Elendor
Round the Campfire
Frarin and Ranol are having a talk, but get interrupted by elves and a bear.
Sort Date: no date set
Location: Edge of Mirkwood
Description: [Frarin(#31050)] The sun is just gone from the sky, leading a pale dash of fading light on the western horizon, but it is difficult to spot here upon the Celebannon, where the mass that is Mirkwood masks most of what lies to the west. Indeed, it makes the docks of Celebannon and the area about them darker than the twilight might otherwise be. But on the shore is the caravan of men and dwarves and their campfires lend enough light to make the nearness of the wood not nearly so oppresive.
One large wagon sits near the edge of camp and to it are tethered half a dozen ponies, while all around are the scattered materials and stores that betray the fact that the camp has been there for some time now. Beside the wagon crackles a small fire and on its edge sits Frarin the silversmith, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up against the warm May evening. An empty plate sits beside him, but he currently seems to be making notes in a small, leather-bound notebook.
One of the stout khazad approaches the lone dwarf at this fire. He's heavily armed with a chain shirt, broadsword at his side, and warhammer on his back. He has a thick black beard that splays away from his chin in a wild fashion, but his hair is cropped short to only an inch in length. His shield is held at his side, along with his helm. "Good evening, Master Frarin. Is Thari about?" Ranol asks in a quiet, formal manner.
[Frarin(#31050)] The scratch of Frarin's pen halts abruptly at the sound of Ranol's approach and the silversmith looks up with a mixed look of surprise and wariness. "Nay," he says gruffly. "He is gone to the warehouse by the docks. The Dalemen have a store of pipeweed to be bought. Why?" His tone, as Ranol's, is quiet and formal.
"I had hoped to speak with my cousin.. " Ranol gets a troubled look in his blue gaze, his eyes wandering to the fire. "We're going into Mirkwood. I don't want to start that difficult journey with bad feelings in the air."
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin's lips purse and he glances at Ranol, then seems to look past the huskarl for a moment before turning his attention back to his book. "Aye, aye indeed, twould be most unfortunate if you and Thari had not reconciled before the passage of Mirkwood." There is something suggestive in his tone, but he abruptly changes the subject, without looking up again. "I have had news of your orc, by the way. The one that walks in the day and was almost your death."
For a moment, Ranol seems to forget entirely about formalities and old grudges and his blue eyes widen. He steps closer to the fire. "You have?? What did you hear?" He asks with intense interest, the previous topic of conversation abandoned. "Are you sure it was Grishnakh?"
[Frarin(#31050)] "Do not make yourself excited," Frarin says, still not looking up as if his book is far more engrossing. "I only met one of the Beornings on the hillside outside Laketown, one of their shape-changers. He said only that his people had not been able to find the orc they say walks in the daylight. So unless one of his own has killed him off," now the silversmith glances up, "then your orc is still alive." And lips pressing together, he looks down again, muttering an additional, "That should cheer your up."
[Gimli(#30149)] "It's 'skinchangers', according to what gandalf has told us', comes a voice from the group of wagons that mark the dwarven caravan. And indeed, Gimli comes, sporting a fine set of dwarven mail and a cruel-looking battle axe. "As far as Beorn was concerned, and all his descendants, I think the right word would be 'skinchangers'... Gandalf has known them for a while, so i bet his knowledge of them is far greater than outs". He then bows slightly to the Huskarl and the Sulversmith. "How have you been, cousins?"
"Oh.. " Ranol says as his enthusiasm fades. The huskarl grows quiet again, frowing at Frarin's implication that he'll be cheered at hearing the orc likely still lives. "I wouldn't.. " He trails off as the other dwarf approaches. With a bow, Ranol greets the Black Axe, "Good evening, Lord Gimli."
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin looks up at the sound of Gimli's voice and then stands briefly to offer the champion a respectful bow. Then he reseats himself. "Skinchanger or shape-changer, however they are called, they are the same. To change their own form..." Frarin shakes his head as if the thought is still an uneasy one with him, even after many passages to the lands of Beorn. "Aye, but you were there, my lord. Mobeorn he called himself, did he not? Aye, that he was no man when he growled at me from behind, I am quite sure. And by his name, he is likely the same as the Beorn of legend."
Ranol looks back to Frarin. "Mobeorn is a skinchanger, aye. I've spoken with the man a few times. He's a fierce warrior for his people. He hates Grishnakh as much as I do." The huskarl runs a hand through his hair. "If we do see the daywalker, I hope I have the opportunity to let him taste my blade again."
[Gimli(#30149)] "A bold thing to do, in this dark times", Gimli says to Ranol, "yet i hope not to run into him or any of his dark ilk", he adds. As he's about to ask something, one of the narag comes and clears his throat, and then inclines his head towards one of the wagons. Gimli shrugs then, and adds, "Well, it seems I am needed elsewhere, cousins... a good day to you both". And then, with hurried steps he leaves, the Narag that came for him in tow.
[Frarin(#31050)] "Aye, agreed," Frarin nods to Gimli. "I hope to have a clear passage through the wood, though I doubt we should be so fortunate." He nods again when the dwarf lord is called away, then glances at Ranol as if expecting the huskarl to depart as well. But he looks again to his book instead of waiting to see. "You should not wish to meet a foe in the forest. You are like as not to meet multiple if you meet one," Frarin mutters after a moment.
"That isn't what I said, Frarin." Ranol responds with a hint of irritation. "I said that if we -do- meet him, I would like my chance at him." The huskarl scowls and a brooding expression takes his face.
[Frarin(#31050)] "Hmm," Frarin grunts by way of reply, the scratch of his pen starting up again, though sporadically, as if the silversmith is distracted. "Well, I hope you do not, just the same." He is muttering again, almost as if speaking to himself, but just loud enough for Ranol to hear.
"Why? You do not think I can fight him?" Ranol asks, his thick black brows drawing together. "I have been training non-stop, Frarin. Countless hours! It's been a long time since I encountered that orc and my skills have improved tremendously." If Frarin had been expression concern for the Bundazanul's safety, the huskarl clearly misinterpretted. But then, he's always been a bit sensitive about Frarin's opinion of his abilities.
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin's pen stops again, but it is a few seconds before he looks up. And when he does, his face is grave and lined, but stony, as usual. "Very well, you can fight him," the silversmith says after a moment, his voice lacking the familiar gruffness. "I did not say you could not. I said only I hoped you did not. Surprise you though it may, I do actually prefer you alive and in one piece. And though you may have no memory of it yourself, I thought you quite dead last you fought this daywalker. Improved though your skills may be, you should not be so quick to forget your history with this orc. I have not."
Ranol stands quietly, gazing at Frarin with a mix of sadness and wounded pride. Finally he moves to sit down in front of the fire, despite not being invited. "I don't remember all that well. It's hazy, hard to focus on. I remember when I encountered him, and what he said.. Not much after the fight. I remember recovering in the healing hall in Beorn." The huskarl stares at the fire. "Better for me to fight him than some other. I want to fight him, I want to spill his blood. I have fought him before."
