eyes. "News? News is always welcome. Liked is another matter." A quiet chuckle at his own little joke.

"I sought no news, Master Hobbit, though I anxiously await the arrival of some." The silver merchant offers a small bow to Ovor as the Thane addresses him. "The news that I bring is not great, my lord. I came partly to see that you were making do without the comforts of the inn. As for news, it concerns that which I find you now discussing. It is only to say that the defenses are progressing, though," a flicker of a glance towards Torebras, "they will not be adequate when attack comes."

Something seems to trouble Frarin, who falls silent for a moment before turning to the Mayor. His tone is not harsh or accusing, though certainly not friendly. "Master Torebras, or rather Mayor Torebras," says the merchant, "you say that Bree has not had trouble with trolls since you were young. But you acknowledge that Bree has not been entirely isolated from the dangers of the wild? Why not then better guard against these dangers? If the dwarves do not lie, are we then mad to spin tales of approaching armies?"

Rain drips steadily down on the trio engrossed in afternoon conversation near the dwarven camp outside Staddle.

Torebras looks rather flustered at Ovor's declaration. At which part, it's unclear - but then he speaks. "I'm sure Staddle's folk will make you most welcome. But Bree town is much better set up to cater to the needs of Outsiders .. ahem, visitors like yourselves," he asserts, casting a worried glance in the direction of poor quiet Staddle, left at the mercy of a Dwarven invasion. "Which reminds me - there was another matter I wanted to raise."

He seems about to elaborate, but then Frarin's words distracts him. With a frown for the Dwarf's near-slip of title, he states coolly, "I don't doubt there are armies of goblins out there in the Wild, but Out There is a long way from Here. I'm sure we Breefolk have little to fear - though we do of course appreciate your concern," he adds hastily.

"Indeed, the good folk of Staddle have been good." The Thane nods his head slightly. "But, I will not return to Bree. Until I know for sure that the threat has passed, I will not have my weapon surrendered or bound. I will not die while trying to untie rope." A few moments pause before he chuckles quietly. "Besides, there is only me and my Huskarls, and we keep to ourselves. Staddle has no worry. What is the other matter?"

Yet, as the Mayor speaks to Frarin, the Thane turns his attention to the silver merchant, waiting a few moments to speak. "As to the comforts of the inn, we are doing quite well. As to the defences... they are better than what was, and if we can figure out a plan, they may not even come close to threatening these lands. Not heavily, at any rate."

The silver merchant's eyes drop to the puddled ground with a singular shake of his head. No outburst of anger comes from him to accompany the Mayor's cool response. Frarin seems at last to have learned the pointlessness of arguing with Breelanders. "Very well, Mayor," he says in a measured tone. "You would, of course, know the better than myself, a foreigner to these lands."

He nods to Ovor, though says nothing, turning instead back to Torebras to see what else troubles the hobbit.

Torebras pushes his hat back a fraction, looking suddenly uncomfortable. "It seems you have already guessed the other matter, Thain Ovor. Bree's weapons ruling was put in place by one of my predecessors, and given recent events," he shuffles his feet - tacit admission that he /is/ worried about the tales of armies? - "I have decided to review our policy. Visitors who register with the Breeguard will be allowed to keep their weapons - for a small administrative fee, of course." He beams benevolently at this pronouncement, and even includes Frarin in his smile. The dwarf's words about Torebras 'knowing better' have clearly been taken at face value.?

This seems to surprise the Thane, for he furrows his brow before chuckling quietly a moment. "Oh, indeed? How much would this fee be, might I ask?" An eyebrow is arched once more as he looks to the hobbit.

At the mention of 'recent events', Frarin's brows rise in interest. A hint of something - is it amusement? satisfaction? - enters his expression as he regards the Mayor, and he even momentarily smiles back at Torebras as the hobbit beams. Well, perhaps there is hope yet.

