(Archive) The Fellowship of the Sword 49

January 9, 2001

*Note - log submitted by Morrandir*

Mannish Guest hall

This is a great room with many curtained areas and a large fountain on one end and a small firepit on the other. Chairs are stacked and a linen closet holds enough blankets and sheets for a small army. Tables and chairs are placed comfortably for conversation and discussion. The decor has an unusual amount of wood for the inside of the forest, and great ships are carved hanging from a ceiling that is invisible... The sound of the fountain reminds you of the open sea.

Contents:

Rhuarc

Maernus

White Pavillion

Obvious exits:

Out leads to Ambassadorial Meeting Hall.

Rhuarc takes a long, considering look at Maernus, and finally grins at his \'leg\', saying with a shrug, \"You will likely be forced to learn to dance should you follow through with such a plan, I warn you.\"

\"I see you think my leg is an impediment, no, I can ride better than most of my countrymen. Though my blood may not be numenorian, my people are stalwart folk still.\" Maernus says with a grin, \"I was never good at dancing though, so you may find more than one flatter foot if your folk get me to dance.\"

Rhuarc looks to the mans face and replies with his one, broadening grin, \"I would defy you to see if you might manage to ever find your heavy feet crushing even the tip of a toe belonging to even the youngest and clumsiest of elves, such as the youth I found here with you last evening.\" The elf laughs then and adds, \"Though I daresay your rough voice may frighten the weakest of ears, were I any sort of judge of voices.\"

Maernus grins, slightly. \"Yes, I am aware that of the second born I am the most different from the firstborn when compared to my companions. However, I enjoy all things of beauty and this whole place excretes that trait.\" He then chuckles slightly, \"Yes, even young Himwen could more than likely avoid my clumsiness.\"

\"Elves are beauty personified.\" A voice carries across the hall from the doorway. A Gondorian stands there, Morrandir, leaning against the doorframe watching the pair with a grin. He gives a slight bow and strides across the hall towards them.

The elf laughs lightly and shakes his head, nodding to the man, \"Indeed, it is an honor to be beautiful excrement in your eyes.\" He turns away from the fountain, then, and looks upon the source of the new voice, as he continues, \"The speech of men certainly contains a rather bizarre mix of imagery. I happen to think myself to be the beautiful personification of Rhuarc, rather than simply beauty, though.\"

\"Nor do we take all things literally, Rhuarc.\" He glances towards Morrandir, \"How have you been Morrandir? Have you heard that we are leaving this place? Sad really, I\'d like to stay longer... maybe even when I could use both my arms.\" Maernus grins slightly.

\"Of course sir,\" Morrandir addresses the elf, \"however we who do not have dealing with the first-born all that often tend to generalise.\" He looks at Maernus with a slight frown. \"It is a shame. I swear my arm has been healing here at an unnaturally fast rate. Magic in the air.\"

Ever inquisitive, it seems a Laiquendi scribe has taken a bit of a walk upon hearing of Gondorian guests visiting the stone Halls of Aran Thranduil. Of course, it doesn\'t take long for Laerlinn to find where such have been set to be entertained by none other than the Erynedhrim clan leader, Rhuarc. It is the melodious voice of the Thegor, after all, that first leads her to the Mannish Guest Hall. And, peering stealthily inside, she makes no true secret she is interested in what conversation ensues within...

\"Magic?\" Rhuarc asks, raising a flame-colored brow as he responds to the man standing, leaning against the doorway, \"Elven realms simply tend to be healthier places then mannish realms. There are no sicknesses in the air to inhibit your healing.\" The elf smiles warmly, \"Also, our herbalists are rather skilled with their art, and try to help out unnoticed, even when their help isn\'t asked for.\"

Maernus laughs rather loudly. \"I did not mean your arm Morrandir, I was refering to mine.\" He points to his heavily bandaged right shoulder/arm. \"Really, it could have been worse at least it was only my shield arm... it should return to normal with naught but a scar.\" He nods towards Rhuarc, \"Due to the skillful elven herbalists, whose help I did welcome greatly.\"

ays, \"Wow, its been about two or three years since I was here.\"

\"Well you did ask me how I had been. And of course my arm is my greatest concern at present.\" Morrandir grins at Maernus. \"Mine shall be an awful mess when fully healed, but it could have been much worse but for the skill of elvish healers.\"

\"Indeed, it seems that any of the second-born who wear armour are bound to be healing from some sort of wound at any given time,\" the scribe now quips, moving fully into the doorway and offering a smile to those within. \"Thegor, guests of Amon Thranduil....though I do recognise *your* face. From Celebannon?\" Laerlinn asks, bringing her grey-green gaze to meet Morrandir\'s. \"However could I forget. I sketched it,\" she says lightly.