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin looks down to his book again, but absently this time, as if he might simply stare at the ground were the book not blocking his view. "Aye, well I do. -If- then you must fight him," he says, putting only a slight emphasis on 'if', "mind you do not let your emotions overtake you. It is easy to tell yourself that they will not, but if you see him again, if he taunts you as he did before, who can say." It is difficult to say why Frarin speaks as he does, but he does not look back up at Ranol.
"I wouldn't let his taunting affect me." Ranol argues, scowling again. "He almost killed me the first time. I remember -that-." The dwarf mutters, his voice low and rumbling. "I made foolish mistakes, then. I'm older now, and I have more experience. I've trained with Lord Gimli." He looks at the older Barazin, watching him closely.
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin looks up now, lips pursed in minour annoyance. "Aye, and I have been on the road nearly as long as you have yet lived and yet I have been at the brink of death at least half a dozen times. We are all of us subject to the laws of life or death, Ranol, and no matter how old you may be or how great a champion you have trained with, you are but one person. Even the greatest, even the most diligent, may be felled." It is a rebuke, and a sharp one, and with a snort Frarin rises and grabs the empty plate on the ground beside him. He turns his back on the fire and goes to a small wash basin beside Thari's wagon, all the while muttering odds and ends to himself.
The huskarl's frown deepens as the Barazin lectures him. His blue eyes travel to the fire again and stay there, slowly becoming adjusted to the brighter flames. "I know that we are all mortal. But I would rather fight him myself than he someone else fall to his scimitar. Eventually, something will happen and I will need to protect Lord Braldor. I could die then.. or I could die from some accident. I'm not afraid to fight."
[Frarin(#31050)] Though his back is to Ranol, Frarin's head tips back slightly as if he is rolling his eyes at the stars, but who can say. He plunges his plate into the cold water basin and begins scrubbing it, but speaks loud enough that Ranol should hear him. "I know you aren't afraid to fight. I know you would die to protect Braldor. I know you could die from some accident." He sounds like he is speaking to a beardling, with the quiet, repeated assurance needed to make some youngsters believe something.
"By the Maker, lad," the silversmith continues, rising from the basic and wiping the excess water from the plate on his surcoat. "Just accept with a little dignity that someone would be--" he pauses, as if searching for a word, but manages only, "--disappointed if you -did- die. By Durin." Frarin rolls his eyes skyward again, then disappears around the back of the wagon with continued muttering, though he will likely return shortly and be able to hear Ranol if the huskarl answers him.
[Ingildur(#4965)] As the stars pivot above, a gentle breeze brings the sound of song and laughter, the merry, clear voices of elves in the woods. Soft footsteps, too, can be heard in the night. The flames on the fire leap and dance, and then suddenly out of the darkness appears the elf Ingildur, hood cast back and merry lights in his eyes, "Good evening, master dwarf!" He exclaims
Ranol reaches down to pick up a stick from the ground, slowly snapping it into small pieces as Frarin speaks. He has no answer for the Barazin now and glares at the fire with a heavy dose of uncertainty on his face. The twigs are tossed at the fire and he exhales a heavy sigh, seeming about to say more on the subject, but the sudden greeting draws his attention.
The dwarven guard rises swiftly to his feet as he blinks into the darkness after so effectively blinding himself by staring at the flames. "Hail! Who is there?" He asks as his hand moves to lightly rest on the hilt of his sword.
[Frarin(#31050)] It is a moment after the first sound of the merry singing and then Ranol's wary greeting that Frarin appears from around the wagon again, coming slowly with narrowed eyes, as if he had heard the voices and approached with Ranol's same wariness. His shoulders slope a bit at the sight of Ingildur in an annoyed sort of manner, but his expression at least relaxes. "Ah yes," he says gruffly, coming near the fire again. "Another elf, though at least this one does not cast twigs at dwarves to announce his arrive. But nay, you are the same, I believe, Master Elf, as came here some days, are you not?
[Ingildur(#4965)] "Some days before, aye, and found you in a wrathful frame of mind! But now, I see that you are both just blind - especially you here! Can you not see me?" The elf performs a half bow and gestures towards Ranol, "But have you calmed down, Master Dwarf? I see that your beard does not bristle so!"
Ranol blinks away the after-images of the fire and focuses more fully on the elf. It's not a warm expression on his face, but neither is it unfriendly. "Good evening, Master Elf. Do please come closer to the fire." He offers, nevermind that it's Frarin's camp.
[Frarin(#31050)] "You mistake me, Master Elf," Frarin replies, not returning the bow but deigning a nod. "It was another's who beard did bristle. For my part, I cannot think the silliness of your folk worth the effort and I told my comrade as much." He lifts his brows at Ingildur and frowns, but sits back down when Ranol offers the elf an invitation to the fire. "What brings you to our comfortable camp for a second time, Master Elf?"
[Ingildur(#4965)] "I am tasked to check upon you, Master Dwarf, so as to be sure that you do not stray where not permitted by my king." The Elf performs another bow, "And to see that you do not lack for that which you need. You can call me Feredir Ingildur." Ingildur sits forward, "And might I enquire as to your reasons for being here?"
"Well met, Master Feredir." Ranol says in a polite rumble, and the guard retakes his seat. He keeps his eyes on the elf with a bit of wariness to his gaze. "I am Ranol, son of Ranor." He offers, then looks to Frarin to let the Barazin explain their presence.
[Frarin(#31050)] "Your kindness is boundless," Frarin returns, slightly dryly, but he does stand this time to return the elf's half bow. "I am Frarin son of Forli." He seats himself again, then waves towards the centre of the camp. "We are a trading caravan, of men and of dwarves, and our destination is the lands of the Beornings. But as I am given to understand, there is a message that our caravan has been tasked with taking to your king, else we should have planned to pass through the forest along the Old Forest Road to the south, as is our custom."
[Ingildur(#4965)] "Indeed, this is a mighty detour from the caravan route. But I doubt the king will be able to see you - can I pass this message on to him?" The Feredir shoots a long glance at Frarin, "The King is not overfond of dwarves."
"Your king is so disliking of the khazad that you would deny us a chance to deliver him a message, Master Feredir?" The dwarven guard speaks in a softer, honest manner. "We are not seeking to disturb your people, we simply wish to be about our business that we have committed to." Ranol's blue eyes watch the elf keenly.
[Frarin(#31050)] "Aye," Frarin nods in agreement with Ranol, returning Ingildur's long look. "I am well aware of your king's feelings towards the dwarves, but he should not be so quick to brush us aside in these days when light is failing. We do not expect for the whole of the caravan to deliver the message, only a few ambassadors, to travel with one of your folk into your realm."
[Ingildur(#4965)] The elf seems to consider this for a few moments, "I shall have to secure his permission first. But surely you are aware, he turned away Gimli, son of Gloin, at the gates of our fine halls?"
