An Audience With The King RPG

[Mithadan]

RPG Owner: Mithadan

Note: This is a closed membership RPG. Its participants were selected via a first come first served sign-up which took place several days ago. No persons other than the approved participants may post on this thread. Thank you.

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The scene repeated itself again and again in many places. A stranger, clad in black rode to the gates and requested leave to speak with the Lord of these lands. After the messenger’s steed had been stabled and the rider given refreshment, he was escorted before the Lord, where he delivered a message which bore a strange seal, one not seen for many years.

Curious the Lord opened the scroll and read the following:

“Elessar Telcontar, of the Line of Elendil of Numenor, Lord and King of Gondor and Arnor sends greetings and invites representatives from your fair land to journey to Minas Anor, known formerly as Minas Tirith, to meet with the King and his Counsellors to renew ties and relations between our countries and to set to right such disputes as may yet exist, even now that Sauron has fallen. Therefore, representatives of your land will be welcome and greeted in Minas Anor on mettare, the last day of this year, to engage in converse with King Elessar and the Lords of many other lands besides.”

Below this message appeared the seal of the King. The message itself was written in gold ink on the finest vellum.

Such messages were delivered to many lands and in The Shire, Dale, Rhun, Harad, Mirkwood, The Lonely Mountain, Rivendell and The Blue Mountains, much discussion was had concerning who should attend, what such representatives should bring to the new King and what should be discussed. But none refused the invitation…

[Bêthberry]

^ ^ ^ ^ ^ Erebor, Lonely Mountain ^ ^ ^ ^ ^

Thorin III Stonehelm watched as his mother led the family in the daily ritual of mourning. She cupped her hands to her heart, her lips, and her forehead and bowed three times. He followed suit and then lowered his eyes to the ground as she picked up each stone which had been positioned around the ornate silver oil lamp, a stone for every member of the family lost in the War. Each stone bore a rune, the work of his own chiselling, which represented the name of one of those dwarves now gathered by Mahal to the Halls of Mandos. Thorin wondered if it was these relics which caused elves to think that at death dwarves returned to stone, but he wondered how it could have been that an elf had seen the ritual.

His mother's voice called him out of his thoughts. Thorin king-son, you have often been lost in thought since we received Telcontar's invitation.

There is much to contemplate, many honoured Queen-Mother. Instead of celebrating victory over Sauron, I become ill at ease over the rise of men. It was a sombre omen which accompanied the arrival of the messenger. Five black crows!

Stonehelm shook his head and lifted his right arm to wave over his left shoulder, pushing the omen away.

And then this news that Gimli son of Gloin chooses to camp out in trees. It is an ill sign when a dwarf chooses not to return to his people.

Ruthen nodded, put out the lamp, closed the silver door to the family shrine, and offered to listen to her son's concerns. The two sat together, falling into a discussion of the summons to Minas Anor.

Stonehelm wanted a delegation which reflected Erebor's broad interests. The only remaining dwarf from his father's council, Glaven Strongpen, could be relied upon to gain Elessar's ear concerning Khazad-dum, the dwarves' ancient city. Surely only the dwarves should own its artifacts and recolonize it. That was crucial. On the other hand, the contractor Frain Thaneson would know how to advance interests not only in trade but also in Stonehelm's new plan for the Royal Corps of Dwarven Engineers. They would act as Telcontar's unique corps to be deployed wherever public works like roads, bridges, highways, buildings where needed. There were too many male dwarves in Erebor with nothing to do since the War ended and too many nightly drinking sessions. Frain could handle those engineers like no one and knew how to push a good contract, although perhaps his own hand might be too close to the till for the good of Erebor. Yes, those two, Glaven and Frain, would complement each other.

And servants. Ruthen had advised Stonehelm to choose the servants wisely, for oft to them fell the most important task of listening to the wind and the stream to see where others tread. That would mean sending either Hringa or Halgen.

Then the maidservant Hrethel came for Ruthen, who left to lead the morning devotions at Ingeld's school. Stonehelm smiled at the thought of Ingeld. Brains and beauty made a rare but very attractive package. Stonehelm had bid Ruthen give his greetings to Ingeld and compliments on the success of her school. Ruthen had smiled quietly, bowed three times, and withdrawn with a last observation.

But there still remained the question of how large a delegation to send and whether to contact the mad elf Thranduil of Eryn Lasgalen or Bard II of the Dale. Stonehelm took a deep breath and recalled his mother's parting words:

Do not lose sight of the final prophecy. Whatever befalls, remember that when the world is destroyed in The Last Battle, Mahal will call upon us, not men, to rebuild Arda.