At Ovor's question Torebras looks flustered once more. "Well ... that is ... Initially the fee will be set at twenty copper pennies. That may increase in future," a pause lenghtens into awkward silence, then he states briskly, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some business to get back to. A good day to you, Thain, and to you, sir." He bobs his head first to Ovor and then to Frarin, then wheels about and trots briskly on his way. As he walks along the muddy path, his foot dislodges something glittering tucked in the hollow of a tree-root, but the hobbit is far too busy retreating to notice. Soon he is just a grey shape disappearing behind the rain-curtain.

The Thane nods his head slightly to the departing hobbit, sighing slightly as he looks to Frarin. "Well... that went better than I expected. It seems hobbits are more sensable than manlings here." A quiet chuckle comes from Ovor, shaking his head slightly. Yet, his eyes catch the glint in the rain, though he doesn't pay too much mind to it.

"He is doubtful," says Frarin with a nod, keenly watching Torebras' retreating back. "Though I do not know if it is enough to make much of a difference to us. He may be doubtful simply because he has been told his town is in danger, which should concern any chieftain. Whether he he truly fears though is another matter." He does not chuckle or smile as the Thane, though certainly he does not appear agitated or annoyed as of late.

With his eyes following the Mayor's departure, Frarin does not initially notice the glint of gold. But as Ovor glances towards it, the silver merchant looks more closely. "What is this?" he says quietly though without great curiosity, crouching towards the rain-soaked earth. "Ridiculous hobbit, he's gone and dropped his gold." Frarin bends closer, light fingers plucking the glittering piece from the hobbit's muddy footprint. He regards it for a moment, still crouched, then rises and rubs the gold trinket on the hem of his cloak. "Or perhaps not," he mutters, holding it up for Ovor's inspection. "An earring, I should think."

"Yet we made more progress with him than the manlings. See if you can keep speaking with him on the matter. Do not press too hard if he refuses, but if you see him waver... apply pressure. Gently." The Thane's words are quietly murmured before his gaze is once more turned towards the glint of gold.

"An earing? Hrm. That is unusual. It might belong to someone around here... then again, it could belong to anyone." A frown comes upon the Thane's face for a few moments.

"Aye, my lord," nods Frarin obediently. "Though I am not very well regarded in town. Or rather, I am very well regarded by some and very poorly by others, usually depending on who has recieved coin from my purse."

Concerning the gold piece, Frarin turns it over in his hand, lighting weighing it, searching for marks or scratches. "I am not an expert of gold. Silver is my forte. But I believe it may be pure. Do hobbits wear earrings? Do Breelanders? I would not have thought most wealthy enough. My only sales in Bree have ever been small things, like that Mayor's silver buttons." How odd, the two dwarves standing there in the sopping rain, an army of orcs somewhere in the near Wild, discussing something as mundane as a lost earring. Indeed, Frarin seems to recognise the triviality of the situation. He shakes his head. "It matters not, someone is likely missing it. Shall I take it to the the Pony, my lord? They might know the owner."

"If they hold any rule of law and authority dearly here, what the mayor says they will do. Like you said, the chieftain fears his people are in danger. The people will see this... and fear for their own lives." The Thane's eyes glint briefly as he looks eastwards. "That will do work for us. But I still would rather fight in a bottle-neck than here."

His eyes flicker back to the earing, nodding slightly. "Ay, that seems the best to do. Given what I have seen of Bree, I do not think it likely it belongs to any of them... unless they stole it, found it or it was from long ago."

From the south comes a small brown pony carrying a small cloaked figure too stocky to be a hobbit. Silent seems the approach with the rain masking the sound, so like shadow it comes loser. Briefly the head is lifted, the hood gaping open-- it is Thari of Bundazanul, gold-streaked beared turned dark with wet.

"Nay, I think only that Torebras doubts at the moment," replies Frarin. "Fear would take some time to grip the heart of any Breelander, and will require more than the words of a few mad dwarves." He too peers west towards the Chetwood for a moment, but shakes his head. Rainwater spills from his hood. "I wish more than anything else that the High Warder would return. Or even the elf we met upon our arrival. I know not even his name, but he was of greater comfort than any Breelander."