Ranol glances over at Frarin, perhaps to see if this is news to the Barazin. Then the huskarl looks back to the elf. "We would greatly appreciate your assistance in gaining us acceptable passage, Master Elf." He says in a careful fashion. "As I said, the khazad have no wish to disturb you or your kin."
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin frowns and his eyes narrow, as if this is indeed news to him. "He turned away Lord Gimli? For what reason? I was not aware, no. I am an ambassador, but of my clan only, not of my king, and I do not follow such matters for the most part." He frowns deeper still, but after a moment seems to settle with silence on that matter, instead nodding again to Ranol. "Aye, we have no wish to disturb your folk, Master Ingildur, only to bring our king's message. If you would ask such a thing of your own king, I should be grateful."
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
Snort. Russle. Plod plod plod.
Something this way comes, though perhaps not wicked, as it is taking great pains to make itself heard and obvious as it moves through the forest. Another snort is given and a loud, if friendly, rumble of a bear. Then a large brown bear steps out of the trees, eyeing dwarves and elf.
Ranol starts to rise as the sound of a large animal approaches. The guard is ever vigilent of trouble. His hand is on his sword again when the bear breaks the treeline. After a moment the huskarl relaxes and gives the bear a bow in greeting, a wry smile on his face.
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin too begins to rise when the sound of a large creature coming through the woods interrupts them, but the loud rumble does in fact, oddly, give the impression of friendliness. And when Ranol relaxes suddenly and bows to the bear that emerges from the trees, Frarin sits down again, a half-smile of amusement creeping into his expression, though briefly.
[Mobeorn(#22365)]"Hail to you, dwarves of the mountains, or under the mountains at the very least," the bear growls in something vaguely greeting-like. "And to you, hugger of trees, elf of the woods." The second growl is directed to the elf with the cadence of speech, brown bear eyes twinkling with humor. "What news, then?" The bear sits on its hindquarteres, looking at teh group expectantly, as if awaiting a reply.
Ranol tilts his head to one side, then simply shakes his head and retakes his seat in front of the fire. "Good evening to you, Master Bear." The dwarf says in a friendly manner. "I am afraid there is no honey here for you to enjoy."
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin's eyes shift to the bear, then to Ranol as the huskarl gives a reply, then even to Ingildur to see if the elf seems to understand their newest arrival. But the silversmith, for his part, stays silent.
[<#22365>] The bear now sits itself down on the ground completely, head resting on its front paws, eyes studying each member of this group quietly. "" it asks, though it might seem none here can understand the word-like cadence of its rumbled 'speech.'
Ranol simply shakes his head now, glancing first to Frarin, then to the elf. "I don't speak bear.." The huskarl responds with another grin, shrugging in apology.
[Frarin(#31050)] "I'm afraid you must speak in the tongue of men, Master Bear," Frarin says, eyeing the bear with a half amused stare. "Else we shall not understand you, unless you indeed prefer not to be understood. In which case, by all means, do continue at your leisure."
[<#4965>] Ingildur The Feredir remains seated at the fire, casting his eyes over the two dwarves, illuminated in the dancing flames against the night-time background, before studying the new arrival, ""
[<#4965>] The Feredir remains seated at the fire, casting his eyes over the two dwarves, illuminated in the dancing flames against the night-time background, before studying the new arrival, ""
[<#22365>] The bear's nose twists at the words spoken to him, and with what can only be termed an annoyed sigh,it gets to its feet and rambles back into the woods from whence it came. It is only there a moment or two, though well hidden. And then a moment later the man Mobeorn emerges, hand raised in a greeting.
'Hail dwarves,' he says, grumbling still in a very bear-like way. 'Little do I like this form in these dark woods.'
To the elf, he now gives a nod of his head, speaking in the Feredir's tongue, though with a rough animal overlay to the sweet elven tones. ""
Ranol chuckles at the antics of the bear, watching as it ambles off into the woods. When the man returns, the dwarf comments mildly, "Perhaps if you taught us how we might understand you, Master Mobeorn, it would not be neccessary to switch? Though, I do not know that the khazad would have an easy time learning the speech of animals."
[<#5440>]
"" comes another elven voice in answer, even as its bearer comes into the circle of light cast by the fire, ""
The figure bears both sword and bow, standing tall at the edge of the light, his voice filling the spring air with its richness, even as his hand rests calmly upon the pommel of the sword slung from his belt.
[Frarin(#31050)] "Hail, Master Mobeorn," greets Frarin with a nod, glancing at Ranol when the huskarl speaks again to the now man. He lapses into silence though when Mobeorn and Ingildur speak in yet another language that is unfamiliar, though easier perhaps to follow the intonations of than the growls of the bear. At the appearance of another elf though, Frarin's brows lift again in mild interest, though he frowns and crosses his arms over his chest as the foreign language continues. "Ah, and another to add to our ever more varied party. Hail, Master Elf, you are welcome to the fire as your comrade here."
[<#4965>] "" The Feredir stands and bows, his keen eyes revealing the identity of the newcomer before, perhaps, anyone else could realise.
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
"Ah, good King," Mobeorn says, offering a brief bow to the newly arrived elf. "May the waters of your lands ever run swift and pure. I thank you for this gift."
"I would teach you my language, but I thought the dwarves had no love for learning," Mobeorn addresses the dwarves next, with a shrug. Ingildur's words in Sindarin draw an arch of his brow.
Ranol looks on to the new elf with the same wary manner as his kin. "Good evening, Master Elf." He offers politely, then gets that patient, suffering expression that people adapt when they have no idea what is being spoken. Mobeorn clues him in a bit on the identity of the new elf, and he looks over first to the Beorning, then to Frarin with thick brows lifted and uncertainty on his face.
[<#5440>]
The King nods to Ingildur, ""
The words may be foreign, though if the mocking tone does not translate, surely the laugh that follows does. "" he asks, his smile remaining fresh upon his lips, ""
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin's expression changes in like with Ranol's as Mobeorn greets the newest arrival and the silversmith glances to his fellow with the same uncertainty. Then, abruptly, he rises, a wary expression drawing his brows close together and the corners of his mouth down. And indeed, the mocking tone and laugh of the newcomer do not lighten that expression, but Frarin says nothing for now.
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
"Your pardon, then," Mobeorn says with a slight bow to Thranduil. "I jumped to an over-hasty conclusion by your words. Nonetheless, well met, whomever you are, and my thanks for the gift are not diminished."
The younger khazad guard stands along with his dwarven cousin, glancing between the elves and the Beorning with the continued incomprehension. He murmurs to Frarin, "Perhaps I should go and fetch Lord Gimli?" His voice is a soft rumble compared to the light, airy tones of the elven people.
[Thranduil(#5440)]
"It is just as well," The King says in accented westron, reaching up to unsling the longbow from his shoulder, and bending to set it upon the ground. "I am welcomed to this fire which has been set within my own realm, and I shall accept humbly," he says, turning his gaze to the now risen dwarf.
