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

Sensing the meeting has come to its natural end, Gwinion brings his hands together once more and bows his head to Lady Gilraen. “Novaer, Harthon ad govatham. No alwed Eru an ci.”

With that, he takes his leave, stepping quietly from the room to join Eryndis.

They walk a short while in silence before she speaks. He glances toward her, his expression thoughtful. “Rivendell,” he says at last. “A place out of old tales. Many have sought it, though not all have found the road.” He offers nothing further, his tone suggesting both respect and caution. When they return to the common room, his eyes quickly find the woman in conversation with the hobbit. He studies them for a brief moment, then approaches with measured ease.

“Forgive the intrusion,” he says, inclining his head in greeting. “Last night, you showed an interest in the tale in the North Downs.”

Aethelbrim:

”Indeed I did, as did several others last night—you are most perceptive.  I take it you have more than a casual interest in the area as well?” asks Aethelbrim.

The young captain stands to properly greet the woodsman, gesturing to an empty chair at the table, “Please, take your ease as we discuss.  I am called Aethelbrim, and this is Hildebrand,” she adds.  If he sits, she will as well.

Gwinion regards her for a moment, measuring both her words and the manner in which they are given. Then he inclines his head in acknowledgment. “You read me rightly. My interest is not a passing one.”

At her invitation, he takes the offered seat, though there is a quiet alertness in the way he settles, as if he never quite gives himself fully to ease. His gaze shifts briefly to Hildebrand, offering the hobbit a respectful nod before returning to Aethelbrim.

“I am called Gwinion,” he says simply. “I have walked the North Downs before, and I have learned to heed such tales when they begin to gather weight.” He folds his hands loosely before him, studying her. “You listened closely last night. That is not common for those with only a passing curiosity.” A faint pause. “What did you make of it, what is your interest in this?”

OOC: I realized in the re-reading of my last post that I had Eryndis believing Rivendell is a true place. She doesn't. The Lady made it clear that it is an imagined place. I missed the mixup when I edited it last night.

Eryndis shifts on her feet a moment as Aethelbrim and Gwinion begin to converse. Her eyes drift to the hobbit once or twice before she gathers herself and steps closer to him, speaking low so as not to interrupt the Ranger and the fair lady.

“Good morning, Hildebrand,” she says, dipping her head. “You slept well?” Her eyes drop. “You can call me ... Eryndis,” she adds, almost in a whisper. Once again, her hand strokes the brown plait dangling over one shoulder.

After a moment, she ventures further. “Ranger Gwinion has not sent me away,” she says, glancing up at him. “So I go with him.” She pauses, then adds, “North.”

She watches his face closely, waiting to see how he will react to this news.

Hildebrand had just opened his mouth to reply to Aethelbrim—something suitably gracious about noble causes and honored service already forming—when the newcomer arrived. His lips press together instead. Well… that is one way to enter a conversation.

He watches quietly as the man takes his seat. Hildebrand returns the nod with polite respect, though his eyes linger just a moment longer than courtesy strictly requires. Hm. There is something about him. The way he sits. The way he speaks. The way he does not quite relax. Tense as a drawn bowstring… Hildebrand blinks. Now where have I heard that before? His gaze narrows slightly, studying the Ranger with growing curiosity. And why does he feel… familiar?

Then, almost by accident, his gaze shifts past Gwinion—and lands on her. Ah. The realization settles in all at once, his expression softening. Well, that explains a great deal. He is just about to piece the rest together when Eryndis steps closer, her quiet voice drawing him fully back to the present. Hildebrand turns to her at once, and whatever wandering thoughts he had vanish behind that familiar, easy warmth. “Miss Eryndis.” he replies gently, inclining his head in return. “A very good morning to you.”

