(Archive) The Fellowship of the Sword 19 - Hunting, Herbs, and Rabbit

Riverside Pathway along the Celebrant
You stand aside an energetic river, surrounded on all sides by the towering boughs of a winter forest of Mallorns. Within the range of your vision, you can see that the trees peculiarly shine with and reflect in (almost appearing to magnify) the radiance of your lightsource. Overhead, a few stars show through the occasional opening in the canopy while underfoot, the path continues alongside the riverbank.
Surrounded as you are, you have the distinct sensation that you are being watched.
Contents:
Mathollor
Morrandir
Amano
Indilzar
White Pavillion
Obvious exits:
Northwest leads to Western Riverbank of the Upper Celebrant.
Southeast leads to Western Riverbank of the Lower Celebrant.

From outside, Near the edge of the camp, leaning against a tree is another squire. Shrouded in darkness, he sips a strong smelling liquid from a small hip-flask. This vague figure among the shadows is Morrandir, his identity discernable by the white bandage about his head, which seems to glow in the darkness.

Mathollor looks out over the campsite his face given a strange light by the glow of the campfire beneath. As he squints against the sudden glare he spots Morrandir and stands. He brushes his hands off as he picks his way carefully through the night shrouded site.

Noticing the figure moving towards him, Morrandir hastily corks his flask and slips it away into the folds of his cloak. Peering at the figure he recognizes Mathollor, and smiles faintly as the squire approaches.

Mathollor speaks quietly his voice deep and containing the humour of the smile that the night hides. "Are you much recovered my friend? Of course you must be to be drinking like that, for only someone who would want to force me to have to carry word back to a friends family would do otherwise of course." The gentle sound of a foot tapping can be heard as he stops several feet away.

Morrandir grins. "Yes I am recovering. As you can see I now walk without the aid of a staff, though the pain is still there." He reaches up, and gently touches the bandage around his head. "Though a little sip from my flask does well to ease the pain..."

Mathollor mutters. The sound carries if not the content, simply conveying a feeling of exasperation. " You know well enough that it will do you no good, it will only slow your recovery. I think you are just happy to let the rest of us do your fair share......." A low chuckle finishes his words as he leans back on his heels.

Emitting an audible sigh, Morrandir changes the subject. "So here we are in the land of the Firstborn." He looks about him, staring into the trees. "What are your thoughts on this fair place, friend?"

In the flickering firelight, and by the wan illumination of the stars, the young Isilrim Amano wanders about the fringes of the camp, his breath misting on the winter air. The wind that ruffles the mallorns had borne many a leaf to where the camp now lies, in the season passed scarce a moon before and his step now shushes through them, the dry leaves crackling beneath his feet. No elf-tread or elf-sight does he have, and to him the night is dim, where to one of the children of the Eldalie it would be near bright as day. What thoughts may be running through his mind, or dwelling in the grey pools of his gaze, are inevitably bent to the silent forest, that to him is an impenetrable barrier, a land fenced in by a power that had few equal in Middle-Earth.

Completing his restless circuit, he halts before the flames, drawing his sable cloak closer about his tall form, quietly staring into the embers as though therein he might be seeking solace and patience.

Stepping out from the squires' tent, Drenlyn stares up at the night sky, mumbling, "Ah, will I ever hear your sweet voice..." Shaking his head he makes towards the dancing fire, but stops as he see's the two squires standing. Hearing Morrandir's question, Drenlyn calmly makes his way over, his humble cloak of shimmering blue flowing about him.

A nod of greeting is given to each of the squires but he remains silent, awaiting a response to Morrandir's question.

Mathollor tilts his head to one side as he finds himself a seat upon an outjutting branch. "I have not a strong opinion except that it is beautiful and therefore dangerous. Beyond that I feel hemmed in by these close sitting trees, I would prefer a city or the plains, Ambushes would come too easy in this place." At this he shakes his head "Not that I suggest such of the Firstborn but this closeness discomforts me, that and the waiting and feel of being watched and weighed."

Morrandir nods slowly. Glancing about he notices the other two squires standing not far off. Looking back to Mathollor he says, "Yes, I know what you mean. Though to me, it seems much safer. Perhaps I am a fool for thinking this way, yet the idea of being surrounded by trees and the firstborn gives me a feeling of safety more than anything."

Nodding at Morrandir's words, Drenlyn chuckles lightly as he turns to Mathollor with a smile, "Indeed around such beauty one should be wary, dear squire, but do not call the beauty of the wood dangerous. For only if you yourself believe that the dangers ahead are less worthy than the wood, will the wood become dangerous for you."

