The hillman shivers and several of his companions wave their hands in some sort of tribal sign to fend off evil spirits. Whether it is the mention of elves or that ancient city that causes the reaction, the hobbit can't quite determine. Perhaps it was both.
"We care little for elves and their eternal plans or that haunted city." He says. "All I can offer is advice to turn around and give up your quest. For evil has always thrived within the ruins of the place and it always will. And it is true that more foul creatures wander the lands between the mountains." He nods toward those leaving the camp below, still carrying their newly acquired goods. "As I said, we are pressed by trolls, giants, and other such ilk. I would expect if they are marauding in the highlands, they will be prowling to the south and west as well."
"Then I bid you safe travels," offers Hobwise. He takes his leave to rejoin the others in the camp below.
"Then swift be your blades as you strike at those monsters who would savage those of us in the lowlands if not for your action," replies Ingold to Bragha, bowing and adding, "whatever the enmity between our peoples in the past."
In conclusion, he says, with a wry smile and a glance towards the young merchant, "We will make sure young Tomas makes amends for his part in the theft of weapons from the dwarves...unless you want to take him along with you this night and teach him how to survive in the wilds fighting trolls and giants?"
Bragha shakes his head and simply makes a negative motion with his hand at the mention of Tomas joining his band. His eyes are hard as they look back at the cowed Tomas.
"The Raven has no need of him." He says with a scowl. "His mother made her choice and forsook our ways. Abandoned her people and disobeyed her chief. He has served my purpose all he can."
"Do with him as you will."
With that he disappears into the dark, following the other hillmen back up the ridge and to the north.
Not long after the hillmen finally depart, Hobwise emerges from the shadows and walks into camp.
"Well... That was... Something that happened." Wulfgith said with a long sigh.
She looked over to Tomas. "Well... What do you think?" She asked the group as a whole.
With the hillmen gone, Tomas is eager to answer questions about his contacts. Unfortunately the boy actually knows little beyond a location of a camp in the hills south of Weathertop on the outskirts of the South Downs and the descriptions of the two men he dealt with in Bree. He's able to draw out a rough map to the camp. Although it isn't too far away, it is a good week's travel away from your intended destination of Fornost.
"If Glorfindel had desired expedience, he would have instructed Lindir to provide us with horses. Another week to this journey will mean little, I suspect, and perhaps uncover a greater truth about the nature of arms transactions in this region." He almost says, so close to the Shire, but does not.
|
"That is sage advice, good Hobwise!" Thorgrim proclaims, clapping the hobbit high on the back. "Never have I seen a moribund errand ehnaced by passing up a chance at a red, roaring adventure! Ha! Let us take some few spans of time and, calmly, explain to these bandits that raiding dwarves is wrong. Ha!"
"I concur. Let us take care of this matter and restore to the dwarves their property--or proper compensation for their losses," Ingold says firmly, looking at Tomas.
The remainder of the night passes under the light of the moon without incident. Although Harold and the other drovers still stare daggers at Tomas, they do not try to do anything further to the boy. Nor does Tomas attempt any kind of escape. He seems to be intent on making some sort of amends.
In the morning, with the decision made to investigate the bandit camp, you set off with the wagons. For the next three days the fellowship along with the small merchant train trundle west along the Old East Road. For three days the weather remains hot and dry with a steady wind blowing out of the southeast. Evidence of the long dry spell is everywhere. Vegetation is dry, especially the spring grasses which have all turned yellow and brown. Some of the usual ponds and watering holes are lower than Harold or any of the others can remember them being.
The Weather Hills rise in the distance. Still a good two days travel away when the road bends south. This is where you're original plans had you turning north across the wilds of the Lone Lands toward Fornost. Instead, the Fellowship continues southeast along the road. Clouds gather over the distant downs south of Weathertop. The high hill still keeping its silent watch over central Eriador. The shattered ruins of the once mighty bastion of the north evidence of a distant, lost age.
By early evening, lightning flickers in the distance and the occasional rumble of far off thunder echoes through the night, but neither rain or storm drifts over your camp in the night. As the ruin of Weathertop grows closer with every step, it is impossible not to ponder what was lost to the Shadow so long ago.
