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Rumors of War (Part I)

Tags: Grimbeorn,  Tiridor,  Elnara,  Sudanir,  Bathagond (temped by Witchking)

Short Summary: While the Galadhrim convalesce in Beorning after the altercation in Mirkwood, an Ndaedeldhrim elf comes, inquiring about their health.
Date (real-life): 2010-09-16
Scene Location: Beorning Village
Time of Day: Early Afternoon
The dark of night is held at bay in this room by two small lamps carefully set upon a long table that extends along the far wall and the flickering light of the fire in a small hearth in the far right corner. The dark of night turns the large windows on either side of the door into ebon mirrors, reflecting the light sources back into the room. Along either side of one entering the room are rows of cots, some apparently occupied, judging from the shapes covered in warm blankets.
Obvious exits:
Back Room and Out

        Recognition lights up the Knight-Elder's visage as he understands the title that had been used. "That is good to hear, for there are matters that he will be able to help us work out. How did you receive word of his travels?"

Tiridor continues his silent listening. It is his place to hear, but not to interrupt the others.

Elnara had gone back to her mending, trying once again to sew her torn riding dress, completely tuning out the others' conversation. She looks up, though, as she hears a familiar name, her face lighting with a smile. "Elladan? He is out here?" The elleth sets aside her work and moves closer, wanting to hear more. "I lived in Imladris most of my life, it has been years since I have seen him..."

The door opens. Light shines in from the full day, then the doorway darkens as a figure appears before it, stooping slightly as it walks through the door, then the door is closed behind him. Its an elf, a Silvan. One of Thranduil's kind. His face is tight as he smiles to those within. "Greetings. I was told I might find kindred here," he says smoothly.

The Elf is followed soon after by the tall (for his kind) man of Gondor, or so Bathagond claims. A wary eye is sent towards the Ndaedeldhrim, but otherwise he nods in polite greeting to the others present, and bows also.

"Ah, I did not receive word but met him upon the High Pass, traveling with another--a man of the southern lands, he said," Grimbeorn explains. "He should be in these lands already, and I imagine you will see him soon. And likely he can speed your healing. He has helped me and my kin more times than I am able to thank him. Still...there is work to be done this day and I cannot neglect it, especially not the watch on my land's borders." Grimbeorn turns to go, an eyebrow raised at the arrival of yet another elf--maybe he is getting a bit skittish with so many packed at once into the relatively small building.

On seeing Bathagond, though, the Laird pauses. "Ah, traveler. The Hirion, who escorted your kinsmen to my lands but a year ago is here. You will be able to talk to him about your countrymen after all." And with that, the Laird turns back to the elves: "We will speak more of things soon," and ducks out the doorway again.

        "I thank you kindly for that information and I too shall be on my way for there are others who need to know of the arrival of our distant kinsman," says Legarwin as he follows Grimbeorn out of the room. At the doorway, he turns and says to Elnara and Tiridor, "I will bring word from our camp once our next course of action has been decided." The ellon then disappears into the golden sunlight.

As the laird leaves, Tiridor again bows with a profound respect. He breaks into a smile as to first see a 'distant cousin of the north' first arrive, and then the self-proclaimed Gondorian. For now, he concentrates on the latter. "Ah, my friend from the Southern Great Kingdom." he says. "I hope the day finds you well."

Acutely aware of the strangeness of those around him, and especially that of Grimbeorn and the man of Gondor, the Mirkwood elf bows. "I am Lithorlas, son of Anandir," he introduces. "I saw you in the forest. You fought bravely. How fare you now?" His cool eyes roam the room, resting on the elleth last, and lingering.

Bathagond surveys the northern Elf with a moment's stare, ere he turns then to nod to Tiridor, smiling weakly. "It finds me well enough, to know that you are your fellows are hastening in your recovery. Though lore has waned in my land according to the wonts and ambitions of your folk, the legends of your hardiness is as fresh as ever. But is this another of your folk, come to aid the lands of Grimbeorn?" he asks them, indicating Lithorlas, though as yet addressing Tiridor.

"I am healing well, thank you. Would that dresses and weapons mended as easily as I seem to." Elnara stretches almost boredly, the sleeves of the white gown brushing the floor before she returns to leaning against the footboard of the bed she'd claimed. The partially healed slice across her right shoulder and collarbone, however, still stands out sharply from her lily white skin. She smiles to Bathagond, giving a nod. "Still here, Son of Gondor?"

Bowing his head to Elnara, Bathagond answers: "Where else to go, lady-elf, when the Enemy's forces are abroad. Thank the heavens we are stalwart and well defended here. Who knows when the wargs may return?"

"I shall let Lithorlas answer for himself." Tiridor decides. "For I am myself curious of this matter." He then turns to the other elf. "Hail, Lithorlas, son of Anandir. We caught a glimpse of your defense as well, and good it was. A shame we didn't collect more heads. I am Tiridor, myself."

Lithorlas looks at Bathagond with slight confusion. "Are the lands of Grimbeorn in need of aid?" He looks next to Tiridor, as if to receive confirmation. "Greetings then, Tiridor. We are gathering our might, and thought it would be un-couth not to offer our neighbors to the West an invitation." He smiles slightly, but is too somber for it to stick. "And while I was here, I thought I might visit kin, and see what strength remains among you."

Now it is Bathagond's turn to marvel, or so it would appear, for his brows knit at Lithorlas' words. "Aye, friend, these lands have suffered a grievious assault by the wargs of the Enemy, and their masters. But what need of might have you, if you are not of same realm as those gathered here? Whence do you come, and with what need?"
Tiridor smiles towards Lithorlas. "Strength we have, and that you saw. However, from this one occasion I still recover." He sighs. "I don't mean to be rude in such company, mellyn, but I really need to rest. I am afraid my first day out of bed has taken its toll."

The lady-elf smiles and nods. "I am Elnara. I would be glad to offer my strength, whatever it may be, but my loyalties are to those I am in service to, as a guard. But I thank you for your kind visit to see how we were." She watches Tiridor, moving to guide him to his bed. "I told you not to overdo it..." she mutters, before turning back to her own cot.

His face confused still, and further marred by consternation, Lithorlas turns once more toward Bathagond. "My apologies then, for I did not know. We have been shadowing a large army of goblins in the midst of Mirkwood for weeks now, harrying them when we are able, watching their atrocities when we are not, while waiting for reinforcements from Amon Thranduil." The speaking of the place name seems to roll off the elf's tongue with special flourish. Lithorlas nods toward Tiridor. "Rest well then, Mellon..." he pauses, as Elnara speaks. "Well. I can see I have been dismissed. Fare well, I will perhaps return another time." He glances again at the man, then ducks out the doorway.

As Lithorlas departs, Bathagond's blue-grey gaze watches him go, ere it turns slowly back to Elnara, and there softens. "Strange company I seem to keep these days. I know few of the names spoken just now... what is this Amon Thranduil?"

Date added: 2010-09-19 14:29:18    Hits: 68
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