Elendor
Fool(s) on a Hill
The Beornings await a decision by the Lord and Lady of the Golden wood as to whether aid will come
Sort Date: no date set
Location: Lorien
Description: [Celeborn(#25510)] Again, it is nightfall in the Golden Wood, the protective embrace of darkness encouraging it's nocturnal inhabitants to emerge from daytime slumber and go forth into the world. Shadows flit from tree and shrub, glowing eyes alighting on the peculiar scene at the rise of Amroth's hill... and not all of them are the eyes of the woodland creatures. There are whispers on the wind, muttered moans of moving branches and the chattering of bristling leaves that cry out to all who care to listen "Strangers! Come and see!"
And they have come, both secretly and openly to gaze upon such an unusual sight for Lothlorien: Humans! Not the Rangers with their Numenorian lineage, nor the random wayward traveler, but Beornings, no less! A treat, to some, an ill omen to others.
As Celeborn approaches, his dress that of the Galadhrim Guard without emblem or mark to differentiate him from the rank and file, one would be hard-pressed to decide where the Lord of Lorien's mind has settled on the matter of the visitors. Here he was on the day they arrived, and away he has remained until now. His expression is, as usual, relaxed and open, but also hard to define in terms of mood. He approaches, one foot placed in steady rythm before the other, neither hurrying his pace nor slowing over rise and fall of the forest floor.
Among the humans here, the hour is late enough that most are asleep, or at least there is no movement in their sleeping area and no sound of their voices.
Still, at least one of them is awake: apart from the other Beornings, Mobeorn sits with his back against a smaller tree, his dark eyes looking this way and that into the night as the whispers sound on the wind. His expression indicates a mix of amusement, puzzlement, maybe a little worry, and perhaps a touch of fear, even. Still, hits sits and listens and watches, at least until Celeborn can be seen approaching. With that, Mobeorn gets to his feet, the puzzled look on his face now taking precedence. He doesn't seem to recognize Celeborn.
[Galharth(#28711)]
From the opposite direction, another figure arrives atop the mound. Silver hair and teal robes, the Tailor Galharth seems almost out of place with his rich wardrobe and detailed embroidered fabrics. Wearing a frown and a troubled expression, he searches among the sleeping human faces as if seeking one person in particular. Movement catches the Craftmaster's eye and he diverts his path toward Mobeorn, catching sight of Celeborn only a few short steps away. "Well met and good evening." He says softly so to avoid disturbing the resting humans.
[Celeborn(#25510)] "Well it is, Galharth, that our paths have met here tonight." Celeborn says in greeting to the tailor, "You have saved me the effort of finding you later." He says nothing more until he stands before the large, hairy man, his gaze silently appraising. "In recent memory, there was a time when your people played host to an event that has not happened in an age, and will likely never happen again in Middle Earth. A meeting of two people split asunder by a war-torn world, evil dividing them both physically and, sadly, in thought. I have not forgotten what role the Boernings played in that historic event, yet I doubt there is one among you who fully grasped the significance of that meeting." He bows to Mobeorn, his face grim, "I am Celeborn, and for the aid that you have given in the past you are welcome here, now. Be greatful that your elders had the forethought to facilitate the reunion of Galadhrim and Ndaedeldhrim, for without them we would not be speaking together today."
"Good evening, tailor," Mobeorn says, greeting Galharth as the elf breaks the silence of the night. "I was hoping I could get to talk to you before...." Mobeorn trails off when Celeborn speaks.
"Then I haven't properly met you, Lord Celeborn," he says, nodding to that elf. "But I know nothing of the meeting of which you speak...my Laird, Grimbeorn, didn't mention it to me. But he sent me here with his messages. I am his kin, Mobeorn."
[Galharth(#28711)]
At Celeborn's greeting, and then the man's own, the Tailor's brow lifts with curiosity. "Oh?" he says, though he falls quickly silent as the Lord addresses Mobeorn. Drawing his hands behind his back, the Craftmaster politely stands quiet, waiting for both or either to speak on matters other than attention to what is clearly a diplomatic matter.
As he waits, he looks up a moment to seek out the stars gently twinkling high above. This moment quickly passes as Mobeorn introduces himself, words that draw attention back towards Celeborn.
[Aluirwen(#30821)]
There is another here, though she does not as yet venture from beneath the boughs of the trees that ring the mound. There is little sound to herald the appearance of Aluirwen, but her eyes are cast, round and wide, toward the place where the little gathering is forming.
However, for the moment she moves not from her place at the edge of the trees, then looking about the mound uneasily.