His sword is next, the hilt uncatched from his belt easily, he sets this down aside the bow, before sinking to a seat upon the earth, "The son of Gloin has come as well? Did he not swear that he would never return to my lands, upon his last departure?"
[<#4965>] 'For sure, he told me so.' The Feredir answers Thranduil, 'Unless he recieved an apology, which, I am sure has never been issued.' He switches language, ""
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin glances sidelong to Ranol at the guard's suggestion and looks about to reply when at last the newly-arrived elf speaks in the common tongue, bringing Frarin's attention back to him with that same wary but curious look. He nods slowly after a moment when the King accepts the invitation to the fire, but frowns after. "The pledges of Gimli Gloin's son are not my affair, Master Elf, and for that I cannot say what he has said or not."
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
The Beorning now takes the opportunity to sit, as well, settling down on the ground near enough to the fire to listen. "There is trouble between dwarves and elves?" Mobeorn asks, looking not at all surprised. Indeed, he looks a bit amused by the prospect, and adjusts his position on the ground as if to better enjoy the coming show. Then he leans forward to listen and watch.
[Thranduil(#5440)]
"Wisely spoken," the King says, his smile remaining, though the laughter is gone. "There is ever trouble between the folk of the wood, and those would seek to trespass, and learn the ways that lead into the heart of my realm," The King advises, his attention shifting to the large man, if only for a moment.
Returning his gaze to the pair of dwarf-folk, he waves his hand easily, indicating the risen dwarf's previous seat, "I shall see the son of Gloin when he chooses to appear it has been his wont to hide, when I come to seek him. But tell me, do you bear his message, or that of Ironfoot, Under the Mountain?"
Ranol frowns, and it's fairly clear that this dwarf does not know much of the affairs between Gimli and the elves either. He runs a hand through his short black hair, then rubs the back of his neck as he looks to Mobeorn. "There is no trouble from me, Master Mobeorn. If there is trouble to be made towards our group, it is from elsewhere..." He trails off as the newly arrived elf begins talking of trespassing. "We do not invade your terrain, Master Elf. We were only just speaking with your kin here about speaking on our behalf to your king, to avoid misgivings regarding our intentions."
[Thranduil(#5440)]
"You too, speak wisely," the King responds to Ranol now, "Though perhaps abruptly. For if I thought you a trespasser--if you were to enter into the northern wood, and seek the way to the secret parts of my realm, you would not be seated at this fire just as I would not be welcomed into the deepest holds of Erebor, I might suggest."
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin takes his seat again, glancing first at Ranol, then back to the King. "It is a message from our King Dain and though it has not been given me to bear, I know it, aye. But it is meant for the ears of King Thranduil and you, Master Elf, have given us no name. Who may you be, if I should refrain from presuming?"
Ranol remains standing for now, his blue eyes flicking amongst the people gathered around the fire. Once, he looks back in the direction that Gimli had departed earlier, but his attention doesn't linger away from the strangers for long. After Frarin speaks, the dwarf takes the initiative, and bows as he offers an introduction to the new elf. "I am Ranol, son of Ranor."
[Thranduil(#5440)]
"Once again, the folk of Dain knock upon the door, and demand to know who's home it is that they have found," The king replies to the first Dwarf, before turning to acknowledge the bow, "The son of Ranor, indeed. Welcome to the lands of the Elfking of Mirkwood."
[Frarin(#31050)] "I do not demand, Master Elf," Frarin returns. "I only ask. For if indeed you are the King of this realm as Master Mobeorn has greeted, though I gather he thinks it his own mistake, then it is so and I may perhaps speak my king's message to you if you would not have it from my Lord Gimli. But if you are not, then I may not speak it. Perhaps we might speak on the weather then, or some other mundane issue if it suits you. For my part, I am Frarin, son of Forli."
[<#4965>] "" Ingildur looks tetchy, and his voice carries frustration in it. He turns to the dwarves 'If you tell us this message, then we can bear it to the ears of the King.'
Ranol glances between the two, a troubled expression growing on his face. "It is a courtesy amongst most all of the people that walk this land to share proper introduction upon being offered it." The dwarf says, trying to keep a polite tone, though there is frustration in his tone.
[Thranduil(#5440)]
The King inclines, his head, "Yes, indeed," he says, smiling to his fellow elf, "What but my word would you have, should I declare myself to be a King? And is it not fitting to the messenger of a King Under the Mountain, to speek with his peer, a messenger of the King of Mirkwood?"
He pauses only momentarily, seated as he is aside bow and sword, he does not wait long enough for an answer to either question, "I am Thranduil, Aran na Nandor o Taur-e-Ndaedelos. I pray that your message is of more import than the last that one of your folk demanded be delivered in person though I give you merit for appearing, in order to deliver it."
[Frarin(#31050)] "Your word is enough," Frarin answers. "Whatever opinion the dwarves may have of the nature of the elven folk of Mirkwood, to deceive outright I do not think is a part of it." He straightens his head as the King introduces himself then and nods deeply. "Well met then, my lord. The message that was previously brought you was one of friendship and rembrance, but our caravan brings now word from King Dain, of his concern for the future of Mirkwood, and indeed for the Wilderland in general."
When the elf finally introduces himself, Ranol seems to take the first-born at his word. The khazad bows again, speaking a respectful, "Well met, Lord of Mirkwood." He grows quiet then, so that the two that have business may speak.
[Thranduil(#5440)]
"There are dark things in the southern wood just as there are goblins in the mines of Moria, and worse in the Ered Mithrim in the north," Thranduil responds, "And I fear that the King's last messenger spoke little of friendship, but rather drew the ire of those he was sent to befriend."
The King rises from his own seat, bending to retrieve both sword and bow, "I shall hear the rest of this message when there is light in the sky, I think," he says, "For it does not do well to speak of such things in the dark of night, this close to a wood which remains yet untamed. I know well of what lurks under the eaves of this forest." he concludes, his voice low, "And I know well that Dain's folk and mine share an Enemy."
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin rises after the King and stands with his hands clasped behind his back, a natural frown settling over his face. He nods. "I thank you then, King Thranduil, for listening. Of past grievances I cannot speak with authority, but if you will return in the day, then you may hear the rest of King Dain's message, either from myself or one of the king's own men." He bows deeply by way of farewell, nodding also to Ingildur.
[Mobeorn(#22365)] Through all of this, Mobeorn has sat quietly, but as the King rises, so does the Beorning. "Aye, the forest is not the place to tarry at night, though I suppose you folk will have no choice," he grins at the dwarves. "I for one will seek a resting place among the trees. Or perhaps no rest at all, depending on what I find there. With your leave," he adds quickly to the King.
[Ingildur(#4965)] "Lord, I shall stay with these dwarves, lest they need send a message to you, or need guidance." Ingildur bows first to his king, then to the dwarves.
[Thranduil(#5440)] "This village has many of my folk about, though many of them are shy, and will not be seen" the King answers to the large Man, "None who rest aside the river in this place will come to harm."