Stonehelm decided to have Hringa send notice to both Glavin and Frain of a royal audience that afternoon.


[ September 28, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[piosenniel]

***** DALE *****

Drumming the fingers of his left hand silently on his knee beneath the table, King Bard II waited impatiently for the last representative from the Merchants’ Guild to finish recounting his lists of contracts, grievances profits, and expected losses. His gaze regarded the droning Master of the Weavers’ Guild briefly, and he thought to raise his hand and bring the sleep-inducing speech to an end. Instead he let the words flow over and past him while he turned his thoughts to other matters.

King Elessar and his invitation were foremost in his mind. Now this would be a rare opportunity for Dale, he mused. The ear of the King! And just when Dale had begun to push her trading network farther south and east.

He ran a short list, through his mind, of trusted men he could send to represent him, weeding out the ones whose personal interests might overshadow the needs of Dale, itself. He wished now he hadn’t sent Jarl south to Nurn and Harad. He would be the most politic choice to send to the King’s court - a trustworthy, well-spoken man, and shrewd, though not to the point of dishonesty.

Ah, well, there was no point in wishing he hadn’t sent him, it was too far to send a message to him, and too far for him to return to Dale and start on the road to Minas Anor.

And what about the road to Minas Anor ? There was a sticking point in itself. Thranduil had grown strange of late. Would he allow the representative from Dale to travel unimpeded through the forest? He turned the question over in his mind many times, seeking a way through it.

‘Ah!’ he said aloud, as the answer came to him. The startled Master, having just finished his lists, looked at him, wondering if it were a comment of approval or disapproval. The King smiled, saying ‘Well done, Masters! I look forward to our next meeting.’ He stood, bringing them all to their feet, and dismissed them with, ‘Gentlemen!’, and a brief nod.

Once gone, he called for his attendant, Grim. ‘Find Girion quickly!’ he instructed the man, ‘Bring him to me in all haste!

Alone, Bard sat back in his chair. His son would have to be the one to travel the Old Forest Road and then down The Great River to Minas Anor. He was counting on the old friendship between Girion and the son of Thranduil, Orodan to get him safely through the forest.

He called for a cup of chilled wine, hoping it would ease the nagging doubts in his mind. Sighing, he raised the cup to whatever powers might be listening.

‘Please! Let him be up to the task!’

[ October 09, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Susan Delgado]

******Shire******

Sam urged his pony along, impatient to get to The Marish as soon as he could. The pony, one of old Bill's fine sons, was none too eager to hurry up. He was just fine moving at a sedate walk, and nothing Sam did seemed to make any impression at all on the beast. Finally, Sam gave up on making the pony go faster and settled to gritting his teeth. He had such news for Merry and Pippin! Eventually, he did reach his destination, and beyond it Buckland, but to his extreme disappointment, neither of his old friends felt they could get away, though they wished they could. Each did recommend someone trustworthy to send in his stead and each wished him well.

Merry introduced him to young Orlo Hornblower, a lad seemingly barely out of his Tweens, but who came so highly recommended by the Master of Buckland that Sam found himself with no choice but to accept him.

Pippin was distraught at being unable to go with Sam to see all their old friends and tried most valiantly to arrange matters so he could, but in the end he was unable to. He sent along a third cousin named Odo Took and his twelve-year-old nephew, Brando. It was a long road to Gondor and Sam didn't want to take a child, especially the child of such a good friend as Pippin. He tried to talk Pippin out of sending him, but Pippin was so insistent that the experience would be good for the boy that Sam finally gave in, hoping nothing dire would happen. If something did happen to hurt Brando, Sam would never forgive himself.

The four of them made the three-day journey back to Michael Delving, to report to the Mayor. While less than pleased at the inclusion of a twelve-year lad like Brando, he was so pleased that Sam had agreed to go to the East Farthing and broach the matter with Merry and Pippin in his place that he indulgently allowed the boy to go, but he also insisted on his own prospect, a sturdy Hobbit of middle years named Hardo Proudfoot.

They all went back to Sam and Rosie’s pleasant little house and settled in for the night. There was more preparation to do before they departed, but with luck, they'd leave before the week was out.

[Birdland]

*****Mirkwood (Now known as Eryn Lasgalen)*****

Thranduil’s Halls were always slightly damp. If skilled Dwarven craftsmen had been allowed to appraise the situation, they would have solved this problem by re-routing underground streams and providing much-needed ventilation. But no Dwarves had ever been in the underground Halls of the Silvan King - save one group, and they had departed as soon as able.

