Resettling the Lost Kingdom

[Bêthberry]

The swim and bath in the cold lake had eased Calumdril's overstrained muscles as the boyancy of the water lifted him up and held him. He had relaxed and allowed his body to be buffeted by the waves. For a brief time he let go of his self-control and just wafted on the water, the sounds of the settlement registering but distantly on his mind and the lapping of water making a rhythm over his face, eyes closed. Yet after a time the cold had also quickened his mind and thoughts. His resolve returned and stiffened and he was once more ready to act the disciplined ranger from Ithilien.

So it was that Calumdril had watched Borgand's conversation with Tane and noted the frown. He had cheered loudly the announcement of the winners of the challenge and called out enthusiastically, "Cuilad, Cuilad" to the cheers of the settlers. He had even reflected upon the strange fact of the boy's muteness and wondered briefly if the chance to prove himself and accomplish something substantial in his own eyes would help mediate the atrophied power of speech. Yet when he caught Borgand's the social veneer was gone. He shook his head, as if to acknowledge wordlessly his readiness.

Then, he slipped out of the hall to survey the perimeter of the settlement, the lay of the tents and wagons. He had been away for what amounted to much time and much had been accomplished in his absence. He needed to be familiar with the settlement, particularly in the dark of a half moon and a night sky overcast with clouds.

[alaklondewen]

Cuilad sat silently amidst the hunters from the settlement who patted him gingerly on the back and chanted his name after Borgand announced their prize. First, the boy worked to keep his face chiseled, but their rising excitement counteracted his resolve and soon his face melted into a broad grin. If only his father would have been there to witness the enthusiasm Cuilad received from the other men, then the night would have been perfect. The boy had pleaded with his father to come, but Collothion answered only that he needed to finish archiving one of his discoveries and then he might be along. In the meantime, Cuilad celebrated merrily keeping his mind from wishing and knowing his father would be very proud of him when he returned with his prize.

One of the men next to Cuilad plopped a second serving of venison on the boy’s plate, laughing heartily and saying that the lad needed more meat on his bones if he was to be a real hunter. Cuilad laughed and took a mouthful of the steak, which brought a roar from the man.

Cuilad leaned forward to see Calumdril’s reaction, but he saw the ranger rising from his seat a slipping outside. The lad was slightly disappointed the Ithilien was not giving his attention to Cuilad, but as the inquisitive young man began to observe those around him, he noticed that the rangers were sober and their leader was leaving also. Borgand was suddenly less than enthusiastic compared to his state moments before.

Cuilad quickly tuned his senses into those activities set with these men hoping to catch some word of whether something was happening or he was reading too much into it.

~*~*~*~

Collothion set his pen down and vigorously rubbed his eyes. He’d worked many hours, and it was time for a break. Staying this long away from the celebration had not been his plan, but his services were needed by two of the rangers who had some nasty scuffs from the hunt. The older man leaned back in his chair and stretched his long arms out yawning. He was exhausted. A short rest would not hurt before joining the festivities, he thought. The healer rose and lay down on his small cot in the corner. Moments later he was breathing softly sound asleep.

[Meneltarmacil]

Althoughhe was still recovering from his injuries, Thoronmir managed to keep up a conversation with some of the settlers. The talk was getting all too familiar. News about the hillmen had filtered in and rumors were going around about an attack coming soon. Thoronmir filled the settlers in on what had happened during his patrol with Awyrgan, and it only made everyone more worried.

"I've noticed it's always been you rangers who have been getting into trouble with them," said an older man with grayish-black hair. "I think you're the ones who should be blamed for what's been happening here lately."

"Now wait a minute," Thoronmir replied, "We're only trying to protect this settlement from harm, not cause it. We don't just ride about seeking trouble with the hillmen."

"That's what you all say," the man retorted. "If you hadn't been going on all those little 'patrols' and stirring up trouble with them, we'd probably still have game aplenty and there'd be no need for this hunting contest."

"Now look here, good sir, I do not want to start any trouble--"

"I'm not finished yet," he went on. "This isn't the end of it, Ranger. Those men are going to do far worse things because of you. You just watch."

Thoronmir did not want to start an incident in the middle of a feast, so he got up and left the table.

"That's right. If you really want to help, you can just get out of here and never come back."

[Himaran]

Olin wandered through the ancient buildings of the crumbling, stone city. No one seemed to notice him, and he avoided the taskmasters descreetly. The dwarf was tired of collecting fresh blocks; he had gathered more than most, aye, and been nearly injured more than most, too. And so he spent his time surveying the broken walls, although vines had grown up around them and choking much of the beautiful scenery. Then, he tripped.