The Laiquendi lass eyes the Thegor a moment. Lifting her chin, she muses, \"Hmmm. Perhaps, one day. I am ever so busy with my scribely duties I don\'t know if I should have the time to *do* it justice.\" There might have been a light laugh following it, but tis hard to tell, really, as Laerlinn clears her throat and walks further into the room.

\"Laerlinn.\" Morrandir says with a smile of recognition. \"Well met m\'lady.\" He bows, then turns to Rhuarc. \"I am sure she could, Laerlinn is a very fine artist. I fear my face has changed slightly since the portrait however.\" He points to an ugly scar at the bottom left of his jaw. \"Orcish battle-axe.\" He says flatly.

\"So this is the elven artist you talked of the other night, Morrandir?\" Maernus says, bowing slightly towards Laerlinn. \"A pleasure to meet you, I don\'t think I could stand much more of Morrandir and his portrait without meeting you before we left at least once.\" He glances at Morrandir, \"Do not be so grim about your injuries, Morrandir, you will learn to overcome them in time.\"

Rhuarc gurgles the Sindarin term, \"Yrch,\" with a shake of his head, \"Alas it is that I am reminded of another duty I must see to at the training hall, and must away!\" He chuckles merrily at this, though, \"And yet, I am reminded of a the end of the famous Lay of the Burglar,\" Rhuarc nods and winks at Laerlinn,

\"The little man was so very quickly gone and away

That in Eryn Galen, for many a night and a day

The elves marvelled as they do at refined beauty,

At the little man\'s escape with his heavy stone booty!\"

\"It is said that after this theft, that Bilbo retired,

And used his prize to put out many a fire,

And all of his fellows proclaimed him as sire,

Of his little homeland that they call the Shire.\"

Again the elleth smiles at praise so readily given. In contrast however, comes the furrowing of her brow as talk of battle again is mentioned. And, since it is mentioned, Laerlinn turns to look upon the scar so recently earned by Morrandir. \"And when was this had?\" she wonders. But \'ere she can say more, the Thegor is speaking, and though she would rather not admit it, she silences in anticipation of hearing his rhyme. With a lilting laugh, she shakes her head and grins at Rhuarc. \"I have drawn Master Bilbo\'s portrait as well.\" She sniffs.

\"Overcome them Maernus? Nay,\" Morrandir shakes his head. \"I have no problem with my scars. Each one tells a story. Some a tale of victory...\" he points to the aforementioned scar, \"and others of a most ungracious defeat.\" He then indicates his eyepatch. \"But a tale if defeat is a tale nevertheless, no matter how tragic. Who in their right mind will not lend an ear to a bard singing a portion of the Lay of the Children of Hurin? The most tragic of all tales.\"

Hearing Rhuarc reciting his verse Morrandir chuckles. \"Bilbo? What a ridiculous name. Who on earth is Bilbo?\"

\"The famous thief, who once stole this very fountain, and all the others of this fair elfhome!\" Rhuarc says as he walks towards the door, gesturing towards the fountain so recently directly behind him, \"Yet I have no time to explain the tale to you now. I trust Maernus and... perhaps? Perhaps even Laerlinn can fill you in.\"

\"Well, if you listen to Rhuarc he is some sort of man who is only as big as a child who stole all the fountains from the elves once.\" Maernus says with a laugh, \"I found his poem hilarious if obvisouly made up. I still don\'t know what sort of name \'Bilbo\' is, a very strange name indeed though.\"

\"All true!\" The elven chieftain says as he passes out the door, and he repeats again, in case it was missed, \"All true!\"

Rhuarc steps out into the meeting hall.

Rhuarc has left.

\"And he is stranger-looking, to be sure,\" Laerlinn is quick to join. \"T\'was why I sketched his portrait in Imladris at the Bardic Congress not long ago.\" Her eye sparkle with the memory. \"He is quite a weaver of tales, as well--as good as any of my kin.\" Yet as Rhuarc leaves, Laerlinn watches after the Chieftain for a moment, laughing louder yet, but still in that musical quality that is so common in her kind. \"Thegor Rhuarc...\" she muses, and her voice is almost chiding.

\"Imladris...hmmm...perhaps we shall meet this \'Bilbo\', for unless I am mistaken our quest shall take us there.\" Morrandir says, a hint of amusement in his voice. \"However where we go matters not to me, as long as we meet less of those big brutish orcs and more of the snivveling little impish ones. I am sick of walking around the camp covered in bandages...\"

\"However, Morrandir, I can tell you more of his...\" Maernus looks at Laerlinn. \"So Bilbo is... real?\" He continues his laughter. \"I will try to sleep without laughing all the time.\" Maernus stands up with a yawn, \"However, I have stayed awake too long and my body implores me to rest it.\"

Maernus has left.

