Here There Be Dragons - RPG

[piosenniel]

Rôg

‘A wife . . . and children . . .’

Rôg’s features softened; he had not thought along these lines in a number of years. And now the young man’s questions reminded him that his parents would be prompting him in a similar manner, and soon after he arrived back for his visit, he thought. Rôg chuckled as he began to answer the question.

‘What you've asked caught me by surprise,’ he said to Airefalas, ' . . . pleasant surprise.' ‘I’ve no wife, or children yet, either. But, I’m leaving soon to visit my family. My mother and father will be reminding me it is time to lay aside my wandering life and fulfill my obligations to the family.

‘Your roving days are done now,’ he said in a higher pitch, mimicking his mother’s sweet, insistent voice. ‘It’s time that I had grandchildren. Your father and I have consulted the Elders about our choice for you. We’ve only to speak with her parents to make it official.’ Rôg shook his head, saying he could see his father standing at his wife’s side, nodding his head at her words.

‘I have an older sister – but she has left me in the lurch,’ Rôg continued. ‘She won’t rescue her baby brother this time.’ She had declared several years ago, he told Airefalas, that she would not be marrying. Nieces and nephews would be enough for her she had written to him; she intended to study herbal lore and follow in one of their father’s older sister’s footsteps as a healer. The duty of carrying on the family line would fall to him.

‘And to be honest, I don’t begrudge my sister her choice. My parents will choose someone well suited to me. I’ll be a good husband, I think . . . I have my father to model after in that role.’ He smiled at his bemused listener. ‘Love will come, if that is what you are thinking of; it follows a learned respect for your companion I’ve always thought – rounds it out with an abiding easiness in the other’s company, and an assurance of mutual support.’ He grinned as he finished this pronouncement. ‘Of course, as in all things, the theory is much neater than the actual sequence of events.’

Miri’s bright little face intruded suddenly upon this chain of thought. Rôg’s own face brightened at its appearance, and at the remembered enjoyment he had felt teaching her that simple change. He leaned forward, touching Airefalas lightly on the arm. ‘And of course, there will be the children. The Winged One willing! Many of them, I hope . . . wife willing, too, that is . . .’

Aiwendil’s attention had turned to Rôg. It was nice to see his young companion relaxed in someone else’s company. And speaking of personal matters at that!

Rôg nodded at Mithadan, who was also looking his way. ‘I must say you have a very enjoyable trio of children. I met them only briefly, but they speak well for you as a father. And your wife, she seems a very good mother.’ He paused, looking at Mithadan, to gauge whether he had offended. It was hard to tell sometimes around Men what was acceptable and what stepped too close to their sense of privacy. Rôg sat back for a moment, a sudden thought come to him. This was an area he had not thought previously to discuss with Aiwendil. But now curiosity got the better of him, and he asked without thinking . . .

‘And what of you, Aiwendil? You are of an age . . . are there sons and daughters you have kept to yourself . . . and fat little babies who call you grandfather?’ Rôg frowned, trying to recall without success any mention of family by the old fellow. ‘Where are your children scattered?

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Halfr had to step briskly to keep up with Wyrma’s energetic stride. He managed to do so with the slightly stiff bearing that showed his military training. He did not have to look at Wyrma to know that the muscles of her jaw were tightened; he knew well enough how angry she was after seeing the destruction of the building stones with her own eyes, though she had said very little. He did not venture to speak until she turned to him.

“You have heard nothing from Korpulfr.” It was a statement, not a question. She was certain that he would have informed her immediately had he gotten news from his son.

“No,” he said, shaking his slightly greying head, “but it is said that the absence of news bodes well.”

“Not all that is said is true,” she answered, with a curt laugh, “though I too think that one of us would have heard if something had happened to him or Tinar. Hasrim at least has a level head on his shoulders and enough experience to keep himself out of trouble.”

Halfr refrained from commenting, merely enquiring, “Do you want to send a messenger out to search for them?”

“Not yet,” she replied, somewhat absentmindedly, and he did not press her further.

They reached the imposing building which housed both the official rooms and her living quarters. Though neither of them said so, they both thought how good it was that it had been completed before the hoarded building stones were destroyed. They walked up the few steps that were more decorative than necessary at its front entrance and turned down the hallway to her office room. When Halfr closed the door behind them, she spoke again. “I have an idea where we can get stones to continue building.”

