The lost

The Chetwood
You are near the edge of the Chetwood forest and the trees are not as tall nor as thickly rooted as some of the brethern. You see the trees thickening to the NorthWest, growing thinner to the East and you can just make out a clearing to the West.
A well concealed cave, blocked by overgrowing bushes and brambles, snugs under an overhanging ledge. Glimpsed through the dim shadows, a boulder can be barely discerned blocking the cave entrance.
Contents:
Thari
Rhifaroth
Dwarven Camp
Obvious exits:
 NorthWest leads to The Chetwood.
 East leads to The Midgewater Marshes.
 West leads to The Chetwood.


[Thari(#31038)] Evening comes as a relief to the hot summer day with shadows deepening cool fingers across the forest. Sleep comes easily to some of the exhausted defenders, but to others, rest is elusive with the enemy so near.

Perhaps one of those is Thari. The dwarf, shorter than most of the kin, limps hard and leans on a stout walking-stick to keep upright. Sharp grey eyes watch the sleeping dwarves.

[Frarin] One of the dwarves that Thari might survey is the merchant Frarin, situated with his back propped up against a tree some several feet from the nearest sleeping figure. He does not sleep, but neither does he move without a grimace. Across his lap is wrapped a thick blanket and about his shoulders hangs his travelling cloak. But the dying light does not fail to hide the bandage about his head that covers his right ear, nor the thickly wrapped left hand and arm. And the dwarf hunches forward painfully, as if straightening is difficult.

Frarin's eyes are clear, however, if tired and pained. His head rests gently against the tall tree behind him, eyes glimmering in the dusky light, but the only other light that illuminates the scarred face comes from the long, gently smoking pipe that protrudes from his mouth.

[Rhifaroth(#27282)] 
    High summer it is, hot and sultry even this far in the north, and so far from the sea. Even the men of the camp rest the hot hours of the day in the shade of the trees as they are able, most sleeping so that they might keep sharper watch at night. As the evening hour rises, the men of the camp begin to move about, some preparing to depart to keep close watch upon the Host.

    Among those who rest, but whom will not be taking a watch er darkness falls, is Rhifaroth. Between Mithrandir's ministrations and Giliath's sweet fluting, the man has been resting and recovering better than he would have otherwise.

    Just now though, he rests less easy. Unaware that Thari limps and stalks among her own on restless watch, Rhifaroth lays sweating. The man turns his head, breathing irregularly, but not waken.

Thari's eyes focus on a glimmer that turns to a pipe-bowl. There is a pause, and the dwarf turns and limps in that direction. "Ah!" says the healer, voice tight, "There you are, old Frarin. Always escaping me." The limping dward does not glance toward the humans and elves.

[Frarin] The flicker of the pipebowl flares for a moment, then Frarin's dark eyes are turned to the approaching Thari. His stony expression is not maintained this evening, only a passive look that betrays both his weariness and his unease, and the constant hint of a grimace that reveals he is not without pain even when he is still.

"Hail, Thari," says the silver merchant roughly, speaking quietly. His bandaged left hand moves to his abdomen, as if producing the words brings a barb of pain. "You must use your eyes then, for I am in no way to escape even a passing mouse."

[Rhifaroth(#27282)] 
    There is some stirring as a figure in the human and elven camp comes away from one of the wounded who rests on the far side. Stepping carefully as the night descends, the Ranger who appears to be a woman comes over in the direction of the Dwarven camp. She stops short of it, however, and squats down to check on Rhifaroth.

    Be it Annaiel, or the other woman Ranger of their group, or yet some other is not clear in the darkness of the wood. But a hand touches the man's brow to see if he has fever, then shifts the cloak that covers him without further concern. After a moment, she rises quietly and goes to check on another.

    Someone else in the manling camp adds a bit of wood to the fire - otherwise all is quieting back down as true night settles in the Chetwood.

[<#31038>] Thari wobbles a bit, then is fairly steady while dropping to the ground beside Frarin. The healer's left leg is wrapped in dark-stained bandages to the knee, and shoulders, too, are bulked with cloth. 'The light is failing. I'll need to look quickly.'

Gentle fingers, of course, go first to the bandages on Frarin's head, tracing them, plucking without pulling them of. "Frarin," the healer whispers while glancing at his eyes, "I've an herb that will take your pain away. I don't offer it to many because it makes a dwarf lethargic for a time, and also because I haven't very much of it, but I will give it to you if you wish it."

[Frarin] Frarin grunts around the stem of his pipe as Thari works, though he does not pull away. He hunches forward as her hands work around the bandage covering the right side of his head, the hint of a grimace creating shadows around his eyes and brow. But his gaze comes up to meet Thari's as she mentions the herbs. "Nay," he says quietly, refraining from shaking his head so as not to disturb her.

"Nay, my head has been muddled enough of late. Save it for those in greater need. I have..." the shadows upon his brow deepen in thought, probing for some memory amongst so many hazy ones of the last few days. "I have already been seen to, I think. There was an old man, and music, and strange words I did not know." The thoughtful look fades and Frarin's gaze drops to his lap. "Who knows. But save your herbs for those who need it most, Thari."

[Rhifaroth(#27282)] 
    The night is quiet except for the sounds of singing insects, loudly buzzing their rhythmic music into the darkness. The air is close and humid, little breeze from the plain reaching to stir the leaves here. The Midgewater Marsh is too close, the ground here only barely risen high enough to be dry enough to support the trees on the edge of the wood.

