(Archive) Rorgan and the Wolf\'s Fleece Part X

October 16, 1999

*Note - log submitted by Rorgan*

[Erinhaim(#20260)] The Long Plain stretches far in all directions, its horizon blending with the sky lending loneliness to the limitless expanse. Huddled together are the camps of men. What little motion besides the tidal movement of the grass, gathers about the fires in their center. Here can men find shelter against the chilling bite of the whipping wind that blows East to West, coming out of Rhun across the Entwash and the Anduin.

Where once the Warg stood cruxified for the hardy folk of the west to bear a witness to the hidden adversary a bloody post now stands. Few have ever seen a creature such as that and lived to speak of it. But no tale will fall from Erinhaim\'s lips. The tall and stalwart man keeps well away from the memory of the grotesque scene at the center of the camp. Not for lack of courage, none can say that this man is cowed by anything above or below the surface of Arda. No, it\'s just that the smell of festering wounds and rotting flesh does something to his pallat.

Another kind of festering has brought Rorgan out into the sunlight this day. The festering of the mind that is locked away in a single place for too long. Sure there has been no small excitement: the tent collapsing and some of the wounded being carried off by one of the foul creatures, and none too long ago, Rorgan was summoned to the outside of the Healer\'s Tent where he has laid for nigh onto a month now, to judge the fate of that very warg that had been put on such cruel display.

This is a fine day for reading outside, or so it would seem by the tailor\'s sitting upon his cot with a book propped upon his lap. Some of the men of the Silver Guard stand and sit at the ready near-by, but Rorgan pays them no mind, sitting and reading with his legs covered by a light blanket.

Belahir sits on a fairly large rock near the bloody post, from which the warg was hung. Across his lap is a large sword that he methodically sharpens with his whetstone. Occasionally the man looks up to the gruesome scene before him and he will shake his head, but otherwise he pays it no attention. A slight wind stirs the grass and the man\'s hair as he pours some honing oil upon the stone in his hand.

[Maeghan(#29549)]

The Gondorians and Rohirrim have been victorious in most battles. But victory has come with a price and many men were wounded and killed, keeping the healers busy and sleepless with tending them. The beautiful day was not lost on at least one of their number, for a firey haired woman ducks out of the tent of healers and stretches. Dark shadows circle her eyes, and though she looks unutterably weary, there still is a twinkle within her emerald orbs. Maeghan runs a hand through her hair and then reaches back to loosely braid it out of her way.

Propped up on his cot as he is, Rorgan turns another page in the book he is reading, the withered looking brown leather cover moving so slightly as he shifts the leaves. One of the Silver Guardsmen sitting near to him makes an idle remark about the course of the fighting lately, but the tailor reads on. For those who have visited this man within the tents of the healers, it is obvious that the out-of-doors is doing Rorgan as much good as any of the medicines they have to give right now. His face is bent in some sort of semi-satisfied half-smile as yet another page passes his perusal and is flipped toward the other side of the book.

Belahir has disconnected.

[Maeghan(#29549)] Looking about her, the redhead pauses as her attention is captured by tall older, blonde male. As he reads, Maeghan\'s lips curve upwards into a fond smile. She stays thus for several minutes, just watching him. After a period of time, she moves slowly towards Rorgan. Kneeling beside him she says with soft tones, \"Good day my Lord...\", her emerald eyes twinkle and her smile is bright despite the exhaustion she surely must feel.

[Erinhaim(#20260)] With a shrug, the tall man saunters his way back into the stinking reek of the tents. Erinhaim\'s tan face curls into a grimace as the smell of rot and disease assaults his senses.

\"Thankfully they\'ve moved the wounded away from that one Rohir fellow\'s tent...\" The veteren murmurs to himself, stepping around the traffic in the narrow confines of tent poles and ropestays. Dark eyes peruse the cook pots for a long moment, hunger drawing him there in curiousity.

\"Milady,\" Rorgan intones, more of a smile now growing on his face. He places his book face down upon his good leg and now turns his full attention to the woman. \"You look... tired. Have you rested of late?\"

[Maeghan(#29549)] \"Rest? Tell me, what does this word rest mean?\", the woman quips as she leans over to gently kiss the man\'s forehead before rocking back to sit on her heels, deftly changing the subject, \"You are looking well...the fresh air has done you much good...I am pleased...\", she asks, \"How is the pain? Is is lessening?\"

[Erinhaim(#20260)] Preparations have already begun. Stew. Like the day before. And the day before. And the day before that. Rabbit stew. Deer stew. Mule stew. Horse stew, once when one of the Gondorian animals had to be slaughtered because of a broken leg, they ate it to preserve the eat.

