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Stay and rest awhile

Tags: Fyaeglim,  Agmundr,  Ithiliell

Short Summary: The Beorning Agmundr talks with two elves, one of whom is planning a journey of his own
Date (real-life): 2010-05-22
Scene Location: Imladris: Open Meadow - Crossroads
Date (in-game): Winter, late 3049
Time of Day: Evening
Open Meadow - Crossroads

This is a broad meadow, carpeted with grass. A huge oak stands in the midst of the meadow, a path passing close under its branches. The old oak looks like a pleasant place to pause and rest. The path itself is hard packed earth, clear of stones. Off to the north the meadow merges into fertile fields and pastures, and to there a path branches off from the east-west way. To the south is the House, and southwest is the bridge. In the west a stand of birches grow on the slopes before the cliffs. Winter's grip lays on the meadow, the grass is mostly brown, save for a flicker here and there of green, as it rests through the cold months, and the large oak tree stands bare of leaves, branches pointing to the sky like fingers. The forests surrounding the meadow are likewise bare, save for the deep green pillars of the evergreens: cedar, pine and spruce.

Obvious exits:
 North leads to Pasture.
 East leads to Open Meadow - Valley Path.
 South leads to Front Yard.
 West leads to Meadow Path.

[Giliath(#9838)] The short cold winter day is already drawing to a close - the sun (unseen behind thick clouds all day anyways) has slid down behind the high valley walls, bringing a deeper bite of chill to the air.

Coming up from the direction of the river, a tall elf stalks towards the leafless oak. His hair is silvery-black, his eyes only a shade darker grey than the clouds overhead, and every bit as cold. Fyaeglim, for this is his name, pauses beside the tree's great trunk, and turns his hooded eyes back the way he has come.

[Giliath(#9838)] Fyaeglim's intensity all but crackles in the air around him as he stares back down the slight hill towards the house, then turns and looks westward, broodingly. It is then that he catches Agmundr's movement from the corner of his eye, and swings his head to glare at the man from his sharp hawk-like face. It doesn't seem to be a glare of anger though - it is more like one a bird of prey might give to anything that comes in its sight.

[Agmundr(#32546)]   For his part, the berserker either doesn't notice the elf or pays him no mind. He comes to a stop a few paces away from the oak, eyes flicking over it as a somewhat thoughtful expression comes upon his face. It remains thus for several long moments before the Beorning grunts a quiet 'Huh'. 'Tis then that he turns his gaze from the tree and looks around.

    As they come to rest upon the glaring Fyaeglim, Agmundr blinks once or twice before an eyebrow is arched slightly and he gives a slight bow of the head. "Fair day to you," says the man.

[Giliath(#9838)] There is a shift in the elf's chilly grey eyes. After a pause, as if to pull words from somewhere very far away, Fyaeglim replies, "To you. Also." He continues to watch the man, though now with a bit of interest in his gaze. A puzzle, a newly-discovered specimen. "You... do not reside here." It is half question, half statement.

[Agmundr(#32546)]   A soft, amused snort comes from the man. "Indeed, I do not. I am but a visitor here for a short while. Agmundr, Headman of the Bear Clan of the Beornings and part of our little trade caravan. And you?" The eyebrow is arched once more by the berserker before he turns his gaze back to the tree for a few moments. "We have a tree not too different from this in our village."

[Giliath(#9838)] Fyaeflim lifts indifferent eyes to the tree and regards it for a few minutes. "Once," he says, his tone shifting to musing. "I tended to such trees..." His gaze swivels back to Agmundr, and he bends his head. "Fyaeglim. Soon to be of farther realms than these." There is another pause as the elf loses himself in thought or memory. Then he shakes free again. "What do you trade?"

From the south she comes, light feet pattering on the grasses that are already rimed with frost, her lips curved in a smile as she softly hums some wordless melody. A slender elf-woman clad in grey, a shadow amidst shadows. It is the voices that call to her, and she turns her steps that way, raising a hand in greeting before she has even reached the speakers. A smile is offered for the brooding Fyaeglim, and for the Man open curiosity sparkles in her gray eyes.

