A tangled skein - adventures in western Middle-earth using the LOTR5e system

Aethelbrim:

”Orrin, perhaps you could check with Barnaby for us to see if any others might show promise,” Aethelbrim asks politely.

Orrin: 

"Oh? Hmm..." Orrin narrows his eyes in playful suspicion, before then nodding in agreement. "That, and he still owes me a pipe and I to him a good chinwag anyways! Eh, provided the morning rabble haven't fully robbed us both yet again of such entertainment. Hmph!" The dwarf turns to leave, but not without giving the hobbit and would be compatriot one last look... and a faint nod, prior to carrying on his way to search for Barnaby. 

After one of the best nights’ sleep she has had since leaving home, Eryndis wakes from a dream. For a few heartbeats she is still within it, and the sleeping room — lit only by the fading glow of coals — seems strange and uncertain. Then her thoughts clear, and sits up to see that Gwinion’s pallet lies empty.

She rises at once, gathers her few belongings, and makes her way downstairs to find the Ranger once more seated with his back to a wall.

She pauses, slipping her braid over one shoulder so her hand may find it, then collects a plate of breakfast. Crossing to his table, she sits without meeting his gaze.

Taking quick mouthfuls, she wonders if the meal is included in the coin she paid the night before, or if this indulgence will thin her purse further. Still, she had not dared sit without food in hand. The thought that Gwinion’s morning meeting might leave her alone again presses heavily on her mind — surprising in its strength, and difficult to set aside. She needs the small task of eating to occupy her, lest her tongue betray her and drive him off.

More than once in the night she woke from dreams of harm befalling her on the road alone. Never has she known such unease — not even in the moons before her Going Forth.

She is so lost in these thoughts that he is the one who speaks first.

“The day may turn quickly. We have a meeting to keep.”

She stills, chewing slowing as she turns his words over in her mind. We have a meeting to keep. We.

After a moment, he continues. “The one who sent for us is no common voice in these lands. You would do well to understand that before we go.

“But before we go, I have a question for you. How do you come to bear the same name as the Ranger Eryndis? It cannot be only chance.”

She turns to him at last and swallows, clearing her mouth. A faint sheen of honey and preserves glistens on her thin lips. Her eyes are troubled. She thought she had made herself clear the night before — but perhaps she had not. Or perhaps he had not wished to understand. Again that fear rises: that her tongue will undo what little she has gained.

But she does not lie.

“I am called Bar-u-dal by my people,” she says quietly. “Eryndis is the name I have borrowed for my Going Forth. For her vigor.”

Her gaze lingers on him for a heartbeat longer before falling once more to her plate. Is taking the Ranger’s name an offense to him? She scarcely breathes as she waits for his reply.

Orin finds Barnaby in the kitchen overseeing the preparations for lunch now that breakfast is done with. He is also checking on the latest batches of cider and ale in the vats.

Gwinion watched her in silence as she spoke, his gaze steady, searching. There was a wariness in it at first, habit more than judgment. Names mattered. Among his people, they were not lightly taken or set aside. He studied her as she gave both, the one she was born to, and the one she had chosen. But as she finished, something in his expression shifted. The tension eased, just slightly. His eyes softened.

He believed her.

“You bear it well,” he said at last, voice low and even. “Eryndis suits you.” A faint glint touched his expression, just at the edge of a smile. “Though if we cross paths with the other, I may have to start pointing to keep my meaning straight. I would rather not give orders to the wrong one and find myself corrected for it.” The hint of humor lingered only a moment before fading back into something steadier.  “When you are finished eating, we will go to the lady.”  He paused, his gaze drifting briefly across the room before returning to her.

“Unless this meeting turns our road aside…” he said, then gave a small, decisive nod. “We head north.”

Eryndis closes her eyes as relief washes over her. Her head remains bowed as she listens to his acceptance and accepts his humor. She will think of a way to thank him ... but not now. There will be time later.

Reminded of her breakfast, she begins eating again. And not wanting to delay the Ranger, she works to clean her plate quickly.

As soon as Eryndis cleans her plate Gwinion stands and calls one of the Inn’s staff over. “Can you please tell me which wing the Lady Gilraen is staying in? he asks. The staff member – a young woman – shifts nervously from foot to foot before mumbling “we’re not allowed to say sir!” At about now Barnaby, accompanied by Orin, emerges from the kitchen. Having overheard the young woman’s reply he says “it’s alright Gretchen, you can show the gentlemen and the young lady to the Lady Gilraen’s quarters.” Gretchen turns to Gwinion and Eryndis saying “…. follow me please”. She leads them towards a wing located at the back of the Inn and points to a door saying “… here sir” before giving a quick curtsey and leaving.

Gwinion knocks on then door and a voice says enter.