\"Never refuse a meal...\" Erinhaim remarks to himself, looking with disfavor at the bubbling cauldron of thick brow broth. Of course, the scarred Gondorian would little refuse such hearty fare. He could ill afford to seeing as he lived on crumbs of bread and rancid water for nigh on half a score of years, slave that he was. Slowly his grey eyes lift, travelling across the sullied landscape that the human presence have churned the pristine plain into. He sighs.

[Gwendolyn(#13281)] From out of the camp comes Gwendolyn, she seems to be sneaking around, checking to make sure that /someone/ isn\'t there. When she doesn\'t see this someone she comes out smiling and walks to the fire.

Dolwyr stands straight by the entrance of the healer\'s tent, obviously looking upset, arms crossed on his bandaged chest. he takes a circular look at the men in the camp, but when his clear blue eyes rest upon the talking couple, the angryness on his face slowly vanishes. He takes a look around, and above his shoulder inside the healer\'s tent, and frowns again. Staying where he is, he remains silent, watching people talking by the fire, watching people heal their wounds...

The tailor grimaces as the subject is changed to one he obviously would rather avoid, but he does the woman the courtesy of an answer. \"It is less, unless I try to move it.\" He smiles thinly, then changes the subject himself, \"Believe it or not, Milady, I\'ve been quite grateful for these histories to read.\" He shrugs, and gives the woman a grin, eyes drifting toward the man at the cookfires, \"Milady, that man looks familiar to me, but I can not say that I\'ve met him. Would you be so kind?\" And now he smiles sweetly, the older blonde man propped up on a cot and blanket over his legs, looking every bit the invalid that he is at this moment in time.

[Maeghan(#29549)] With a bit of a smile, Maeghan nods, \"Of course my Lord....I will bring him to you so that you might become acquainted with him...I have seen him before I think, but I remember not where it was...\", she rises and dusts off her knees. Then she begins to wind her way through the people over towards Erinhaim.

[Erinhaim(#20260)] \"When will it be ready?\" Erinhaim asks with his deep voice rolling out like thunder. His eyes flash beneath his stormy brows... and now he\'s just asking when dinner\'s going to be ready. Startled, the woman at the stirpot, looks up, stammers out some comment about it\'s coming soon and how sorry she is. The tall man merely shrugs his massive shoulders, wondering how anyplace on earth can be as retched as this camp. No face looks cheerful beneath the great light of the leaden skies that hang heavily above them. The wane light sucks the laughter from the throats of all it seems, replacing that with some hollow mockery and filling one\'s soul with dread.

The tall man shivers and takes to rubbing at the thick scars about his wrists. For long moments he stands where he has risen, his eyes upon the pale horizon far to the East. His dark eyes seem misted over and his face is haggard, drawn with a ghastly pallour.

[Maeghan(#29549)] Reaching Erinhaim, Maeghan smiles and says quietly, \"Greetings...I am Maeghan, a healess from Gondor...\", as is usual this woman does not enumerate upon her titles, instead prefering to remain somewhat anonymous, and more humble then most nobles of Gondor, \"My Lord Rorgan wishes to make your acquaintance....\", she pauses, \"This seems perhaps an odd request, but I would hope that you will acquiesce because it would do Rorgan much good to meet more folk and enjoy the talk of another man..he has been too long in the healers tent I think..\", her emerald eyes sparkle.

The tailor, Rorgan, sits and watches what shall unfold near the cookpots as his Silver Guardsmen idle nearby. The tailor\'s eyes, though, seldom leave the healess, both as she walks away, and as she stands by the man, asking that which she had been requested to ask.

[Erinhaim(#20260)] The dark eyes drop from the horizon to fall upon Maeghan\'s face as she address Erinhaim. He has cast off the sorrow that had held his visage but a moment prior and now he almost smiles. Warm it is, as the color of his bronzed skin, the lines about his mouth curving into an expression pleasent to behold. His heavy head he bows, grey locks falling somewhat about his brow and his deep voice answers, like thunder far away.

