(Archive) The Fellowship of the Sword 32 - Portraits

Real time is: 03:33:25 MST on Fri Dec 29 2000.

The Dindraug Inn
As you enter this good sized room you are greeted with the cheery confusion of travellers swapping stories around the many tables mingled in with the clanging and clashing of food and drink being served. Directly in front of you is a long oak bar, Thirithect, the bartender, stands behind it ready and willing to get you a drink if the innkeeper isn't available. A large window rests in the back wall letting in plenty of light and is open for fresh air in good weather. All in all, this is a good clean place to stop and take a rest from travelling. Resting on the mantle of the hearth is a statue of a wolf for all to view. There is a on the far wall.
A small bell rests on the counter for you to get the innkeepers attention if she is out of the room. Type
Table code is in effect here. Type for table commands.
Contents:
Laerlinn
Dart Board
Thirithect
Long Oak Bar
Obvious exits:
Swinging Door leads to Kitchen.
Backroom leads to Backroom.
Up leads to Second Floor Hallway.
Out leads to Celebannon.

Evenings in the Dindraug Inn is a matter of perspective--if you are inside looking out or outside looking in. From the outside, the cheerful warm and golden light spills out onto the somber square, beckoning travellers and passersby in. From the inside looking out, it is a mill of pleasant sights, sounds and smells. Mulled wine, hot teas and mead tempt and soothe weary travellers--both elven and human, and many a tale can be heard to be told by the blazing warmth of the firelight.

Tonight, the inn is fairly crowded, though not overly so, and elves outnumber the humans--as usual. At one table near the hearth sits an elleth. She holds a glass of mulled wine, yet listens to one of her kinsfolk relate a tale of his travels.

At the table opposite her is a tall foreigner, dressed in a black cloak of fine sable. The clasp at the throat bears the White Tree, identifying this man as a Gondorian. He wears an eyepatch, and sits quietly sipping some fine wine, gazing about the Inn.

A burst of laughter sounds from one of the tables as a joke is told. The elves at the table clink their glasses together and drink to some uttered phrase. Laerlinn, too, turns to listen to the din, chuckling softly. She looks pensive, perhaps tired, yet for some reason, she chooses not to rest but rather sit beside the hearth in the company of others.

"Laerlinn!" comes a clear and deep voice from the stairway. A tall, dark-haired edhel takes the steps quickly, approaching the table and giving the other a fond embrace as she stands. "I heard of the business in the forest earlier," the taller elf speaks, and concern shadows his expression. "You are alright--"

"I am fine, father," Laerlinn hastens to reply, smiling. "I was only in any danger since I went looking for it after all..." and she laughs softly as her father pats her gently on the head. "Yes. Your mother would have words about that--if I were to tell her," the other laughs, with a wink. "Did you see enough to draw some fine pictures? That must be the question."

Laerlinn laughs again, shaking her head. "I shall see those beast clearly whenever I think of them, so drawings will not be long in coming." "You should rest, daughter," the taller entreats, but Laerlinn shakes her head. "I shall rest well enough here by the hearth, listening to stories, mayhap," she says.

Laerlinn's father nods, smiling again. "Well, I am ready to retire to reading for a while. Stay out of trouble, aye?" he says with another grin.

"Aye, Father," Laerlinn answers readily, and then the elder departs back up the stairs 'ere the elleth takes her seat once again and sips from her glass.

Morrandir watches the pair lazily, clearly not due to interest, but merely for want of a better conversation upon which to eavesdrop. He sips his drink, and scratches beneath his eyepatch, revealing an unsightly scar as the leather is lifted. Looking across to the elf he finally speaks, "Goodevening to you miss. Am I correct in assuming that you are an artist?"

Surprised to hear a voice behind her quite unexpectedly, and more suprised to see it is one of the Edain that address her, Laerlinn brightens to a smile, looking to the Gondorian knight curiously. She has seen her share in the past three days she has been here, but still the difference of an Edain voice and face is a curious thing. And Laerlinn is insatiably curious, for an elf.
Laerlinn grins, nodding. "Of sorts," she says. "I am a scribe by learning, an artist by default.."

"Interesting," says Morrandir, "before joining the Order of the Swan I had a passion for sketching. I haven't done it for a long time..." He sips his wine and then adds, "However I do not doubt that art done by we of the second-born appears quite shoddily done to you fair-folk."

Laerlinn seems to consider this a moment, the fact reflected by her face gaining an odd expression. "But why should you say that? Of course, I have seen work only by Dale-Landers and never by those of Gondor." She smiles, her grey eyes sparkling. "Twas only recently I've met those from your land at all. The first was a wine merchant in Lake Town. A rather elusive one, he was. I began to sketch is picture and he strode out of the tavern straightway." She shrugs.

"Did he?" Morrandir says, arching an eyebrow and smiling slightly. "Most of my people would be honoured to feature in an elven artwork..." he considers this for a moment, then continues, "Gondorian art. It is nice, one of the many skills retained from the days of ancient Numenor...Yet I doubt it would rival the works of your people."

"I should like to see it," the elleth says, some of the tiredness lifting from her face, buoyed as she is by the conversation. "Have you any sketches with you?" and she pulls from under the folds of her cloak a large leathern satchel, placing it upon the table before her.

"Nay, I have no time for art these days. Too busy working towards gaining a Knighthood." Morrandir looks down at the satchel with a keen interest, "However I would love to see some of your works, Miss. I don't believe I have ever seen your folk's art either."