At her question, he allows himself a small, knowing smile. “Slept quite well, I’m pleased to report. Though I suspect the bed deserves more credit than I do.” His tone is light, but not flippant—careful, measured, inviting. When she tells him of Gwinion’s decision, he listens without interruption, his expression attentive rather than surprised. When she finishes, he lets a brief pause settle—not awkward, but thoughtful. Then: “North.” he echoes softly. He nods once, as if confirming something to himself. “Well then… it seems we are all developing a shared interest in that direction.”

A faint smile returns, gentler now. He lowers his voice just a touch—not secretive, but personal. “And I am glad to hear you will not be making the journey alone.” His eyes flick briefly toward Gwinion—not critically, but with quiet acknowledgment—before returning to her. “Though I imagine,” he adds, with the slightest hint of humor, “your Ranger friend may take some getting used to.”

A small pause. Then, more sincerely: “You handled yourself quite well last night, you know. Bree is not always the easiest place to find one’s footing… and yet you managed it with rather more composure than most.” He studies her just long enough to be reassuring—not intrusive. “If the road ahead grows uncertain—and it often does—you will find that a steady purpose counts for a great deal more than familiarity.” Another small smile. “And if nothing else… you now know at least one Hobbit who is entirely willing to share the burden of uncertainty.”

He straightens slightly then, letting the moment ease. “So—North it is.” A brief glance toward the others at the table, then back to her. “I daresay we may all learn something before this is through.”

Aethelbrim:

Nodding to each in turn, Aethelbrim commits their names to memory, "Gwinion, Eryndis, a pleasure to meet you."  She looks around cautiously and assesses those at the table.  If Orin is nearby she waves him over as well.  Then she takes a long look around the room to see if there is anyone eavesdropping on their conversation.

Perception:  23

Insight if warranted:  20

If she is uncomfortable sharing the generalities of her task given the audience, Aethelbrim remains circumspect and suggests they have a detailed discussion somewhere more private.

If she is comfortable with this location, she will begin to share the broad brush strokes of her purpose here, still planning to reserve any detailed planning for a truly private discussion with only those who have committed to the quest.

(Perception 22, Insight 5 rolled in game log).

With breakfast over the Common room is empty except for the party and staff cleaning up after breakfast and setting up for lunch.

Gwinion is quiet for a moment, his gaze moving briefly to Eryndis and Hildebrand, then around the empty room, before returning to Aethelbrim. Something settles in his expression, a decision made before the words arrive. "A debt to the dead is no small thing," he says quietly. "Nor does it forgive those who delay too long in the paying." There is no judgment in his tone, only recognition.

He leans forward slightly, hands folded before him on the table. "I know the North Downs. The tale told last night gave me reason enough to turn my road north again. Your errand gives me another." He pauses, eyes direct, not unkind, but measuring. "Tell me this: the cryptic description your mentor left you — is it of a place, or of something you must do when you reach it?" His gaze drops briefly to her sword, before returning to her. "A debt of honor does not choose its hour," he continues, "and the North Downs do not welcome the unprepared. But you listened closely last night when others did not. That is not common for those with only a passing curiosity."

A faint pause.

"I will not make promises until I have heard enough to make them honestly. Speak plainly, we are alone enough here. But I will hear you."

Eryndis watches the man — small in body, but large in presence — mostly from the corner of her eye. She enjoys his voice and his way of speaking. If all hobbits are like him, she thinks she will like the little folk well enough. Her gaze drifts, unbidden, to his feet, and a small grin touches her mouth.

“North,” he says, drawing her eyes back up. “Well then ... it seems we are all developing a shared interest in that direction.”

Her joined brow lifts in surprise, then softens into quiet delight.

“Though I imagine your Ranger friend may take some getting used to,” he adds.

She turns to him fully now, smiling wide. “He is already like brother,” she admits. Though she has no brother — or sister — she can imagine a similar attraction.

As Hildebrand continues, she studies the Ranger’s face, listening. Her ears record Hildebrand's very kind words, yet she does not respond until he becomes silent once again.

