Rohan -- At the Scrivener\'s shop

Scrivener\'s Shop

The wooden floor to this small shop creaks with all but the lightest step upon it, air filled with the musty smell of old books. Boxes are stacked in nearly every corner of the room, sheaves of paper hastily bundled visible within each. Some of these have managed to make it to a large shelf that stands near the doorway, sorted by some unknown system. Upon the western wall there is a small stone fireplace, a stack of split logs resting upon its hearth.

Towards the back of the shop stretches a long wooden counter. Apart from the clutter of documents upon it, an inkwell, various quills, an oil lamp, and a block of sealing wax are visible.

Obvious exits: Out

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Real time is: Thu Aug 07 03:20:22 2008 - Rohan weather is: Cloudy

Elendor time is: Nighttime <00> on Hevensday of August 16, 3044

The Moon is: first quarter

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Afternoon is wending on to evening, and the dusty air is stifling. Heavy clouds gathering over the mountains promise rain to come, but that respite has yet to reach Edoras.

In such weather, the musty scrivener\'s shop seems even more airless than usual. Customers at this hour (or indeed any) are few and far between, and the shop is manned only by a thin, lanky lad whose heavy-lidded eyes are half-closed in sleep as he rests his head on a clear space on the cluttered counter.

The door creaks open, announcing the arrival of Bardawulf. The lassahaelend glances doubtfully round at the shelf-stacked walls, then sighs softly and steps toward the counter, his staff leaving little trails in the dust. \"I wish-\" The dry, dim air seems to suck the words away. \"I wish to buy some ink.\"

[Faelwine(#31903)]

Standing near the back of the shop is Faelwine, staring fixedly, with her nose a bit wrinkled, at a stack of books. Curious, as she can no more read than her equine charges. In her hands are clutched a few sheaves of parchment, as though she intends to purchase them. The sound of the familiar voice turns her head, and she offers a smile to Bardawulf as she, too, approaches the counter, leaving the books to themselves without a second thought. \"Good afternoon, Bardawulf.\" Her words, though kindly spoken, seem to fall a little flat in the dimness.

\"Huh?\" The lad\'s head jerks up, and he blinks rather blearily at Bardawulf. \"Yes- of course-\" Bony fists knuckle the sleep away. \"Um ... ink\'s under the counter. You want me to transcribe a letter for you?\" Faelwine\'s melodic voice causes him to turn his head \"Good afternoon, my lady. Were you looking for scrolls on a particular subject?\"

Bardawulf too, turns, and he gives Faelwine a gentle, slightly embarrassed smile. \"Faelwine. Well met. I hazard you have greater understanding of this domain than I.\" Belatedly recalling the lad\'s question, he adds, \"No. Just the ink.\"

[Faelwine(#31903)]

\"Hardly,\" answers Faelwine with a smile of her own, lips tugged to reassure the mildly embarrassed lassahaelend. With an inclination of her head towards the lad, she holds up the blank parchment indicitavely. \"No... I fear I would have more difficulty deciphering them than it is worth. Just this bit of parchment,\" Green gaze flickers back to Bardawulf, her shoulders offering a slight shrug. \"For my husband\'s apprentice to practice his writing upon. Have you been well, Bardawulf? I have not seen you about, of late.\"

\"Just the parchment? I could help you wri-\" The thin lad\'s eager offer breaks off as Faelwine continues. \"You\'ll be wanting quills, then too,\" he states to her, gesturing at the array spread along the counter. \"Please do take a look.\" If the woman is indeed igorant of the scrivener\'s art, perhaps he can increase his master\'s sales a little. \"Now, which drawer held that ink?\" He disappears beneath the counter.

Bardawulf watches the youth, the corners of his mouth twitching just a little. Faelwine\'s question takes him by surprise. \"I? Aye, well enough. Duty has claimed me overmuch of late. I have been taking the night duty in the Infirmary, and then I was out with those gathering herbs ...\" He glances at the stacked shelves, and crosses over to inspect the tag on the nearest scroll, which looks for all the world like a delicate spiders web straightened and flattened. \"These look .. strange,\" he murmurs. \"Strange and beautiful and full hidden mystery. I should like to learn the art, some day,\" he remarks softly.

[Faelwine(#31903)]

Faelwine\'s gaze follows the haelend, and tilting her head curiously, she steps over just to the side of him, frowning a little at the tag. \"What mystery could they contain that our songs cannot tell?\" she murmurs, but her voice is a bit absent, and despite her words she cannot help but gaze at the strange, intricate linework. \"But if you truly wish to learn,\" at this, her sight is broken from the tag, shifting back to Bardawulf. \"Hraefengar knows the art, as you say, and would gladly teach you if you so asked.\" There is a slight guard to her words as she speaks of the scop, and a there is a wary flicker of her eyes for the man\'s reaction.

The thin youth re-emerges, setting out several small bottles with ink-stained fingers. \"This one\'s the cheapest - or there\'s the true black from Gondor - or even a blue, if you have the coin.\"

Bardawulf does not appear to be listening. Instead he focuses his gaze on Faelwine, his blue-green eyes still holding a little of that bemusement and wonder with which he had surveyed the scroll. \"Our songs do not speak of mystery. They speak of truth. That which is, that which was, the things which are worthy of remembrance down the long line of fathers and sons. These ... the mystery lies in every trace of the ink. Who made them, why did they choose to make them? I have heard that in the Stoninglands men devote their life to such objects as these.\" He gives a one-shouldered shrug for the vagaries of foreigners, then the corners of his mouth lift up in a private smile. \"But that is not why I would learn, someday. Merely that it is a thing of beauty. Perhaps, one day, I may ask Hraefengar. If time allows,\" and here he sighs. \"How is he?\" Worry creeps unbidden into his tone.