The Arthedain capital of Annuminas would fall soon after and force the new young King Araphor to move the seat of power to Fornost where it would remain until the nations final days over 500 years later. Cardolan never really recovered from the Second Northern War. With Ostoher's death the country splintered and fell into multiple civil wars and internal dysfunction. Eventually it simply ceased to be as most of its inhabitants migrated south to Gondor.
During their travels, Ingold keeps an eye out for any useful herbs, though he tries hard not to slow down the pace of the company.
That night at the encampment, Ingold muses quietly on the history of this place, saying, "This was once a bright land, governed by the sister kingdoms of Arthedain and Cardolan before the shadow struck." Gesturing towards Weathertop, he adds, "The tower of Weathertop was meant to stand against the Witch King of Angmar, but both kingdoms lost their leaders in a single day when the forces of shadow attacked. Arveleg of Arthedain perished in the defense of the tower, Ostoher of Cardolan was slain upon the Barrow Downs, and the darkness grew."
"Still, while free men strive against the shadow, and those who have flirted with its lure seek to come back to the side of light, there is still reason for hope, even in these dark times," concludes Ingold, offering Tomas a genuine smile.
Hobwise chews his pipe as Ingold tells the tale of ages past. The hobbit had spied Weathertop on each occasion traveling to and from Rivendell, but gave it a wide berth. Now they marched directly toward it. Toward evil.
|
|
With the danger passed and the road stretching in front of them, Thorgrim strides next to Hobwise.
"What am I doing, Hobbit?" he asks like a man who awakes in a snowstorm. "I care not for dwarves, trapped in their mountain mines, eternally striking for riches that I'll never earn a share of. And what of bandits? We can not erase all the bandits everywhere, so why do we bother with these?
And even if we succeed, what remuneration for us? What would the dwarves offer me for lost loved ones or found goods?"
He thinks of his sword and doubts even the dwarves could make a match. Then his eyes drift down to his mail. Shabby, aye. And road-worn. Still a match for a rusty bandit blade, but hardly a kingly panoply. Mayhap a dwarf-made suit of mail could be earned?
Hobbit!
Hobwise bit down on his pipe while Thorgrim unburdened himself. To be addressed in the unfamiliar, as if the two had not shared the road and fought side by side for the better part of three years, was deeply insulting. Beyond that, the Beorning seemed to be disinterested on why anyone else might be on this errand. Hobwise' spirits were not buoyed by the start of this conversation.
He allows a pause after Thorgrim's remarks, more to see if he would simply wander away without affirmation, if that is what the man sought.
"I do not understand you, Thorgrim," he finally answers. "Is this not exactly what you are meant to be doing? Gold is not an end to itself, so why care so much for the pursuit of it? Surely your farm in the Vale sustains itself; what would treasure buy you?
"And why do you have that farm anyhow? You are as suited to tend to an estate as a ship which never leaves the harbor. The idea of you obsessing over the apportionment of crops in your fields or the recipe for mead - preposterous! No, it is a place to be, and then to not be.
"You have the appearance of a Man who has what he needs and more; a fine blade, a dalliance with an elf mistress, and a sure path before you where that sword is particularly useful, as opposed to collecting dust on a mantle.
"I suggest you figure it out. I'll not have a distracted warrior at my back when the time comes to fight the Enemy. And if it's the Shadow at play in your head, best to seize a moment to rid yourself of that darkness and make it count."
I did, Hobwise thinks to himself, and then picks up his pace.
Doderic listens with a smile to his fellow hobbits reply, and not wanting to show he overheard the conversation, busies himself with fiddling with his pack.
Though, one does need fine food. After all, whats life without good food and good drink?... I hope my garden back home is being taken care of... probably not unfortunately.
The evening passes. Hobwise and Thorgim debate the various motivations behind their chosen adventurous lives. Doderic and Ingold talk of the past and of home, the conversation inevitably turning to food and meals as any conversation with the Took tends to do.
Although nothing alarming or malevolent occurs as evening passes to night and the moon marches across the sky to eventually slip behind the western horizon once again, it is not particularly restful sleep. Vision of marching troops, the cries of wounded and dying soldiers, cruel laughter of orcs, the smell of smoke and rotting dead, the cold chill and shadow of the witch-king himself taking the field of battle, all this troubles your dreams in fits and starts through the night.