    The Dwarves and their low conversation goes unmarked and undisturbed.

    Rhifaroth though, stirs once more in his restless sleep, murmuring something in some foriegn tongue. He moves his left arm from under the thin cloak and lays it over his face. Someone has washed and mended his ragged shirt for his arm is covered once more with a sleeve.

[Thari(#31038)] "Hmm," says Thari with a disapproving frown. "Perhaps HE gave you herbs without asking first." Her fingers trace down the bandages, lingering over Frarin's ear. "Ah, good Master, I don't know if I'll be able to change these without light."
She sighs and moves her hands down to feel at his torso. "Take a blow to the ribs, did you?"

[Rhifaroth(#27282)] 
    Someone else moves in the Ranger's camp... Giliath, perhaps, coming back from some errand taken earlier in the evening before night fell. Whoever it is settles and things over in the tall one's camp grows still again.

    Nearer to hand, Rhifaroth continues to stir, turning his head and shifting his arm once more. Though he may not have fever, his breathing has picked up and his restlessness grows.

    Long moments pass and then he jerks, makes some muted noise, then thrashes, trying to kick off his cloak. The man's arms rise as though to block or push something off of himself and with a startled cry, he is suddenly awake. Rhifaroth gasps for breath at the pain of having moved his mauled leg.

    Someone moves in the camp near to the low fire, listening. But the tattooed man has grown quiet and still, breathing quickly and looking up at the dark trees looming overhead. Rhifaroth moves a hand to rub at his face - it was only a nightmare plaguing him.

[Frarin] Frarin frowns as Thari continues her inspection, eyes still downcast. "Perhaps he did," he mutters absently. "But my mind was fevered then, I barely remember." A stray smile turns the corner of his mouth. "In my mind's eye I see a great city, and a lake, and an old man, like as to him they say aided our Lord Thorin so many years ago. But the eye sees many things when the body is not well."

Lifting his gaze, Frarin looks to Thari, then gestures towards where the men and elves sleep. "Perhaps one of them will have a lantern. Most, if not all, of our own have been lost on the hard road." And he glances up, he catches the troubled awakening of the tattooed Stranger.

No time does he have to comment on it, however, for as Thari's hand goes the silver merchant's torso, Frarin's eyes widen suddenly as the gentle prodding catches him unawares. An audible cry escapes his lips. "Yes yes," he manages to gasp, nearly whispering. "Below the ribs, an axe. I haven't seen it yet."

Thari gasps a moment after Frarin does, then looks away. "Orni! Orni!" the healer shouts crisply. A lump on the forest floor nearby stirs, then sits up, looking around as if searching for orcs. "I need a lantern from the men, please! "

"Oh, Thari, now--" Orni grumbles but is soon interrupted by Thari. "I can't walk well and I need it to tend to the wounded." Orni stands and groggily heads toward Rhifaroth and his fellow humans.

Thari's eyes drop to the thrashing Rhifaroth then. "Some of these wounded ought to just be sent back to Bree."

[Frarin] "To die in beds rather than fighting?" growls Frarin, now sufficiently recovered from his surprise to be irritated. "I would not allow it of myself, and I'll wager you would not either. And these men and elves know too well the danger that threatens Bree to seek comfort there." The angry, hasty words seem to tire Frarin and he falls silent abruptly, apparently equally displeased with himself for having said them as for their having wearied him.

"I'm sorry, Thari," he grumbles, tapping the contents of his pipe onto the ground beside him as if to distract from his outburst. "I do not welcome this state, not for the pain but for the frustration."

[Rhifaroth(#27282)] 
    Whoever is on watch in the men's camp hears no more from the injured man who awoke, but does hear the gentle rumble of the dwarven voices continuing without alarm, and Thari's raised voice waking someone called Orni to seek a light. Probably one of the Rangers, the man does not leave his position. Their fire though continues to burn low.

    Now awake, Rhifaroth lays quietly, listening to the sounds of the night insects, and the voices of Thari and Frarin. If he hear's Thari's unkind words, or Frarin's hot reply, he makes no comment himself. But the man does take note of a third dwarf, Orni, who comes near.

    Perhaps not wishing to be stumbled upon in the darkness, Rhifaroth's low voice then can be heard, "There are no lanterns that I know of - seek a brand at the fire."

Thari leans back a bit while Frarin snaps. His chin is down, grey eyes turned black in the shadows. "You've no need to apologize," he says briskly. "Completely sensible thing to say."

Orni nods to Rhifaroth. "Thank ye," and goes to retrieve a brand. A moment later, he is walking toward Thari again.

"Oh, Frarin!" Thari says while waiting. "Did you know? I managed to get that marked man's name! It's Rhiforoth! But he won't tell a thing of his father."

Kellan is coming through the trees from the west.
Kellan has arrived.

[Frarin] Frarin's own eyes are downcast as Thari briskly brushes off his apology, but he says no more about it, perhaps wishing to move on just as much as the other. He catches the marked man's voice, however, as Orni retrieves a light from the fire, and his brows rise slightly at Thari's revelation. "Rhifaroth," he repeats quietly, the strange name tying up his tongue. "He has indeed been in Bree for a time then, I heard a similar name from one of the small lads there." Frarin glances at Thari with a grim look. "You are fortunate to have found his name, I do not warrant he would willingly give up much else. I will not speak his name, though. If he wishes others to know it, he will tell them. How came you by it, Thari?"