When he finishes, she turns back to the hobbit and flicks her braid over her shoulder so it falls down her back.

“Thu-Gun says, the day we stop learning is the day we sleep forever.” She lets out a soft breath, her face bright. “Mr. Hildebrand ... I would share my burden of uncertainty with you.”

She hesitates, then reaches out and gently takes his wrist, her fingers resting there for a brief moment before letting go.

“Strong,” she says softly. “Good for road.”

Aethelbrim:

Satisfied the room is empty enough, Aethelbrim starts her tale in earnest.  "Fair enough, Gwinion, I suppose I can risk speaking plainly and in detail.  Then each of you can make his or her own decision based on the information I provide."

Taking a deep breath, she starts relating her story, her eyes getting a faraway look.  She starts absently rubbing an old broach between her forefinger and thumb as she speaks. "His name is...was Seedeene.  When I met him, he was already an old man missing his left hand," she says, rubbing her left wrist subconsciously.  "But we became unlikely friends, and he taught me the art of the blade, playing no small part in the skills I wield today," she adds wistfully.

Moving on, she says, "One day he told me the story of how he lost his hand.  On a quest with his sword brother, Tolger, in northern Eriador, Seedeene lost his hand during a deadly fight.  Gravely injured himself, Tolger got Seedeene back to a nearby village before expiring."  Sighing with a bit of exasperation, she adds, "Unfortunately, Seedeene's mind was no longer completely whole from his ordeal, so the details of who they were fighting or what village they retreated to--or even what happened to the other members of their fellowship--were beyond his memory.  All he could tell me is that they 'failed to put the lady to rest', thus leaving the quest incomplete."

"Sometimes the aged can sense the approach of death, I have found.  So it was with my mentor.  Before he became too ill to function, Seedeene gave me this map and begged me to finish the quest he could not," continues the young captain.  Pulling out a rolled-up parchment from hiding, she spreads it open and shows a hand-drawn map, saying, "This is the location of the Lady who needs to be put to rest, as far as I can tell," as she points to a prominent location illustrated to the north of Bree, ruins called Angrenost-en-Forod, "Orin has traveled with me for weeks to get this close, but now we need to depart the more-or-less civilized paths and roads and head into the north."

"I will go to this place and see what good I can do, alone if needs must, to honor the dying wish of my mentor.  Yet though I am young, I am no fool.  We stand a better chance together, and I am willing to aid you in your tasks in the area as long as they are a right and noble endeavor," she concludes quietly but resolutely, falling silent afterwards and looking to the companions for their reactions.

Orin furrowed his brow at the direction of things of the conversation and halfway wondered if he might've drunken too much and said something far different than his thoughts. Seeing as at least one concern had been answered though, the dwarf quietly chuckled to himself, then thanked Barnaby, before leaving the man to his business. In the meantime, he'd see about joining Aethelbrim once more. He pauses at one point; his brow almost knitting together with worry seeing the new faces at the table with Aethel. Yet after a spell or two, he finds his way to Aethel's side at a subdued space, as to give himself plenty of time of overhearing maybe some of the exchange without really drawing attention to himself.

Unfortunately, as a dwarf with a bit of awkward gait, red hair, and few other patrons to blend in with in passing, his efforts were likely for naught. Nonetheless, he finds his way at his charge's side, quietly taking up on almost a standing, bodyguard-like post instead of a seat;his 'official' arrival coinciding with Aethel bringing up his name around the second time. The moment it looks as if she might pause in her telling or might otherwise be distracted by his presence, the dwarf is quick to shaking his head dismissively while motioning for her to carry on. By stories end, the dwarf too is looking at the rest, gauging the others' reactions while keeping his own expression as unreadable as possible. 

Gwinion listens without interruption, his eyes on Aethelbrim throughout. Only once does his gaze drop, to the map, and it lingers there a moment longer than on anything else. When she finishes, the silence holds for a breath or two. He does not fill it hastily. At last he leans forward and studies the map more closely, one finger tracing the area north of Bree without quite touching the parchment.