Laerlinn unlatches the satchel, yet her interest is keen upon something Morrandir has said. "Knighthood. What is it to become a knight? I am familiar with the concept, but of the actual requirements I am curious.." She opens the satchel and withdraws a notebook, yet awaits the other's answer.

"Well, first one must have a burning desire to serve Gondor. To be truthfull, I actually joined for other reasons..." he pauses, and his brow furrows, as though he is recalling some unpleasant memory. "And one must be prepared to dedicate their life to upholding justice, and good, and the glory of Gondor. It is not easy as I have discovered, but I find it very rewarding. There is so much companionship among us squires, we are all like brothers. Anyway once the Knights and Prince are satisfied that you are a 'force for good' they Knight you. Usually after you have performed some heroic deed upon the field of battle."

Laerlinn opens the notebook upon the table, where can be seen sketches of charcoal--though in surprising detail--of faces, elven and human. "These were drawn at the Bardic Congress," Laerlinn explains, allowing Morrandir to look at the sketches. Yet, it is obvious the words the man has spoken keep her to reflection. "A heroic deed?" She wonders aloud. "Such as...?"

"Beautiful..." he mutters, staring down at the drawings in awe. At length he looks up at the elf, and says "Heroic deed? Well...for instance a comrade of mine, Sir Doran fought with some orcs until he was almost dead. The Knights present deemed this an act of such bravery that he was knighted. I too once fought orcs until I was almost dead," he says, pointing to his eyepatch "yet as I spilled not a single drop of the foul creatures blood I am still a squire." He sighs, and smiles. "All I succeeded in doing that day was losing an eye and riding down the most pathetic little goblin you have ever seen. It takes greater deeds than that to earn a knighthood..."

At the mention of Doran's name, Laerlinn's face brightens yet again. "Doran," she repeats, blinking. "T'was the very same that saved my life this evening," she says, soleming a moment with the thought. "'Tis strange and hard to hear those words from my own mouth, yet they are true as I stand here..." She flips a page over and revealed is a drawing of the Dunadan Angroch standing proudly before a fountain. "Another of the Edain I met in Imladhris," Laerlinn says. "I must draw what I saw earlier," she whispers in an aside--something entirely unrelated to the picture she is showing the Gondorian. Though her eyes never leave the drawing, she seems to stare through it. Yet, in the mercurial way elves have about them--their moods and thoughts ever-changing--the elleth looks back to Morrandir, a stark contrast to her earlier expression. Gentleness? "It saddens you to not have done 'great deeds'?" she says quietly. "And such scars to bear," she adds contemplatively. "Yet your time will assuredly come, will it not?" There is a childlike simplicity in the way that is said.

Morrandir smiles warmly, "I certainly hope so." he says, glancing into the fire. He looks back to Laerlinn, then to her drawings. "Thank you for showing me your drawings, Miss. You have a real talent. Would you perhaps...?" he pauses, and looks away. "No...never mind." He furrows his brow and then turns to her once more. "Would you be willing to sell any of your works to me?" he blurts out quickly. "I mean, I would be the envy of my other squires...it would be a great honour. I have money." He reaches down and opens a purse at his belt, revealing some glittering Gondorian coins. "Unless you do not wish to part with any..."

Laerlinn blinks, for this offer is wholly unexpected. Next, she laughs, delighted. "Truly, you've no need to pay me," she says, her cheeks flushing with color. "Would you perhaps care for me to draw your portrait? Or..." and she motions to the book. "Do you prefer one of these drawings? There are one or two I would not wish to part with.."

"My portrait?" says Morrandir, startled. "You would do that, m'lady? I would be honoured, though have never been fond of my own visage. Please do." He is clearly delighted with the prospect of being drawn by the artist, with an almost child-like enthusiasm.

Laerlinn must laugh once again, and she is equally enthusiastic of the prospect of drawing Morrandir's portrait as she finds the charcoal and unwraps it. Turning to a new page, the elleth looks first to Morrandir, studying the shape and shadows of his face. The first few strokes are light, broad circles that outline the basic shape of the subject. Then come bolder strokes and definition in more sharp and defined lines. And always, Laerlinn's eyes are directed from the paper, to the subject, to the paper again, the charcoal scratching against the paper and darkening her fingers when she moves to blend a shading in here or there...

And finally, she stops. Taking a look at the paper, she holds it back to gaze at it a minute more, then goes back to work once again, filling in the darker shadows.

Morrandir tries to keep as still as he can whilst his portrait is drawn, yet cannot help his lips curling into a smile as he glances down at his image on the paper. Yet he says nothing, content to quietly watch the artist at work.

It is several more minutes as the elleth completes the portrait, though, for how short a time it has taken, the work she has done looks more than a simply charcoal sketch. "Making one more critical look to the paper, she fills out a few more shadows in the background, then sets the portrait down, rewrapping the charcoal. Setting those inside the satchel, Laerlinn carefully separates the page from the sketchbook, then presents it to Morrandir. She smiles broadly, and hopes the Gondorian is pleased, as well.

The sun rises over the river as the day begins.

The squire takes the drawing and also smiles broadly, clearly pleased with the result. "This is amazing." he says, still smiling. "Thank you, thank you very much. However I am afraid I have tarried overlong here, and must be returning to my duties as a squire. But again, thank you. I shall treasure this always." He rises to his feet, and bows. He then picks up his picture and makes to depart.

The maiden smiles, offering a farewell to Morrandir as she collects up the rest of her things and clasps her satchel closed. As her own steps take her upstairs towards the rooms to rest, she gazes out upon the inn, rubbing the blackening charcoal from her fingers, smiles, then is lost to the shadows of the hallways.