Sighing Drenlyn peers at the dense trees about him, a frown crossing his gentle face, "But as to the watchfulness and closeness that you speak of, it is indeed troubling, though I doubt not that we are constantly watched by the elves of yonder wood."

"Even now..." the squire facing the flames speaks, turning his raven-maned head to grin at the others, "Even now, yes. Do you not feel their eyes upon us? Untiring they are indeed in their vigil... and so I have heard, their glance is keener than eagles' sight and can see in this..." he gestures, "Murk." The newly appointed blue-squire seems however undaunted by such a concept, only, no doubt, eager to see what mysteries awaited them thence, and no doubt willing to be tested if he were of a heart enough to pass the leaguer that lay beyond the river.

Walking over to sit on a log nearby, he inquires, offhandedly of Morrandir, "How are your injuries healing up, by the way?

"I am much better, thankyou. Though it is certain that this eye is lost." Morrandir replies, lightly touching the bandage about his head. "Perhaps if it had been treated in the Halls of Healing by one of our healers it would have been a different matter, but it does not matter." He stares blankly at the ground before looking up at Amano, a smile spreading across his lips. "Congratulations on the stripes, my friend."

Nodding to the now sitting figure, "Too true good sir. I have heard that, and also that they can move without a sound, and so can surprise any enemy. I am only thankful that we are not their enemy now." Sighing, Drenlyn shakes his head at Morrandir's reply, "Indeed, congratulations Amano. It is good to see that squires are attaining their stripes as you have."

Mathollor smiles and nods as he slowly comes out of his reverie. "Yes congratulations my friend." as he speaks he rolls his eyes at Amano before rounding on Morrandir " I fear the greatest loss is not your eye but your hope, I would not set my heart on impressing the girls with a fierce scar until those bandages come off." His words are punctuated by him standing up and moving towards the fire, his head tilts as he speaks over his shoulder. "Enough of your pessimism, come and I will change those bandages you have been toying with them again and they are dirty."

Morrandir grins at Mathollor. "Yes mother." he says with a chuckle. "What do you think would impress the ladies more?" he looks at each squire in turn. "If I were to bear my scar in all its glory, or to wear a patch? Some ladies like men with eye patches...find that 'dangerous' look attractive..."

Amano essays to bow, though seated on the log as he is it proves a little clumsy, and difficult besides. "Thank you. Though, I must say, I was surprised. Far as we are from Dol Amroth... and true, Morrandir, I wish that we had made provision for a healer, it seems that we may have need of one on this journey - it did not occur to me that I would earn that rank on the field." His eyes are now banked in shadow, as once more he spares the wood a glance. "It may be that we will be proven soon enough, if we are to enter Lorien. As for the First-born, we may as well be cautious, if they set such guard upon the borders of the wood, it may be that they will not permit us to pass unchallenged."

Frowning at Mathollor, Drenlyn speaks, his voice solemn and rolling like the waves of the sea, "I would not speak so squire, for if you are ever to advance to Knighthood, impressing girls should be far from your mind. I would rather take the ugliest scar, and retain the good use of my eyes, that to give up the eye."

Smiling now Drenlyn continues, "It is good though to see that squires will take care of each other so. Such comradeship will be helpful in the days to come."

Turning to Amano Drenlyn retorts with a smile, "I doubt the Firstborn would let any enter their wood unchallenged, nor unallowed, for they have been told to be fierce at need, and I doubt not that they would protect their refuge with all their strength."

Mathollor seats himself by the fire after placing a pot of water on to boil and gathering up a large leather bag from a nearby tent. " And Morrandir bring that little flask of yours as I can think of a way in which it will help your healing moreso than drinking it." A roguish grin plays across his face as he stokes up the fire. He proceeds to cut cloth from the leather bag into strips and place it in the heating water.

"As would we," the Isilrim replies to Drenlyn without rancor, "should strangers come into Dol Amroth from lands far away. Though it is but poor comparison." He lets out a sigh, warming his hands before the fire. "If naught comes of this journey here, and the Elves do not reply, I suppose we shall have to make for Erebor, or where our captains see fit to ride. At the very least we may say that we looked upon the Wood, and take that memory with us." He glances to where Mathollor is boiling the strips of leather, and gives a wry grin. "Aye, and so it seems that Mathollor will have to play healer for time being."

Taking a seat beside Amano, Drenlyn stares into the depths of the flame. "Alas that I can not learn the arts of healing, for surly they good be used here. The road to Knighthood is indeed hard, and I doubt not that all of us will have scars to show for it."

