| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Jaunter nodded at the men that spoke, though he noted that neither gave their name. It was, all things considered, a wise practice; were Jaunter not merely a name that Calmacil had conjured, a mask to wear for the folk of Rhovanion, he would never have so freely offered it.
Jaunter couldn't help but turn a smile on the Hobbit that had emerged from the woods. Even as perceptive as a Ranger was, the halfling had been nigh undetectable.
"Why, Master Hobwise! I did not think to meet you here, but happy is that chance, indeed. The only thing I should have been quite sad to leave behind from that place is your fine cooking. I must be grateful that it seems I shan't be parted from it!"
Jaunter's eyes turned towards Thorgrim, and they became slightly harder; Jaunter did not like that he was threatening what was, in his eyes, a defenseless boy. Yet Jaunter was not hasty, and he hearkened well to Thorgrim's words about taking the boy to Beorn's court. That meant that Oderic had done wrong... or, at least, that that was what Beorn or other Beornings thought.
"I assume you are doing your duty to your Lord," Janter began, addressing Thorgrim, voice mild, "But one would assume that in a land so famed for the quality of their bees, that it would be well known that honey is a far more effective lure than vinegar. Nevertheless, you are correct; we must take haste. If you trust me not at this time, I will not take offense... but you will find few better to guide you through Rhovanion. I would be happy to take that role for your company, and consent to whatever strictures you require to feel comfortable until trust is given between us."
Jaunter turned to the boy, face and voice softening.
"Oderic. I know that we are strangers, but I perceive from this man's words, and from your presence among this band of outlaws, that you are... in a bit of a predicament. I can see how taking up with this band must have seemed an attractive alternative, especially if you believed you had no other choice. You may have felt backed into a corner. I don't know the specifics, Oderic... but I know how it feels to want to run from your duty. You see, no matter what happened, you have a responsibility. To your Lord. To your people. It is in these moments that we decide who we are, and who we want to be."
Jaunter gestured to the fallen, arrow-skewered, decapitated form of Faron.
"That man, the one watching you? He was a murderer. A craven. A betrayer. The only time I saw him smile was when he was planning cruelty or violence. You must know that the others in this camp were like unto him, and I do not think that is who you are. You, I think, would not smile when speaking of slashing throats in the night, or burning a home with people trapped inside, as he did. I think you are better than that.
So I ask you this. Come with me, and this group, willingly. Tell me your story. I will listen, without judgment, and should your tale be true and it be just, I will stand for you at whatever trial you face.
Men are not perfect. Our burdens are many, and heavy, and under them, we stumble. Betimes, we fail. But it is only when we run, when we abandon our bonds of fealty and family and community, when we shirk our responsibility to others, but most to ourselves, that we become truly lost.
I do not believe you are lost. Not yet. Not like so many of these men. So please, Oderic... let me help you."
Despite Jaunter's worn garb, despite the rough beard on his face, there is an unmistakable air of authority about him as he attempts to persuade Oderic to come peacefully and give his story.