Olin landed facedown in a dark pile of thick mud, which enveloped him into its waiting and uncomfortable embrace. The dwarf struggled for a moment, finally standing and seeing the small stone block that had caused his "accident." Grabbing it, he made as if to hurl it angrily but stopped. Olin suddenly realized tha the stone was covered with odd drawings. Stepping out of the mud, he sat down on a large rock and wiped dust off of the tablet. Sure enough, he could make out intricate symbols scratched into its surface. Strangely, they resembled many that he had seen on pillars and the like throughout the city. Tucking it under his arm, the filthy dwarf returned to his wheelbarrow, promising to ask someone more knowledgeable than he about the odd artifact.

[VanimaEdhel]

As soon as one thing was fixed, it felt as though another thing broke. Barzûn was in a fatal mood. He marched among the Dwarves, barking at those that seemed to feel as helpless as he was beginning to feel.

"Curse the Fates," he grumbled, "It is almost as though we are not supposed to return to the camp before tomorrow arrives."

Barzûn kicked a pebble in frustration. He gave a hoarse bark of frustration, then surveyed the Dwarves around him. Some still appeared determined, but most appeared sullen and a very few even appeared indignant at Barzûn's persistence. There were one or two Dwarves missing from the work, it seemed, but Barzûn gave up trying to find and reprimand the deserters. They were, no doubt, observing the architecture of the city. The area was, in fact, magnificent. Barzûn wished he could have had more time to explore.

"Oy! Did I call for a break?" Barzûn barked at an unhappy Dwarf, who looked longingly at the water that sat within five feet from where he toiled. "Oh," Barzûn said reluctantly, "Fine. Get some water. Then back to work. All of you."

Barzûn grumbled as he took some water himself. He looked up at the sky and sighed.

"We should be getting back soon," he said out loud, more to himself than to the Dwarves around him. He directed his next comment to the Dwarves. "I am going to search for the others. I will let them know that we are going to prepare to leave soon. In the meantime, you all should ready for the departure. Take what stone you can. I doubt we can get everything, but we will come back tomorrow if necessary."

The Dwarves nodded, looking relieved that the tedious work was almost finished for the day. Barzûn wound his way through the streets of the city, looking for the other Dwarves. When all of the men were accounted for, Barzûn allowed one more rest before they were to set out. He wanted to reach the camp without stopping. Barzûn sat on a boulder with his wheelbarrow, looking one last time over the city. The Dwarf Olin, looking a bit muddy, happened to sit next to Barzûn.

"What happened to you, boy?" Barzûn asked.

"I had an accident, sir," Olin replied, looking down at the dirty garb.

"Well, we shall be back at camp soon. Then you may change, I suppose," Barzûn growled.

Olin seemed to be trying to determine something. He finally came to an accord with himself and spoke up. "I found something, sir. I was wondering if you would like to take a look at it."

Barzûn looked at the Dwarves resting around him. "I suppose I have time. What is it, then?"

Olin took something out from under his arm. The Dwarves bulky clothes had concealed it slightly. Barzûn took the object and looked at it. It was a stone that bore scratches and patterns. He recognized the markings immediately.

"This was done recently," he rumbled to himself. He looked back at the city, "But few people have been here lately. Why would anyone...?"

"What do you make of it, if I may ask, sir?" Olin asked Barzûn.

"I do not know. It appears as though someone has been making carvings recently." It also appeared as though the artist was not immensely skilled or used to the medium, as the lines were rougher than those in the city. The line quality improved as the work seemed to progress. "It is getting late," Barzûn finally barked, "We should get back to camp. We can look at this more there. Dwarves! We're going back!"

The Dwarves stood by their wheelbarrows. Barzûn gave Olin the stone block back, telling him to keep it safe. Then, Barzûn gave the order and the Dwarves began the slow trek back to camp.

[Kryssal]

Tane rode in and walked into the cabin to find Hothem gathering up some parchments. At Tane's entrance Hothem held up the papers and proclaimed, "I finally finished the Ranger rotations for the next two weeks."

Tane couldn't help but laugh at the irony. "My friend," he said as he went to one wall and grabbed a chair, carrying it over to the one already at the desk. "We're going to have to revise those. I need a group of fresh Rangers at the settlement and a couple to go out and watch for an incoming wagon train."

Hothem dropped the papers back on the table and sighed. "This is going to take awhile."

Many hours and several drafts went by before they were finished. Three relays had to be emptied, but since they were on the opposite side of the settlement and normally barren, it would be alright for the time being.

Hothem left the cabin and Tane started writing out the orders.

~

Alearindu and Ethiner,

You two are immediately reassigned. There is a small wagon train coming in on the same road that the settlement entered on. You are to watch for it, meet it, and lead it safely in. The local trader expects it within a week. For more information, contact him. Leave the settlement before noon tomorrow.