[Faelwine(#31903)]

\"He has his days, both good and bad. Lately more of the former, and that bodes well indeed.\" Faelwine answers quietly, a warm undercurrent to her lilting voice. Yet she still seems to consider the topic at hand, and her eyes flit back to the scroll. \"Yet... do you not wonder who was he who first sang our oldest tales, and who saw and who told of those things which we now remember? What of other songs, what of the lullabies we sing to our children? What mother looked up at the stars upon the plains, and thought those words of comfort for her child?\" She shakes her head a little, a breath expelled just audibly into the dusty shop. \"There is mystery and wonder in truth, as well, for truth comes as seen through the eyes of those who speak it.\"

The youth coughs meaningfully, pointing to the ink bottles.

Bardawulf glances over, murmurs belatedly, \"Ah, the lesser will suffice,\" and carefully pulls a handful of coins from his belt pouch. \"How much?\" Even as he speaks he reluctantly he selects a coin that gleams silver.

At Faelwine\'s words he gives a little shake of the head. \"I confess, I have not wondered these things. Our songs speak of the days of the fathers of Eorl, and they seem dim and distant, with the veil of years lying between us. Perhaps it is not good to dwell too much on the past.\" But then,\" his features lighten and the pensive look becomes a smile, \"I am not a scop. Perhaps you should be? If you can persuade Hraefengar to teach you. I am glad to hear his health is improving, glad indeed.\" His earnestness speaks sincerity.

The youth eyes the conversing pair a little impatiently, no doubt wishing to return to his late afternoon sleep. \"And /were/ you wanting quills, my lady?\"

[Faelwine(#31903)]

At the lassahaelend\'s suggestion, Faelwine chuckles softly. \"Nay, I would be ill suited for it. I am but a scop\'s wife... and it seems that provides reason enough to dwell on the past, as you say.\" Looking around to the lad, her expression is faintly suprised, as though she had nearly forgotten the earlier inquiry. \"Oh.. no, thank you. He has quill and ink already. Just the parchment, please.\"

At this, she, too reaches for a pouch at her belt, her voice lowering again to a gentle murmur, to speak to Bardawulf as she nudges the coins about in the pouch with a fingertip, seeking for the likely needed coppers. \"I could not help but notice, sir, last time we met... that the subject of him seemed cause you discomfort. If... there is any concern you have of him, I would lay it to rest, if I but knew what troubled you.\"

The youth wastes no time in naming prices for the ink and parchment, stifling a yawn as he does.

\"Alas, I fear the blood fom my veins has less value,\" Bardawulf remarks as hands over the coins and receives a tiny stoppered bottle in return. He holds it up to eye level, though the dim light can reveal little of the precious liquid, then tucks it safely away in his belt pouch. His own business done, he turns back to Faelwine and answers her with a low murmur that is meant for her ears alone. \"There is naught you can do. I am a healer, and yet I cannot heal Hraefengar, and those from whom I learn cannot heal him ... that troubles me deeply. I would that it were otherwise. I fear his malady is not natural, but some dwimmercraft from the east. It was the summer the orcs came that he started to worsen ...\" The words fade into silence, and his lean face is grave.

[Faelwine(#31903)]

The requested amount is drawn piece by piece into Faelwine\'s palm, and then handed to the lad. She listens attentively to Bardawulf, her gaze sympathetic. Something in her expression tightens, though, at his mention of \'dwimmercraft from the east\'. When he is finished, she closes her eyes a moment, drawing a deep breath before vivid green gaze lifts again to meet the lassahaelend\'s. Her voice, too, is lowered so as not to be overheard. \"It is no easy thing to explain, nor to understand... but there is no spell upon him, no dwimmercraft set to work evil, of that I am certain. He...\" She pauses, and swallows, taking a moment to gather her words. \"The way that he... sees things... he has been that way since birth. Elf-touched, some say, and that I am willing to believe. Thus, he... perceives things... that perhaps men are not meant to perceive, yet it is his fate to do so, though he is but a man. The coming of the orcs... his own fall defending the bridge of that haunted city in the Stoningland... yes, they worsened his malady, for to be near servants of the east closes shadow about his mind. Yet the shadow is not within him, neither his mind nor body. I do not know what else I can say to ease you.\"

The thin youth accepts his coppers eagerly, then ducks his head and mumbles a, \"Good day,\" for both his customers. Perhaps they will leave soon and restore the peace of this cave of books and parchment.

Bardawulf focusses his blue-green eyes on Faelwine and listens to her words in silence. At last he nods, and says slowly, \"His is not an easy burden to bear. If sometimes I wish it otherwise, do not blame me. So do all who know him well.\" Shaking off his sombre mood then, he adds, with the vestige of a smile, \"Tell him I was asking after him, and hope to see him when duty allows. But now duty demands otherwise. I must leave or I will tardy at the Infirmary. Good day, Faelwine,\" he nods to the woman, then, turning adds to the youth a quiet, \"And thank you.\" He limps off and out into the warm summer\'s day, leaving the dusty tomes to their rest ...

[Faelwine(#31903)]

Faelwine nods, and offers the lassahaelend a parting smile. \"I hold no blame against you, Bardawulf, for often I wish the same. I shall tell him. Good day to you, as well.\" As he departs, she remains still, her gaze shifting back to the dusty shelf, considering the scroll for another long moment. A sigh, a glance about the shop, and a nod in thanks to the lad, then she, too, steps back out into the open air.