\"Aye, lady... I will go to him.\" The wizened traveller looks on Rorgan with an appraising glance that twinkles in the depths of his grey-black glance, \"It is not well for one to spend their time over long in the company of death. Aye, I will go to him.\" Swiftly, his long legs carry him around the cookfires and towards Rorgan in answer to his summons.

[Maeghan(#29549)] Her errand completed, Maeghan snatches up an apple from the cooking area nearby. The life of a healer on the road is one of quick meals, and apples are a rather nutritious snack. Munching on it, she slowly makes her way back towards the pair of men.

At the man\'s approach, Rorgan smiles ever so slightly, \"I remember you now, sir, for indeed you were among the slaves freed in the campaign in Umbar, were you not?\" He frowns slightly, \"Not that I\'d care to go dredging all of that up again.\" Then the faint smile returns to Rorgans features and he says, \"Might I have your name, sir?\" The smile grows wider, \"Oh, and please do take a seat.\" Rorgan gestures toward a campstool set up nearby.

[Erinhaim(#20260)] \"I call myself Erinhaim... For I long to return to the woods,\" the tall man says with a quiet hint at mirth, a warm smile on his thin lips. His dark eyes chance upon the stool and a heavy hand captures it so that the thing is dragged beneath him. Perched upon the bench in the manner of all tall men, his muscled legs are bent beneath him with his elbows on his knees. A frown roils over his stormy brows, but then with a shake of his head and yet another smile, the man shrugs his massive shoulders and leans backwards as much as the backless peice of furniture will allow him.

A smile to the healess and the tall blonde man replies, \"And I am Rorgan, son of Yerl, Guildmaster of Tailors in Minas Tirith.\" His smile now fixes itself upon Erinhaim, \"Well met, Erinhaim.\" He then focuses his attention upon the dreary sky above, well, dreary to some, and to others who\'ve had nothing but the top of a healer\'s tent to look upon for weeks unending, a relief, \"What\'s this about wanting to return to the woods?\" he asks gently, \"Were you once a regular traveler of Ithilien?

[Maeghan(#29549)] Reaching the men, Maeghan kneels once more beside Rorgan and eats her apple in silence, listening to them speak and learn more of each other.

Koribeorne has disconnected.

Gwendolyn looks around nervously, keeping a watch for people she /needs/ to avoid. She wishes she could talk to Lodogran.

[Erinhaim(#20260)] \"My family was the last to leave that garden land before the shadow took it,\" Is Erinhaim\'s cryptic reply. But this is the manner of all men that have walked those woods, to speak otherwise would be to betray a solemn oath and ancient trust. A long pause follows with only the snapping crunch of Maeghan\'s pretty teeth upon the apple. The dark eyes turn from the man\'s perusal of the heaven\'s, Erinhaim has seen enough of the limitless expanse of sky above him lately. Still, he knows what confinement does to a man. He smiles, delighting in Rorgan\'s enjoyment, his wounds perhaps forgotten for the moment. The tall and greying Gondorian does not realize that his smile falls upon Gwendolyn as his face is turned in her direction.

[Koribeorne(#14354)] As many people mill around in the afternoon hours of the day, Koribeorne can once again be seen returning to the camps, no one knows where she goes or what she does when she is gone, as she seems to often be. She walks slowly, but as always her stride carries her great distances and she reaches the camps quickly.

Indeed it would betray a most sacred trust to reply otherwise, and Rorgan intones, \"As was mine, once.\" Then his eyes return to earth, following Erinhaim\'s glance toward the young Rohirric maiden, and then turning them to the woman at his side, he reaches out his hand toward the master healess, and speaks yet again.

\"It seems that there we have some things in common, friend Erinhaim.\" The tailor smiles and continues, \"But indeed it is the unsaid parts of a conversation that are oft the most interesting.\" His tone lilts a bit, somewhat suggesting a jest, but he rapidly moves on to another subject, \"How have you fared in all this fighting of late? It seems that there are Goblins about these cursed mountains as well as the Wargs we have come here to destroy.\"

[Maeghan(#29549)] Her apple finished, Maeghan reaches towards Rorgan and clasps his hand gently. She continues to listen quietly, smiling up at the blonde man, her gaze occasionally straying towards Erinhaim, but always returning to her betrothed.