He looked at her expectantly.

“The fire in the haven of Umbar destroyed the buildings there, but the stones of the larger warehouses will have survived,” she said. “I will send word to our people in the city that they should take advantage of the confusion there and gather what they can. Prepare several of your men with wagons to transport the stones here. They should meet the others under cover of night just outside the city walls, far enough from the gate that they will not be observed by the guards.”

Halfr bowed and left the room to give orders to his men. Wyrma sat down at her desk, shuffling the papers on it with unseeing eyes. Before ringing the bell that sat on the corner of the table, she breathed deeply, wishing that she could go herself, could stretch her wings in flight, feeling the wind in her feathers.

But why can’t I? she thought suddenly. I could take a look at Galandor’s ships and then see if I can locate Tinar and the others. The thought was so tempting that she had to push it to the back of her mind forcibly. There it stayed, beckoning to her imagination. Perhaps one day soon…

[Child of the 7th Age]

Children and a wife? Aiwendil shook his head, making an effort to conceal an impish smile, “No, such fine things are not my portion. Yet I am not without family. In the land I call my home, I am a humble member of a very large household, which is shaped by bonds of affection and the common purpose we share. I am nothing more than a gardener and keeper of beasts, one of the lesser servants but with much good work to do. It has always kept me quite occupied.” His voice was clear and without regret.

The istar halted for a moment, wiped his bushy brow with the back of his hand, and then noted, “In fact, I do miss home, and the kind heart of my good Lady. But it is her kind heart that saw a need for me to leave those shores to attend to other duties.” Although sadly, Aiwendil reflected, I still have not figured out what that task might be, since my own path has run so differently than all my brothers. He wondered if the rest of the guests would be surprised if he told them that Curuno had come from the very same household. Because of the Ring War, Saruman's name was known even in Umbar.

“Where is home then?” Rôg prodded, interrupting Aiwendil's thoughts.

“West, far west from here, on the other side of the furthest Sea. It would do no good to try and explain. And I think I can safely say that none of you or your kin, however far you may have traveled, have visited my home.”

Until this point, Mithadan had been sitting silently near the back of the gathering, listening intently but saying little. Seeing the wry look that now passed over his guest's face, Aiwendil cleared his throat and mumbled, “Or perhaps it might be more true to say that no one in this tent has actually visited my home.”

“But come. That is enough of me. Are we not here to discuss the plight of the Eagles and what we might do to help them?” Aiwendil stared pointedly at Rôg, but then raised his eyes, sweeping them across to his other dinner guests who had settled down to eat.

[piosenniel]

Rôg

As Aiwendil spoke, Rôg filed away the explanation given by him. A servant?! He didn’t seem to fit the type of servant that Rôg had seen in some of the houses he had visited on his journeys. A gardener and a tender of beasts . . . well, yes, that could account for his intimate knowledge of plants he’d shown in little dribbles and drabbles since they’d been traveling together. And his affinity for various sorts of animals . . . that would explain it also.

The mention of the kind Lady from the far, far West set his thoughts rambling down other paths. The old man had once implied he’d been to the Star Isle. But this “far, far West” was beyond that, Rôg thought. A hasty memory of something heard long ago resurfaced . . . the story of the Star Isle had started with a mention of something farther west, a place on the rim of the world. An unnamed place where The Lords of the West lived . . . and their eagles . . . they had sent eagles in that old story . . . Rôg’s woolgathering was brought to a halt by the change in tone of the old man’s voice.

‘But come. That is enough of me,’ he heard Aiwendil say in a firm way. ‘Are we not here to discuss the plight of the Eagles and what we might do to help them?’ Aiwendil stared pointedly at him, then swept his gaze about to include the men from Gondor. Neither of them spoke up as the old fellow’s voice trailed off. Rôg, following his previous line of thought mumbled the re-found name of the old story, turning the words about in his mouth, tasting them with his tongue as they tumbled out.

‘Narîka 'nBâri 'nAdûn . . . The Eagles of the Lords of the West . . . that was it!’ he muttered.