Mathollor takes it and bounces it quickly before uncapping it and sniffing. He wrinkles his brow, before with a nonchalant shrug and a sidelong smirk at Morrandir he tips it into the pot. "At least I know those bandages will be clean, This flask does contain the same mix for stripping barnacles off the sides of the docks does it not?" A broad grin towards his hapless victim completes this sally.

Laughing heartily, Morrandir nods to Mathollor. "It is indeed. Once a week I would sneak down to the docks and steal some to drink whilst no one was looking."

Mathollor snorts and nearly chokes as he stirs the water bubbeling in the pot. " I find that all too easy to believe" A broad grin brightens his face as he pats Morrandir on the shoulder.

Shaking his head at the squires at the opposite end of the fire, Drenlyn speaks, "I only hope that you, Morrandir, do not become -so- attached to liquor, or you will find knighthood an impossibility. I have seen so many men already, laid to waste by naught but their strong drinks."

"Once upon a time I was attached to the beastly stuff..." mutters Morrandir. "After the death of my wife I sought comfort in the peaceful dementia of inebriation. Though I am no longer a thrall to the bottle. I just...like a sip now and then."

Drenlyn smiles and nods, "Such an improvement is quite good to hear, for many would find it impossible. But I still urge you to avoid it further on this quest, for it would do you little good, injured or no, to partake in it. I will leave the decision to you however, for only a man who decides to leave evil, will completely abandon it."

Shaking his head Drenlyn peers in the direction of the river and sighs, "No matter, I have heard that the Firstborn make drinks so pure and clear, that no evil may partake in them. I do wish that we would know in which direction the quest will go. I fear that the longer we tarry, the worse the case of the Prince's son becomes."

Mathollor shrugs lightly and lets the words of both wash over him as he soaks the bandages on Morrandir's head before removing them. He cleans the angry cuts wincing slightly as he does so, Though he moves quickly his hands are steady and he is meticulous. As he finishes he draws the clean bandages from the hot water and quickly winds them around Morrandir's head. He checks them for fit before tying them off and winding a clean rag around as a cover. "Leave these alone in future and they will not require changing as often."

A horn sounds from the south...

Then a baying hound...

Mathollor turns his head slightly a quizzical look on his face before with a nod he places the sound of the horn and the hound.

No more it seems, is Amano willing to speak of what lies beyond the Celebrant instead, he watches the dying flames dance and consume the wood with a crackle of sparks. Morning as it may be, the air is still fairly nippy. "Yet, many more seasons will we spend on the road," he adds, quietly, "for though we may ride with speed, we have not wings on our horses' feet. Coming here was a surprise, for I had thought earlier that we would go straightaways to the Mountain of the Dwarves."

The pealing call of the horn comes to his hearing, and rising, he gazes distractedly to the south, even as the hound's cry follows shortly upon the horn's call.

Morrandir looks up suddenly, hearing the horn. He glances at Mathollor, and smiles. "Thank you." he says, rising to his feet. "Well friends, it is time for me to leave your company." Waving to the trio, and looking towards the south, he hobbles back to the camp.

Indilzar returns to the camp with Huan, fresh from the hunt. Strapped to the back of the horse are four rabbits and two ducks. Also, dragged behind in a harness is a hart.

He comes into camp and smiles, "It has been a good hunt in the dales. Two ducks and four conies! Not only that, but I had managed to bring down some larger game. I hope you boys are hungry."

Standing sharply at the sounding of the horn, Drenlyn peers southwards, and smiles, "It appears that Huan and the Lord Indilzar, are hunting in the early morning. It is good, for our supplies are beginning to deminish. I only wish I had such skill, and perhaps I would be able to help."

Nodding to the departing squire, Drenlyn sees the approaching Knight and smiles. Drenlyn now striding towards Indilzar, Drenlyn replies "Indeed I was right, and I doubt not that we are all hungry my lord, and once again your prowess is proven."

Indilzar laughs and slaps Drenlyn on the back, "Only the prowess of Huan! Come Drenlyn, help me clean the game. There are some arts you should learn to prepare meats whether the feathered fowl of marshes or the gamy hart that will let it keep for long leagues."

Mathollor grins up at Indilzar as he moves to take some of the kill. "Always my lord, I would join you when next you go hunting my Lord, I wish to feel the wind in my face outside this wood for a time."

Nodding, Drenlyn moves towards the harness, "Too true my lord, for I would hate not to learn those skills ere they are desperately needed."

Indilzar laughs again and then seizes two of the rabbits, "There will be plenty of time for that in this quest Mathollor."

"Now," says Indilzar, "do we have a fire going? Where are the pots? We can draw some water from the stream."