They open the door and sitting behind a table facing the door is a lady who stands as they enter. She is close to 6 feet in height and was obviously a beauty in her youth but her once golden hair is shot through with silver and there are permanent lines of worry etched deep in her face. Nevertheless she is still striking in her looks. She wears a hairnet festooned with small gems in her hair and is dressed in a deep blue gown.

Seeing Gwinion she says “Gwinion, mellon nin, mae govanen!” then realising that Gwinion is accompanied by somebody she switches to Westron saying “Gwinion, my friend it is good to see you. Unfortunately I have some sad news for you. My old friend, and your grandmother ‘Gwinduinel’ recently passed away. I was able to be with her at the end and she took a cloak pin from her robe, which I have never seen her without, saying as the only child of her only child it is now yours!" As she does so, she reaches into her purse and takes out a cloak pin passing it over to Gwinion. From a cursory examnation, Gwionon can see that it is pale in colour and made from an alloy he does not recognise. It appears to be almost featureless with what might be a notch on one side and what might be a shallow groove curving across the face.

When Barnaby and Orin enter, Eryndis’ eyes are once again drawn to the dwarf’s leg. She scowls as she watches him walk. There is a stiffness she had not noticed the night before — less pain, perhaps, but now a tightening of the limb. Her frown deepens, and she feels the urge to approach him about it. But then Gwinion steps away, following Gretchen, and Eryndis hurries to join them.

The young woman follows in silence, walking a step behind the Ranger as they are led toward a rear wing of the inn. Her eyes move constantly, taking in the unfamiliar shape and make of these finer halls. She is so taken by it all that she nearly walks into Gwinion when he stops. She draws back quickly, then offers a small smile and nod to the servant before the girl slips away.

At the invitation to enter, Eryndis follows the Ranger inside. Her eyes widen at once. She forces herself to turn and close the door carefully before facing the room again, remaining near it. She looks about, feeling very small — and yet quietly glad. Never has she seen such comfort.

Her hand finds her braid as the Lady begins to speak.

Drawing a steady breath, Eryndis steps forward to stand at Gwinion’s elbow, careful not to give offense. Her brown eyes lift to the Lady’s face as she listens. But as the talk turns to family — of loss, and the passing of the Ranger’s grandmother — heat rises in her cheeks. She lowers her gaze to the floor, trying to make herself smaller still. Surely the Lady would not speak so freely if she knew Eryndis and Gwinion were but newly met. She should have waited outside the room. She had not known.

Her eyes drop further when the treasure is passed from hand to hand. Should she excuse herself? Now she must not only thank him, but ask his forgiveness as well. She can only hope he will grant it.

Gwinion steps into the room. At the sight of Lady Gilraen and her greeting, he brings his hands together and bows his head with quiet respect. “Mae govannen, hiril nín. Gellon ned i ‘waew lín.” he answers softly.

Before he can present Eryndis, the Lady speaks. He listens, and a shadow of sorrow passes across his face. When she offers the pin, he accepts it with care, his fingers lingering for a brief moment as though weighing more than its simple form. Words do not come easily.

At last, he speaks in Westron, his voice low and steady despite the grief beneath it. “I knew she was unwell. I am deeply grieved to hear that she has passed.”

Silence settles between them. He lowers his gaze, then lifts it again with quiet resolve.

“You honor me beyond measure in bringing this news yourself. I thank you.”

He draws a slow breath and masters himself, setting grief aside with quiet discipline. Turning slightly, he gestures toward his companion.

“This is Eryndis. We are but newly met, yet our road now runs together. She seeks to follow one of our kin, also named Eryndis, who once came among her people in search of healing. She has taken that name in honor of the Ranger she remembers.”

His gaze shifts briefly, thoughtful.

“I came to Bree to gather what tidings I might, and to replenish what simples and herbs the village may offer. Yet word has reached us of a strange tale in the North Downs.” He pauses, then inclines his head with quiet resolve. “It is a matter we mean to look into.”

Lady Gilraen turns to Eryndis saying “it is a pleasure to meet you Eryndis. I know that you will do honour to the name! You know I had the opportunity to meet with your namesake when she returned from the Swanfleet. She spoke of your people and a healer called Thu-gun, I hope I have pronounced it correctly, with gratitude and affection. I have never been to the Swanfleet but maybe one day as I would particularly like to see the Nindraug she talked about.”

She then turns to Gwinion saying “I too am concerned about the story that Rupert told and while I do not believe that it is The Enemy himself , I feel that it could be one of his servants either acting on its own inititiave or at The Enemy’s bidding. This was one of the reasons I asked for you to come to my quarters. I am pleased to see that you were already planning to look into this matter. However, I do not think you and Eryndis should go alone! Are there any others you think that you could encourage to join you in this task?”