[Tinuriel(#23113)]Soft as starlight slipping through the trees, another form joins Aluirwen coming to stand beside her, "These are the bears or maybe it is only the big one," she whispers, her eyes drinking the sight of the Lord and Lady with such strange ones.
Celeborn cannot help but smile as he shakes his head at Mobeorn's words. "We have met, but in voice only. I was here on the day you arrived at our borders and guided you to the place where we now stand, but I left before you were unmasked. And of my journey to your homeland, I speak of events that were veiled in secrecy outside of your village word of it guarded carefully so as not to alert watchful eyes. But enough of pleasantries and how-do-you-do's."
His smile disappears and is replaced with an inquisitive arch of a brow. "My Lady has graciously extended our hospitality, and in return she gleaned much of why you sought us out. But it calls to mind questions that seem unfathomable, answers that will be hard in coming. We have each extended courtesy to one another, what more do you wish of us? And please do tell me how it is that you won over our Tailor so easily? He is ever cautious, and not one to blindly leap at frivilous requests, unless they require meticulous stitching."
"Won over?" Mobeorn asks, his voice rumbling. He scratches at his chin. "I didn't convince him of anything...it was his idea to invite us. It's not as if our folk would even _think_ about venturing into your wood, mind you. But we were all traveling together across the High Pass and then into the Beorning village. And the Herion caught up with us there, and filled us in on the enemy's tactics in Mirkwood. And then suggested a council of all three lands, to decide how to deal with the problem. Galharth was the one who suggested we come to you....and since the Herion was going, I felt that it would be..."
Mobeorn pauses, looking to his hands as he tries to find a suitable word... "erm...well, I thought that since we were invited and since the Herion felt it was urgent business, it would be all right to accept the invitation." He glances toward the area where the Beornings are sleeping, adding quickly, "though if I had to do it over, I would have come alone. It's more than the men of Beorning can stand, it would seem. And they're good people, but...well...you know the tales of the woods that the Northmen have..." he finishes, apologetic.
[Galharth(#28711)]
"Indeed Lord, he did not win me over, for much about the northern men was found distasteful." Galharth quickly says as he takes a half step closer. "It was the words spoken of the growing shadow, and the apparent movement of the shadow from our lands to those of our kindred in the Mirkwood." Pausing with uncertainty, for words beyond buttons and embroidery are unfamiliar. He frowns in consideration for his next words. "Apart we can protect our respective lands, somehow managing as the shadow grows." He says softly as his hands draw forward as if to speak with his hands to bring greater meaning to his words. "It seemed reasonable to unite in effort so to bring light to the shadows."
[<#30821>]
Hesitant is even the glance that Aluirwen turns toward Tinuriel as the vintner joins the gardener. And her own words, in Sindarin, in reply to Tinuriel are but whispers yet the whispers are melodic despite their low tone.
"...... ... ... not ... ... ...... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ......" says Aluirwen, the words trailing off as she bites her lower lip a touch before continuing. "... ... ... ... ... ... with ... ...?"
Celeborn nods, "They are tales that we welcome, for it keeps our people safe. A safety that has been compromised with your arrival... but we shall handle that matter in time." It is an ominous thing to say, and it seems the Lord of Lorien is well aware for he levels a gaze at the Beorning. "Our task would have been much simpler had you arrived by yourself. But complications or no, it has little to do with why you are here. Trouble in the Mirkwood is nothing new as our people have tried to battle the evil will that taints that land to no avail. It was in vain, as the wood elves have retreated into their pocket of the woods, all but giving up in the face of the shadow." There is anger in his voice and writ upon his features, but it passes like a cloud across the sun.
He turns to Galharth, eyebrows raised in apparent suprise, but his tone is returned to a soft and deliberate timbre. "Reasonable, you say? Reasonable to remove those that protect our own borders in favor of giving aid to our cousins? We have worked hard to make this a safe place for our people, more so than most of the inhabitants of Lothlorien could ever guess the burden..." He shakes his head and looks with sadness at both tailor and human. "You know not what you ask. Should attention come to the Golden Wood..." He trails off and falls silent.
[<#23113>] The vintner puts her head close to Aluirwen's and she whispers, "... ... ... ... ... us. ... should ... rush ... ... ... ... others ... ... are ... ... ...?" She looks in wonder at Galharth, "... ... ... want ... ... ...?"
Ominous words or not, Mobeorn doesn't seem to be cowed by Celeborn's stare--the Beorning looks right back at the elven lord, his dark brown eyes unblinking. "We would all like to hide in our woods and our caves. My kind wished never to come down out of the mountains and deal with any of this," he says. His voice grows gruffer as he speaks--not conveying anger or any danger, but certainly more animal-like somehow. "And yet, we _did_ come out of our lairs in the mountains because we were forced to deal with the danger and the shadow that grows. As your kind must, too, as well. Perhaps not now--but one day, you, too, will be forced as we were."