Giving the gold earring a last glance, Frarin pockets it with a small shrug. "From long ago, I imagine. This was once a great land, after all, who knows what strange things still linger in the homes of its descendents. I shall see if that hobbit, Nob, if he knows to whom it might belong."

The silver merchant glances back towards Bree, as if preparing to leave, but catches sight of the sodden pony and rider approaching. The beard, drenched though it may be, and the face beneath the cowl bring a grunt of recognition from Frarin. "Hail, Thari!" he calls.

"I would wish that Ranger I met would come. He promised assistance... yet, he may already be doing that. They may be harassing them as we speak." The Thane shrugs softly before he nods. "Ay. I have been wondering on his return myself. I have need to speak with him see what his plans are concerning the attack."

Yet, as the silver merchant calls, Zinbar's eyes flick to the approaching pony and smiles briefly. Once more, one of the Huskarls stands from the sputtering fire and walks towards Thari, a steaming mug in his hand. "Hail, and well met!" Calls the Thane.

"Hail Forli's son!" comes the answer cry above the rain. Thari's eyes are first on Frarin before turning to the others. She pulls in her pony and dismounts as a huskarl approaches, taking a moment to secure the reins before accepting the mug and approaching the camp. She gives a deep bow to all, eyes flicking once to the silver-merchant again before looking to the Thane. "What news?"

"A Ranger?" says Frarin, evident alarm in his voice, even as he watches Thari approach. "The men who roam the wild? I had not heard you had had dealings with them. They are not well regarded in the town..." But he breaks off, brow wrinkling, almost as if berating himself. "But then, if Bree is to be believed on all matters, I would be a fabulously wealthy and incredibily mad dwarf, of which I am neither."

He does not have a chance to comment further on the matter, however, for Thari soon joins the Thane and silver merchant, making a pretty little dripping trio. "None, or little enough of it," Frarin answers Thari, nodding to her. "The defense building is no better than before and there is still no word from the High Warder. And here in Bree we still sit."
"I got his agreement that he would gather three or five of his fellows, and improved the deal by offering to outfit them with leather armour. He has yet to come... but he may be busy, as I said." A few moments pause before the Thane chuckles quietly. "Indeed. Put not much stock into what the Breefolk say."

As Thari approaches, the Thane bows his head slightly. "Indeed, little news. We did have a successful conversation with the Mayor. Well... more successful than our other attempts."

"I said just that about the wild men!" Thari tells Frarin approvingly. "Didn't I, m'lord? I still don't those rangers ought to be included in this whole business. Likely as not, they'll be out to rob the hobbits." She wraps her hands around the mug and allows steam to drift up into her hood, shoulders hunched. "I'm sorry, m'lord, but half of the dwarves are out and about and I couldn't gather a council for you. Finally found this one only just now." She nods aside toward Frarin.

"I must admit that I am skeptical, as well," agrees Frarin, eyes narrowing. "Few though may admit it, elves can usually be trusted to be on the side of good, though those closer to our own homes seem so loath to act upon that allegiance that it is a moot point. But men are more questionable. More often than not they have not the same principles as the dwarves. I do not question your judgment, my lord, and neither do I accept the judgment of Bree, but we should be careful that these Rangers do not seek to shape this situation to their advantage. Too little is known of them."

Looking to Thari, the silver merchant nods and waves a hand towards Breehill. "I have been overseeing the defenses most of the morning. What council do you speak of?"

"Don't worry." The Thane's eyes flash dimly and he smiles grimly. "If they don't, they will go into the Grudge Book. And I will see to it that they are not trusted in the Mountain or the lands that surround it. Yet, keep in mind that Thane Bundazanul had no problem with them when I informed him." A brief pause. "And, yes, Thari, you did agree say the same."

At the news of the council, the Thane frowns, shaking his head. "Not good. The more we delay, the less time we'll have to turn anything to our advantage. Who is in the area that you know of?"

"I saw Thane Zinbar here the other day and told him I would try to tell the dwarves to come out here for a council." Thari lifts her head to look up and aside at Frarin as she tells him this, rain falling on her cheek and nose. A moment, and she looks back to Ovor.

