Questions (The Horses and an Ass TP)
Feluseld
This is the foyer of the Feluseld, official place-of-residence for visiting dignitaries. The stone building is one of the few permanant buildings here in Edoras. A small waterfall cascades down to a pool surrounded by various ferns and other plant life, here in the ostentatiously decorated room. A long Banquet table of golden oak runs nearly the whole length of one side of the room. A smaller table, also of oak, is off to one side. One wall is dominated by a giant map of Rohan, just as the others are decorated with various tapestries depicting Rohirric life. A wide set of double doors leads back to the street, and an equally wide set of stairs leads upwards to the next level.
Table code is in effect here. Type thelp for table commands.
Type see menu to dine.
Contents:
Arathis
Theoden (Hraefengar)
Ceredir (Meneglir)
Faegwen
Obvious exits:
Stairs Up leads to Hallway.
Street leads to Landing of the Horse.
[Arathis]
The aromas of dinner have begun to stale. A plate, its carriage half-eaten and now presumably cold, sits discarded at the border of Arathis’ table, which accommodates instead a large silken map unfolded to the full of its size. And on it, for those of particular geography, lays depicted the desert reaches of Harondor, from the much-contested Poros to the seat of Umbar itself.
His eyes red, the Lord Isilrim stares upon the plan, switching occasionally to the candle’s flame. Vacantly, without the seeming will to call attention, he raps his baton lightly against the table’s lumber.
[Ceredir(#1394)]
"Sir?" Menelglir turns at the sound of the baton rap, looking up from where he has been sitting on a low stool in the corner of the room, polishing boots for rather a good part of the evening once his meal was finished. He gives one last rub of the boot he is working on, then sets cloth and boot aside, standing to approach the Isilrim lord.
[Theoden(#15851)] One of the Rohirrim enters the hall, which is not surprising, when all things are considered. But this man is no servant. He is well and warmly-dressed, his tunic of wool beautifully embroidered, and the leggings fine wool as well. His cloak is thick and lined with fur. His hair bears only a few tread-lines of silver, and he seems to be in his mid-forties. Seeing the Stoninglenders, he stops and nods his head in greeting.
[Arathis]
Tilting towards the squire's approach, Arathis offers first a flat visage, ere expressing likewise: "Ah, good Menelglir. Do sit." He gestures to an opposing seat before returning his attention to the map before him.
At length, he forwards a question upon the boy, a rather plain gaze following its mark: "
Noting the entry of another, the Lord Isilrim shuttles his fist to his chest in salute, as per the manner of Gondor.
[Ceredir(#1394)]
"One man?" Menelglir answers, casting a puzzled glance to the map and then to Arathis. "If it is the Prince, then it has a purpose and use, no?' he asks in Westron, and then, noting the arrival of a guest, switches to the language that the question was asked in. "
That said, the White Squire turns his attention to the door, not yet sitting in the seat Arathis had indicated but imitating Arathis and saluting the Rohirrim.
[Theoden(#15851)]
The Eorling tilts his head, then brings his fist to his chest. "Ferthu hal," he says in his own, rolling tongue. Then he brings out from his cloak a glass carafe filled with amber liquid inside. "
[Arathis]
“
A swallow, and he adds more lightly: “Now, I am not unfamiliar with the tactic, but we shall abandon it here. Consider the question again, and speak an answer when you have arrived at it.
“Perhaps,” gesturing here to the newly arrived, “our friend of the Mark may aid you for he is a bard, may my memory serve, and bards are of sharp wit.”
Raising a palm against the mead, he considers the man, and remarks, “Hail and join us. Yet I am of little temper for drink, I am afraid.”
[Ceredir(#1394)]
"Good evening, sir," the White Squire says, polite attention given to the Rohirrim first. "I am Meneglir Telpekhor, White Squire of Dol Amroth. And no, I have not been in these lands before and..uh...do not speak your language, I'm afraid."
"But..." Menelglir turns a troubled look to the map before Arathis, then the Knight himself, shaking his head slightly in confusion. "But you asked of what use would prove war if our end is to free a single man, not to conquer.... I don't know, sir. It seems a rhetorical question, nearly."
[Theoden(#15851)]
"Good evening," answers the Eorling, nodding his head. "Yes, I am a bard... scop is the word in my tongue. But I am named Hraefengar, son of Hrothgar. Well-met." He continues to speak in the elf-tongue, and though in his speech there is some of the accent of the Mark and some of the accent of Gondor, there is something of his speech and cadence that is not the accent of either. He tilts his head, pondering the question. "May I give answer to this question?"
[Arathis]
Oddly, the air of the Isilrim lord is changed none by the squire’s attempt. Such prompts only a cold charge, issued plainly to his interlocutor: “You are to learn to understand questions, so that their answers may compel you.”
With this, the Knight nods singularly at the Eorling. “May you aid the lad, good Hraefengar.”