With a small huff of breath, the Beorning folds his arms across his chest and now turns to look to Galharth. "I am sorry, tailor, that your plans did not work out."
Finally, Mobeorn returns his gaze back to Celeborn. "As for my people...and 'handling' the damage that has been done, I can assure you that Grimbeorn and his kind have no designs on coming to the Golden Wood, ever. And the few humans you see here are so full of terror that they will never speak of it again to their kin."
[Nioniel(#32481)]
Timidly, Nioniel climbs the great hill and makes her way silently toward those gathered there. Her deep blue eyes widen still at the sight of the Beorning people, and she edges along toward Aluirwen and Tinuriel who whisper close to each other. Perhaps just a little too silent, the young elleth comes up along side the Glirdain and gently tugs at her sleeve to get her attention.
[Galharth(#28711)]
Galharth lowers his glaze to the ground as the Lord makes mention of safety compromised. Guild flickers over the Tailor's expression, but is quickly supressed.
"I made no promises, Lord Celeborn, nor did I offer aid, as it is not my place to do so." The Craftmaster says, looking up quickly as he is addressed. Drawing his hands together, clasping his fingers tightly so to reflect calm, he glances from the man to the ancient firstborn. "And yet, while it is not my place to speak of strategy, I would think it is in our best interest to keep the darkness from gaining strength in any one place, for should one stronghold among the good peoples fall, then it places the rest in a more precarious position. Alone we struggle, but united we might make our resistance more clearly heard."
Glancing to Moeborn, he nods. "I for one would help, and none of my kindred would suffer the absence of a simple Tailor."
[<#30821>] "... ... ... ... say?" questions Aluirwen, her eyes, once lingering upon Celeborn, then swift to turn to Tinuriel. "... ... ... ... out all ... it... Such ... ... tongue ... ... ... I ... ... ... ... try ... ... .... ... ... ..., ... ... has ... ... asked ... ... ... the ... of them ... ... ......"
Yet it is here that the linguist's whispers trail off, for the tug of Nioniel on her sleeve. "Ah, ...!" she calls softly. "... ... ... too ... seasons ... ... ... ... last!"
[<#23113>] "Oh, I have ... ... what they ... .... ... ... what ... ... ... ... ...," she replies as quietly as a wind whispered in the leaves.
[Celeborn(#25510)] "You say this as if we have retreated." Celeborn responds, returning the Beorning's gaze. "We have been fighting since before your people stepped, blinking and shaking in terror, into being. What you see, now, is not retreat, but a stronghold amid the chaos of this world. If we did not fight and Lorien were to fall, then all of Rhovanion would be laid to waste, open to any who wished to do with her as they will."
He takes a visible breath and shakes the tiny strands of hair that have fallen into his eyes back from his visage with a squaring of his shoulders and straightening of his back. "We are more aware of what happens outside of these woods than anyone could ever imagine, for my Lady and I know only too well what evil lurks beyond our reach. But here you stand, insinuating cowardice on the part of me and my people. You speak not of Thranduil's folk, and what aid they have offered. Or have they made their choice already, and we are your last hope?"
Again he turns a level eye to Galharth. "You are never one to mince words, no matter how misguided you may be. I have yet to hear what it is that is being asked of us, only the situation as it stands in Middle Earth. You offer your service to the Beornings. So am I to assume that the presence of one tailor will make a difference? If that is so, then how serious is this threat? Do not misunderstand me, as I do not question your skills, only the bravado with which you speak." Now including Mobeorn, he asks, "If this is so, that one Quendi could be the deciding factor in your fight, then am I to assume that you ask not for a batallion but a small squadron? I cannot keep my people from doing what they will Galharth is free to join you in your war, as is anyone who may wish to follow. But I will not compromise my life and soul any more than has already been done."
[<#32481>] "..., ... feels ... ... ... ... as ..., ...!" Nioniel whispers back to Aluirwen, joy glimmering in her eyes to at last be standing with her good friend once more in their beloved land. Pausing, she smiles and nods softly to Tinuriel in greeting - she is one that the elleth has not met before. But then again, she has been gone a long while.
Inclining her head toward the others a little confused, she seems thuroughly puzzled by all that is said. Shaking her head, she leans toward the other ellith and whispers: "... ... ... ... ... ... ...?"