Finally arising bleary eyed as the sky shifts from purples to reds, pinks, and oranges in the east, the fellowship is up and breaking camp. The journey southeast continues as the road loops around the Weather Hills and cuts through the lowlands between Weathertop and the South Downs.
Late in the evening, Tomas points out a narrow path that one wouldn't even think to notice if you didn't know it was there or were looking very carefully for it. He points a finger to the south where the path leads through the dry grasslands.
"It's a two day journey south from here. The wagon's won't make the trip so they might as well go back to Bree." He says. "The men I dealt with had a dugout not far from the border of the downs, near an old gnarled juniper tree."
"The path is rough. Easy to twist an ankle in the poor light of evening in that country. Probably best to camp here for the night." He adds, clearly a little wary of venturing south in the dark.
Hobwise awakes to the muted light of day, his night having been particularly uncomfortable for the summer heat, and the other thing. He tends to the elvish cook pot from a distance to catch the cool morning air. Tired and preoccupied, he burns some of the giblets, which he never does.
"For want of butter!"
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Hobwise observes Ingold's prowess at finding herbs, and generates a list of highly desired ingredients.
Basil, Mint, Parsley, Cilantro, Oregano, Thyme, Tarragon, Rosemary, Sage, Marjoram, Lavendar, Dill, Chives, Bay
And also look for mushrooms, wild lettuce, and root vegetables to compliment the efforts of the company's Hunter.
|
|
"Ugh. I had the most dark of dreams. I had dremt that I had acheived my life's dream. There, upon Weathertop which we passed, I had built a great and towering castle. From it I had carved out a kingdom as that of old, and so splendid and prosperous was it, 'twere as if the dreams of the old glory had returned.
And then, though my walls were strong and my people rich and my army vast, some force, unseen and dark, cast down all that I had built and all was in ruins, though I did not ken the why of it.
Ugh, such visions of such purity! Still can I smell the battlefield of the last battle...."
-whew-
Thorgrim washes his mouth heavily with potables, trying with earnestness to wash away the night's visions. Not easily does he accomplish this task, and his weary nature grows wearier still.
"Eh? The wagons go back?" Thorgrim questions Tomas. "Do you seek to leave us? Even now as we come so close to cleansing thy conscience? I'll not hear of it! So brave and stout a myrmidon as thyself, seeking to make a name in this great, dangerous world, we must needs have you as our ever-present guide...so we know the truth of the path you lay before us."
Wulfgith seemed rather shaken from the dream she had... and Thorgrim's words of his own dream did not help.
"Indeed." Wulfgith stated. "Does you conscience not bother you?" She asked alongside Thorgrim's words.
"What?!" Tomas jumps at Thorgrim's question. "No. Nonono. You'll likely struggle to find the place if I don't come along." He adds quickly. "I merely thought the others could take the wagons home since we'll be a good couple of days or more getting there and back. And during that time they'd be sitting here in the open...practically undefended."
Harold and the others seem to nod along at the younger man's suggestion. "Aye, the young rat's got a point. Me and the boys aren't too keen on just camping here on the border of the Downs for more nights than we need. If we pushed hard, we'd be safe in Bree in three nights." He adds looking thoughtfully to the road west.
Ingold remains silent on the topic of his own dreams, dark though they may have been in this land that fell to the Shadow.
"Well-met and good travels to you, Harold. If you hear of dwarves who were robbed upon the road during your stay in Bree, perhaps Tomas here will make his way back after we deal with the brigands with some recompense in hand," responds Ingold, seeing the wisdom of sending the wagons back to Bree as the path ahead looked impassible for them.
Handing Hobwise the cooking herbs he had gathered so far, Ingold quietly adds, "You have a good sense about you, my friend, but our companion Thorgrim seems hounded by the shadow. Perhaps I can draw him out in less...intense...conversation this evening by the fire."
Hobwise shakes his head. "He's thought the world revolved around him long before the Shadow got to us. If you can cure him of that you'll be the greatest healer of the Age!"