[Agmundr(#32546)]   The berserker shrugs his broad shoulders, cloak rustling quietly. "I do not know the specifics. I lead the defenders of the caravan. I know for sure general goods, perhaps some honey or honey cakes, carven goods, things of that nature. You would have to speak with one of our traders for more specific matters."

    As another elf approaches, the chieftain turns his gaze to her before bowing his head once more.

[Giliath(#9838)] Honey. The faint spark of interest in Fyaeglim's eyes dies away and he turns to greet the newcomer with a short musical phrase. Suddenly, as if a thought has struck him, he turns back to the Beorning man. "Defender? Is there much to defend against, then, these days?"

The new arrival tilts her head at the sound of Agmundr's rumbling voice. "Mae govannen, friends," she offers the pair, her own voice a low, quiet alto barely louder than the murmurings of the Bruinen. Her gaze darts from one to the other, brows arching as she catches Fyaeglim's mood. "You are welcome, visitor from the East," she tells the Beorning with a glance toward her fellow elf that is almost reproving. "Though you will find no need for 'defending' here. The Valley is a place of peace."

[Agmundr(#32546)]   The Headman slowly arches an eyebrow as he glances at Fyaeglim. "Goblins still infest the mountains, do they not?" He waves a hand slightly at the Misties. "They are common enough in the High Pass, not to mention when they gather the numbers to attack our village. Then there are the dangers that lie within Mirkwood. My clan and I are kept busy enough." A dry smile is offered by the man before he turns his gaze to the Elven woman. "Aye, so I have seen. It is certainly a pleasant trip thus far, since we encountered no trouble on our way and your people are courteous."

[Giliath(#9838)] Fyaeglim dismisses the Mountains and Mirkwood. "You have not been west?" he asks, his voice gaining a strange fervor. As he ignores the lands to the east, so does he ignore the lady's reproachful look; his eyes are intent on Agmundr's face as if he could draw forth the desired response by will alone.

Goblins. Ithiliell's smooth nose wrinkles just a little at the mention of that name, but she says naught of it till the man is done. "Of that I am glad. The Yrch of the Mountains are not wise, but they are many. In the lands west of here, they roam also; though they are of little consequence save when directed. You will winter here, Master Defender," the words have the ring of statement and not question, "but where then do your steps lead?"

For her fellow Elf she has a single musical phrase in rippling Sindarin: "<Sindarin>The westward road should be followed in joy, and not in pain, mellon."

[Agmundr(#32546)]   An amused snort comes from the berserker once more, a slight smile flickering across his face. "This is the farthest west I have ever trod from the village. We have little reason, or desire, to go much beyond our bounds most of the time. To go further west..." The man trails off for a moment before he shakes his head. "Even if I had the desire, my duty binds me to the village. I lead our warriors, and I would not put the Laird and the clan in such a position as to require replacing me."

    He turns his gaze to Ithiliell, shrugging his shoulders slightly. "Depends on the weather in the Pass. If the snows are not bad, we will attempt it once our traders are satisfied. If the snows are bad and the Pass unpassable, we shall, more than likely, winter here, though such an option leaves me uneasy."

[Giliath(#9838)] The goldsmith turns away, moving irritably, impatiently. East, east, who cares about the east? His hooded gaze lifts westward once more, and then moves to regard Ithiliell as she speaks to him. "<Sindarin>It is a hook," he says. "And I the fish." His head snaps back to Agmundr at the man's final word. "Uneasy?"

Agmundr's final words are greeted by the faintest arch of Ithiliell's slender brows. "Uneasy? How so? Here in the Valley is warmth and sustenance and laughter. Out in the Mountains, winter stalks and fell creatures run in its wake. Surely naught but darkness waits you there. Why, Master Defender, would you risk yourself and those you have come here to protect?"

For Fyaeglim she has a long, level gaze. "<Sindarin>My heart hopes that you do not rise to the wrong bait." Returning to the Common speech she asks, seemingly of both parties, "Will you not tarry here, and rest awhile?"