Mobeorn's dark eyes never waver from Celeborn now. "I accuse you of no cowardice, sir. And I beg for no aid. I am here because your grandson suggested that the threat was serious enough that our peoples should meet and discuss what is to be done about it. The last I spoke to him, he reported that he believed the enemy himself was ensuring the reinforcement in the foul fortress in the woods. But the full report I did not hear--he was going to give that when we met. My Laird Grimbeorn deemed that worthy enough for us to dare disturb the sanctuary of your woods--and that _only_ at the invitation of Galharth, and with great reluctance on our part."
He pauses to glance only briefly to Galharth. "No. One tailor cannot make a difference, and yet every hand counts. Thranduil's folk have retreated deep into their woods and are not to be found, at least not by us. And the road across the wood, to Dale and the dwarves, was last blocked by the enemy, so that it took a deception on the part of the Beornings, the Herion and another--and much bloodshed by all, including the dwarven folk--for the dwarves to be able to make their way home. I know not if the road remains blocked."
[<#30821>]
"... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...?" proposes Aluirwen, lending an expectant glance to Nioniel. Yet, questions born of the reunion of friends are not to linger long, for it would seem that the linguist returns her whispers to the situation at hand.
"... ... ... ... ..., ...," replies she to the seamstress, inclining her head in the direction of Celeborn. "... ... ... ... ... ... and the ... ... counsel. ......" And here the words of Aluirwen trail off, and she nods toward Tinuriel. "I ... ... ... ... ... ... messenger ... ... ... brought ... ... ... ... ... ... ... camped ... ... ......" The last of these words makes a slight frown upon her brow.
[Galharth(#28711)]
Alas, the insult stings, and for an instant it is as if the Tailor has been struck and wounded. His gaze lowers again, "I am more than a Tailor, my Lord." Galharth says firmly as his once more lifts his gaze, turning towards Mobeorn. Firmly pressing his lips, he says nothing more, instead waiting to hear what might come forth of the discusion.
[<#23113>] The vintner's eyes widen as she listens to what passes between the other Galadhrim, "I do not ... ... ... ... all, ... not what ... ...-man ... .... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...." She turns to Nioniel and gives her a small bow, her face serious with the events they are witnessing. "... ... ... ... ... vintners."
[Celeborn(#25510)] "I care nothing for the dwarves," Celeborn responds with a dismissive wave of his hand, "Nor the men of Dale and their watershed land. But for the memory of the Eryn Galen, and my grandson's request," He glances at Galharth and sighs, "And for the sake of a damn-fine tailor that I cannot hope to replace should he fail to return, I can promise you my help. You will take what you can get, and I cannot offer much. I will send word to my people for volunteers, for I will not command anyone to make this journey."
He takes a step back as if preparing to leave, but stops. "As for those who traveled with you, I cannot rely on their fear to keep them silent. My one condition for helping you is that you let us deal with them before you leave, for they can never speak of us under any circumstances. You are the exception."
"Eyrn Galen?" Mobeorn asks first. But then this is forgotten as the elf's answer continues, the shapeshifter's face slowly darkening with concern. "We will be glad to take what aid is offered, even if it be only one tailor. He _did_ fight valiantly on the Pass."
Mobeorn falls silent for several minutes, then, eyes not blinking at Celeborn. "Deal with them? I would know what you mean. We were promised no harm would come to us."
[Galharth(#28711)]
Looking to Celeborn as he speaks, the Tailor smiles quickly at the Lord's compliment. As quickly as the smile emerges, it is hidden. "No harm will come to you or your people, Mobeorn. I believe the Lord speaks more of a healing." Galharth says as he looks from Mobeorn to Celeborn, awaiting any explanation that might come.
[Celeborn(#25510)] "As Galharth says, none of you will be harmed," Celeborn says briskly as he turns to leave. "But you cannot believe that they would be allowed to leave with the memory of this place. You are the exception, and it is your lineage that saves you from the same fate that they will meet. So be thankful, and when you are home, thank your mother and father." Again he glances at Galharth, his mouth pursed slightly. "And you will not have just one, valiant tailor. You will have my sword, as well." He walks away suddenly, his steps betraying the turmoil inside his calm exterior. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have someone that I must explain some things to."
"I did trust you," Mobeorn replies to Galharth, frowning--though that changes into a smile at Celeborn's words of reassurance. "I see--and for this I thank you and your lady--for treating our people well, despite the danger we brought." He nods as Celeborn walks away--frowning again. "He's coming with us?" he asks Galharth, confused.
[Nioniel(#32481)]
Still emensely confused, Nioniel stands back with the bard and vintner, a quizzical expression on her face. After all she has seen in recent months, somehow the pressance of the beornings hardly seems to cause her much panic. Though naturally, she keeps her distance. Not understanding but single snatches of the conversation leaves her following the body language of her kin to try and comprihend the scene before her.