Indilzar drops off the rabbits and turns back, "I shall take the ducks. Mathollor, give Drenlyn a hand, would you?"

A grin flickers on the young Isilrim's countenance. "Indeed... winter usually makes for poor pickings, and fresh game is quite a welcome change from old provisions, sire." He moves forward, pleased, looking over the fowl and the conies. "And so would I wish to go on such a hunt, though I have not a great hound like Huan with which to compensate for my poor skills in hunting." He gestures to the embers of the fire, which immediately he stokes with some more firewood.

Mathollor moves to take some of the weight a light grunt escaping before he speaks. "The fire is lit and stoked high, there are pots and water drawn recently. I had it prepared so as to change Morrandir's bandages."

"Ah, but Huan is not mine," says Indilzar with a smile, "he is his own master, save perhaps to the Prince only."

He then motions to the two and takes out the knife that Denethor had given him. He cleans and whets it for a moment before carving into one of the rabbits.

Responding quickly Drenlyn moves to take the connies, starring at them inquisitively, "Perhaps good squire you can teach a fisherman's son how to prepare the meat that treads the ground rather than that which swims in the waters."

Indilzar smiles, "Your father was a fisherman?" He then says, "Both of you take a rabbit, then do what I do." He begins to clean the rabbit, taking care not to disrupt the skin, merely trying to remove the hair.

Mathollor says, "I will impart what small skill I have in this area gladly, Unfortunately like most of noble birth I spent more time hunting than dressing my kills. Though I know enough to butcher the meat if not preserve the skin."

"All good knights should know how to prepare game," says Indilzar as he removes the hair and continues to prepare the game. "Many times you might find yourself afield and it is a needed skill."

Mathollor nods "It is not a skill I wished to avoid simply one that there was never enough time for"

Drawing a knife of intricate design Drenlyn takes one of the rabbits, and mimics the motions of the knights. Turning to Indilzar Drenlyn replies, "Yes my lord, he was a fisherman. He constantly traveled to Dol Amroth to sell his catches. Alas that I was only taught how to prepare fish and not rabbits in my youth, or else I would be surer in the days ahead."

"Indeed squire," says Indilzar, "You may learn much on this quest. Mathollor, go fetch my pack. The brown one that we keep near the horses."

Mathollor nods and stopping only to rinse the blood from his hands strides off, quickly returning with the brown pack mentioned.

"It is easy Drenlyn," says Indilzar. "As you know, it is like fish. Not all the parts of the rabbit is good to eat."

Indilzar smiles, "Excellent. Take out the silver can that is marked with the S rune."

He then says, "Then you grew up in Edhellond?"

Mathollor nods and after a moments sorting draws out the can and passes it over to Indilzar.

Indilzar takes the can and then takes two of the rabbits, "We shall save these." He sets the can down only after opening it and says to Mathollor, "Take the conies and wash them, then after, sprinkle the spices from the can on them."

Nodding as the Knight speaks, Drenlyn attempts to do as he is instructed. Raising his eyes at the Indilzar's question, Drenlyn shakes his head, "Nay my lord. I grew up on the southernmost tip of Belfalas, in a humble cottage there. My father owned his own vessel, and employed a neighbor or two, and my brother and I, to work it. Alas that the Corsairs would choose to raid our humble village on the coast."

Mathollor says, "Certainly, I will gladly add some flavour to what have often been bland tasteless meals."

Mathollor as he hears Drenlyn's tale he cuts himself off and stops grinning. His face quickly becomes solemn though he does as instructed.

"Curse the southrons," says Indilzar. he then leans back for a moment and stretches his neck as his work is almost done, "It is just as well you came to Dol Amroth. You will not find a safer place."

"I seek not safety my lord, in our fair city, nor do my parents, for they now live in Pelargir with my sister," replies Drenlyn, he himself eagerly tending to the rabbit, which is also near completion. "I came to Dol Amroth in hope of protecting those like my brother, and all innocence that this world holds."

Taking one of the conies he then begins to cut the meat into strips. He then says, "Where is your brother now? What is his name?"

Laying his skinned rabbit on a nearby log, Drenlyn frowns, "His name my lord, is Ethirrogel, and we know not where he is, since his body was never found. But we believe he died, fighting off a Raider who sought to rape my mother and sister. Thankfully my mother and sister escaped into the hills. Alas that my father and I had to fish that day, for we may have helped fight off those swine."

Taking some leaves from the can, he sprinkles them lightly onto the rabbit meat. He then pauses for a moment and in his face there is sudden sorrow, "I am sorry squire. Such are our times. Yet do not regret that you were away, for you might be dead yourself."