[Thranduil(#5440)]
With a nod of acknowledgement to Ingildur, the King retrieves both bow and sword, offers a final nod to the Dwarf-folk, and the Man in turn, before departing westwards, towards the looming forest.
Ranol watches the elf king depart, then gives a bow to all present again. "Good evening to you all. I must tend to matters." The huskarl walks away, towards another part of the camp where Lord Braldor can be found. Undoubtedly the Bundazanul will be reporting all of this to his thane as soon as he is able.
[Frarin(#31050)] With another nod after the elven King, Frarin seems to relax some, though his face remains lined. He glances at Ingildur. "Your folk are full of many surprise, Master Ingildur. I shall bid you good night then, by your leave." And with a nod, he gathers up his book and pen and disappears further into the camp.
One large wagon sits near the edge of camp and to it are tethered half a dozen ponies, while all around are the scattered materials and stores that betray the fact that the camp has been there for some time now. Beside the wagon crackles a small fire and on its edge sits Frarin the silversmith, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up against the warm May evening. An empty plate sits beside him, but he currently seems to be making notes in a small, leather-bound notebook.
One of the stout khazad approaches the lone dwarf at this fire. He's heavily armed with a chain shirt, broadsword at his side, and warhammer on his back. He has a thick black beard that splays away from his chin in a wild fashion, but his hair is cropped short to only an inch in length. His shield is held at his side, along with his helm. "Good evening, Master Frarin. Is Thari about?" Ranol asks in a quiet, formal manner.
[Frarin(#31050)] The scratch of Frarin's pen halts abruptly at the sound of Ranol's approach and the silversmith looks up with a mixed look of surprise and wariness. "Nay," he says gruffly. "He is gone to the warehouse by the docks. The Dalemen have a store of pipeweed to be bought. Why?" His tone, as Ranol's, is quiet and formal.
"I had hoped to speak with my cousin.. " Ranol gets a troubled look in his blue gaze, his eyes wandering to the fire. "We're going into Mirkwood. I don't want to start that difficult journey with bad feelings in the air."
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin's lips purse and he glances at Ranol, then seems to look past the huskarl for a moment before turning his attention back to his book. "Aye, aye indeed, twould be most unfortunate if you and Thari had not reconciled before the passage of Mirkwood." There is something suggestive in his tone, but he abruptly changes the subject, without looking up again. "I have had news of your orc, by the way. The one that walks in the day and was almost your death."
For a moment, Ranol seems to forget entirely about formalities and old grudges and his blue eyes widen. He steps closer to the fire. "You have?? What did you hear?" He asks with intense interest, the previous topic of conversation abandoned. "Are you sure it was Grishnakh?"
[Frarin(#31050)] "Do not make yourself excited," Frarin says, still not looking up as if his book is far more engrossing. "I only met one of the Beornings on the hillside outside Laketown, one of their shape-changers. He said only that his people had not been able to find the orc they say walks in the daylight. So unless one of his own has killed him off," now the silversmith glances up, "then your orc is still alive." And lips pressing together, he looks down again, muttering an additional, "That should cheer your up."
[Gimli(#30149)] "It's 'skinchangers', according to what gandalf has told us', comes a voice from the group of wagons that mark the dwarven caravan. And indeed, Gimli comes, sporting a fine set of dwarven mail and a cruel-looking battle axe. "As far as Beorn was concerned, and all his descendants, I think the right word would be 'skinchangers'... Gandalf has known them for a while, so i bet his knowledge of them is far greater than outs". He then bows slightly to the Huskarl and the Sulversmith. "How have you been, cousins?"
"Oh.. " Ranol says as his enthusiasm fades. The huskarl grows quiet again, frowing at Frarin's implication that he'll be cheered at hearing the orc likely still lives. "I wouldn't.. " He trails off as the other dwarf approaches. With a bow, Ranol greets the Black Axe, "Good evening, Lord Gimli."
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin looks up at the sound of Gimli's voice and then stands briefly to offer the champion a respectful bow. Then he reseats himself. "Skinchanger or shape-changer, however they are called, they are the same. To change their own form..." Frarin shakes his head as if the thought is still an uneasy one with him, even after many passages to the lands of Beorn. "Aye, but you were there, my lord. Mobeorn he called himself, did he not? Aye, that he was no man when he growled at me from behind, I am quite sure. And by his name, he is likely the same as the Beorn of legend."
Ranol looks back to Frarin. "Mobeorn is a skinchanger, aye. I've spoken with the man a few times. He's a fierce warrior for his people. He hates Grishnakh as much as I do." The huskarl runs a hand through his hair. "If we do see the daywalker, I hope I have the opportunity to let him taste my blade again."
[Gimli(#30149)] "A bold thing to do, in this dark times", Gimli says to Ranol, "yet i hope not to run into him or any of his dark ilk", he adds. As he's about to ask something, one of the narag comes and clears his throat, and then inclines his head towards one of the wagons. Gimli shrugs then, and adds, "Well, it seems I am needed elsewhere, cousins... a good day to you both". And then, with hurried steps he leaves, the Narag that came for him in tow.
[Frarin(#31050)] "Aye, agreed," Frarin nods to Gimli. "I hope to have a clear passage through the wood, though I doubt we should be so fortunate." He nods again when the dwarf lord is called away, then glances at Ranol as if expecting the huskarl to depart as well. But he looks again to his book instead of waiting to see. "You should not wish to meet a foe in the forest. You are like as not to meet multiple if you meet one," Frarin mutters after a moment.
"That isn't what I said, Frarin." Ranol responds with a hint of irritation. "I said that if we -do- meet him, I would like my chance at him." The huskarl scowls and a brooding expression takes his face.
[Frarin(#31050)] "Hmm," Frarin grunts by way of reply, the scratch of his pen starting up again, though sporadically, as if the silversmith is distracted. "Well, I hope you do not, just the same." He is muttering again, almost as if speaking to himself, but just loud enough for Ranol to hear.
"Why? You do not think I can fight him?" Ranol asks, his thick black brows drawing together. "I have been training non-stop, Frarin. Countless hours! It's been a long time since I encountered that orc and my skills have improved tremendously." If Frarin had been expression concern for the Bundazanul's safety, the huskarl clearly misinterpretted. But then, he's always been a bit sensitive about Frarin's opinion of his abilities.
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin's pen stops again, but it is a few seconds before he looks up. And when he does, his face is grave and lined, but stony, as usual. "Very well, you can fight him," the silversmith says after a moment, his voice lacking the familiar gruffness. "I did not say you could not. I said only I hoped you did not. Surprise you though it may, I do actually prefer you alive and in one piece. And though you may have no memory of it yourself, I thought you quite dead last you fought this daywalker. Improved though your skills may be, you should not be so quick to forget your history with this orc. I have not."
Ranol stands quietly, gazing at Frarin with a mix of sadness and wounded pride. Finally he moves to sit down in front of the fire, despite not being invited. "I don't remember all that well. It's hazy, hard to focus on. I remember when I encountered him, and what he said.. Not much after the fight. I remember recovering in the healing hall in Beorn." The huskarl stares at the fire. "Better for me to fight him than some other. I want to fight him, I want to spill his blood. I have fought him before."