[Koribeorne(#14354)] The people of the camps still tend to avoid Koribeorne rather then greet her, although a few do offer her nods. She smiles slightly at those who do but she walks mostly with her eyes to the ground. She walks with no direction, merely traveling through the camp, although her path brings her near where Rorgan and Maeghan talk to Erinhaim.

[Erinhaim(#20260)] Broken from his reverie by Rorgan\'s sudden words, Erinhaim looks at him strangely, \"Hmmm? I\'m sorry...\" His dark eyes float back towards where the Gwendolyn skulked furtively about the tents and then he chuckles, \"Ah! N\'aye...\" The tall man shakes his greyhead in response, his granite colored glance resting on Maeghan, \"N\'aye, m\'Lord, we share not so much in common as that.\" A soft chuckle escapes his warm and merry face, \"But love of the open air and love of feedom, that, we share, aye.\"

Movement just at the corner of his vision moves his eyes and the giant form of the Beorning woman comes into view. Quietly the tall Gondorian, shorter than she by an arms length, watches her watching them. He chuckles, shaking his head and letting his gaze fall back towards the muddy earth beneath his booted feet.

Koribeorne continues her path through the camp. She seems almost to pace as she does so, her massive size and brooding look make her intimidating and almost unapproachable, although there is clearly no hostility towards the people around her. She moves carefully to avoid contact and bites on her lower lip slightly. She seems deep in though, although her eyes flicker to the firmilar faces that she seems, landing on Rorgan\'s for more then a moment before moving on.

And the tailor smiles in turn as well. \"That we would share, friend. That we would share.\" Then his attention drifts momentarily toward the giant woman, and he becomes one of those in the camp who will spare the Beorning a nod of recognition before his eyes are once again drawn back to the woman at his side, his wife to be, and he smiles to her for a moment before returning his attention to the conversation at hand, \"Speak more about yourself, friend Erinhaim, for I grow weary of explaining to our allies that indeed I am alive, and though a monument near Dunlostir bears my name and a pair of dates, it is not my body that is buried there.\"

[Maeghan(#29549)] Looking about her for a moment, Maeghan grins as Koribeorne comes nearby, she cries out with a glad voice, \"My lady Koribeorne!\", rising, the red haired healess makes her way towards the larger woman.

Koribeorne stops in her tracks as she hears Maeghan call to her. She looks up and sees the woman heading in her direction. She shakes her head slightly as if to clear it and then takes a step towards the woman to meet her, putting a soft smile on her own lips.

[Erinhaim(#20260)] \"What would you fein know, my friend?\" Erinhaim smiles, his question open, unassuming, \"I am a man like any other. Though few have lived through the trials that I have.\" His deep voice lowers an octave, \"You know I was a slave, by your hand was I liberated. Thither did I languish a prisoner and galley slave, hauling rocks before I hauled the oars. The sun baked me and the land branded me and I survived.\" His dark eyes grow darker still as he looks into the past, \"Twas during the great seige of Umbar that I fell to their hands... Easterlings and Haradrim beneath the streets that fallen capital. My Lord-Captain fell wounded and were it not for my sacrifice and the deaths of others, he himself would have been captured. That I could not have endured.\"

A nod from the tailor now as he listens, rapt, to the man\'s words, \"Indeed! You survived the sewers of Umbar? Most impressive.\" His tone is in turn surprised and then honestly appreciative. Indeed if only a tenth of the rumors about where Rorgan had spent ten long years of his life were true, then he, too, would be one to judge what trials few men could survive. He smiles gently now, mercifully, it would seem, \"Great deeds of valour you have performed and yet they seem to have been unrewarded. Pray tell, have you not sought out your Lord-Captain and re-entered his service? Surely a man who could inspire such valour among his men is master of both man and beast.\"

[Maeghan(#29549)] Reaching the tall beorning, the healess grins, \"It has been long since we have last spoken...how do you fare?\", Maeghan looks upwards at the much taller woman with a cheerful expression.

Koribeorne tilts her head slightly and looks down at Maeghan, a warm smile on her lips, \"I am well, Lady, you are most kind. I was thinking much the same of you myself and wondering how it had been that I had not come to see you.\" She stammers through her words a bit, her challenge with the common tongue is always evident. She says, \"And how fare ye, Lady?\"

[Erinhaim(#20260)] \"The Steward has pardon me my capture, aye.\" Erinhaim shrugs, venturing not upon thoughts of reward, grateful only to be out beneath the open air, not matter how oppressively empty. He smiles, the warmth flooding back into the tanned face. Dark eyes glance over at Maeghan and the Beorning as they converse, truly a mismatched pair.