[Ceredir(#1394)]
"Sir," Menelglir replies at the rebuke. "If I do not understand the question, is it allowed to ask for clarification? with all due respect..." Still, though, he turns to Hraefengar, nodding as well. "Well met sir, and I'd appreciate your help. Greatly."
[Theoden(#15851)]
"There is no use for war if your aim is to rescue a single man," answers Hraefengar, still in the elvish. "Especially not if he is the lord and protector of your city. For the role of that man is to lead, to protect, but are you not defying that role should you go to war? And would they not just kill him when you are arrayed all against, in such a way as to slay your courage and inflame your fears. Would you use a sword to cleave a loaf of white bread? Nay, you would use a knife, small and honed for such. The test of valor lies not in numbers, and oft the stallion alone runs faster and freer than the herd."
[Ceredir(#1394)]
"But..." Menelglir's protest comes easily, the words out before the Squire thinks too much, likely, "that's essentially what I said. I only said it differently and pointed out the possible conclusions of such. And there are many ways to wage war--sending in many troops and ships is one way, but sending in a small force is still war, is it not?"
[Arathis]
Deferring first to the Eorling, Arathis considers the man’s answer in silence. The same permits the response of the young Swansman, his temper unmoved thereby. Looking then upon the squire, his gaze narrows, and he speaks frankly: “You are weary. Find rest, consider the question, for I shall ask you it again on the morrow.
“But heed especially the last of our friend’s words. Consider, young Menelglir, were the question one of losing the lives of many men for the life of one, then the answer would arise simply: there is no use for war.
“But the question is instead of man, not of numbers of men.”
With this, and a nod to dismiss the squire, Arathis again regards the Eorling.
[Theoden(#15851)] Hraefengar smiles and nods his head, and settles his frame into a chair. Comes from the shadows nearer to the door a grey woldhound, and she sits beside the man, resting her head upon his knee. He strokes her head, then looks up into the eyes of the Isilrim lord. "I understand you head north for... wisdom? It seems a strange thing..."
[Ceredir(#1394)]
"I will think on it, sir," Menelglir answers dutifully, but not without a hint of weariness in his tone. "Good evening to you both," he says next, bowing as he leaves to seek his quarters and rest. He slips out the door, pausing but briefly to watch the dog, the sight of the loyal beast earning a quick smile. Then, he is gone.
[Arathis]
Only with the coming of the hound does the faintest curve take to the Isilrim’s lips, gracing his features briefly, ere finding replacement in his usual stone wont.
Slowly, he nods to affirm the Eorling’s words and he dispels the dull of silence coolly: “It has befallen the sons of Amroth to undertake a decision, the effects of which shall reach beyond them.
“By the strictures of our Order, Humility is incumbent upon us. We would understand those it shall effect, for they share the same Enemy.”
[Theoden(#15851)]
"If you would pardon me, then, what may seem like a discourtesy," murmurs Hraefengar, "I would ask my own question. Please know... that I serve my own lord, and would advise him as I can. But... to do that... I would know who you seek, and why."
[Arathis]
The request earns no visible displeasure from Arathis. But it is denied flatly: "That I cannot say."
Assessing the Eorling further, he continues: "Whether the King Theoden requires yet the words of his advisors, I know not. If so, let it be said: all Free Peoples, whether of Stone or of Horse, are bound by common fate."
No more is freely offered.
[Theoden(#15851)]
"Cannot or will not?" asks Hraefengar. "Either way, my lord has pledged his aid, and aid we shall give. I know that not all shall turn back once we have left Dunland. To do so would be faithless, for the lands beyond, so legend says, are wild and empty and dangerous. Wisdom you would seek. We are your oath-brethren, and trustworthy men. This also I will say. I come with you."
[Arathis]
Here, quiet takes the Lord Isilrim. He is silent for some moments and when he answers, it comes so low and curt as to complement the silence:
“
“The final leg of our journey we shall make alone.”
[Theoden(#15851)]
"The final leg of our journey you cannot see, nor can I. Not clearly. Everything is white mist and snow, and finally a green morning in a golden rain. But I shall say, wisdom is often hidden. And if the Riders must needs await you to escort your return, then so be it. As for my own path, I do not know whence it runs, with you or without." Hraefengar shakes his head, and his eyes are distant.
[Arathis]
“Nay, nor do I. But it shall be nice,” answers the Lord Isilrim atop the slightest of smiles, “to enjoy the tongue of a bard upon the trip.”
With this, Arathis twists his baton upon the map.
“Now, forgive me, good Hraefengar, but I must design war.”
[Theoden(#15851)]
Hraefengar nods, but he does not get up. Instead he leans back in the chair, tilting his head and listening to the sound of the wind, faint indeed, but still present. "And I shall remain here until the storm, or at least the wind, abates," he says.
[Arathis]
Arathis nods, and then shifts his attention once more before him.