"Angrenost-en-Forod." He says the name quietly, as if weighing it. Then, almost to himself: "I wonder." His eyes lift to Aethelbrim. "Rupert's tale last night , the ring of ancient stones, the dell on the northern edge of the hills, a day's walk from Crann. It may be that your Lady and his lurking shadow are one and the same place. Or close enough that the road to one is the road to the other." He sits back, folding his hands before him. "I had already purposed to go north before you spoke a word of this. The tale last night was reason enough, it is part of my charge to watch these lands and heed such things when they stir." A brief pause. "Your errand gives the road a sharper point."

"I will go with you." His tone carries no flourish, only the quiet certainty of a man who means what he says. "And I will tell you plainly why I do not hesitate. Before we came to this table, I was counseled, by a voice I do not disregard, to seek companions for what lies ahead. I had not expected to find them over a morning's breakfast." The faintest trace of dry humor crosses his face before settling back into steadiness. "It seems the road has been arranging itself without asking our permission."

He looks around the table at Aethelbrim, Orin, Hildebrand, Eryndis and measuring each in turn before his gaze returns to the map. "May I study this more closely?" he asks, seeking to study the map further to see if he knows of the place.

Aethelbrim:

“Of course, though I would prefer to keep my eyes on it …This is the only copy of which I am aware,” Aethelbrim starts reluctantly, then finishes with more certainty as if having made a decision to trust.  She slides the map over to Gwinion and adds, “You remind me of him—Seedeene, that is.  Perhaps you are from the same extended family.  Have you ever heard of him?”

Hildebrand watches the change come over Eryndis—the tension easing, the guarded look softening into something open, even bright—and he cannot quite hide the quiet satisfaction that follows. He dips his head slightly, acknowledging it without making a show of it, his expression warm.

At her words, he listens closely, the mention of Thu-Gun drawing a thoughtful flicker across his face. When she calls him "Mr. Hildebrand", he lifts a hand gently, smiling. “Ah—if you please… just 'Hill' will do.” he says lightly. “That is what my closer acquaintances call me… and I would be honored if you counted yourself among them.” A small pause, then more sincerely: “And I would be glad to travel with you.”

When she reaches for his wrist, the gesture catches him just slightly off guard. For the briefest moment, instinct stirs—old Hobbit courtesy, something far more formal—but he stops himself just short of it. No… perhaps not that. Instead, he steps forward a half pace and, a touch awkwardly but with genuine care, offers his hand in return. The handshake is light, respectful—brief. Then he steps back again, giving her space. Her words linger with him. “Strong… good for road.” he repeats with a soft chuckle. “Well, I shall endeavor not to disappoint.”

He glances toward the table, where Aethelbrim sits in composed readiness, and gestures gently. “Come—there is someone you should properly meet.” Leading her a step closer, he turns slightly, addressing the tall captain with an easy smile. “Lady Aethelbrim—may I present Eryndis. It would seem she, too, has business in the North… and a mind to see it through.” His tone carries a note of quiet confidence now. “And if I may say so, I feel rather more assured in that direction knowing I shall not be the only one with a stake in the journey.”

Just then, he notices movement—Orin returning, taking his place beside the captain. Hildebrand inclines his head in greeting. “Ah—and Master Orin joins us as well. Excellent timing.” He looks between them all—Aethelbrim, Orin, Eryndis, and the Ranger Gwinion—and for a moment, something more certain settles into place. “It occurs to me,” he adds, lightly but with intent, “that the road north may prove considerably less… 'uncertain'… if we walk it together.” A faint smile. “At the very least, I should feel much safer in such company.”