When Celeborn had visited Thranduil after the Victory, he had suggested that the King might want to relocate his seat to another area. “A new court, to go with the new name. The Kingdom of Eryn Lasgalen should be ruled from above ground, as befits this new Age of Light.” Thranduil thought to himself that Celeborn should go chase after his wife in the West, and leave the ruling of his kingdom to him.

Besides, Thranduil loved the Old Halls, damp as they were. They represented the long fight that he had waged to keep the Darkness at bay. Mirkwood may not have been protected by one of the Three as Lorien had, but against Spiders, Orcs, and Sauron himself, his people had prevailed. They may have been assailed, but they were never routed.

Thranduil picked up the missive that had been delivered to him. He had expected such a summons. King Elessar had wasted no time in attempting to bring the races of Middle-Earth into the Mannish fold. Thranduil did not begrudge Elrond’s fosterling his Rule. The Fourth Age would be the Age of Men. It had been long foretold. But he would see that there was one outpost of the Eldar that would remain for all time. Let the others flee to the Havens. The Silvan Elves of Eryn Lasgalen would abide.
And when the Darkness arose in a new form - as Thranduil knew it would - then the summons from Minas Anor would take an entirely different tone.

The lure of Trade had no appeal to Thranduil. These Others had nothing that his people needed, or wanted. Except for one thing.

It was the second letter that made the King return to his table again and again. The letter from Legolas, the first he had received since he had sent his youngest son to Imladris two years ago. “Letter” some might call it, but it seemed more like a tome. Legolas had written of all that had happened to him since he had left his father’s realm to attend the Council of Elrond. Moria, Helm’s Deep, Fangorn. It was all there. Nivala’s favorite had traveled far, it seemed. He wrote in glowing terms of his companions, both Man and Halfling. (Thranduil smiled to himself as he read Legolas’ descriptions of the Ring-Bearer and his companions. He had always had a sneaking admiration for Thorin’s Halfling squire.)

And he read of Legolas’ sworn friendship with the Dwarf Gimli. The praises of the Dwarf-Kind’s bravery, his devotion to the Lady of the Wood, his skill at arms and craft, even his poetry as he described the “Glittering Caves” of the Rohirrim. Legolas had said all he could to convince his father that , in bonding himself in friendship to one of Durin’s Folk, he had not lost his mind.

But it was the last pages of the letter that drew Thranduil to return to his desk and read again and again. The descriptions of Ithilien. The intention of Legolas to remain there. The humble request to his father that he inform his people of this Garden of the South, and permit such as would choose to come there to live.

The intention of Legolas to remain there. The intention of Legolas to never return home.

“So once again, Men and Dwarves have schemed to take from me my treasure.” Thranduil crumbled the page in his fist. Then he laid it gently on the tabletop and smoothed the wrinkled paper. He took up the letter and laid it in a box of mallorn wood, which he locked with a key held only by him. Finally, with a sigh, he turned his attention once more to the summons of the King.

Thranduil rang for his butler. When the Elf servant appeared, he said “Find Orodan. Send riders to the corners of the kingdom, if need be. Tell him his father has a mission for him.”

[The Barrow-Wight]

* * * * * Rhûn * * * * *

Mislavini sat on his great wooden throne and watched the tark emmisary pass through the tall doorway at the far end of the hall. His golden crown sat crookedly on his brow as he cradled his chin in his hands and pondered the summons from Gondor. Though it had been expected, its friendly tone had not been forseen. Mislavini had been prepared for a humiliating demand for his presense before the new king, but instead he had received what seemed to be a cordial invitation to dignified conversation. Perhaps it was a trick.

Since he was a small boy and his father had been Great Captain, he had heard of the treachery of the tarks and their wicked allies the Elves. His library was full of tales of the many Ozren peoples that had been slain by the enemy to the west, tortured and burned in a manner worse than even the Dark Lord dealt out to his foes. But when he had stood dumbstruck at the Morannon, suddenly bereft of the driving will of the Lord Sauron, he had witnessed mercy instead of malice, wisdom instead of cruelty. It had shocked him, and he had doubted its sincerity immediately, thinking it was but preparation for some later evilness. But the summons had finally come, and it had been a request for peace and friendship instead of a list of demands.

Mislavini stood and beckoned to his steward who stood in the shadows at the side of the hall.

“Kasteni, my friend. It seems we have a choice to make.”

“Indeed we do, my lord.”. The steward stepped into the light. His hair was dark and long like the Great Captain’s, and he shared the same long, hawkish nose and piecing dark eyes. But where Mislavini was massive and muscular, like most of the people of the northern plains, the steward was tall and thin, showing the Carnic* blood that flowed in his veins.