[Rhifaroth(#27282)] 
    This time Thari the dwarf's voice is not a hushed whisper. Rhifaroth frowns in the darkness, his expression unseen. But he shifts, levering himself up onto his right elbow and mindful of how he moves his left arm due to the wound on that side of his chest. Carefully the injured man drags himself back so that he may sit up in the darkness and lean once more against his small pack, and the tree behind himself.

    Grey eyes skim the night camp, watching Orni for a moment as that one goes over to the small fire to bring back a light for the others. After a moment, Rhifaroth grows still again, listening or resting as he himself has no light to do anything by.

[Thari(#31038)] "I just told him," Thari says in a completely reasonable voice as Orni approaches. "Oh, thank ye, Orni--" the healer adds as ruddy light is cast over Frarin. The silver-merchant's shirt is tugged upwards gently. "I just told him, how will tales if ye come to your father if none know your name? And I told him a bit of the honor it brings me that everyone knows that I'm Balur's child."

[Frarin] Frarin sucks in a slow breath as his shirt is lifted, preparing for more of the painful probing. His heads goes back to lean against the tree behind him, eyes staring up at the now almost fully black sky. There is the gentle swish of branches above. "And you should be proud, Thari. There will be many tales for our families before this is over. But perhaps it is different for him, and for these Rangers. They seem a lonesome sort. If they roam the wild alone, perhaps they do not hold so much stand by family."

And this seems to remind Frarin of something, for even as he looks skywards, his lips purse as a thought comes to him. "Have you seen Gerin about, Thari? My mind has not been fully aware until this day, but I assume he has been to see me, at least?”

[Rhifaroth(#27282)] 

Although he is not close enough to the Dwarven camp to catch every word that Thari and Frarin speak, the man does hear his own name mentioned and some part of that conversation. There is a long silence from him, perhaps not certain if he should give any answer or just keep his own silence - as is more his personal custom.

    Frarin's voice speaks and there may be truth in his assessment. But then, unexpectedly, Rhifaroth does speak softly in the darkness, "Family matters, master Frarin. Even to us."

[Thari(#31038)] "And I am proud," Thari asserts, ever-so-gentle still while peeling up Frarin's shirt. "Everyone knows of Balur the wise and wealthy and how I am of his."

Orni goes about setting the brand nearby to make a small fire.

Thari's face becomes more sombre while looking over Frarin's wound and the short healer is silent for a while. When the words come, they are very hushed. "Now, good Frarin, I'll not have you worrying about Gerin while you're mending."

[Kellan(#31169)] From the bree lands more noise breaks the silence a faint sound of war clad feet and bodies can be heard to those who are listening. The sound of wheels from a cart becomes louder and louder. The noise gains more to it humming in rythem as it gets even closer the cart and feet of many stout figures approach, but still out of visual range.

[Frarin] Perhaps it is fortunate that Frarin looks to the stars, for he does not seem to notice Thari's dark look. Her hushed voice, however, does bring his eyes earthward again and a look of concern crosses his face. "I do not worry about him, he is able enough to care for himself. I asked only where he was. Was he wounded at Weathertop? Is there /reason/ to worry for him?" Although he grimaces again as the Thari works, he gives her a hard look that bids her speak plainly.

The look is drawn off, however, by the voice that speaks Frarin's name. The merchant glances around, as if suddenly aware of how easily voices carry in the still wood. "So be it, Stranger," rumbles Frarin after a moment, quietly but loud enough to carry to the man. "I did not say otherwise. I know no more of the customs of the south than you do of the customs of the dwarves."

Thari's head bows. A glance is flicked toward Rhifaroth, another for marching steps and wagonwheels. Fingers test the merchant's wound while eyes study it. A sigh, and the healer leans near to Frarin to murmur, eyes on his face now. "I've looked for him, to look after him while you're down, but I've not found him yet. I will search still, do not be troubled."

[Rhifaroth(#27282)] 
    Frarin's words to the injured man do carry in the darkness, despite the sounds of insects in the night. But other sounds approach the camp of a wagon and the arrival of others. There is a stirring in the men's camp as those who are on watch move to go and invistigate long before Kellen and his ilk might actually arrive.

    Whatever his own thoughts, Rhifaroth gives Frarin no further reply. He has resettled himself as best he may and lays quietly, listening to the sounds of the approaching dwarves. It is dark, but perhaps his own eyes close, trying to rest despite the disturbance.

[Frarin] Whatever Thari's command may be, the gentle glow of Orni's fire does indeed illuminate a rare troubled glance upon Frarin's face. The lips are pursed, the gaze absently dropped to his lap in thought. When he speaks, the usual assurance, that grim confidence the silver merchant is so known for, falters for just a second. "You have...I did not...He, he can look after himself. Helpful lad, Gerin, probably goggling at these Rangers."

Frarin clears his throat and the brief loss of composure is forgotten. The businessdwarf takes over again. "What were our losses at the tower? I could barely walk as we fled that place, even with the aid of one the Rangers.”

[Kellan(#31169)] The sounds of the dwarven caravan gets closer, it comes into view and at it's lead is Kellan warder of the mountains coverd in dwarven mail and face hidden under helmet at his side a warhammer is kept ready for use. He looks towards there destination as they move ever closer. The warder lets a sly look cross his face at being able to find the camp here. The noise halts as the camp stops. He turns to the other nodding as he walks towards the group.