[Maeghan(#29549)] Smiling, Maeghan says, \"I fare well....tired, but well...there have been many wounded and I have been kept very busy practicing my art..\", she asks, \"I trust that you have not been badly wounded? I did not see you pass through the tent of healers that I oversee...\"

Koribeorne gives the woman a nod, \"I spent some time with injury, but much of that time was spent in Galdorim\'s tent. I fare well now.\" She smiles, \"You kind did well.\"

[Maeghan(#29549)] Nodding, Maeghan says, \"Aye...I am proud of them...\", she smiles, \"Galdorim is very kind...I am afraid that I must go back to my patients, perhaps we might meet up for dinner later this evening? I would like to speak with you when I am more unrushed...\"

The eyes of Rorgan, too, wander toward Maeghan and Koribeorne, and his voice drops suddenly and takes on a very ominous tone, \"I take it that it was the Steward\'s younger son you saved, then, friend Erinhaim.\" He smiles bitterly, \"I have not been allowed to return to some of the places I know and love because I once called that one a dolt. Never you mind that he did enough to earn that much and more, but remember the lesson I have had to take out of it now that my age makes me once again long to see those places I have sworn never to return to, under the same penalty of death as any outsider.\" He sighs and then shakes his head slowly.

Koribeornenods, \"Aye lady, I would like that.\" With that said, she turns quickly on her heels and makes her way towards the edge of the camp and back out of its boundries.

[<#20260>] \"It was indeed that younger Prince, though perhaps he was much greater aged in wisdom by the time he took me as his charge. I cannot say but else: I honoured him with my life and eight long years of imprisonment for which I have not been rewarded save by some solemn words of reprimand on being captured. Words uttered by He who should be most grateful for my sacrifice,\" Erinhaim shakes his head, pausing for a moment. His eyes closed, remembering old wounds and pride, \"Trust that I would\'ve laid my life for him, rather than be forced into bondage. They would not kill me!\" The tall man utters bitterly, \"Often did I slip my bonds, overpower my guards and wander into the desert seeking north. But always was I dragged back half dead, beaten into a black thing by the sun. Still the would not kill me... Then I found myself in irons... in the galley.\" He sighs.

The tailor leans in closer to Erinhaim and again his words are soft, \"As much, if not more, I did give Theoden King, though he knows it not. And indeed, I have heard much good has come of my little tirade against the Steward\'s younger son.\" Rorgan smiles briefly, \"Or at least I would like to take part of the credit for it. \'Twas upon the same day, though, that I called his brother a dullard, and their father was able to set me on the straight way, though I had lost favour with both of them, it does seem that the older of the two has either forgiven or forgotten. I would that I had that chance with the younger before I grow too old to appreciate being at peace with my countrymen.\" Again he sighs, but his quiet voice continues on, \"And indeed it would seem to me that, perhaps, knowing your desire to perish, that your captors ever sought to force you to hang on to that last thread of life, for that is how it went in my own captivity.\" And now he raises the sleeves of his tunic far enough to expose the wide bands of scars upon his own wrists, \"Though those were not got in any Southron galley.\"

Erinhaim looks quietly upon the scars that mirror his own. Finally he bows his head, a rueful and bemused expression on his face. His voice rings out, deep and heavy in the quietude surrounding he and his companion, \"Friend, I will give thee this pledge. If ever I have chance to meet with he who is the subject of thy concern, I will deliver thee to him in just words that speak of your well deserved honor.\" This does the tall and heavy handed, ancient warrior pronounce, crowning all with a steady glance from his dark grey eyes.

The smile that takes the tailor\'s lips does not quite reach his eyes, yet all the same, there is no small joy in it, \"For this I thank you, friend Erinhaim. And if I had such tokens to give, I would give you one of the tokens of House Isilrim, for it is into that house that I will be adopted upon my marriage to yon healess. For now, it seems, that I will have to trade your pledge for one of my own: as long as I shall live, you shall always have a place at my table, wherever it shall be laid.\"