He then takes the strips of meat and begins to stew them.

Swiftly cutting up the rest of his rabbit, Drenlyn follows suit and spices them lightly, handing them to the night to be stewed.

"I have stopped regretting that I was away, for if my father and I did not fish that day, then there would be no meal on the table for the coming days. I know see, that if it were not for the valor of my brother, I would not be here to day, and would not be able to help the Prince's son, nor my fellow squires."

"I do hope you find him one day Drenlyn," says Indilzar as he takes the meat from him. "You are a good man, and fate casted you ill luck that day. But such is the way of the world. It is only enough to enjoy one meal at a time."

"Aye my lord, one meal at a time," replies Drenlyn, "it is the most that we can do, and take events as they come."

Now smiling Drenlyn continues, "I am only happy that this morn, I only need to learn the arts of preparing meats and eating them."

As the rabbits begin to stew Indilzar stands up for a moment. He then goes over to his tent and takes out a canteen. He pours a mug of a dark liquid for himself, "Would you like some Drenlyn?"

Indilzar laughs, "It is from the old wineries nigh the sea." He then says, "In preparing meats, they need to be spiced and then when treated properly they will stay well. The meat will become more chewy, but it is hardy."

Smiling Drenlyn shakes his head, "Nay my lord, for if I learned one thing from dealing with my father's fishermen friends, it is never to dabble with such drinks, be they watered wine, or pure liquor. I thank you for the offer, but I must refuse."

Nodding at the knight's explanation, Drenlyn says, "It is good to learn such, for we will need such meats in the months to come, and such knowledge is priceless. But I would seek to learn the skill of the hunt, and then perhaps I could accompany you."

Sighing Drenlyn sniffs the air, the sweet fragrance of spices filling the air, "Yes my lord, this quest will be the challenge of all that go on it, the squires most of all. I doubt that those in Dol Amroth that remain to welcome the survivors back will even recognize us...."

Turning his gaze southwards, Drenlyn sighs, "I only hope that we will return, for I would see the high battlements of the palace, and Amrothos safe, once more."

Indilzar laughs and then pulls the pot from the fire, "If all is done, then we shall all be given high honour." He then stirs the contents, "Get some platters. Time to eat."

Drenlyn nods and cleans and sheaths his knife before moving to the tents. Briefly entering one, Drenlyn returns carrying three humble platters. Smiling he hands the knight one, and sets aside the extra saying with a light chuckle, "Perhaps some of these sluggards will awake with the smell of a meal."

"More is their loss if the do not," says Indilzar smiling. He then puts the cooked stew onto the platters and then the aroma of stewed rabbits fills the camp. Indilzar takes a swig of the wine before saying, "We got lucky this day. My heart though forbodes of famines to come."

"Aye, for if we do not meet more friends than I hope, we will find many dark roads, with not but stale bread to chew on...if we get bread at all."

Starring towards the river Drenlyn continues, "I only hope that the fair folk will give us supplies if not help us with any wisdom. I have heard that they are unkindly to those outside the Golden Wood but I wonder, for we are not pincushions for their arrows yet. Have you had dealings with them my lord?"

Leans back and taking a plate he begins to eat the meal taking the savory strips and chewing on them, the rich rabbit meat sating hunger. He then says, "No, not I. Never have I seen any of the fair folk. Thorondur and Arnafel have, and for that measure, they are different from other men. This is of course not bad, but they can be strange at times. I do not wholly know their tale."

Filling his plate, Drenlyn begins to partake in the meat. A grin fills his face has he begins to chew, "This meat is good my lord. Huan surely knows where the tastiest morsels lie."

Sighing Drenlyn continues to chew, "They are indeed different, for I have noticed that much at least, but Thorondur never tells his squires about his dealings of the past, only of how we should be in the future."

"Thorondur is a good man," says Indilzar slowly as he takes another strip of meat and eats it. "There are few like him. The blood of old runs true in him."

A lone figure enters camp from the North path. Tall he is, a longsword hanging loosly from his belt, under his dark cloak. With firm steps, he makes his way to the center of the camp were two men are gathered, a knight and his squire. "Good morning." Tamran says as he takes a sit near them.

"Ah Tamran," says Indilzar smiling, "I had a good hunt with Huan. Come and enjoy an early lunch. Stewed rabbit!"

Finishing his meal Drenlyn stands, "Indeed, the old blood runs true in him, but alas a squire's duties call and I must hear to them." With that Drenlyn stands and bows, nodding To Tamran as he approaches, and then disappears into the squires' tent. The groans of waking squires is heard.