Treachery of Men RPG

[Folwren]

The afternoon fled from beneath Uldor’s feet and hands. He worked to prepare a proper banquet for the elves. It was not a job he enjoyed, but he believed in doing anything that he had to do well. Why make a shoddy job of it?

Servants were sent out every five minutes to run to the market and fetch something that Uldor had forgotten to tell the previous servant to get. He meant well, but he was no a housewife, and a list of what he needed never entered his mind.

He left strict orders with the cooks to make the best of their dishes and do their work as well as they possibly could. The great hall in which meals were taken was prepared, hung with greenery, great strips of bright colored cloth, and with many lights and lamps put up on the walls and ceiling and tables.

People to invite...He frowned at the thought as he himself hurried through a hall on his way to make sure that all went well in the kitchens. The nobles and lords that hung around the place all day, he guessed. Had better give them proper invitations. Not written.

He came out from the hot kitchen five minutes later, satisfied that the supper was well underway and would be as excellent as the men there knew how to prepare. It would not be long now. Two hours would be ample time, he thought.

Where were the elves? He had not seen them since he had left the room of meeting. He stopped a passing servant.

“Have you seen the elven ambassadors?”

“No, sir,” the man replied. “Not since they left the hall some while ago.”

Uldor nodded and passed on. He would need to have someone find them and bring them back. They could be anywhere! He scowled and mentally cursed his bad luck of having to prepare anything for such unwelcome guests. Guests that slipped away without notice.

Passing another servant, he stopped him as well. “Find Broda, and tell him that I want him. I will be in my private chambers.” He went there immediately and shutting the door behind him, went once more to the window.

The sun was sinking, sending a red light out over the Ulfing city. Uldor could nearly feel the darkness that would follow quickly upon the red light’s footsteps. The early evening of a young spring would quickly descend.

But for now, he could enjoy the light that mixed itself with the golden air. The beautiful effect of the sunset brought again to his mind the beautiful face of Jord. He had forgotten her in the business of the afternoon. He shouldn’t have forgotten. He would not let her know that he forgot. When Broda arrived, he decided, he would not only have him go find the elves, but he would also send him to ask Jord if she would come to the banquet.

Uldor turned away from the window and went to a table against the wall. He pulled forth paper and an inkwell with a quill pen and a blotting page. He needed to write a proper invitation to the elves.

For some reason, he truly wished she would come.

[CaptainofDespair]

Only a few minutes had passed since Brodda left the confines of Jord’s rather plain abode when he was accosted by a servant dispatched by Uldor. It had not allowed him much time to dwell on those few moments he had spent with that most mysterious woman.

“Lord Uldor demands your presence immediately, sir.”

Nodding to the lowly servant, he handed the man a few coins that were jingling loosely in one of his pockets. It was not that Brodda cared much for anyone else; rather it was just good policy to keep his master’s other servants from trying to knock him from the next-lowest step on the ladder. That sort of monetary exchange had become second nature for Uldor’s chief servant, and thoughts of what he was actually doing rarely crossed his mind.

This time was no exception, and he hurried off without a second thought to receive Uldor’s message. This, much like his use of coin, was not something new to him. His master usually demanded his presence for some reason or another, but it was always to handle the more delicate situations.

~*~

Arriving at the door of Uldor’s personal quarters, he knocked lightly and pushed his way in without waiting for a response. Brodda was not keen on announcing his presence when in the company of more “noble” men. Upon entering, Brodda found a visibly rattled Uldor waiting for him.

“You’re late,” his master spat. “I have important business to take care of, and you have been out of reach.”

Brodda bowed his head somewhat, acknowledging his failure in duty to Uldor. “I was gathering valuable informa…”

“I do not care what your reasoning is,” Uldor interjected angrily. “I have a task for you, and you will do it.” Brodda nodded in acceptance. “I want you to find the Elven envoy, quickly, and deliver this invitation to the feast I am hosting.” Uldor slipped the letter to the envoy to his servant.