‘Speak up, Rôg!’ said the old man, his words crisp with a feeling of command rather than request. ‘These old ears didn’t hear you clearly.’

‘Eagles, Old One,’ he said, the respectful title slipping easily into the response. He scrambled hurriedly to round out a sensible answer. ‘There are old tales of great eagles who were sent in dire times, are there not? To offer their assistance as they may . . . you don’t suppose that if we dug a little deeper we might find such help for the clan that holds their name? They can’t all have disappeared . . .’

[Mithadan]

Mithadan glanced back at Aiwendil with a ghost of a grin on his face. But when no response was forthcoming and the silence grew heavy, he cleared his throat and spoke. "Eagles?" he said. "Indeed there are many tales in the north of the great eagles of the Misty Mountains and the even greater ones that dwelt in the peaks of Beleriand before them." Here Mithadan paused, for the tent flap was pulled aside and the little girl, Miri, entered followed by Rama. He nodded and smiled at Rama as she paused before stepping forward.

"Am I intruding?" Rama asked.

"Nay!" answered Airefalas as he rose to his feet and bowed slightly. "We were just enjoying some conversation over the remains of dinner." He spread a blanket upon the floor and motioned for the newcomers to sit.

"I was just speaking of eagles," continued Mithadan. "It is said that the Eagles of the north fought on the part of the Elves in Beleriand during the long war against Morgoth the Accursed. And when he was overthrown, it was the eagles, along with Earendil that slew or drove off the dragons that issued from Thangorodrim..."

"The eagles?" asked Miri eagerly. "The eagles defeated the wyrms?"

Mithadan nodded, wondering if more was being read into his words than he knew. "And even more recently, during the War of the Ring, eagles came to the aid of the West several times. Gwaihir the Windlord twice rescued Gandalf the wizard and he and his peole flew against the armies of Mordor during the battle before the Black Gates. And after the fall of Sauron, after the Dark Lord fell, the eagles carried the Ringbearers from the burning feet of Mount Doom."

"There are many such tales in the north," he concluded. "But it seems that in each case that the eagles were summoned by one of power, Gandalf or another. I do not know if any could be summoned here to aid this clan. What do you think Aiwendil?" He looked back to the wizard with a hint of a grin...

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Surinen

The mention of the old storytellers visiting the camp sparkled Surinen’s interest. Dinsûl had mentioned many times to his son, the long celebrations of the past that had marked such occasions. Sometimes the stories went on for days, the old ones who visited picking up where they left off the evening before, continuing for several nights until at last the end of the tale was reached. Dinsûl always had reminisced fondly of how this was a time of community, all drawing together closely to listen and enjoy the stories of their shared past, hearing the feats of their ancestors who traveled this ground before them, and the advice offered them couched in those chosen tales.

“So you were here when the epics were still told?” Surinen asked the eagle, wiping his hands on his pants. “They have not been recited in their ancient form here since before I was alive.”

“Then they no longer visit, for that what they live for. This is sad news to me. But why is it that they have stopped walking here among you?” Sorona asked.

Latah looked to her cousin to see what he would answer, but he looked puzzled, as if searching for an answer. “We don’t really know,” she explained to Sorona with a shrug. “There have been many rifts as well as hardships among the maenwaith clans, some more painful than others, and there are people among us who would blame this. But others say that the old tellers have gone to the high mountains to watch as a new story unfolds, and that they will return when this epic draws to a close to tell us its meaning.”

“And in the meantime Narika has taken their place by the campfire,” Surinen explained. “She is young, but knows much of our people, though I do not think she has herself heard her lore from the mouths of those tellers of tales.” Sorona nodded her understanding.

“But tell us, why did you leave the eagle clan?” Surinen prodded, curiosity getting the better of him. “You seem to have missed our ways, as well as our food.” He said gesturing to Latah, who heaped another ladleful of meat in front of the stately eagle. Sorona hesitated to answer the question.

“I am sorry, you need not speak of it,” Latah said glaring at Surinen. “Such matters are sometimes best left alone. A long time has passed since then.”

“No, no,” Sorona said. “I do not mind. It is just that it is almost as if I were a different person, so long ago it seems. I left the eagles marrying into another clan. In those days it was in the best interest of the eagles for me to do so, but I did for a time frequently return to visited my people.”