"Thank you for the herbs. I'll put them to good use."
|
|
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Although nothing alarming or malevolent occurs as evening passes to night and the moon marches across the sky to eventually slip behind the western horizon once again, it is not particularly restful sleep. Vision of marching troops, the cries of wounded and dying soldiers, cruel laughter of orcs, the smell of smoke and rotting dead, the cold chill and shadow of the witch-king himself taking the field of battle, all this troubles your dreams in fits and starts through the night.
The following day dawns gray and humid and high clouds move through the region, blocking the sun but offering no real rain or relief from the summer heat. Harold and the Willams brothers continue west with the wagons while the rest of the Fellowship turn south with Tomas.
The trail is little more than a deer track and often disappears among the tall grasses or open rocky ground only to reappear a few dozen paces further along. This makes the going a little slower as Thorgrim and Tomas are often forced to search ahead or backtrack a bit in order to maintain the correct path.
Just after midday after the clouds have drifted away and the sun shines bright and hot, whoops of delight emerge from a side valley where Wulfgith drifted down a short while ago. Bouncing on Swiftkiss, the rider is practically beaming with pride and joy.
The reason for her excitement is soon obvious as each of you spot the prize being hauled on a makeshift travois behind the hardy horse of Rohan. Somehow, someway, the rider managed to find one of the elusive and rare wild kines that wonder these lands. Smaller and hardier than cattle found in Gondor and the south, these once domesticated animals were found on farms and ranches throughout Eriador. Since the fall of Arthedain and her sister kingdoms, the herds dwindled and many of the animals turned wild once again.
Wulfgith's luck and prowess means everyone will eat well this night.
Now off the road an moving along the path in the tall grass, Ingold keeps a sharp eye out for movement that would betray an enemy. He also watches for herbs that might be along their path, though he takes care not to get too distracted from his vigilance or slow down the fellowship.
"A fine kill, Wulfgith!"
Hobwise joins in on the butchering, first securing the offal, heart, kidneys, liver, and lungs, washing them and setting them aside. He scrapes the fatty tissues and renders it in the pot, then adds in the tenderloin fillets. While those cook over low heat, he builds a makeshift smoker from green branches, leaves, and grasses, and with Thorgrim's aid, a durable bed of coals.
The company feasts on the tenderloins and back straps well into the night. While they eat he sets the pot to bil and adds in the cleaned and diced innards. Later the ribs come out of the smoke and they indulge again. Hobwise carries on with Doderic while he cuts the meat into thin strips and continues to feed the smoker. By morning, many pounds of steak are dried well enough to last several days against turning. Another hearty breakfast of the par-boiled heart with a side of kidney and liver, all sauteed in the rendered fat, fills their bellies for the day. He takes the early hour to clean his cooking tools and wrap the meats in large leaves before layering them in his large sack. Lastly, the fat and added into the bottom of the cook pot with lid secured to deter flies.
Hobwise is tired but extremely satisfied.
"Thank you, but I think our luck came from how full these fields are." Wulfgith said. "Either way I am glad to know our stomachs won't be keeping us awake."
"Here, let me help Hobwise." She added as she helped him process the rest of the kill, allowing him to instruct her in what he needed done.
|
|
"Wait, we're doing the charcoal thing again?" Thorgrim guffaws, recalling their errant escapade in the frozen ruins.
"Nonsense, Wulfgith! Did I lay in wait a full fortnight I could not have come up with a brace of such succulent beasts! You have done well and deserve great honor!"
Thorgrim lays in a mighty store of wood for Hobwise's smoking crusade, and launches a brave attack on the meat, keeping a good share from spoilage safe in his own gut.
When the party is once again ready to move, he feels replete and ready to find a good fight.
With Wulfgith's hunting success, it is decided to camp early and feast upon the unexpected boon. Doderic points out a reasonable campsite and soon enough the sizzle and smell of thick steak cooking on an open fire fill the air. Between Hobwise and Doderic, the two hobbits prepare a feast fit for a king hall despite the limits of being out in the wild country.
With full bellies and another days travel under your belts, the Fellowship settles in for a peaceful night. Which is what it remains for most of the time the waning moon shines over the downs. It isn't until late, late in the night, or perhaps early, early in the morning depending upon your preference that Hobwise suddenly leans forward from his droppy eyed watch.