Mislavini stared at his steward, waiting for him to say more, but Kasteni remained silent.

“Well, what do you think?” the Great Captain asked at last. “You heard the message, and it is obvious that we will have to send a representative. With war imminent on our southern borders there is no possibility that I can go, so I must send my best man. But who will accompany you?”

Kasteni smiled and said, “I already have a few people in mind, my Lord.”

He pulled a small sheet of parchment from his pocket and wrote a few quick notes on it.

“Doorward! Come here quickly and then go summon the people on this list!

The chief guard at the door rushed forward, took the note and rushed from the hall.

Kasteni looked to Mislavini. “Let us have a drink while we wait for my companions.”

[Nevtalathiel]

***DALE***


It was a summons from his father to return to the court immediately. Girion sighed and wondered what he had done or who he had offended now. He called out to his companions and turned his horse back towards Dale dejectedly; it was the worst day of hunting he had had for a long time, not even a sighting of a deer, and he suspected it would get worse once he arrived at the palace. He sighed. His father expected so much of him. Girion was a prince it was true, but he could not understand his father's apparent insistence that he have no fun and spend all his time discussing far off lands with dry old men.

About him, Girion's companions complained about the premature end to the day's sport, but he left them too it, riding a little ahead; for once he desired some time for quiet contemplation. His mind was cast back to the numerous previous occasions on which he had been called before his father in a similar fashion to answer for his short temper, raucousness or lack of tact. Then he had always been aware that he had done something, but now he could think of nothing he had done wrong nor anyone who might be disgruntled by his actions. His musings continued until he reached the stable and so deeply immersed was he in scouring his recent memories for faults that he did not exchange his usual pleasantries with the groom. Instead he vaulted the steps as quickly as possible and walked as fast as was courteous towards his father's throne room. He knocked and even waited for a reply before entering, he did not want to further increase his father's pending wrath. Inside the room he bowed to his father as a counsellor left.

"You called for me sire?" he asked in his best humble voice.

[ September 24, 2002: Message edited by: Nevtalathiel ]

[Guildo]

(((((((Eryn Lasgalen, Mirkwood)))))))))
<<<<<<<Orodan & Nefros>>>>>>>>>>

It was early morning, Orodan and Nefros where riding along the the River Runing southbound having a conversation of Nefros’s young sister Isilya.

"She is growing anxious, and im afraid my songs do not give her joy as they did years ago, she deeply desires to take part in our journeys, and quite honestly I would like to see such joy in her face again, my lord," Said Nefros.
"As do I" Said Orodan,
"But it would take great persuasion on my part for my father to allow a maiden as fair as your sister to be put in such danger."

"Ironic is it indeed when prince Orodan attempts to put a smile on the face of a frowning Nefros, but………"

At that moment a trumpet sounded in the north, it was the trumpet of summons, which has not sounded sense the War of the Ring.

"We must make Haste," Shouted Orodan, for deathly thoughts rushed through his head.

"Perhaps your Brother has returned Sire."

"Or met great peril," Replied Orodan.

Orodan and Nefros rushed to the Kings throne to find he was setting quite Calm rereading the letter from the High King.

Thranduil- "Welcome back my son, I feared you had traveled outside the sound of the trumpet, Im glad you returned so quickly it shall save us much time."
Orodan- "Please Father why such haste."
Thranduil- "I do not doubt you my son and I am very proud of your journeys, but it is once again time for you to prove your self worthy of the throne of Eryn Lasgalen but this time I will give you a responsibility that may change our fate for ever.
I have received a Summons from the High King at Minas Anor. Representatives from each Kingdome in Middle Earth shall meet at Minas Anor to establish a trade and Unite the peoples.
You know how I feel about such matters involving Men and Dwarves, but for this matter I will ignore my head and trust my heart I will leave the choice up to you. Of course the loyal Nefros shall travel along your side but you may also choose another representative from Eryn Lasgalen. Your friend Girion as always is welcome to travel through the woods as well as his servants. If the Dwarves wish to follow you the may but they will not have the Magic of the woods on their side and shall only have your party’s protection.
Be off my son you will leave midday tomorrow."

Walking out the Door of the Halls of the King Orodan turned and asked his Father.

"Have you word of Legolas father, for I do wish he was by our side again."

"That matter weighs on my heart more than you realize my son, and we shall discuss it before you leave," Replied the King.

As Orodan and Nefros where walking from the Kings chamber, Nefros turned to Orodan and said; "Perhaps the songs of this journey shall return the joy to Isilya’s face."

"Prepare the journey at once Nefros I have two letters I must right at once," Said Orodan.