[Galharth(#28711)]
"It seems you have two volunteers," Galharth says as he watches Celeborn depart. Looking up into the evening sky, the Tailor clicks his tongue against the inside of his cheek. "You might wish to check on your people, for I sense we might have a storm before the night is out."
With that said, the Tailor turns and wanders off the mound, shaking his head as he goes.
And they have come, both secretly and openly to gaze upon such an unusual sight for Lothlorien: Humans! Not the Rangers with their Numenorian lineage, nor the random wayward traveler, but Beornings, no less! A treat, to some, an ill omen to others.
As Celeborn approaches, his dress that of the Galadhrim Guard without emblem or mark to differentiate him from the rank and file, one would be hard-pressed to decide where the Lord of Lorien's mind has settled on the matter of the visitors. Here he was on the day they arrived, and away he has remained until now. His expression is, as usual, relaxed and open, but also hard to define in terms of mood. He approaches, one foot placed in steady rythm before the other, neither hurrying his pace nor slowing over rise and fall of the forest floor.
Among the humans here, the hour is late enough that most are asleep, or at least there is no movement in their sleeping area and no sound of their voices.
Still, at least one of them is awake: apart from the other Beornings, Mobeorn sits with his back against a smaller tree, his dark eyes looking this way and that into the night as the whispers sound on the wind. His expression indicates a mix of amusement, puzzlement, maybe a little worry, and perhaps a touch of fear, even. Still, hits sits and listens and watches, at least until Celeborn can be seen approaching. With that, Mobeorn gets to his feet, the puzzled look on his face now taking precedence. He doesn't seem to recognize Celeborn.
[Galharth(#28711)]
From the opposite direction, another figure arrives atop the mound. Silver hair and teal robes, the Tailor Galharth seems almost out of place with his rich wardrobe and detailed embroidered fabrics. Wearing a frown and a troubled expression, he searches among the sleeping human faces as if seeking one person in particular. Movement catches the Craftmaster's eye and he diverts his path toward Mobeorn, catching sight of Celeborn only a few short steps away. "Well met and good evening." He says softly so to avoid disturbing the resting humans.
[Celeborn(#25510)] "Well it is, Galharth, that our paths have met here tonight." Celeborn says in greeting to the tailor, "You have saved me the effort of finding you later." He says nothing more until he stands before the large, hairy man, his gaze silently appraising. "In recent memory, there was a time when your people played host to an event that has not happened in an age, and will likely never happen again in Middle Earth. A meeting of two people split asunder by a war-torn world, evil dividing them both physically and, sadly, in thought. I have not forgotten what role the Boernings played in that historic event, yet I doubt there is one among you who fully grasped the significance of that meeting." He bows to Mobeorn, his face grim, "I am Celeborn, and for the aid that you have given in the past you are welcome here, now. Be greatful that your elders had the forethought to facilitate the reunion of Galadhrim and Ndaedeldhrim, for without them we would not be speaking together today."
"Good evening, tailor," Mobeorn says, greeting Galharth as the elf breaks the silence of the night. "I was hoping I could get to talk to you before...." Mobeorn trails off when Celeborn speaks.
"Then I haven't properly met you, Lord Celeborn," he says, nodding to that elf. "But I know nothing of the meeting of which you speak...my Laird, Grimbeorn, didn't mention it to me. But he sent me here with his messages. I am his kin, Mobeorn."
[Galharth(#28711)]
At Celeborn's greeting, and then the man's own, the Tailor's brow lifts with curiosity. "Oh?" he says, though he falls quickly silent as the Lord addresses Mobeorn. Drawing his hands behind his back, the Craftmaster politely stands quiet, waiting for both or either to speak on matters other than attention to what is clearly a diplomatic matter.
As he waits, he looks up a moment to seek out the stars gently twinkling high above. This moment quickly passes as Mobeorn introduces himself, words that draw attention back towards Celeborn.
[Aluirwen(#30821)]
There is another here, though she does not as yet venture from beneath the boughs of the trees that ring the mound. There is little sound to herald the appearance of Aluirwen, but her eyes are cast, round and wide, toward the place where the little gathering is forming.
However, for the moment she moves not from her place at the edge of the trees, then looking about the mound uneasily.
[Tinuriel(#23113)]Soft as starlight slipping through the trees, another form joins Aluirwen coming to stand beside her, "These are the bears or maybe it is only the big one," she whispers, her eyes drinking the sight of the Lord and Lady with such strange ones.
Celeborn cannot help but smile as he shakes his head at Mobeorn's words. "We have met, but in voice only. I was here on the day you arrived at our borders and guided you to the place where we now stand, but I left before you were unmasked. And of my journey to your homeland, I speak of events that were veiled in secrecy outside of your village word of it guarded carefully so as not to alert watchful eyes. But enough of pleasantries and how-do-you-do's."