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin looks down to his book again, but absently this time, as if he might simply stare at the ground were the book not blocking his view. "Aye, well I do. -If- then you must fight him," he says, putting only a slight emphasis on 'if', "mind you do not let your emotions overtake you. It is easy to tell yourself that they will not, but if you see him again, if he taunts you as he did before, who can say." It is difficult to say why Frarin speaks as he does, but he does not look back up at Ranol.
"I wouldn't let his taunting affect me." Ranol argues, scowling again. "He almost killed me the first time. I remember -that-." The dwarf mutters, his voice low and rumbling. "I made foolish mistakes, then. I'm older now, and I have more experience. I've trained with Lord Gimli." He looks at the older Barazin, watching him closely.
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin looks up now, lips pursed in minour annoyance. "Aye, and I have been on the road nearly as long as you have yet lived and yet I have been at the brink of death at least half a dozen times. We are all of us subject to the laws of life or death, Ranol, and no matter how old you may be or how great a champion you have trained with, you are but one person. Even the greatest, even the most diligent, may be felled." It is a rebuke, and a sharp one, and with a snort Frarin rises and grabs the empty plate on the ground beside him. He turns his back on the fire and goes to a small wash basin beside Thari's wagon, all the while muttering odds and ends to himself.
The huskarl's frown deepens as the Barazin lectures him. His blue eyes travel to the fire again and stay there, slowly becoming adjusted to the brighter flames. "I know that we are all mortal. But I would rather fight him myself than he someone else fall to his scimitar. Eventually, something will happen and I will need to protect Lord Braldor. I could die then.. or I could die from some accident. I'm not afraid to fight."
[Frarin(#31050)] Though his back is to Ranol, Frarin's head tips back slightly as if he is rolling his eyes at the stars, but who can say. He plunges his plate into the cold water basin and begins scrubbing it, but speaks loud enough that Ranol should hear him. "I know you aren't afraid to fight. I know you would die to protect Braldor. I know you could die from some accident." He sounds like he is speaking to a beardling, with the quiet, repeated assurance needed to make some youngsters believe something.
"By the Maker, lad," the silversmith continues, rising from the basic and wiping the excess water from the plate on his surcoat. "Just accept with a little dignity that someone would be--" he pauses, as if searching for a word, but manages only, "--disappointed if you -did- die. By Durin." Frarin rolls his eyes skyward again, then disappears around the back of the wagon with continued muttering, though he will likely return shortly and be able to hear Ranol if the huskarl answers him.
[Ingildur(#4965)] As the stars pivot above, a gentle breeze brings the sound of song and laughter, the merry, clear voices of elves in the woods. Soft footsteps, too, can be heard in the night. The flames on the fire leap and dance, and then suddenly out of the darkness appears the elf Ingildur, hood cast back and merry lights in his eyes, "Good evening, master dwarf!" He exclaims
Ranol reaches down to pick up a stick from the ground, slowly snapping it into small pieces as Frarin speaks. He has no answer for the Barazin now and glares at the fire with a heavy dose of uncertainty on his face. The twigs are tossed at the fire and he exhales a heavy sigh, seeming about to say more on the subject, but the sudden greeting draws his attention.
The dwarven guard rises swiftly to his feet as he blinks into the darkness after so effectively blinding himself by staring at the flames. "Hail! Who is there?" He asks as his hand moves to lightly rest on the hilt of his sword.
[Frarin(#31050)] It is a moment after the first sound of the merry singing and then Ranol's wary greeting that Frarin appears from around the wagon again, coming slowly with narrowed eyes, as if he had heard the voices and approached with Ranol's same wariness. His shoulders slope a bit at the sight of Ingildur in an annoyed sort of manner, but his expression at least relaxes. "Ah yes," he says gruffly, coming near the fire again. "Another elf, though at least this one does not cast twigs at dwarves to announce his arrive. But nay, you are the same, I believe, Master Elf, as came here some days, are you not?
[Ingildur(#4965)] "Some days before, aye, and found you in a wrathful frame of mind! But now, I see that you are both just blind - especially you here! Can you not see me?" The elf performs a half bow and gestures towards Ranol, "But have you calmed down, Master Dwarf? I see that your beard does not bristle so!"
Ranol blinks away the after-images of the fire and focuses more fully on the elf. It's not a warm expression on his face, but neither is it unfriendly. "Good evening, Master Elf. Do please come closer to the fire." He offers, nevermind that it's Frarin's camp.
[Frarin(#31050)] "You mistake me, Master Elf," Frarin replies, not returning the bow but deigning a nod. "It was another's who beard did bristle. For my part, I cannot think the silliness of your folk worth the effort and I told my comrade as much." He lifts his brows at Ingildur and frowns, but sits back down when Ranol offers the elf an invitation to the fire. "What brings you to our comfortable camp for a second time, Master Elf?"
[Ingildur(#4965)] "I am tasked to check upon you, Master Dwarf, so as to be sure that you do not stray where not permitted by my king." The Elf performs another bow, "And to see that you do not lack for that which you need. You can call me Feredir Ingildur." Ingildur sits forward, "And might I enquire as to your reasons for being here?"
"Well met, Master Feredir." Ranol says in a polite rumble, and the guard retakes his seat. He keeps his eyes on the elf with a bit of wariness to his gaze. "I am Ranol, son of Ranor." He offers, then looks to Frarin to let the Barazin explain their presence.
[Frarin(#31050)] "Your kindness is boundless," Frarin returns, slightly dryly, but he does stand this time to return the elf's half bow. "I am Frarin son of Forli." He seats himself again, then waves towards the centre of the camp. "We are a trading caravan, of men and of dwarves, and our destination is the lands of the Beornings. But as I am given to understand, there is a message that our caravan has been tasked with taking to your king, else we should have planned to pass through the forest along the Old Forest Road to the south, as is our custom."
[Ingildur(#4965)] "Indeed, this is a mighty detour from the caravan route. But I doubt the king will be able to see you - can I pass this message on to him?" The Feredir shoots a long glance at Frarin, "The King is not overfond of dwarves."
"Your king is so disliking of the khazad that you would deny us a chance to deliver him a message, Master Feredir?" The dwarven guard speaks in a softer, honest manner. "We are not seeking to disturb your people, we simply wish to be about our business that we have committed to." Ranol's blue eyes watch the elf keenly.
[Frarin(#31050)] "Aye," Frarin nods in agreement with Ranol, returning Ingildur's long look. "I am well aware of your king's feelings towards the dwarves, but he should not be so quick to brush us aside in these days when light is failing. We do not expect for the whole of the caravan to deliver the message, only a few ambassadors, to travel with one of your folk into your realm."
[Ingildur(#4965)] The elf seems to consider this for a few moments, "I shall have to secure his permission first. But surely you are aware, he turned away Gimli, son of Gloin, at the gates of our fine halls?"