"I'm not really sure. Danuf is still at the Pony, of course, and several others. Everyone's in and out."

At the mention of Danuf, the Thane scowls slightly, shaking his head. "He's still not making a fool out of himself, is he?" An eyebrow is arched briefly by the Thane. "Though I may be returning to Bree I have yet to decide if it is worth paying the fee to let me bear my hammer."

"Our caravan grows impatient, I think," Frarin muses, again shaking water from his hood. "Several have helped building the defenses, but otherwise morale is not high. The others wander to keep dark thoughts at bay. Too many see only our doom looming with these Breelanders doing nothing. And can they be blamed?" He lifts back his head, draining the now cold mug he holds. "For my own part, my heart would be stilled if only the High Warder returned. Then at least we might have news of why this army has yet to attack. I cannot abide sitting in idleness, but surely it would be madness to ride out alone, without the High Warder and his party? And without direction?"

Heaving a heavy sigh, the silver merchant shakes his head once more and casts his eyes towards the ground. "A council of those who can be found would be best. I would not willingly split our caravan, but we must account for the High Warder's possible loss. If he fails to return, what then do we take as our course of action?" He speaks softly, as if warding off any internal emotions about the possible loss of the High Warder and, consequently, his own Steward Barazin.

He raises his gaze to the sky, as if to find some invisible answer there. When none is forthcoming, his eyes return to Ovor and Thari. "But now I ramble. Excuse me, my lord, Thari. I must return to Breehill and see that construction proceeds in a halfway timely manner. They have been taking their second breakfast, the workers. Or perhaps lunch, or elevenses. Who can say? They are eating, that is the point." Bowing to merchant and Thane, Frarin takes his leave, depositing his empty mug with Ovor's Huskarl's before making quickly for Bree once more.

"Of course Danuf is making a fool of himself," Thari replies with a little roll of her eyes. "He's just terrible on trips, you know that, but his cooking is just so good that we hire him. When we get home, though I'll see about speaking with his mother, I think."

She falls silent as Frarin speaks, and her eyes soften with sorrow. She simply nods to him in farewell, then turns this nod into a bow.

The Thane bows his head slightly at Frarin's farewell before scowling, shaking his head. "I'm still of mind to punish him for the way he acted." A momentary pause before he nods. "That is a good idea, Thari. Be sure to mention that Thane Zinbar was most displeased with his actions, even if he is a good cook."

"Yet, how have things been since we last spoke?"

"Fine, fine fine," Thari grumbles into her mug, steam caressing her face and mating with the rain. She sighs, blowing it away. "It's hard waiting, isn't it? Perhaps we've already lost the High Warder and his men. He was something of a friend of mine."

The Thane shrugs slightly. "We will see. He was well when I left him, but that was some days ago. Much can happen, but he could also be traveling back. When I saw him, he had no ponies. It would take him a while to walk back, even if he did not delay or take careful course."

"And Orvin, he was a cousin of my mother's, and was slain before we came to the bridge," Thari goes on, voice quieting further. She reaches a hand up and rubs her brow. "I'm sorry. I've been thinking such thoughts like so many have. I mean to give the orcs a fear of dwarves if I should die, but all day long I look at our company and see the walking dead, as if already we are gone." Her voice has softened to the point that perhaps even Ovor's huskarls cannot hear.

"The dead will be in the good care of Mahal, and there is no worthier place." The words are quietly murmured by Zinbar. "But, if we are to die, as you say: instill in them once more the fear they held over the children of Mahal. They have forgotten our ire. They have forgotten our steel. They have forgotten our wrath! We taught them once. We will teach them again."

Thari's storm-cloud eyes slip up toward Ovor, and there is a flash of silver lightning in them. "They will not forget us now," she growls, teeth gritting. "Should they never see a dwarf again, still they will speak in whispers of the horror of our kin." Her words are strong, but her tone does not have the same strength to it. This woman, this hope for the future -- for if dwarves hope for their future it is in the life of their women -- still she does not hope herself.