Gwinion is silent for a moment, turning the matter over in his mind before he speaks.

“Yes… there were others in the common room who took an interest in the tale. A woman, traveling in the company of a dwarf. By their speech and bearing, I would judge them to be of Dale and Erebor, if I have the right of it.”

He pauses briefly, then continues.

“There was also a hobbit of the Shire. Eryndis spoke with him for a time. She may have learned more than I.”

At the mention of her mentor, Thu-Gun, Eryndis’ chin lifts, and she smiles at the Lady. To hear that Ranger Eryndis spoke of her people — and of the work they do — fills her with quiet pride. She offers no words, only a small nod of thanks, her expression plainly pleased.

When the Nindraug are mentioned, however, her smile fades slightly and stills. She works to keep any sound of displeasure from rising in her throat. The Nindraug? What a gossiping lot. Why would a Lady wish to meet with them? They are interesting, perhaps — but they are more trouble than they are worth. Poor neighbors, by her reckoning.

She listens as Gwinion and the Lady speak on, her thoughts moving between them and the dangers of the North spoken of the night before. The mention of “The Enemy” troubles her most. This is not like wolves, she feels. Not like men. Something greater. But it is not her place to interrupt, and so she resolves to ask Gwinion of it later.

When both turn to her at the mention of the hobbit, her composed smile falters. She looks between them, caught off guard.

“The hobbit?” she echoes, gathering her thoughts. “The hobbit is heading toward the Elf-folk. East — Rivendell,” she says, the last word coming a touch uncertain. “He did not seem at all set on traveling north.”

Her hand moves along her braid as she looks between the Lady and the Ranger, hoping her answer will suffice.

At Eryndis mention that Hildebrand was heading east to a place he called Rivendell, Lady Gilraen raised an eyebrow and commented to Gwinion “Inion-vab i hobbit neth hen lastant nern vathren ammar, o hobbit neth I hen ngelym i gweria i thul!” To which Gwinion gives a slight smile and nods as if in agreement.

Seeing Eryndis look of confusion at her statement she says “I’m sorry I forgot you do not speak Gwinion’s and my mother tongue. What I said was that I think the young hobbit has been listening to too many tall tales being spun by an older hobbit that both Gwinion and I know, who really should know best because Rivendell does not exist – it is a mythical place only!”

Gwinion’s gaze drifts for a moment, as though following the road east in his mind. “The hobbit will find a long and lonely road before him if he goes that way. Yet he showed a keen interest in the tale and even set himself to drawing a map, from what I saw.” His expression firms with quiet purpose.

“I will seek out the others, the woman and the dwarf. They may prove worthy allies. The folk of Dale, and the dwarves of Erebor, are known to be steadfast and of good repute.”

He turns back to the Lady, and the resolve softens into something more personal. Bowing his head once more, he speaks with gentle sincerity. “My thanks, hiril nín, for bearing the news of my grandmother to me.” A brief pause, then more quietly: “If you should see my mother again, I ask that you carry to her my love, and tell her that I am well.”

Aethelbrim:

Resisting the urge to pace, get out her own map, or pack up and leave before she loses her nerve, Aethelbrim schools herself to patience, seeing the important work of assembling a traveling party—a fellowship even—as a task similar to carefully practicing sword work or archery.  Patience, care, focus…and action when warranted, but not before.

While she waits, the young captain makes conversation with the bold hobbit who graces her table.  “Hildebrand, while we wait for my companion to return, perhaps we should get to know a bit about each other since we have decided to travel together.  I must admit that, while the story last night referenced many dangerous locations to the north, there was not a specific destination singled out.  Is there something specific you wish to gain from traveling north, or any location that direction you wish to explore?  Or are you merely seeking to experience life on the road where we may do a bit of good in the world at the risk of no small amount of danger?”

When Orin first discovered Barnaby in the kitchen at work, he honestly hadn't the heart to disturb the man. Not initially, at least, for experience earned from observation taught the dwarf even an overseers job was anything but truly idle time. Then again, he could think of few whose management skills were such that an idle chat would disrupt things overly much. Even so, Orin found himself hesitating to do more than give breathing room for passing servers while watching Barnaby at work, gradually losing himself in all too customary introspection.

'This was a man that knew his place in the world, and asked for nothing more than a shared tale from travelers and ensure all were welcome in his establishment'. Or such had thus far been Orin's assessment of Barnaby. Unlike the broken dwarf who -- despite having found a degree of success as a traveling merchant -- could scarcely escape the ghosts of failure and regret that led to his current state. Though most that knew saw it as an accident, and by technicalities it was, thinking back to the spark that led to it left his hand slightly trembling from his resisting the urge to rub at his leg.