Thari pours fluid over a rag and leans forward, washing Frarin's chest-wound while pulling away the bandages. "Oh, yes," says the healer in a relieved tone. "I didn't even think to look among those Rangers. That's probably where he is right now."

Thari glances away, squinting through the dark night at Kellan and his dwarves. "You lot should be resting!" she shouts toward them. "Don't think we need so very many guards at once!"

[Frarin] Frarin's dark eyes glimmer as he looks sharply to Thari, perhaps catching the relief in the healer's tone. But if he does, he does not have time to express his thoughts, for the wet rag is applied to the deep gash in the merchant's abdomen. He bites back a cry, settling for a grunt and a sharp intake of breath instead, then gritting teeth together. His eyes squint, and it may only to be to distract his mind that he looks to the newly arrived dwarves. "I don't think those are Ereborian dwarves, Thari," he grates out through his clenched teeth.

[Rhifaroth(#27282)] 
    The new arrivals do not go unnoticed and unstudied. But for one, the injured Rhifaroth tries to turn over onto his side to present his back to the racket and shouting, grimacing at shifting his bad leg. He mutters something low, "Blasted Dwarves are noisier than Mumakil!" and tries to rest all the same.

    The night has slipped on rapidly and uneventful for the most part. Already the eastern sky begins to pale with the first tint of predawn light.

[Kellan(#31169)] The lone warder of the mountains that steps up hears healer speaking to him. Kellan lets out a hardy laugh "Well cousin should we head back to our own home than?" he says looking around the camp at those wounded and being treated "Though do wish we'd gotten here soon by the looks." the stout form crosses over to the healer a bit closer watching a bit. "What has happened we heard in bree of word for our need?"

Thari catches Frarin's sharp glance, head still bowed, and looks down again to the bandages. The old binding is at last pulled away, and a new one is removed from beneath the healer's belt. Frarin's wound is padded and a new bandage tied on.

Up Thari looks, and a wide white smile gleams in the darkness. "Cousins!" comes a glad, laughing cry. "We do have need of you! A great army is driving to Bree!"

Strider has connected.

[Frarin] Still grimacing but apparently determined to keep silent, Frarin half glares at Kellan as the Ered Luin warder approaches he and Thari. He makes an effort to seem welcoming, however, by inclining his bandaged head towards the new arrival. "Hail, cousin. You have come late, but not too late. There is still a chance we may stall the danger that threatens Bree, perhaps even turn it aside."

And as if speaking helps Frarin dispel the barb of pain in his stomach, he rises his voice ever so slightly. "And you should be grateful for what help we receive, Stranger. Loud or no, it will not matter when we meet the uruks again."

[Combat Function Library(#15)] Thari tends to the injuries on Frarin.
HEALING: Thari attempts to treat your wounds...

[Thari(#31038)] "There." Thari finishes tying the bandage and leans back, one leg still awkward. "How do you feel Frarin?" The healer then leans over and pokes this blood-stained calf. "Had to cut out an arrowhead last morning."

[Strider(#19187)]
As the light wanes it would be easy to miss the shadow that steals forth towards the camp from the east, though it is there all the same. The trees hide it well as it goes, but only so long as desired it would seem for it does not stalk into view as it arrives.
Strider steps from the darkling forest with his cowl pulled back, and keen grey eyes look to the dwarves. "Hail," he says in greeting, and moves to join them.

[Frarin] "Better, thank you, Thari," Frarin lies with a semi-straight face, grumbling into his beard as he looks down at the fresh bandage about his middle. "Should hopefully be able to walk by tomorrow, seek out Gerin myself." He pulls at the end of the blanket across his lap and reveals another bandage about his left leg. "Provided that doesn't trouble me," he continues, flipping the blanket back over his leg again.

"How are your own -" Frarin starts to ask Thari. But the sudden shadowed appearance of a tall man brings the dwarf's gaze up sharply, though the alarm fades as the Ranger greets them. "Hail, Ranger," says Frarin, nodding.

[Rhifaroth(#27282)] 
    Much too close to the Dwarven camp, on the wrong side of the Ranger's camp to hope for much more rest tonight, Rhifaroth turns stiffly back over onto his back from his side. He lets out a breath in the darkness but makes no other reply to Frarin's jab at him for grumbling about the excessive noise.

    Whether he caught the sound of a man's voice greeting the Dwarves or not, the injured man does hear Frarin's low rumble in greeting that mentions the word 'Ranger'.

    There is a bit of light now from the fire the Dwarves have themselves kindled. Grey eyes turn to try and see who has arrived but Rhifaroth says nothing himself.

[Thari(#31038)] "Well now, don't you worry about Gerin," Thari says in a very calm voice. The dwarf-healer's leg is examined. "As I said, I'll find him for you."

Up now Thari looks to the approaching Strider. "Hail. Have we met? I am Thari, at your service."

[Strider(#19187)]
"Only briefly," replies the Ranger to Thari, and the words are fond, "ere your axe was given all the work you wished for. I am Strider, at yours, and grateful for the courage of the dwarves."

He looks then to Frarin, and adds: "I have you both to thank for your deeds upon the tower, or else the uruks may have marched unchecked towards the towns."