A laugh from the Thane. "They will mention the word 'dwarf' and they will fall silent and fear is what they shall do. If we are to die, let us leave such a legacy that shall never be forgot!" Another laugh before he sighs slightly. "Yet... I think we shall not die. Some of us shall, yes, but not all of us. We need to contact our cousins from the Blue Mountains. We need allies. We know, at best, the manlings in Bree are... undependable. I rather put my trust in the Rangers than they. But we need our cousins, especially if they are already out on caravan."

"Out on caravan?" Thari repeats, bristling brows coming together. "What? You've heard something of this?"

"They conduct trade regularly with these lands, to my understanding. If such a caravan or two might be found... we would be better off. The strength of Dwarves is not in number but in skill, armour and weapons." The Thane furrows his brows as he thinks. "We must find them, in any case."

"We should ask in the taverns," Thari suggests, suddenly a bit breathless with hope. She lowers her cup, and rain patters into the bottom. "They would know."

"Perhaps. To my knowledge, our own caravan did not see them, so they may or may not be eastwards. I would suggest sending a rider west to call their assistance... but, he have no horses nor rider. And even if he were able to get there in decent time, how long would it take them to prepare? Then get here? No. We must find their caravans. And soon. Know you of any Dwarves that would be willing to range into the wilds?"

"Just about any of them," Thari says in a practical tone. She pours the leavings from her cup to the ground. "All of us are half-mad thinking of what to do. It's just foolishness to build a town here at all. I probably shouldn't go alone, all things considered, but just about anyone else could." Her brows raise. "But wouldn't they stay on the roads?"

"Bree is upon a crossroads crossroads need to be controlled. Were there more trade, this town would be better off." The Thane sighs slightly, stroking a hand through his beard. "Tell the others that the Thane Zinbar offers a small purse and a cask of every brew of Keeneye's out of my own coffers if they should find our cousins." A few moments of quiet. "And no more than five to ten. They may stick to the roads, they may not. It depends if they've encountered difficulty or no."

"I'll tell them, the ones I see," Thari nods. "And I'll be looking for some of that brew myself, if I could go out alone!" she adds with a laugh. "It's always harder to move a wagon if you don't have a road to move it on. I still say they'll be on the roads."

The Thane laughs. "And you shall have it, if you find them. I want to keep some of my flasks full for the return trip." Another, quieter chuckle from Ovor. "Though, yes, it is always possible they are still on the road. They need to be found."

Thari nods, head bowed. A bit of a silence stretches before she bows and offers her empty cup to one of the Thane's men. "I should go-- but I've a question first, a private one." She leans closer to Ovor and murmurs. "Can you tell me much about what happened before we arrived here, when my head was wounded?"

The Thane frowns slightly. "Hmm. Not much, after the battle." Ovor's words are quietly murmured. "Mostly travel and talk. Camping." The Thane shrugs softly. "Very little else happened. Recovering from wounds and trying to get here as soon as possible."

"Oh." Thari's voice drops in tone. She wraps her cloak closer around her strong form. "Perhaps my dreams make it more eventful than it was."

A slight smile from the Thane for a moment. "Quite possibly. Caravans are usually very boring, to my understanding. Be glad you had dreams to make it interesting the rest of us had to stand watch and eat the same rations over and over again." A brief grin.

Thari shakes her head with a slight smile. "I don't remember anything from between the battle and our arrival at Bree. I don't even really remember our arrival. I think I remember things when I sleep."

A quiet chuckle. "Well, as I said, it was mostly just travel. Nothing too particularly interesting happened. When we arrived in Bree, Danuf made a fool of himself by eating too much. We met an Elf. That was it, until I left from Bree. After that, I have little knowledge of what happens there, though Frarin has said that nothing important has happened."

"Then my dreams are making lies," Thari says decisively. She half-smiles and takes a step back to bow before Ovor. "I'll take my leave of you and see about finding information about our cousins."

The Thane nods. "Excellent." The bow is returned. "Remember: a small purse and a cask each of Keeneye's brews. That is what the reward shall be for finding them."

Thari gives a low chuckle. "I won't forget." She gives another bow each for his huskarls and turns away. The lady is soon mounted and gone.