Fortunately, Barnaby eventually took notice of his presence on his own, and... and...

Orin missed the exact words that were exchanged, what with the fog of his mind still trying clear itself. But nevertheless, he found himself leaving the kitchen alongside Barnaby putting less thought in trying mask discomfort in his leg. Though Eryndis' scowl sharply drew his mind back to the present, and giving her a flinty-eyed look in turn before she wandered off on other business. "... Though it not be much my business to pry, I find myself asking all the same 'ol Barnaby just... who was that woman? Not a regular by her dress and stature, but perhaps I'm being a touch presumptuous?" He asks of Barnaby once certain the Eryndis had walked out of earshot, before turning to look up at the man. "And Lady Gilraen... that name almost ring a bell..." He adds, before purposefully trailing off while giving the man a meaningful look.

After closing the Lady’s chamber door behind them, Eryndis hurries to Gwinion’s side once more. Both hands rise to her braid, her fingers moving along it as her thoughts turn — restless as the strands beneath them.

She wants to ask at once about The Enemy, but even her tongue hesitates at the forming of the question, and so she sets it aside for now.

“Rivendell?” she begins instead. “Is it truly a place, and not only a tale? I have heard of it. Of its knowledge.” She hesitates. “I had hoped I might learn leechcraft there — from the Elf-folk.”

She listens to the Ranger’s answer, then continues.

“The hobbit spoke more plainly of the dangers in the North than the storyteller did.” She pauses, considering. “We would do well to have more swords with us, I think. My knife serves for roots and herbs, but it will not stand long against beasts ... or things that should not be.”

Her thoughts turn again to what was said within the chamber. A small smile returns, and her step lightens. She is gladdened that Ranger Eryndis spoke of Thu-Gun — and of her leechcraft. She lets out a small breath of disappointment and says aloud, but to herself, “I should have asked if the Lady knew where I might find her.”

Hildebrand shifts slightly in his seat, a hint of restlessness creeping in as the minutes pass. His fingers tap idly against the table, and for a moment he reaches into his coat as though to retrieve his flute—clearly on the verge of entertaining himself. But Aethelbrim’s voice catches him just in time. He looks up at once, brightening, the hint of boredom vanishing as quickly as it came. “Most certainly, my lady.”

He settles back more properly into his chair, giving her his full attention now. “In truth,” he continues with a small, self-aware smile, “I am not what one might call… experienced in the adventuring business.” A soft chuckle follows. “Most of what I know comes secondhand—from an older acquaintance of mine, one Bilbo Baggins. I’ve spent more hours than I can count listening to his tales… and reading the books in his library.” He lifts a hand slightly, as if weighing the difference. “Which, I am beginning to suspect, is not quite the same thing as living them.”

His expression softens a touch, though the smile remains. “As for the North. No, I cannot claim any particular destination of importance. No ancient ruin calling my name, nor treasure set aside with my initials upon it.” A faint glint of humor. “Disappointing, I know.”

He pauses briefly, then adds more thoughtfully: “If I am being honest, I think I fall rather squarely into your second description. I wish to see the road for myself. To learn whether the world beyond the Shire is as dangerous, as wondrous… and as *interesting* as I have been led to believe.” A small shrug. “And perhaps, if fortune allows, to do a bit of good along the way.”

At the mention of home, his tone shifts—just slightly. “My elder brother, you see, would much prefer I remained exactly where I was—comfortable, respectable, and entirely untroubled by such notions.” A wry smile returns. “Which, I suspect, is precisely why I could not.” He lifts his cup, almost in quiet acknowledgment of that choice. “So here I am.”

Aethelbrim:

"Well-said, good Hildebrand.  If I am not getting too far ahead of myself, I do have a particular destination in mind and a debt to pay on behalf of my recently deceased mentor.  Of higher priority to me, though, is keeping those who travel with me safe as I may, though I have little enough experience in true conflict," replies Aethelbrim, giving him a hint of her purpose but waiting for all the companions to gather before elaborating further.

Orin eventually manages to catch the eye of Barnaby who comes across saying “what can I do for you? I hope both the bed and the breakfast were to your liking?” Orin explains why he is there. Barnaby hems and haws for a bit and then says “I guess Fitch Talltree or one of his lads might be up for a bit of wander up north. Matter of fact he and some of his lads were in the Pony last night celebrating one of his apprentices being awarded his bow!. Come and I’ll introduce you.” Orin follows Barnaby back into the Common Room where Barnaby yells to Nob “Nob have you see Fitch Talltree and his lads this morning?” Nob responds “they left straight after breakfast Boss. Fitch was muttering something about places to be, things to do!” “Drat” Barnaby reponds.

About now Gwinion and Eryndis return from their discussion with the Lady Gilraen.