Brodda turned on his heel, and made his way to the door. As he pushed open the door, Uldor interrupted the quick exit. “Oh, and I want you to personally invite the Lady Jord to the banquet. Make sure she comes.” His servant made no sound, and quietly slipped out into the Ulfing town.

[Anguirel]

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."

[Child of the 7th Age]

Until this point, Briga had paid little attention to the conversation at the table but had dutifully carried the flask of mead from one guest to the next. Now, upon hearing the ominous words of the elven messenger, she set down the pitcher and summoned her courage to speak, "It is as we feared then. We are to be caught in the dreadful throes of war." She glanced over at her husband and sighed, shaking her head in regret. "Is there no choice in this thing? None at all?"

Her wistful words were directed not at Lachrandir but towards her beloved spouse. Khandr stood up and walked over to his wife, lacing his fingers tightly about hers and gently lifting them up. He bent over slightly and placed the slighest hint of a kiss upon her cheek, while ruefuly shaking his own head. "No, my beloved. We knew it would come to this one day. We have no choice. Not that I would want one. It is our duty to serve. Maedhros is wise and must feel it is the time to strike. Perhaps this will be the day when we finally overcome Morgoth and his servants and free these lands of their terrible blight."

Once more, Khandr turned about to face the Elf, "Tell those who sent you that this party of Borrim will remain faithful to their oath. We will gladly set aside small rivalries or any other thing that gets in the way. Still, part of me fears that these tensions at court are more than simple bickering between blood brothers. We shall continue to be alert and, should we see or hear anything that causes us concern, will try to get news back to you or your kin."

"There is one other matter. I had thought to sponsor a great hunt to celebrate our friendship in honor of both your own people and our hosts in this village. Now, with this battle soon to be upon us, I do not know. But still I am thinking a day given to the hunt would not go amiss. We must have friendship and trust between our peoples to fight together in the field, to say nothing of the practical need to stock up on supplies for the women and children we leave behind. Perhaps a day spent in such a pursuit would push aside our differences and help us understand each other. And if, by chance, we should hear any rumors or half whispered tales that strike fear in the heart, we will pass along such news and let those who stand over us judge their merit and worth." Khandr nodded in the direction of the Elves.

"But now, before we part, I would ask my men once again: do any of you have questions for the Elves or perhaps wish to share with them any news you have picked up in the village. For sometime the chance word or sight can have great importance." Khandr glanced about the table to see who intended to speak.

[Nogrod]

A war it is then… the war it will be. The words of the elf were echoing in Fastarr’s mind and taking ever new forms as they strayed around in his consciousness. Soon he got somewhat derailed from the initial thought. And we will be riding to it with these Ulfings... but what if we cancel the hunting? Could we reach our kinsmen in time then? Unfortunately the way Khandr had put his words sounded like he was still determined to go on with it. Fastarr glanced quickly at Hunta and Bergr. From their stern faces Fastarr thought he could read the very same questions going through their minds as well.

Suddenly Khandr addressed the three asking whether they had any information to share with the elven ambassadours or questions to ask from them. There surely were questions in Fastarr’s troubled mind at the moment but he was a bit unsure which of them he could actually have courage to ask or which of them would be wise to ask in the first place.

Gathering his spirits Fastarr straightened his back and nodded shortly to Khandr before he turned slightly in his chair to face the older elf. “My name is Fastarr, son of Fernlann. I am the good lord Khandr’s retainer like my uncle Balff was for his father. And I do have a question to you most venerable ambassadors of the good prince.” Fastarr had never been good at speaking formally and was uncomfortably aware of it as he looked at the two elves who were now concentrating their attention to him.

“If a war it is to be, to the war the Borrim will go. You say that the time is short for us to join our kinsmen but is there any possibility for it? It’s not only that we would wish to fight with our kinsmen but it’s also that...” Fastarr was thinking nervously how to formulate the thing he was trying to say. “... that, I don’t think we can fight alongside these Ulfings.” he blurted out in the end.

Fastarr was embarrassed as he realised what he had said. He also realised that he had to explain himself somehow but at the same time he was afraid that he might manage to speak himself even deeper into trouble. Nervously he glanced at Khandr who looked at him questioningly and not too approvingly. He bit his lip and continued.