Ranol glances over at Frarin, perhaps to see if this is news to the Barazin. Then the huskarl looks back to the elf. "We would greatly appreciate your assistance in gaining us acceptable passage, Master Elf." He says in a careful fashion. "As I said, the khazad have no wish to disturb you or your kin."
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin frowns and his eyes narrow, as if this is indeed news to him. "He turned away Lord Gimli? For what reason? I was not aware, no. I am an ambassador, but of my clan only, not of my king, and I do not follow such matters for the most part." He frowns deeper still, but after a moment seems to settle with silence on that matter, instead nodding again to Ranol. "Aye, we have no wish to disturb your folk, Master Ingildur, only to bring our king's message. If you would ask such a thing of your own king, I should be grateful."
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
Snort. Russle. Plod plod plod.
Something this way comes, though perhaps not wicked, as it is taking great pains to make itself heard and obvious as it moves through the forest. Another snort is given and a loud, if friendly, rumble of a bear. Then a large brown bear steps out of the trees, eyeing dwarves and elf.
Ranol starts to rise as the sound of a large animal approaches. The guard is ever vigilent of trouble. His hand is on his sword again when the bear breaks the treeline. After a moment the huskarl relaxes and gives the bear a bow in greeting, a wry smile on his face.
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin too begins to rise when the sound of a large creature coming through the woods interrupts them, but the loud rumble does in fact, oddly, give the impression of friendliness. And when Ranol relaxes suddenly and bows to the bear that emerges from the trees, Frarin sits down again, a half-smile of amusement creeping into his expression, though briefly.
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
Ranol tilts his head to one side, then simply shakes his head and retakes his seat in front of the fire. "Good evening to you, Master Bear." The dwarf says in a friendly manner. "I am afraid there is no honey here for you to enjoy."
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin's eyes shift to the bear, then to Ranol as the huskarl gives a reply, then even to Ingildur to see if the elf seems to understand their newest arrival. But the silversmith, for his part, stays silent.
[<#22365>] The bear now sits itself down on the ground completely, head resting on its front paws, eyes studying each member of this group quietly. "
Ranol simply shakes his head now, glancing first to Frarin, then to the elf. "I don't speak bear.." The huskarl responds with another grin, shrugging in apology.
[Frarin(#31050)] "I'm afraid you must speak in the tongue of men, Master Bear," Frarin says, eyeing the bear with a half amused stare. "Else we shall not understand you, unless you indeed prefer not to be understood. In which case, by all means, do continue at your leisure."
[<#4965>] Ingildur The Feredir remains seated at the fire, casting his eyes over the two dwarves, illuminated in the dancing flames against the night-time background, before studying the new arrival, "
[<#4965>] The Feredir remains seated at the fire, casting his eyes over the two dwarves, illuminated in the dancing flames against the night-time background, before studying the new arrival, "
[<#22365>] The bear's nose twists at the words spoken to him, and with what can only be termed an annoyed sigh,it gets to its feet and rambles back into the woods from whence it came. It is only there a moment or two, though well hidden. And then a moment later the man Mobeorn emerges, hand raised in a greeting.
'Hail dwarves,' he says, grumbling still in a very bear-like way. 'Little do I like this form in these dark woods.'
To the elf, he now gives a nod of his head, speaking in the Feredir's tongue, though with a rough animal overlay to the sweet elven tones. "
Ranol chuckles at the antics of the bear, watching as it ambles off into the woods. When the man returns, the dwarf comments mildly, "Perhaps if you taught us how we might understand you, Master Mobeorn, it would not be neccessary to switch? Though, I do not know that the khazad would have an easy time learning the speech of animals."
[<#5440>]
"
The figure bears both sword and bow, standing tall at the edge of the light, his voice filling the spring air with its richness, even as his hand rests calmly upon the pommel of the sword slung from his belt.
[Frarin(#31050)] "Hail, Master Mobeorn," greets Frarin with a nod, glancing at Ranol when the huskarl speaks again to the now man. He lapses into silence though when Mobeorn and Ingildur speak in yet another language that is unfamiliar, though easier perhaps to follow the intonations of than the growls of the bear. At the appearance of another elf though, Frarin's brows lift again in mild interest, though he frowns and crosses his arms over his chest as the foreign language continues. "Ah, and another to add to our ever more varied party. Hail, Master Elf, you are welcome to the fire as your comrade here."
[<#4965>] "
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
"Ah, good King," Mobeorn says, offering a brief bow to the newly arrived elf. "May the waters of your lands ever run swift and pure. I thank you for this gift."
"I would teach you my language, but I thought the dwarves had no love for learning," Mobeorn addresses the dwarves next, with a shrug. Ingildur's words in Sindarin draw an arch of his brow.
Ranol looks on to the new elf with the same wary manner as his kin. "Good evening, Master Elf." He offers politely, then gets that patient, suffering expression that people adapt when they have no idea what is being spoken. Mobeorn clues him in a bit on the identity of the new elf, and he looks over first to the Beorning, then to Frarin with thick brows lifted and uncertainty on his face.
[<#5440>]
The King nods to Ingildur, "
The words may be foreign, though if the mocking tone does not translate, surely the laugh that follows does. "
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin's expression changes in like with Ranol's as Mobeorn greets the newest arrival and the silversmith glances to his fellow with the same uncertainty. Then, abruptly, he rises, a wary expression drawing his brows close together and the corners of his mouth down. And indeed, the mocking tone and laugh of the newcomer do not lighten that expression, but Frarin says nothing for now.
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
"Your pardon, then," Mobeorn says with a slight bow to Thranduil. "I jumped to an over-hasty conclusion by your words. Nonetheless, well met, whomever you are, and my thanks for the gift are not diminished."
The younger khazad guard stands along with his dwarven cousin, glancing between the elves and the Beorning with the continued incomprehension. He murmurs to Frarin, "Perhaps I should go and fetch Lord Gimli?" His voice is a soft rumble compared to the light, airy tones of the elven people.
[Thranduil(#5440)]
"It is just as well," The King says in accented westron, reaching up to unsling the longbow from his shoulder, and bending to set it upon the ground. "I am welcomed to this fire which has been set within my own realm, and I shall accept humbly," he says, turning his gaze to the now risen dwarf.
His sword is next, the hilt uncatched from his belt easily, he sets this down aside the bow, before sinking to a seat upon the earth, "The son of Gloin has come as well? Did he not swear that he would never return to my lands, upon his last departure?"
[<#4965>] 'For sure, he told me so.' The Feredir answers Thranduil, 'Unless he recieved an apology, which, I am sure has never been issued.' He switches language, "
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin glances sidelong to Ranol at the guard's suggestion and looks about to reply when at last the newly-arrived elf speaks in the common tongue, bringing Frarin's attention back to him with that same wary but curious look. He nods slowly after a moment when the King accepts the invitation to the fire, but frowns after. "The pledges of Gimli Gloin's son are not my affair, Master Elf, and for that I cannot say what he has said or not."