The grey eyes flit then to the waking figure of Rhifaroth, and Strider nods to the southerner. "And not you fellows alone.. how does he fare?" he asks of the khazad, but his gaze lingers upon the other man.

Kellan had been quiet taking care of some questions from his camp. The warder turns back around to the dwarf healer and the others that have joined in the huddle. The stout form moves closer to all, he does speak to the healer first answering. "A great army eh?" he says stroking his beard in thought. "Well of course our camp is for this cause, let them crumble under the combined force of the dwarves!"

[Frarin] Recognition dawns in Frarin's eyes and, as best he can, he nods again, more formally this time. "You are he that made possible my own escape, when my own legs alone would not carry me. I am Frarin son of Forli, Master Strider, and the service is mine. You have my gratitude. As for the host, we may have checked them, but unless the news is better than before, I trust that they march westwards still?"

The dwarf looks to Rhifaroth and the other resting men. "He is well enough to speak, at least. And very likely to listen. An old man tended to us earlier, and Thari here also has the skills of a healer."

[Rhifaroth(#27282)] 
    Voices mix and mingle, both gravely and low and softer pitched, in the night around the Dwarven camp. The man who lays not far from it has closed his eyes once more, listening indeed but also resting.

    Rhifaroth's grey cloak remains where he had kicked it off earlier in the night when he had awoken from ill dreams. Someone has washed and mended his shirt, which has been returned to him to wear, and pale bandages gleam dully in the dimness upon his left leg. His pant leg there has been cut away and someone has certainly been seeing to his wounds, removed his armour, and washed away the foul black orcish blood.

[Thari(#31038)] "I've looked at the humans and elves as I can but I've been kept busy with the dwarves," answers Thari, strong voice suddenly wavering a bit with exhaustion. "I was struck too, though of course, it troubles me little when there's work to be done."

Thari's smile is given to Kellan again. "ah, lad, we're mighty glad to see you and your folk, we are."

[Strider(#19187)]
And Strider too seems cheered by Kellan's words, for he bows and a wears a surprised smile when he rises anew. "Well spoken, friend," says he, "though I am not of your kin. In truth I was about to ask that very mood of you, if there is aught that a man of the wild can offer the dwarves in repayment."

His eyes turn back to the folk of Erebor, and nods to Frarin's words also. "The work of the healer is oft undersold in song and tale," he grins to Thari, "though every hero of legend would have paid dearly but for their gentle hands. I am not unskilled, and offer up my own hands to aid yours if you have need of it."

But then he blinks, and quirks his attention back to Rhifaroth. "An old man, you say?"

[Kellan(#31169)] The warder looks on to the man who speaks. Kellan nods his head though he looks to the other dwarves. "I'm afraid, that my camp deserves no payment of yet, we have merely got the message in Bree and comes to the aid of our cousins." he points to the other dwarf camp looking back to his which is still getting setup. "We travel with healers as well if more aid is needed I will send for them."

[Frarin] "Indeed, your arrival is most welcome, Master Warder," says Frarin with sincerity to Kellan. "There are many yet wounded here, any healers in your company would be very great. Thari needs rest herself," he says, giving Thari a look. "And our cousin speaks true, Master Ranger, we expected no payment when we came west from the High Pass. We expect none now beyond the kindness that has already been shown us. And if you know healing, there are many who would grateful of it."

Frarin shifts uncomfortably, repositioning his left arm gently in his lap. At Strider's question, the dwarf's face goes still again and his gaze becomes far off, again proding through hazy memories. "Yes, an old man. I was fevered at the time, I think, for I do not well recall him. But he spoke strange words. And reminded me of an old wizard in the legends of the dwarves."

[Rhifaroth(#27282)] 
    Words sink in... old man... Rhifaroth's own eyes reopen and his brow knits in the dimness, troubled by such news mayhap. Drawing a slow breath, he shifts his arms to lever himself back up so that he might situp back against his pack, and the near tree once more. The news has apparently roused the man from going back to sleep. A hand is raised to rub at Rhifaroth's face, brushing away grit of sleep from his eyes, "What old man?" his low voice asks.

    Something occurs to him then though and Rhifaroth's hand drops to feel beneath his throat for something that lays unseen under his shirt, to see perhaps if it is still on his person. It is dark, but it might be a touch of concern in his voice, "Is he still here?"

    Frarin's words are little comfort to the wounded man, maybe. Rhifaroth goes silent, thinking upon this news.

[Thari(#31038)] Thari laughs, low, while running a hand down the bandaged calf. "Odd that you mention paying us, friend, seeing as how we are the ones who sought help from your folk."

Elladan is coming through the trees from the west.
Elladan has arrived.

[Strider(#19187)]
"Friendship suffers nothing less, if it is sincere," bows Strider to Thari's words, "though the manner of payment is open to question. The promised aid and friendship of such men that I can name allies is one payment I would offer gladly, and readily. I knew not that the folk of Durin were so steadfast in their loyalty, though I am happy indeed to learn the lesson."

But even as he finishes, he looks back to Rhifaroth once more, and watches the man of Gondor with interest. "An old wizard of legend," he breathes to himself a keen light kindling in his eyes at that. "Perhaps there is hope after all. Where did he go?"

Strider walks forward then to join the Southron, and slips to a crouch beside him. "And where did that othe fellow go..? The one who appeared in the night to aid us..?"