[Agmundr(#32546)]   The berserker is silent for some moments before he speaks, voice quiet, gaze flicking back to the tree. "All my life, since I was old enough to heft my axe and wield it, I have fought for the village. Death and I have more than a passing familiarity with each other. I like to think my fury has given the goblins pause more than once. I like to think I am inspirational to my clan."

    He falls silent once more, a slight smile twisting a corner of his mouth. "Uneasy, I said? Aye, uneasy indeed. If I am here, resting in this lovely place, and the goblins assault the village in numbers? Our outpost at the foot of the Pass is half a ruin and would not delay an assault long. My presence might make a difference. It might not. If the village falls, and I was here..." The Headman trails off, seeming unwilling to finish the sentence.

[Giliath(#9838)] Fyaeglim gives Agmundr a long, considering look, pausing in his restlessness. And when he speaks, his voice is almost gentle. "Night will come, but it does not come yet," he says. "Rest now, while you are given time." His voice trails off, the fey mood passes, restless irritability returns. With no further word, either to Ithiliell or Agmundr, he turns and walks swiftly back towards the house.

Ithiliell listens to the Beorning's words, her gaze perplexed. "The ways of your people are strange to me, Master Defender. It is in my own heart to nurture and tend, to give life and not to take it. Still," her hands flicker in a gesture tht might be farewell to the departing Fyaeglim, or might be mere dismissal, "I wish you and your kin well. And I think, Master, that if your village had truly been in peril you would not have left it. Trust in that."

[Agmundr(#32546)]   "Aside from working in the forge, slaying the foes of the Village is one of few things I am good at," replies Agmundr, turning to glance at Ithiliell, a slight grin twisting a corner of his mouth once more as he nods a farewell to Fyaeglim. "Defending our people runs in my family. I could do no less."

    The berserker shrugs his shoulder after a moment. "I would not have approached the Laird with the suggestion of a caravan if I thought an attack was all that likely. Also why I brought our more inexperienced fighters. This was meant to give them something easy to test them on before the goblin attacks. Still, I am uneasy to leave the village for too long."

The elf-woman regards Agmundr levelly. "Come now, Master Defender. What is done is done, and you will add no more days to your tale of years through fretting over it. Perhaps your younglings should watch the training of the Tirith, the Guard? There is much to be learned from such things. As for your own heart ... you should visit the forges. There you will find craft for the sharing, and wonders many. This I know, for one who tends those forges is dear to /my/ heart." Her slender lips curve in a smile that brings warmth to the grey shadows and her two hands clasp together, the left brushing the ring on the right.

[Agmundr(#32546)]    "It is by fretting that I know my heart still remembers my duty." A grin passes over the man's face before he nods his head slightly. "Aye, I shall certainly encourage them to, and to seek out training if they can. At least those with spears, blade and bow; to my knowledge, I do not think your people use axes as weapons. As for the forges... it is something I have considered, though I would hesitate to do any work myself. While I am sure none would point it out, I have the feeling that my work would be poor by the standards of your folk."

The talk of weapons brings the faintest of frowns to Ithiliell's smooth brow, and she makes no comment on it. The other topic brings a low, musical laugh, bubbling like the waters of the Bruinen. "Master Defender, if you belittle yourself so at every opportunity then I fear that you are fated never to be content. Come now, will you not set judging aside and let craft speak for itself?" She pauses, cool grey gaze flickering northwards. "Later, perhaps, I shall show you the forges. But now I must bid you farewell." She dips her dark head in a nod of courtesy, then steps lightly away over the frosted grasses, leaving nary a trace of her passage.

[Agmundr(#32546)]   "Merely speaking in fact. I know that my work would not be the same level of skill as your people." As she moves to depart, he nods his head. "I have no doubt I shall be easy to find. A fair day to you." That said, he turns his gaze back to the tree, thoughtful expression upon his face once more.

Date added: 2010-05-23 19:52:43    Hits: 43
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