His smile disappears and is replaced with an inquisitive arch of a brow. "My Lady has graciously extended our hospitality, and in return she gleaned much of why you sought us out. But it calls to mind questions that seem unfathomable, answers that will be hard in coming. We have each extended courtesy to one another, what more do you wish of us? And please do tell me how it is that you won over our Tailor so easily? He is ever cautious, and not one to blindly leap at frivilous requests, unless they require meticulous stitching."
"Won over?" Mobeorn asks, his voice rumbling. He scratches at his chin. "I didn't convince him of anything...it was his idea to invite us. It's not as if our folk would even _think_ about venturing into your wood, mind you. But we were all traveling together across the High Pass and then into the Beorning village. And the Herion caught up with us there, and filled us in on the enemy's tactics in Mirkwood. And then suggested a council of all three lands, to decide how to deal with the problem. Galharth was the one who suggested we come to you....and since the Herion was going, I felt that it would be..."
Mobeorn pauses, looking to his hands as he tries to find a suitable word... "erm...well, I thought that since we were invited and since the Herion felt it was urgent business, it would be all right to accept the invitation." He glances toward the area where the Beornings are sleeping, adding quickly, "though if I had to do it over, I would have come alone. It's more than the men of Beorning can stand, it would seem. And they're good people, but...well...you know the tales of the woods that the Northmen have..." he finishes, apologetic.
[Galharth(#28711)]
"Indeed Lord, he did not win me over, for much about the northern men was found distasteful." Galharth quickly says as he takes a half step closer. "It was the words spoken of the growing shadow, and the apparent movement of the shadow from our lands to those of our kindred in the Mirkwood." Pausing with uncertainty, for words beyond buttons and embroidery are unfamiliar. He frowns in consideration for his next words. "Apart we can protect our respective lands, somehow managing as the shadow grows." He says softly as his hands draw forward as if to speak with his hands to bring greater meaning to his words. "It seemed reasonable to unite in effort so to bring light to the shadows."
[<#30821>]
Hesitant is even the glance that Aluirwen turns toward Tinuriel as the vintner joins the gardener. And her own words, in Sindarin, in reply to Tinuriel are but whispers yet the whispers are melodic despite their low tone.
"...... ... ... not ... ... ...... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ......" says Aluirwen, the words trailing off as she bites her lower lip a touch before continuing. "... ... ... ... ... ... with ... ...?"
Celeborn nods, "They are tales that we welcome, for it keeps our people safe. A safety that has been compromised with your arrival... but we shall handle that matter in time." It is an ominous thing to say, and it seems the Lord of Lorien is well aware for he levels a gaze at the Beorning. "Our task would have been much simpler had you arrived by yourself. But complications or no, it has little to do with why you are here. Trouble in the Mirkwood is nothing new as our people have tried to battle the evil will that taints that land to no avail. It was in vain, as the wood elves have retreated into their pocket of the woods, all but giving up in the face of the shadow." There is anger in his voice and writ upon his features, but it passes like a cloud across the sun.
He turns to Galharth, eyebrows raised in apparent suprise, but his tone is returned to a soft and deliberate timbre. "Reasonable, you say? Reasonable to remove those that protect our own borders in favor of giving aid to our cousins? We have worked hard to make this a safe place for our people, more so than most of the inhabitants of Lothlorien could ever guess the burden..." He shakes his head and looks with sadness at both tailor and human. "You know not what you ask. Should attention come to the Golden Wood..." He trails off and falls silent.
[<#23113>] The vintner puts her head close to Aluirwen's and she whispers, "... ... ... ... ... us. ... should ... rush ... ... ... ... others ... ... are ... ... ...?" She looks in wonder at Galharth, "... ... ... want ... ... ...?"
Ominous words or not, Mobeorn doesn't seem to be cowed by Celeborn's stare--the Beorning looks right back at the elven lord, his dark brown eyes unblinking. "We would all like to hide in our woods and our caves. My kind wished never to come down out of the mountains and deal with any of this," he says. His voice grows gruffer as he speaks--not conveying anger or any danger, but certainly more animal-like somehow. "And yet, we _did_ come out of our lairs in the mountains because we were forced to deal with the danger and the shadow that grows. As your kind must, too, as well. Perhaps not now--but one day, you, too, will be forced as we were."
With a small huff of breath, the Beorning folds his arms across his chest and now turns to look to Galharth. "I am sorry, tailor, that your plans did not work out."