"Seedeene." Gwinion turns the name over quietly, then shakes his head. "I do not know it." He returns his gaze to the map, studying it in silence for a long moment and then looks up at Aethelbrim.  "I cannot place Angrenost-en-Forod with certainty, nor match it to what Rupert described last night. But I can tell you this much." He leans forward slightly. "The North Downs lie in the northern part of Eriador, east of the Hills of Evendim. What your map shows falls further west, perhaps two hundred miles or more. That puts it somewhere in the Evendim Hills themselves, not the Downs." A pause. "I know those lands, but not well."  

He straightens again. "I suggest we meet with the Lady Gilraen.  She may help with this riddle.  Something stirs in the north and it must be looked into."

Eryndis’ smile turns a touch mischievous when the hobbit invites her to call him Hill. At once, she imagines a soft rise of earth — green with moss, dotted with swamp-flowers, and crowned by a young willow. Even his name brings her quiet delight. She inclines her head in silent acceptance.

Though she is not fully engaged in the exchange between Gwinion and Aethelbrim, the marsh woman has been catching bits of what they say. When the Lady spoke of joining with others, Eryndis felt almost certain the fair human and the red-haired dwarf will soon be counted among them. And now, knowing that Hill too looks northward, the company feels whole.

Yet the two before them still seem to be measuring one another.

In the Swanfleet, such things are done more plainly. Strangers speak their meaning without circling it. Gentle words are kept for kin and those already trusted. She takes note. It would not serve her to drive away those from whom she hopes to learn.

Hill’s introduction to Lady Aethelbrim pleases her. She offers the Lady a small, careful nod. “My lady,” she says, her voice a little steadier here. There are many ladies in this place.

Her hands rest clasped at her waist, framed by the many pouches and herb bundles hanging from her belt. She looks as though she might vanish among reeds and weeds — her rough dress standing in quiet contrast to Aethelbrim’s finer garments. With their differing hair, features, and height — the Lady a full head taller — the two could never be taken for kin.

Sensing Gwinion will not remain silent long, Eryndis does not press the Lady further, but steps back to give them space to finish their exchange.

Aethelbrim:

Smiling at Hildebrand, Aethelbrim, says, “You honor me too much good sir; Aethelbrim will do just fine.”

Turning to Eryndis, she nods respectfully and says, “Well met, Eryndis.  I am glad of your company as well.”

Listening to Gwinion’s suggestion, she nods once more, saying, “I am relieved at your decision to join us, especially given your familiarity with these lands, Gwinion.  And yes, let us meet Lady Gilraen as you suggest.  Wise counsel before embarking on a quest has proven invaluable in many of the stories I have read, and I see no reason it should not hold true in ours as well.”

At the mention of the Lady, Aethelbrim unconsciously straightens her garments and arranges her braids, at once a sign of respect and perhaps even some nerves at the prospect.

Gwinion slid the map back to Aethelbrim and rose from his seat, casting a quiet look around the table. "If you are ready, follow me."

He will lead them through the inn without haste and bring them to Lady Gilraen's door. When entry was given, he stepped inside and brought his hands together, bowing his head.  "Mae govannen, hîril vuin." He straightened and gestured to those who had followed him in. "It seems the threads of fate are less tangled than they first appeared. My task proved easier than I had dared hope." A faint pause, and something close to dry satisfaction crossed his face. "I did not have to look far."

He introduced each of them in turn — Aethelbrim, Orin, Eryndis, Hildebrand.

"Aethelbrim seeks to honor a debt to her dead mentor, a quest that leads her north to ruins she knows by name but not by road. The land she makes for is not the same ground that Rupert's tale touched upon, yet the roads run close enough." He glanced briefly at Aethelbrim before returning his gaze to Gilraen. "Our purposes have drawn together of their own accord. We will travel north as one company and aid each other as the road demands."

He left it there, quiet and unhurried, and waits for the Lady to speak.

Aethelbrim:

Following Gwinion into the audience with Lady Gilraen, Aethelbrim makes the appropriate révérence when she is introduced, but remains respectfully silent until she is asked to speak.