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Old 04-15-2007, 05:24 AM   #127
Anguirel
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Location: The 1590s
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Lachrandir had been finding the meal among the Borrim a surprisingly convivial affair after the initial frostiness of the tribesmen's welcome. Used to revelling in a hard and ascetic existence, where the saddle was more familiar to him than the pillow, he ate and drank the Atani fare with a certain enjoyment that seemed almost unElven, lightly discussing the excellence of the cheese with his host sitting opposite.

When Khandr turned to the worries of local politics, then, Lachrandir applied himself with a little regret and impatience visible in his face. He did not answer himself, letting the Man's speech run on, taking in the sense accurately, but not all of the particulars. When it seemed that words were expected of him, he acted instead, with a pronounced shrug more vocal than many speeches.

"You must understand, Khandr my dear fellow, that any friction between your clans is not our concern, nor can it be by right. You have been granted lands by Maedhros, the Ulfings by Caranthir, and something more than lands too - the power and the duty to observe your own customs and sort out your own problems. We will not and cannot interfere unless - Illuvatar forbid it! - you actually come to blows. But you ask for news, for yourself and your followers. That, friend, I can provide..."

Lachrandir paused, looking thoughful, and took a slug of the Borrim mead. There was little of the famous Elven elegance about his movements, but a wealth of barely-suppressed strength. Only his beardlessness and his unfathomable gaze separated him from a burly, brusque and intractable Man.

"I said before I would talk to you alone, Khandr, and many of your people are now looking on. But they will hear the news soon enough anyway. It is not surprising for any who have had ears to listen. Maedhros has decided to fight Morgoth, and he is forming the greatest league of Elves and Men known. I have come to summon the Ulfing levies. As for you..."

Lachrandir looked hard at Khandr with pity, mixed with the patronage and pride the Elf found himself unable to drop among Men.

"Forget about arranging marriages, my friend. You should all be girding on your weapons; your families in the North will already be called out, I expect. It is hardly worth rushing ahead to join them, for the time is short; you can leave this settlement with the Ulfing detachment."

In the midst of his words, the Elf caught the anxious eyes of Briga, moving about refilling jugs behind her husband.

"Hard news, lady, I am afraid. I assure you that the women of our folk, those many who are not fighting themselves, share your grief."
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