Finally, Mobeorn returns his gaze back to Celeborn. "As for my people...and 'handling' the damage that has been done, I can assure you that Grimbeorn and his kind have no designs on coming to the Golden Wood, ever. And the few humans you see here are so full of terror that they will never speak of it again to their kin."
[Nioniel(#32481)]
Timidly, Nioniel climbs the great hill and makes her way silently toward those gathered there. Her deep blue eyes widen still at the sight of the Beorning people, and she edges along toward Aluirwen and Tinuriel who whisper close to each other. Perhaps just a little too silent, the young elleth comes up along side the Glirdain and gently tugs at her sleeve to get her attention.
[Galharth(#28711)]
Galharth lowers his glaze to the ground as the Lord makes mention of safety compromised. Guild flickers over the Tailor's expression, but is quickly supressed.
"I made no promises, Lord Celeborn, nor did I offer aid, as it is not my place to do so." The Craftmaster says, looking up quickly as he is addressed. Drawing his hands together, clasping his fingers tightly so to reflect calm, he glances from the man to the ancient firstborn. "And yet, while it is not my place to speak of strategy, I would think it is in our best interest to keep the darkness from gaining strength in any one place, for should one stronghold among the good peoples fall, then it places the rest in a more precarious position. Alone we struggle, but united we might make our resistance more clearly heard."
Glancing to Moeborn, he nods. "I for one would help, and none of my kindred would suffer the absence of a simple Tailor."
[<#30821>] "... ... ... ... say?" questions Aluirwen, her eyes, once lingering upon Celeborn, then swift to turn to Tinuriel. "... ... ... ... out all ... it... Such ... ... tongue ... ... ... I ... ... ... ... try ... ... .... ... ... ..., ... ... has ... ... asked ... ... ... the ... of them ... ... ......"
Yet it is here that the linguist's whispers trail off, for the tug of Nioniel on her sleeve. "Ah, ...!" she calls softly. "... ... ... too ... seasons ... ... ... ... last!"
[<#23113>] "Oh, I have ... ... what they ... .... ... ... what ... ... ... ... ...," she replies as quietly as a wind whispered in the leaves.
[Celeborn(#25510)] "You say this as if we have retreated." Celeborn responds, returning the Beorning's gaze. "We have been fighting since before your people stepped, blinking and shaking in terror, into being. What you see, now, is not retreat, but a stronghold amid the chaos of this world. If we did not fight and Lorien were to fall, then all of Rhovanion would be laid to waste, open to any who wished to do with her as they will."
He takes a visible breath and shakes the tiny strands of hair that have fallen into his eyes back from his visage with a squaring of his shoulders and straightening of his back. "We are more aware of what happens outside of these woods than anyone could ever imagine, for my Lady and I know only too well what evil lurks beyond our reach. But here you stand, insinuating cowardice on the part of me and my people. You speak not of Thranduil's folk, and what aid they have offered. Or have they made their choice already, and we are your last hope?"
Again he turns a level eye to Galharth. "You are never one to mince words, no matter how misguided you may be. I have yet to hear what it is that is being asked of us, only the situation as it stands in Middle Earth. You offer your service to the Beornings. So am I to assume that the presence of one tailor will make a difference? If that is so, then how serious is this threat? Do not misunderstand me, as I do not question your skills, only the bravado with which you speak." Now including Mobeorn, he asks, "If this is so, that one Quendi could be the deciding factor in your fight, then am I to assume that you ask not for a batallion but a small squadron? I cannot keep my people from doing what they will Galharth is free to join you in your war, as is anyone who may wish to follow. But I will not compromise my life and soul any more than has already been done."
[<#32481>] "..., ... feels ... ... ... ... as ..., ...!" Nioniel whispers back to Aluirwen, joy glimmering in her eyes to at last be standing with her good friend once more in their beloved land. Pausing, she smiles and nods softly to Tinuriel in greeting - she is one that the elleth has not met before. But then again, she has been gone a long while.
Inclining her head toward the others a little confused, she seems thuroughly puzzled by all that is said. Shaking her head, she leans toward the other ellith and whispers: "... ... ... ... ... ... ...?"
Mobeorn's dark eyes never waver from Celeborn now. "I accuse you of no cowardice, sir. And I beg for no aid. I am here because your grandson suggested that the threat was serious enough that our peoples should meet and discuss what is to be done about it. The last I spoke to him, he reported that he believed the enemy himself was ensuring the reinforcement in the foul fortress in the woods. But the full report I did not hear--he was going to give that when we met. My Laird Grimbeorn deemed that worthy enough for us to dare disturb the sanctuary of your woods--and that _only_ at the invitation of Galharth, and with great reluctance on our part."