Laerlinn smiles at Maernus, nodding. \"I can assure you, he is as real as I am, though much shorter. And if you do chance to meet him, you must implore of him a story, for you shall not be disappointed in the telling.\" As Maernus leaves, the scribe offers a cheerful \"farewell,\" with the raise of her hand. \"I had never seen so much of world outside Amon Thranduil and Lake Town until I travelled to the Bardic Congress,\" the maiden muses, turning to watch the fountain for a moment. \"Hobbits....and Yrch..\" And the latter is said with a twinge of disquiet. \"I cannot imagine meeting the foul beasts so often as you seem to...\" And she turns to glance at Morrandir once more.

\"Well miss,\" says Morrandir with a smile, \"I do not meet the beasts frequently. Before this quest I had never even seen one of the horrid things. Yet in Mirkwood we met them more than once. We were found by their scouts, and had a couple of skirmishes with them on the fringes of the wood. That was where I got this scar. Though I can assure you the orc who gave it to me no longer lives.\"

The elleth smiles, if somewhat tightly. \"Aye, and that is where we chanced to meet the creatures as well, crossing through the Mirkwood on the way to the Anduin Valley. Loathesome, indeed,\" she fairly whispers. She turns suddenly to the fountain and seems to beckon a new course of discussion, finding a seat at last near the soothing waters. \"You speak of a journey, of a search,\" Laerlinn says in contemplation of other musings. \"Is it something you may speak freely of?\"

Morrandir walks across to the fountain, and sits down beside the elleth. \"I think so. I am sure there were many of your people present when your King was informed, so I shall gladly answer any questions you may have.\" He sighs, and looks into the waters of the fountain. \"The son of our Prince was...abducted by a fell spirit. This creature will only release the boy if we give him the sword of Anarion, which was divided into pieces. Our task is to find these pieces, and give them to the phantom.\"

\"Abducted?\" Laerlinn repeats, frowning. \"A troubling event, indeed.\" She intertwines her fingers and gives a sidelong glance to the squire. \"How was it accomplished, and can you be certain the creature will keep to its word upon presenting the sword?\"

\"There was a royal hunt, and Amrothos was with the party. A deer was chased all the way to the Stone of Erech, a place reputed to be haunted by ghosts of the Second Age of the world. For some reason he touched the Stone, and was literally drawn into it and trapped by the ghost.\" Morrandir looks up into the elleth\'s eyes, sadness in his face, \"As for the spirit keeping it\'s part of the deal, we can only trust it. There is no other choice but to hope that it proves faithful. Otherwise...well...\"

The maiden listens quietly as Morrandir recounts the story. Strange, indeed, to her ears is the event, and stranger still the request of the \'spirit.\' She turns her gaze from the squire and looks to the fountain once again, thoughts building behind the placid grey gaze. \"And what might a fell spirit want with a broken sword?\" Her mouth turns downward at its edges as she considers it. Yet she renews a gentle smile, and turns this expression of hope to Morrandir. \"I trust in your earnestness you and your comrades will complete the task. I only wish you well, and that the Prince\'s son shall be returned.\" Even now, her eyes glitter with the words spoke. Strange, how these elves can be solemn one moment and hopeful with joy the next.

\"I know not what this spirit wants with the sword. However my secret fear is that with the sword in it\'s possession, the wraith may draw immense power from it. We will then have unleashed a thing of such power and malice that we will wish we had left the poor lad inside the stone...\" Morrandir pauses, and looks up earnestly at Laerlinn. \"My word if any of the Knights heard me say that... But no, we must rescue young Amrothos, and boldly face whatever may come of it.\"

\"And how close to your journey\'s end are you?\" the elleth wonders, turning her gaze to the waters which fairly dance inside the fountain. Footsteps sound outside in the hall, yet none come to enter the room where Laerlinn and Morrandir speak. \"Have you yet found any part of the sword? And if so..where?\"

\"We were actually hoping that one of the parts was kept here.\" Morrandir says, massaging his left arm. \"According to the wisdom of Lord Denethor, the Steward of Gondor, one part went to the elves, one to the dwarves, one to the people of Arnor, and one was...\" Morrandir lowers his voice to a whisper, \"...buried near Minas Morgul. We have so far visited Lothlorien and here, and not found the piece that we seek. After asking at Erebor I think our next destination is Imladris. If it is not there, the only other place could be Mithlond, that mysterious far away place in the uttermost west of our lands.\"