[Mobeorn(#22365)]
The Beorning now takes the opportunity to sit, as well, settling down on the ground near enough to the fire to listen. "There is trouble between dwarves and elves?" Mobeorn asks, looking not at all surprised. Indeed, he looks a bit amused by the prospect, and adjusts his position on the ground as if to better enjoy the coming show. Then he leans forward to listen and watch.
[Thranduil(#5440)]
"Wisely spoken," the King says, his smile remaining, though the laughter is gone. "There is ever trouble between the folk of the wood, and those would seek to trespass, and learn the ways that lead into the heart of my realm," The King advises, his attention shifting to the large man, if only for a moment.
Returning his gaze to the pair of dwarf-folk, he waves his hand easily, indicating the risen dwarf's previous seat, "I shall see the son of Gloin when he chooses to appear it has been his wont to hide, when I come to seek him. But tell me, do you bear his message, or that of Ironfoot, Under the Mountain?"
Ranol frowns, and it's fairly clear that this dwarf does not know much of the affairs between Gimli and the elves either. He runs a hand through his short black hair, then rubs the back of his neck as he looks to Mobeorn. "There is no trouble from me, Master Mobeorn. If there is trouble to be made towards our group, it is from elsewhere..." He trails off as the newly arrived elf begins talking of trespassing. "We do not invade your terrain, Master Elf. We were only just speaking with your kin here about speaking on our behalf to your king, to avoid misgivings regarding our intentions."
[Thranduil(#5440)]
"You too, speak wisely," the King responds to Ranol now, "Though perhaps abruptly. For if I thought you a trespasser--if you were to enter into the northern wood, and seek the way to the secret parts of my realm, you would not be seated at this fire just as I would not be welcomed into the deepest holds of Erebor, I might suggest."
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin takes his seat again, glancing first at Ranol, then back to the King. "It is a message from our King Dain and though it has not been given me to bear, I know it, aye. But it is meant for the ears of King Thranduil and you, Master Elf, have given us no name. Who may you be, if I should refrain from presuming?"
Ranol remains standing for now, his blue eyes flicking amongst the people gathered around the fire. Once, he looks back in the direction that Gimli had departed earlier, but his attention doesn't linger away from the strangers for long. After Frarin speaks, the dwarf takes the initiative, and bows as he offers an introduction to the new elf. "I am Ranol, son of Ranor."
[Thranduil(#5440)]
"Once again, the folk of Dain knock upon the door, and demand to know who's home it is that they have found," The king replies to the first Dwarf, before turning to acknowledge the bow, "The son of Ranor, indeed. Welcome to the lands of the Elfking of Mirkwood."
[Frarin(#31050)] "I do not demand, Master Elf," Frarin returns. "I only ask. For if indeed you are the King of this realm as Master Mobeorn has greeted, though I gather he thinks it his own mistake, then it is so and I may perhaps speak my king's message to you if you would not have it from my Lord Gimli. But if you are not, then I may not speak it. Perhaps we might speak on the weather then, or some other mundane issue if it suits you. For my part, I am Frarin, son of Forli."
[<#4965>] "
Ranol glances between the two, a troubled expression growing on his face. "It is a courtesy amongst most all of the people that walk this land to share proper introduction upon being offered it." The dwarf says, trying to keep a polite tone, though there is frustration in his tone.
[Thranduil(#5440)]
The King inclines, his head, "Yes, indeed," he says, smiling to his fellow elf, "What but my word would you have, should I declare myself to be a King? And is it not fitting to the messenger of a King Under the Mountain, to speek with his peer, a messenger of the King of Mirkwood?"
He pauses only momentarily, seated as he is aside bow and sword, he does not wait long enough for an answer to either question, "I am Thranduil, Aran na Nandor o Taur-e-Ndaedelos. I pray that your message is of more import than the last that one of your folk demanded be delivered in person though I give you merit for appearing, in order to deliver it."
[Frarin(#31050)] "Your word is enough," Frarin answers. "Whatever opinion the dwarves may have of the nature of the elven folk of Mirkwood, to deceive outright I do not think is a part of it." He straightens his head as the King introduces himself then and nods deeply. "Well met then, my lord. The message that was previously brought you was one of friendship and rembrance, but our caravan brings now word from King Dain, of his concern for the future of Mirkwood, and indeed for the Wilderland in general."
When the elf finally introduces himself, Ranol seems to take the first-born at his word. The khazad bows again, speaking a respectful, "Well met, Lord of Mirkwood." He grows quiet then, so that the two that have business may speak.
[Thranduil(#5440)]
"There are dark things in the southern wood just as there are goblins in the mines of Moria, and worse in the Ered Mithrim in the north," Thranduil responds, "And I fear that the King's last messenger spoke little of friendship, but rather drew the ire of those he was sent to befriend."
The King rises from his own seat, bending to retrieve both sword and bow, "I shall hear the rest of this message when there is light in the sky, I think," he says, "For it does not do well to speak of such things in the dark of night, this close to a wood which remains yet untamed. I know well of what lurks under the eaves of this forest." he concludes, his voice low, "And I know well that Dain's folk and mine share an Enemy."
[Frarin(#31050)] Frarin rises after the King and stands with his hands clasped behind his back, a natural frown settling over his face. He nods. "I thank you then, King Thranduil, for listening. Of past grievances I cannot speak with authority, but if you will return in the day, then you may hear the rest of King Dain's message, either from myself or one of the king's own men." He bows deeply by way of farewell, nodding also to Ingildur.
[Mobeorn(#22365)] Through all of this, Mobeorn has sat quietly, but as the King rises, so does the Beorning. "Aye, the forest is not the place to tarry at night, though I suppose you folk will have no choice," he grins at the dwarves. "I for one will seek a resting place among the trees. Or perhaps no rest at all, depending on what I find there. With your leave," he adds quickly to the King.
[Ingildur(#4965)] "Lord, I shall stay with these dwarves, lest they need send a message to you, or need guidance." Ingildur bows first to his king, then to the dwarves.
[Thranduil(#5440)] "This village has many of my folk about, though many of them are shy, and will not be seen" the King answers to the large Man, "None who rest aside the river in this place will come to harm."
[Thranduil(#5440)]
With a nod of acknowledgement to Ingildur, the King retrieves both bow and sword, offers a final nod to the Dwarf-folk, and the Man in turn, before departing westwards, towards the looming forest.
Ranol watches the elf king depart, then gives a bow to all present again. "Good evening to you all. I must tend to matters." The huskarl walks away, towards another part of the camp where Lord Braldor can be found. Undoubtedly the Bundazanul will be reporting all of this to his thane as soon as he is able.
[Frarin(#31050)] With another nod after the elven King, Frarin seems to relax some, though his face remains lined. He glances at Ingildur. "Your folk are full of many surprise, Master Ingildur. I shall bid you good night then, by your leave." And with a nod, he gathers up his book and pen and disappears further into the camp.
Players: Thranduil, Ranol, Frarin, Ingildur, Mobeorn