“A smile without malice, a warm welcome or appreciation of a fellow man are rare treats in this town... Like an evening at the inn without a fight or two.” Fastarr was about to continue making more examples but luckily thought the better of it. “What I mean is, like my uncle Balff told me when I was a young boy, that the minds of the lords are mirrored in the actions of their subjects. I never quite understood what he meant by it but now I think I can see it. These people take sides, they argue continuously, they cheat, they stab each other in the back... It’s like a spell or poison that has spread all over the town. I’ve never seen anything like this. It feels like this whole town is a drawn string of a bow that can’t be held drawn for a long time anymore. There is something wrong with this place.” Fastarr was even more nervous than before and had to take a sip of the mead to bring back his courage.

“Every reasonable man is afraid when he goes to war. But going to war with these people... I don’t know which I would fear more, the enemy or these people around me.” With that he took a firm hold of the cup in front of him and drank a good draught from it. He didn’t dare to look at anyone around him so he just stared at the way the candlelight danced on the rim of the cup when he turned it around and around between his fingers.

[Lalaith]

As Fastarr talked, Embla slipped away, unnoticed. The arrival of the elves had intrigued her. She had seen so little of these great tall folk in her life, and never at such close quarters. She had not been in the least surprised that haughty words were uttered to match the proud, fair faces.

Then came the anxious talk and portentous looks that passed between the men as they spoke of war. She cared little if the Borrim left to fight, and even less who they marched alongside. She would be glad to see them gone. Then she would show the hag who could be mistress of the hearth. And if the men were to die in battle, why, she would be a widow, perhaps she could leave this misbegotten tribe for good, and return to her own people.

This idea had not previously occurred to Embla. Did she wish her husband dead? No – she reflected – on balance she did not. But she wished for escape, that much she knew. Never so strongly as now, as she watched as the elven lord addressed her hated rival in courteous, kindly tones, and her husband acknowledge his love for the first wife both in word and in deed.

She could not escape for good – yet – but she could escape for now. Out into the air, away from the strong smells and heavy air of Khandr’s hall. She would seek out this woman Jord – a perfect excuse. The obedient wife, following her husband’s will.

Embla knew where the lady Jord dwelt, for she had often watched her, wondering who she was and what her role could be. She made her way past the Ulfling dwellings, but before she had reached her destination, she found what she was looking for. A dark figure, clutching a gauzy shawl about her, the lady stood alone, seemingly deep in thought. Now she was so close, Embla realised she had not thought how or if she would get into conversation with this beautiful creature. She stopped, trying to hide herself from the other woman’s view, but she suspected it was too late.

[Anguirel]

“Every reasonable man is afraid when he goes to war. But going to war with these people... I don’t know which I would fear more, the enemy or these people around me,” Fastarr had concluded decisively.

Lachrandir allowed the words to hang in the air forsome moments, but it was quite obvious that he intended to reply to them. His brows had creased and his eyes were filled with a deep fire; the very stamp of disapproval lay on his face.

"Master Fastarr," he said at last, "there are some Elves at the court from which I come who would take your words as proof of all the weakness of Men; that we should never have accepted your tribes into our lands; that you are a feckless race given to squabbling amongst yourselves.

"I do not myself believe such ill of your kind," Lachrandir continued with a wry smile, "and I remember that the Elves, too, have had their bitter feuds and divisions. But such arguments are still the material Morgoth's agents love to use."

The Elven envoy looked Fastarr squarely and determinedly in the eye. "Your peoples must unite, whatever misgivings, or else become vassals of Orcs. These are difficult times, and no one can be allowed the luxury of infighting. As I speak older and worse quarrels than yours with the Ulfings are being dealt with; the Sons of Feanor have even sent a messenger to Doriath. Men must likewise muster and fight together."

The Elf shrugged. "If you would still rather hurry North, I am sure it can be arranged. But truth be told, I think you Borrim would be of great help here. I have seen the rifts between the sons of Ulfang, and the muster may be slow work; I would be gratified, as would my lord, if you stayed to help arrange it."