[Frarin] The dying fire nearby creates lines upon Frarin's face, but they darken still more as the dwarf's brow wrinkles. "I do not know," Frarin grumbles to Rhifaroth, then again to Strider. "I do not know. I barely recall him, and I have seen none other like him since my waking. But do you know him? Does my mind not deceive me?"

[Rhifaroth(#27282)] 
    Vaguely unsettled, Rhifaroth's own gaze has gone to sweep the camps, no doubt looking to see if that old man they mentioned is lurking about and might show himself. But Strider coming close to him and squatting down next to him with an odd question regain's Rhifaroth's full but wary attention.

    "Who?" But then there is a pause, either trying to remember or else a thought coming to the injured man. He frowns, his glance having slipped from Strider to look back at the camp again for a moment before his attention returns to the Ranger, "I don't know what happened after ... I fell. Or how I got here from from Weathertop."

    Frarin's voice distracts the Southerner and he frowns anew, trying to remember, "No, I think you are right. I'm trying to remember the voice." And then he stops suddenly, looking perplexed not at Strider but at the Dwarf, "No, couldn't have been him. He's dead." Rhifaroth rubs his face once more and mutters, "I don't remember."

Thari watches Strider walk away, then turns back to Frarin. The healer scoots to press back against the tree, further around the trunk, and sighs. "What was that name of the wizard who was Lord Thorin's friend? Wasn't it-- Ga.. Gandalf!" Thari cries out, pleased. "Gandalf! That's what my old dear father used to say, Gandalf the Wizard."

[Strider(#19187)]
"And where Gandalf walks, hope and courage follow," says Strider, nodding to Thari's cries, and he smiles. "The wizard has a knack of being just where he is needed to be."

But then his gaze darkens once more, and he asks Rhifaroth, "Who is dead, my friend?"

[Frarin] "Gandalf?" Frarin echoes with surprise, looking first to Thari, then to Strider who confirms the healer's exclamation. "Surely not? I thought it was a dream only. Gandalf the Wizard!" The silver merchant's grim tone is heightened for a moment. A thin smile even breaks his grimace. "That is good new indeed, if it is true. If only my mind were clearer on the subject."

The dwarf looks up as Rhifaroth's perplexed look find himself, and Frarin's brow come together, apparently unsure if the man addresses him.

[Rhifaroth(#27282)] 
    Thari's cry indeed, and then Strider's words bother the injured man. Rhifaroth has grown silent, and he is slow to respond to the Ranger's question.

    He licks his lips to wet his dry mouth before he gives any answer, "I know that name, but I knew him better by another. I thought Mithrandir died in Umbar. Nigh unto 30 years ago." Rhifaroth distinctly frowns, looking from Strider to the Dwarves and back again, "Is that the same old man you mean? Or do you mean -"

    But that thought he cuts off.

[Thari(#31038)] "No, I didn't say some Mithrander. I said Gandalf," Thari explains patiently. "I mean," the healer amends. "Not that I know who it was, but the one with Lord Thorin was Gandalf. Never heard of a Mithrander wizard, though maybe there is one." The dwarf massages the wounded calf again.

[Strider(#19187)]
"Who knows?" answers Strider to that, and he shrugs. "Though Gandalf at least is known in these parts, and I am as glad as you, Master Frarin," he adds, ere he sniffs and continues to watch Rhifaroth. "Nay, that is not who I mean... there was another, a brawny man who showed concern for you.. someone you perhaps thought was dead?"

[Frarin] Frarin frowns as Rhifaroth answers, speaking aloud names that are foreign to his ears. But the dwarf appears intent, even hunching forward, at this rare glimpse into the past of the strange man of the south. He nods to Thari and glances with concern at the healer's injured leg, but for the moment, he says nothing, respectfully allowing the two men to talk.

Thari's head drops back against the tree, breathing becoming deeper, as if resting after a long race. Grey eyes close for the moment, hand still cupped protectively over leg.

[Rhifaroth(#27282)] 
    Their assurances that Gandalf can't be whom he thinks they mean makes the tattooed man frown once more, less certain. Rhifaroth presses his lips into a thin line and he tries use both of his hands to shift his aching leg, face tightening with painful effort. But he manages to get more comfortable and ease himself back once more.

    A hand is shifted to dismiss Strider's last, "I don't know whom you mean. No one around these parts is going to have the least concern on my behalf." But saying it, Rhifaroth hesitates and looks at Strider, "Except, perhaps your folk. Gone to too much effort already, bothering to keep me alive."

[Strider(#19187)]
"You've been worth it," smiles Strider, nodding to the Southron's sword and the dark blood that has stained the hilt. All the same, he seems reserved, and nods lightly. "Though you may yet be wrong on the score of who has an interest in you. We shall see, if your friend deigns to reappear."

His eyes soften then, and he looks to the man's wounds. "Do you need some assistance, whatever the cost in effort to me?"

[Frarin] Frarin's eyes flick from Ranger to Southron, the frown remaining, but only betraying a small interest rather than discontent. After a moment, he leans to his side and glances at Thari. Speaking quietly, he rumbles, "You are weary, I can see that, Thari. I do not doubt you have been up and about for far too long. How do you own wounds fare? I trust you have at least seen to them to some degree, however?"

Thari's eyes fly open as if startled or suddenly awakened. "Mmm." Lips are pressed shut as a yawn is stifled. "I, um, I cut out an arrowhead. Think that one gave me a bit of a fever. I had one of the lads tie bandages on my arms for me. I'm fine, and I thank ye." The answer to Frarin is low as well.