Rubbing his eyes, he peers to the southeast where the lowering moon shines upon the rolling plain. For several seconds, the hobbit doesn't see anything and starts to wonder if it wasn't perhaps his imagination. A beef fueled mirage. But then he sees it. A shadow moving across the plain.
Upon seeing the first, he spots several others. Long arms, loping strides that move with ease across the rocky plain with only the moon's light. Orcs. There's no way to be certain from this distance and at night. But a dozen at least. Maybe a mile away and heading south and west. Away from the hobbit's position but in the same general direction as the path they were following. Hobwise glances back at the lingering coals of Thorgrim's fire. No way of knowing if it had been seen earlier. Or perhaps more likely, did they catch the scent of the smoke and roasting meat?
Hobwise wakes Thorgrim. "Quiet, my friend. Orcs, some distance to the southwest. A mile, perhaps. We have the favorable wind, but these coals have likely betrayed us."
He wakes the others in turn with the same message.
Hobwise scans the area around the campsite. Have they chosen a place where they might stage an ambush?
Ingold wakes quietly and rolls into a crouch, drawing his bow and looking in the direction Hobwise indicates.
Ingold's sleep filled eyes still swim with visions of thick juicy steaks and although his bow is raised and ready, he sees nothing but moon shadows and shrubs nearby until Hobwise takes a moment to point the scholar in the right direction. It is then that Ingold catches a brief glimpse of movement, far off in the distance.
|
|
Most men, when awakened from a deep slumber, take at least a moment to blink bleary sleep from heavy eyes while sluggish blood flows thickly to a yet-drowsy brain.
Not so for the powerful Beorning. Upon the instant his eyes alight on the hobbit, his grip tightening around the close-to-hand Noctacide. He quickly scans the indicated direction, gathering his own assessment.
"A mile you say?" Thorgrim rumbles back, his voice low and growling. His eyes shift quickly from the coals back to the indicated orcs. "They are there? And not yet upon us?" Thorgrim shakes his head minutely. "An' they had yet spotted us they would even now be upon our beds, howling in a bloodlust. Either they do not see us, or are in a hurry, or are whipped by a master who is in a hurry.
At any rate, I would council that we fall upon them. That we do not hear their snarling tongues and the great doom of wardrums mean they can not be a full warband.
And any less than that are but good sport."
He rolls his shoulders a few times, ensuring blood flow and looseness. He had wanted a good fight.
Sometimes the Valar smile upon a man.
"But it seems they are heading the same way we are." Wulfgith pointed out.
"It might actually be worth it to deal with them now before they have the time to meet up with more of their kind." Wulfgith said, mostly thinking to herself.
"What do the rest of you think?" She asked the others since Thorgrim had spoken his mind, which never surprised her.
"In the night, their eyes have the advantage, though the moon is our ally for now," Ingold responds, looking to the sky to see if any clouds threaten to dim the light from above.
"Orcs in these lands are a bad sign, and I would rather fall upon them unawares now than have them do the same to us some other night," offers Ingold, trying to estimate how close they might be to the bandit hideout (and if the orcs are likely to come across them if they keep to their current path).
Dry lightning flickers to the southwest, over the hills of the Barrow Downs as you all peer in that direction, tracking the orcs moving apace across the plain. Having never been to the bandit camp, Ingold isn't sure if the orc's path will take them there or not, although, it does run in the same direction. Tomas, having been to the camp says that it is possible, but it is still a days travel away.
With practiced ease, you ready yourselves for battle and pack up your camp gear. Within a reasonably short time, all are ready to pursue the roving band of the Enemy.
For his part, Ingold stays with the main group. Moving in a crouch with his bow held in his left hand, he alternates between a quick walk and a jog as the terrain allows. Just in case there are other roving bands of orcs or additional threats in this dangerous night, he occasionally slows and takes careful note of his surroundings before hurrying on.
As the group sets out in pursuit of the orcs, Hobwise races ahead, to at least gather the strength of their quarry, should the hunted become the hunters. It strikes the hobbit as either fortuitous or deliberate that the orcs did not turn on the light and smell of their camp and attempt to ambush the company. Perhaps this is a scouting group only. Perhaps they have orders to make haste for the larger orc camp. Who knows what an orc thinks?
"Pursue carefully," Hobwise advises the others.
Then the hobbit races ahead, bow at the ready.