\"And yet there are no other records to make the journey easier for you?\" Comes the scribe\'s next question. Quietly is it spoken, and Laerlinn\'s gaze returns in faint concern to Morrandir as he rubs his left arm. \"Minas Morgul shall be a dangerous journey for you.\" Her brows furrow even as her lips curve upwards in an encouraging smile. \"Do avail yourself of the healers here before you travel onward, Morrandir.\" And her eyes look to the squire\'s wounded arm in a pointed stare. \"T\'would not be prudent to travel so hampered.\" Another smile, and the maiden\'s gaze rests upon the other\'s face. Such a contrast there is between this elf and adan. And though she does not stare, perhaps her studying gaze belies the thoughts of the artist and scribe. \"Do they hurt?\" Laerlinn finally asks, childlike in the inquiry. \"...those scars?\"

Morrandir\'s usually grim face is brightened by a warm smile at the elleth\'s question. \"Nay, they do not. Well, none but the horrid scar beneath my eyepatch. It was a very rough job, and rather a mess. Sometimes I feel a burning pain beneath the skin...\" he pauses and absent-mindedly touches the tip of the scar which protrudes from beneath the patch. \"Though it serves to remind me of the dangers I must face as a member of my Order.\"

\"Noltar, who lived in Amon Thranduil before he traveled to Imladris, also lost an eye,\" the maiden says soberly, that studying gaze set to Morrandir once again. \"I would not ask you to tell me if you did not wish it,\" Laerlinn begins tentatively, looking behind her shoulder as if someone should be there listening, \"but I am curious.\" She presses her lips together briefly. \"...as to how it happened?\"

\"T\'was at the Fords of Isen, near the abode of Curunir the White. There were orcs attacking Rohan at the time, and as we rode back from Orthanc we came upon an orcish camp. The Knights in command gave the order for us to charge through, we were on horseback, and were able to ride a good many of them down. That was how I killed my first orc. However during the fray, I foolishly picked an orc a little too skilled for me to fight. It was my first battle, and went horribly. I could not land a blow. He cut me in many places, one of the cuts being across my face. My helm was of studded leather, and was knocked askew...and the blade cut into my brow, straight through my eye and finished upon the edge of my nose. I was blinded by blood and fear of death. If not for Sir Thorondur I would surely have perished. He rode to my aid, and taking the reins of my steed, led me far from the battle.\"

There is no little dread upon the maiden\'s face as Morrandir recounts the grievious tale, and that she finds it approaching strange is evident as well. \"A terrible encounter it must have been,\" she wonders aloud. A moment of thought passes, and the elleth\'s shoulders lift in the slightest of shrugs. \"I little understand the second born,\" Laerlinn says, regarding the squire with another of her studying gazes. But there is a kindness woven in that expression upon her face, and she soon falls in to gentle laughter. \"I do not expect, however, that you much understand us.\" And the laughter continues with a shake of the maiden\'s head.

More footfalls echo in the corridors outside the room, and another elleth--her eyes filled with admonition--stops just within the doorway. \"Ah. There you are! Laerlinn. You are late for your lessons. Uiavas has waited, but how much longer he shall...no one may tell!\" She gives the other a chastening grin before hurrying along the hall again.

Laerlinn sighs, bringing a hand to her forehead. \"I quite forgot the lessons *and* the time,\" she confesses, rising to her feet, and offering the squire Morrandir an apologetic smile. \"I shall wish you well if I do not see you before you and your group depart,\" she says, gazing to the doorway, yet making no steps towards it yet. \"I am glad you liked the portrait,\" she now adds, and fairly beams.

\"The portrait is wonderful, allow me to thank you again.\" Morrandir says, looking at the doorway with a grin. \"I fear we shall be on the move very soon, so we shall probably not meet again. But I must say one thing about this place. My stay here has been wonderful, much more pleasant than my stay in Lorien. We have been made far more welcome here, and the folk are less distant, and much better for conversation.\" He rises and bows again. \"I must go rest now, but have fun with your lessons.\"

Laerlinn laughs at Morrandir\'s disclosure about Lorien, and she fairly winks to accompany the broadening smile. \"I shall keep such praise to myself, and certainly not utter it to any cousins of the Golden Wood that I should come across.\" And now her gaze solemns to something of great earnestness. \"And I do wish you well upon your journeys, Morrandir. Farewell, mellon.\" Another smile, and a mirthful glint in her grey eyes accompanying, and the Laiquendi lass hurries for the doorway now, her feet making hardly a whisper of sound, yet upon the turn there is a slight slide, a knowing laugh, and then a flash of the green of her gown as Laerlinn is lost from view...