[<#27282>]
    Perhaps he has said more than he intended. A glance to the Dwarves who are too close and Rhifaroth shuts his mouth. But Strider's indication of something laying upon the ground next to him and the Southerner's own glance follows - then Rhifaroth's hand shifts to touch the hilt, suddenly surprised, ''I thought it lost...''

    Picking up the scabbarded blade, he turns it over in his hands, looking at it. His voice is lowered for Strider's ears only, "... ... here. ... ... ... ...?"

    The mention of a friend deinging to reapear and there is another hint of frown. Rhifaroth thinks upon this and then says in the same lowered voice, "... ... ... Hephtur ... ... ...? Is ... ... ... ...?"

    For the moment at least, the injured man makes no comment to Strider's offer to check his wounds.

[Strider(#19187)]
"Hephtur?" asks Strider, tilting his head. "That is the stranger's name? How do you know him, Rhifaroth." He makes no reply about Ana or the sword.

[Frarin] The silver merchant nods to Thari, apparently contented by her words. Something else seems to trouble him though, for he falls silent and looks down at his lap again. When he looks up again, he turns his head slightly to look at Thari with her head resting against the tree. And when he speaks, his voice is oddly soft. For the second time that night, the usual confidence has faded. There seems almost a vulnerable concern that lingers in Frarin's voice.

"Thari," he speaks softly, leaning his own head again the tree, Strider and Rhifaroth forgotten for the moment. "Please speak plainly, I do not wish to be protected. Do you truly know not where Gerin is? Or do you hide some knowledge for my own benefit."

Thari studies Frarin for a silent moment longer. Darkness shadows the shorter dwarf's face, but when firelight flickers briefly, it shows eyes troubled and compassionate.

"Frarin." Thari touches the back of his hand briefly before withdrawing it again. "I've not lied to you. I've seen nothing of him, and I've looked everywhere among the dwarves and I've asked. I did not think to look among the men or the elves, and perhaps these newcome dwarves have some news, aye? But if he is to be found, it is not among the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain here."

[<#27282>]
    In need of cleaning, the sheathed blade is laid down next to his right side where it will be easy to hand, if it were needed. Rhifaroth is either uncomfortable with the questions, or else the company of the Dwarves in their camp so near, for he evades Strider's gaze and is slow to answer again.

    After a moment though of thinking, his brow knitted in the fire's thin illumination in the darkness, Rhifaroth finally does answer the other man in a very low voice, "... do ... ... ...." His own grey eyes then meet Strider's, "... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..., towards ... ... - ... days ... ... ... met ... ... ... ...." He uses the Sindarin name for the place, but continues, "... ... ... ... him for I ... ... ... ... his .... ... seemed ... ... ... ... ... the ..., so he .... He did ... ... ... ..., ... ... ... ... seen ... ...."

    There is that frown again, "... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..., ... ... ..., .... ... ... ... .... Claimed to know ... ... ...." Rhifaroth is careful what he says to this man of the Rangers, maybe wanting to trust him but not knowing Strider as well as he knows Fletcher.

[<#19187>]
No clue as to Strider's thoughts can be seen in his eyes, but they are not cold when he nods and smiles in reply to Rhifaroth. "He ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... to save you.. ... he ... ... ... ... ...." If Rhifaroth does not trust Strider, imagine how the reverse must be true under the cirsumstances.

[Frarin] Frarin is still as Thari speaks, not withdrawing his hand when she touches it, but neither moving to show compassion of his own. An audible breath escapes him, a lonely figure with his eyes downcast. The gaze rises slowly until he looks at the stars. The warm summer night is thick about him as he beholds the vast sky, its twinkling lights blotted out by the overhanging branches and a few stray clouds. Perhaps it is fortunate that the small fire has died off to a low glow, so as not to reveal the lines that darken Frarin's face.

And when he speaks, neither the confidence nor the vulnerability remain. Only a heavy weariness. "I believe you, Thari," he says low. "And thank you. I will find him."

[Rhifaroth(#27282)] 
    For some reason, the idea of Hephtur liking him does not suit Rhifaroth. Not keeping his own voice quite as low this time he sighs and closes his own eyes for a moment, "I told you, before it started... that he said he would come and lend aid."

    "But I still mistrust him." The injured man opens his eyes just enough to glance back at Strider, watching his face in the dimness, "Call it gut instinct if you will, but something is definately not right with that ... man. Or whatever he is."

Thari watches Frarin's reaction in silence, ignoring the whispering humans nearby entirely. The healer sighs. "You will, you will," comes the reassurance. "And I will look too. And the other dwarves. And maybe even these fellows." Thari waves over at the men. "And for all I know, he is among us, good Frarin. I haven't been walking very well so perhaps I just haven't seen him yet."

[Strider(#19187)]
"With luck," says Strider then to the other man, "I shall chance to see for myself soon enough. I should like to meet this fellow you mistrust.. you do not trust often I deem, or lightly. I marvel that you have found such fast friendship with the dwarves, when your fellow man is eyed with far more suspicion..."

He rises then, and looks the man's injuries over once more. "You fought well, but their blades are vicious..."

[Rhifaroth(#27282)] 
    He might be uncertain what Strider is trying to find out from him, but Rhifaroth's mood shifts from wariness to a hint of humor at the man's last comment. He lets out a faint breath, almost a chuckle, "Depends on who the men are, Strider. Your folk have at least earned a measure of my trust, if not others."