Tane

~

Awyrgan and Thoronmir,

Awyrgan is going to be lead Ranger at the settlement and Thoronmir his second. I'm sending in a new batch of six Rangers that you need to divide into groups of two. Set up a rotation and keep tabs on activities - Always have a patrol on the border between the settlement and the hillmen's camp. Speak with Borgand about crossing patrols to cover more ground. I will be coming in two days for reports.

Tane

~

The other orders were easier to write. Tane simply told all the Ranger currently in the settlement to come back to the camp and check in with Hothem or Tane for their new assignments. As for the Rangers in the camp, Hothem was already in the process of sending them out.

After stretching, Tane closed all the letters and went out to find a Ranger inbound for the settlement. That Ranger wasn't hard to find since one was riding past the cabin enroute. Tane hailed him, gave instructions, and watched as the Ranger rode off toward the nearest hill.

[Himaran]

Olin was relieved when the order to pack up and leave was finally given. He had been at the sight far too long for his personal comfort, and had suffered his share of injuries. The settlement was like a shining beacon of hope, and at last he was returning to it. But his trials were not yet over.

As the many wheelbarrows filled with stone were slowly pushed down the winding path, the dwarf was ready to collapse with exhaustion. And there were miles yet to go. Occasionally a cart would tip, and loud curses would echo throughout the valley. Finally, it became too dark to travel, and the dwarves stopped and built a small camp. Olin collapsed on the ground minutes later, knowing that the journey would end the next day. Finally, his work was over!

Or so he thought.

[Tinuviel of Denton]

Kestrel hated waiting. She hated the uncertainty that came with waiting, and the knowledge that no matter what she did, nothing would or could change the outcome that the spirits had decided upon. She hated the wondering, whether all of her men would come home, or whether she would have to light the funeral candles for one or all of them. Oh, yes, Kestrel hated waiting.

It didn't help that, in addition to her worries about her husband and brothers-in-law, she was afraid for her children. Despite all of Cleft's herbs and chanting, the cut on Flint's leg was red and inflamed, and the tiny brow was fevered. Though already Flint was determined to 'be a man' and not show how much it hurt, he could not hide his wince whenever Kestrel tried to have a look at the cut. Rain's cough was worse too, and she slept fitfully in the corner of the hut.

A heavy sigh escaped Kestrel's twisted lips as she watched her children sleep and repaired the inexpert work on the basket that Rain had begun. Her fingers were quick and deft with years of practice, and it was not long before the basket actually began to resemble a basket, and not a bird's nest...

"Kestrel?"

"Oh. Be welcome, Kite. What is it?" This happened occasionally; women would come to Kestrel with their questions, as if by sharing the leader's hut she somehow automatically knew things that they didn't. Sometimes, this was true, but not this time.

"We're going to win... right? The spirits are on our side, aren't they?" Kite was some years younger than Kestrel, a difference in age that was never felt more than now. The priest's niece still had a stubborn belief that somehow, everything would be well, a belief that had died in Kestrel with her firstborn.

"Maybe they were. Once. But I don't think they are anymore. Do you think they'd have let Bear be wounded if they were? Or Calem die?"

The younger woman was silent, digesting this. "I suppose not," she finally answered in a small voice. "Maybe I will fight after all."

"What?"

"Wolf said if we were all going to die, then he would need my spear. But I can't fight unless it comes to that."

That was very bad news. Wolf was not one to say such a thing, unless he believed that it would be necessary. Which meant that he was not optimistic about the warriors' chances of victory, or even survival. Kestrel looked back at her children.

"Kestrel?" Kite asked, when there was no answer.

"Return home, Kite. I need to think."

"Have I offended you?"

"No. Please go."

Kite nodded, and ducked out into the gloom.

Kestrel watched her go, and stared into the flickering light of the dying fire. If the warriors lost, which they probably would, those who were left would have to flee to the nearest village. Rook's, probably. She and her children would have to live on whatever the people of Rook's village didn't want, if none of the brothers survived. That meant that her children would get the worst of everything, if they got anything at all, which in turn meant that Rain would grow sicker, and Flint's injury would grow worse. They could die, even.

Cursed trespassers the Dunedain might be, but no tale she had ever heard of them told that they gave aught but mercy to women and children. It was considered an indication by some that they were weak. Whether or not that part was true, it meant that if she had to, Kestrel could count on finding aid from the Dunedain for her children, as much as it would stick in her craw to ask them for help. If she stayed here, either or both of her children could die. If she left, the cursed Dunedain might be able to help.

Rain coughed in her sleep and Flint moaned. Kestrel hunched her shoulders, wishing that she could see another way for the conflict to end. The warriors would lose, and the villagers would be forced to flee. If she fled now, she would have her choice of road, with none the wiser for where she had gone. The fire did not offer an answer, but the Hillwoman came to a conclusion all the same. She would go to the Dunedain, and cast herself and her children on their mercy. She only hoped that they would not turn her away.