“Of which clan is your husband? If you don’t mind I inquire. For my own husband is also an outsider.” Latah asked interested, for her own marriage was also arranged for the good of the clan, and she sought to find some common ground to speak about.

“I joined a clan that at the time was closely allied with our own, my husband being from among the wolf maenwaith.

Surinen shot Latah a glance in time to see her smile fade as she lapsed into stoney silence. “We have heard of these wolves,” he said, marveling at the birds calm as she spoke of this clan. “But our people are no longer their allies. When was it last you were among them?”

[Child of the 7th Age]

Aiwendil stared off into the distance. By all the sands of Tol Eressea, was he to have no rest from all these questions?

Rôg and Mithadan meant no harm. They were merely trying to come up with a way to help the clan in their struggle against the evil Wyrma. But they had unwittingly stumbled onto the one piece of Aiwendil’s past that the istar had no desire to share.

He had so enjoyed his short stay here: to be living among free folk who took pleasure in the shifting of shapes. Yet he devoutly wished they had been Wolves or Leopards rather than Eagles. This subject would likely not have risen if he had been dwelling among shapeshifters who took on a different form.

A sharp voice cut through his reflections, “Speak up, old man. My mother has spoken well of you and says I am to consider your words. If you know anything of the Great Eagles, share it with us that we may all learn." Ráma stared across at Aiwendil, clearly sensing that the man knew more than he was willing to disclose.

“The stories are true," the istar mused. “In days past, the Eagles sometimes aided those in need. And once in Beleriand they helped to defeat the mighty wyrms whom Morgoth had summoned.”

He wiped his brow and continued. “The last time I came to them, they still dwelled in the northern reaches of the Misty Mountains. But where they are now, or who may summon them is another question.”

“But surely….” Mithadan interrupted.

“There is no ‘surely’ about it!” the old man retorted crossly. “These are no tame creatures. They answer only to the Lord of the Winds.”

“Stop a moment, both of you,” pleaded Ráma. “Aiwendil, you have actually visited these Eagles in the place where they live?”

“Yes, but that was years ago. The Misty Mountains are vast. I could not lead you to the Eagles even if they had stayed on the same mountain peak. And it is likely they moved on at the end of the Third Age.”

Ráma pressed again, “Still, you know these great birds. And perhaps you possess some strange power or means of command for them to have listened in the past. They would likely hear you out if you requested their aid.”

“I can not help you. Not now.” There was an edge of sadness in his voice. “Once perhaps, but that was long ago. These Eagles do not suffer fools. My last parting from them was far from amicable. When they hear my name, they are likely to fly off in the other direction.” More than that he was reluctant to say.

Ráma stared pointedly at Aiwendil. “Perhaps you are right, perhaps not. But you are still the best hope we have. And I will not be dissuaded. My mother has commanded me to undertake an errand that touches upon these Eagles. I am to travel south with the party that will go to rouse the other tribes to war. There is someone in the southern mountains who may be able to help us find these birds. Since you already know something of the Eagles and their ways, you will come with me.”

Remembering his promise to Ayar, Aiwendil inclined his head and responded somewhat stiffly, “As you wish, young lady. As long as it is a matter here in Harad, I will be guided by your wishes.”

Miri looked up to Ráma with excitement written on her face. “May I go too? Please. I wish to meet this person who can lead us to the Eagles.”

“I do not think so, Miri. You are brave but very young. We will speak more about it later.”

“I promise to do what you say. But I think I can help. For now I will serve the melons that my mother sent for our guest.”

“Yes, please do. I am sure we will enjoy them. But there is one final question I must raise as we eat.” Here Ráma turned towards Mithadan and Airefalas. “I am in your debt. That snake might have injured or even killed me. I wish to repay you by helping you find your friend. Yet I have little time to go off by myself. I have been thinking long on this and the answer seems quite simple. You must tell me what shapes your friend took on, especially the largest or most deadly one. This Bird of yours is likely to have searched out her clan. It would be an easy thing to send out a messenger to that clan and have her tracked down in that fashion.”

Ráma smiled gently at the Gondorians awaiting their response.