    His own gaze slips back to the Dwarves, voice lowering, "Their folk I don't know. Certainly not friends, but much needed allies just now."

[Frarin] "Yes," muses Frarin thoughtfully, though there does not seem to be much conviction in his tone. "Yes, perhaps you are right." He lowers his gaze, looking to Thari with a sad smile. "Trouble yourself no more, Thari. Tomorrow I will rise myself and seek him...if he is to be sought. You have done more than enough. You need sleep more than most."

[Thari(#31038)] Sleep. Thari's head tilts back and rests against the tree trunk. Dark eyes drop shut-- then open a moment longer. "Don't you be opening your wounds to be hunting for him. Give yourself a little bit of time, and as soon as I wake up, I'll hunt for him again," the healer says sleepily.

Thari's breathing deepens almost immediately, hand uncurling to the ground.

[Frarin] The thought of sleep seems just as appealing to Frarin as it does to Thari. The merchant sets his head against the tree again and, despite the warm night, hugs his cloak about him. He seems to catch a few words from the quietly conversing men and a tired smile pokes beneath his beard, though it is mostly hidden by the dark. Thari's sleepy warning brings a single, silent chuckle. "You have my word," he rumbles.

Then Frarin's eyes grow heavy, the lids begin to shut. Soon the dwarf's head lolls forward onto his chest and heavy breathing brings at least a temporary peace. Whatever news the morning may herald is forgotten. The last thing the weary Frarin sees before sleep steals over him are the two men of the wild, then unfitful darkness takes him.

[Strider(#19187)]
"If they fight to protect Bree, whatever their cause, then I name them friends," replies Strider to Rhifaroth, and he sniffs to himself as his eyes flit toward to khazad. "And I should speak with our other friend as soon as I may. Mayhap the town can be saved after all if Gandalf the Grey is at hand.."

[Rhifaroth(#27282)] 
    Strider's words, at the last, might be a comfort, "I hope so, Strider, I do hope so." Rhifaroth is quiet a moment more, then adds, "If this Gandalf is who I think he is, then he will surely be of great aid. A very wise man."

    Then a hint of tired bitterness, "I fear they will reach Bree before I shall be able to fight again - most likely. If indeed I am not lamed for life."

[Strider(#19187)]
"I pray you are not," says Strider then with a touch of concern, surveying the injuries once again. "For you have far to go if you are to travel home after this grim business. Where do you name home, Rhifaroth? Gondor is but one word, and vague even as it is proud."

[Rhifaroth(#27282)] 
    Strider's questions continue to make Rhifaroth a bit wary of the probing. But he is very tired after a long night of noisy dwarves clattering about, pained by his injuries, and maybe even just tired of evations. His own and everyone else's.

    Rhifaroth rubs once more at the itchy, pink scar that bisects his face, his voice still pitched low but no longer a whisper, "I don't know .. if I will go back, Strider." Now his voice is tired, more of spirit than of body, "Minas Tirith used to be my home, when I was a lad. But Ithilien and the Haradwaith, that is where I've lived, done my work." THen he frowns, "But then the people with whom I worked went away. Disapeared deep into the Khand desert. My particular ... specialties weren't needful anymore. Then Mordor and Umbar became deathly quiet, for years... I was recalled to Minas Tirith, but it wasn't home anymore."

    The man smiles thinly, "So, I've come seeking the foe. And maybe, for something to hope for." Rhifaroth's words become bitter, "There's little hope in Gondor now. Her Lords are too interested in squabbling between the Houses, manuvering for political gain, than dealing with Him in the East." This is something he has spoken of recently to others, finally, though it may not have been passed back to this man.

    His own gaze has slipped away to the darkness above them, a hint of stars showing through the dark trees overhead.

[Strider(#19187)]
As Rhifaroth speaks Strider studies the man, the keen grey eyes watching the southerner with great interest, but less and less caution. They warm, even as he nods, and the Ranger says at last in reply: "I have heard others say as much, and have walked in Ithilien myself. I know of the Him you mention, and it grieves me to think that the White City has falled to squabbles."

He lifts his head then, and adds: "But I saw much valour yet in her soldiers much courage to be found among those sworn to defend against the East. I do not grieve for your land, Rhifaroth, for it needs not the pity of a wandering swordsman -- rather I think it needs only the chance to become great once again, as it is sung of old."

[Rhifaroth(#27282)] 
    Strider's words, especially that he admits to having been to Gondor and Ithilien, that gets Rhifaroth's attention, very much so. But he does not interrupt the other and hears him out.

    A thinning of his lips, "The men of Ithilien, and many others are good men, but too few, Strider. But so many of the Lords are ... not. And there is little of the old blood still strong there, now."

    Rhifaroth lays his own head back agains the tree he rests against, his own voice softening a little, "But I hope and pray you are right. But more I fear the quiet. While HE prepares what he will, men have been recalled back to the cities and now little is done. Else I would not have left."

    After a moment he adds, "I expected I would go back when things change again. But..." Rhifaroth smiles thinly, "With the favor of ill fortune I seem to have fallen into these past months, I doubt I'll live long enough." There might be humor in this last, but if it is, it's bitter. The man is definitely not accustomed to doing so poorly in fighting.

[Scene continued but the log ends here, folks.]