He pauses to glance only briefly to Galharth. "No. One tailor cannot make a difference, and yet every hand counts. Thranduil's folk have retreated deep into their woods and are not to be found, at least not by us. And the road across the wood, to Dale and the dwarves, was last blocked by the enemy, so that it took a deception on the part of the Beornings, the Herion and another--and much bloodshed by all, including the dwarven folk--for the dwarves to be able to make their way home. I know not if the road remains blocked."
[<#30821>]
"... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...?" proposes Aluirwen, lending an expectant glance to Nioniel. Yet, questions born of the reunion of friends are not to linger long, for it would seem that the linguist returns her whispers to the situation at hand.
"... ... ... ... ..., ...," replies she to the seamstress, inclining her head in the direction of Celeborn. "... ... ... ... ... ... and the ... ... counsel. ......" And here the words of Aluirwen trail off, and she nods toward Tinuriel. "I ... ... ... ... ... ... messenger ... ... ... brought ... ... ... ... ... ... ... camped ... ... ......" The last of these words makes a slight frown upon her brow.
[Galharth(#28711)]
Alas, the insult stings, and for an instant it is as if the Tailor has been struck and wounded. His gaze lowers again, "I am more than a Tailor, my Lord." Galharth says firmly as his once more lifts his gaze, turning towards Mobeorn. Firmly pressing his lips, he says nothing more, instead waiting to hear what might come forth of the discusion.
[<#23113>] The vintner's eyes widen as she listens to what passes between the other Galadhrim, "I do not ... ... ... ... all, ... not what ... ...-man ... .... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...." She turns to Nioniel and gives her a small bow, her face serious with the events they are witnessing. "... ... ... ... ... vintners."
[Celeborn(#25510)] "I care nothing for the dwarves," Celeborn responds with a dismissive wave of his hand, "Nor the men of Dale and their watershed land. But for the memory of the Eryn Galen, and my grandson's request," He glances at Galharth and sighs, "And for the sake of a damn-fine tailor that I cannot hope to replace should he fail to return, I can promise you my help. You will take what you can get, and I cannot offer much. I will send word to my people for volunteers, for I will not command anyone to make this journey."
He takes a step back as if preparing to leave, but stops. "As for those who traveled with you, I cannot rely on their fear to keep them silent. My one condition for helping you is that you let us deal with them before you leave, for they can never speak of us under any circumstances. You are the exception."
"Eyrn Galen?" Mobeorn asks first. But then this is forgotten as the elf's answer continues, the shapeshifter's face slowly darkening with concern. "We will be glad to take what aid is offered, even if it be only one tailor. He _did_ fight valiantly on the Pass."
Mobeorn falls silent for several minutes, then, eyes not blinking at Celeborn. "Deal with them? I would know what you mean. We were promised no harm would come to us."
[Galharth(#28711)]
Looking to Celeborn as he speaks, the Tailor smiles quickly at the Lord's compliment. As quickly as the smile emerges, it is hidden. "No harm will come to you or your people, Mobeorn. I believe the Lord speaks more of a healing." Galharth says as he looks from Mobeorn to Celeborn, awaiting any explanation that might come.
[Celeborn(#25510)] "As Galharth says, none of you will be harmed," Celeborn says briskly as he turns to leave. "But you cannot believe that they would be allowed to leave with the memory of this place. You are the exception, and it is your lineage that saves you from the same fate that they will meet. So be thankful, and when you are home, thank your mother and father." Again he glances at Galharth, his mouth pursed slightly. "And you will not have just one, valiant tailor. You will have my sword, as well." He walks away suddenly, his steps betraying the turmoil inside his calm exterior. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have someone that I must explain some things to."
"I did trust you," Mobeorn replies to Galharth, frowning--though that changes into a smile at Celeborn's words of reassurance. "I see--and for this I thank you and your lady--for treating our people well, despite the danger we brought." He nods as Celeborn walks away--frowning again. "He's coming with us?" he asks Galharth, confused.
[Nioniel(#32481)]
Still emensely confused, Nioniel stands back with the bard and vintner, a quizzical expression on her face. After all she has seen in recent months, somehow the pressance of the beornings hardly seems to cause her much panic. Though naturally, she keeps her distance. Not understanding but single snatches of the conversation leaves her following the body language of her kin to try and comprihend the scene before her.
[Galharth(#28711)]
"It seems you have two volunteers," Galharth says as he watches Celeborn depart. Looking up into the evening sky, the Tailor clicks his tongue against the inside of his cheek. "You might wish to check on your people, for I sense we might have a storm before the night is out."
With that said, the Tailor turns and wanders off the mound, shaking his head as he goes.
Players: Galharth,Celeborn,Nioniel,Aluirwen,Tinuriel