As Nefros turned away Orodan Shouted; "Nefros …….. Perhaps for this journey you will be kind enough to sing of your sister by our side."

Nefros laughed aloud and shouted; "You are too kind to us my lord."


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Letter to Erebor:

Dear Ambassadors, Diplomats, and Servants of Erebor, I Orodan Son of Thranduil King of Eryn Lasgalen invite you travel along my side through the woods of my Kingdom for the journey to meet with the high King at Minas Anor. Though we have had many disputes in our past I propose we declare a new friendship for this new age. I do hope you will accept my invitations and meet us where the Forest River meets the forests of Eryn Lasgalen. I am looking forward to our long journey together.

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Letter to Girion;

To my Dear Friend Girion I do hope we will travel together on the journey to Minas Anor as my Father has granted you and your servant’s safe passage through the woods. I have also invited the Dwarves of Erebor, but we must give them the best protection we can offer for the magic of Eryn Lasgalen as never been kind to the Dwarven Race.
As you know my father deeply disagrees with the trade im afraid I agree with him but for unlike reasons. As where Most the kingdoms of Middle Earth will greatly benefit from the trade im afraid it will be our demise for where your walls are made of stone and rock mine are of trees and brush which will diminish as new paths are made for the trade. I propose an alliance with Eryn Lasgalen, Dale, and Erebor that will benefit the three Kingdoms equally as well as the King. We will discuss the matters in more detail on the journey. Let us not let these matters break the bonds of our friendship. You have always made the Honorable decisions, and I look for your aide in mine. If you wish to travel along my side we will meet where the Forest River meets Eryn Lasgalen.


Orodan Son of Thranuil King of Eryn Lasgalen

[Child of the 7th Age]

HARAD/UMBAR

Herumir, King of Ariwenna, paced back and forth. How he hated being cooped up! He wanted to be outside on his oliphaunt, chasing lions through the purple brush of the desert. But he had little choice.

Gondor's victory over Harad had proven bitter. Now Elessar had asked them to travel to Minas Anor to "right such disputes as may yet exist."

Herumir threw back his head and roared, golden chains jangling about his neck and ears. "He thinks to right our quarrel of several thousand years with a single meeting?" Too much anger still ran through his proud people to be bought off with scraps. He himself dreaded the heavy hand of Gondor and its insistence on unreasonable tribute, as had happened in the past.

Yet, Herumir had pledged loyalty to the party seeking to find some honorable road to prosperity, rather than continuing a hopeless war. And once a pledge was given, it could not be honorably withdrawn. Their group would travel to Umbar and free at least one ship. The local Council had ordered the Corsairs to turn over all vessels, but they had defied that order. Now, he--King Herumir--would force them to obey.

He and Fuinur, King of Leowenna, would then sail up the Bay and the Anduin towards Minas Anor. They must go swiftly. Rumor said one Corsair ship had slipped out from Umber a day before, intending to pillage spots along the river in south Gondor. Such an expedition would infuriate the King and negate his own attempts to foster trade. So they might need to do some "persuading " of these Corsairs. He was an expert at "persuading." It might involve a bit of bluff, physical force, a promise to cut the Corsairs in on a share of trade profits, or perhaps all of the above. He'd have to judge what would work best.

For Harad had learned a bitter lesson. It could not exist only on the might of its individual soldiers. Herumir understood they must bring gold into their coffers. The tools were at hand. The west clamored for coffee, a thing so common in Harad that the poor drank it for breakfast. They also wanted spices and tobacco and tea. All that, Harad could supply, if it could make advantageous trading deals. This was the real reason his people had agreed to the meeting. Let the men of Gondor be hanged! He'd take a good dwarf trading caravan any day.

Already, Jarl, a man of some intelligence from Dale, was in Harad to negotiate a joint coffee deal for himself and Fuinur. Gramil hoped to travel with him to eastern Nurn to look at the trading outposts Dale meant to establish. Then, Gramil would turn his oliphaunts to the west and arrive in Minas Arnor through the back door. Jarl and his folk were also welcome to come as guests aboard the oliphaunts.

There was no pretending otherwise. The great Harad Road was largely gone. They would need to rebuild it and many others if trade was to flourish. And dwarves were reputed to have such skills. Certainly, his own people were not road builders. They might have used slaves, but Elessar had issued an order abolishing slavery in Nurn and Harad. So other sources would have to be sought.

No, Herumir had no desire to be a piece of Gondor's great empire or to build roads with his own hands, but the money that would flow from arteries made safe for trade. That was quite another thing!

[ October 20, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[piosenniel]

***** DALE-Jarl *****

It was early in the morning, too early to be this hot. Jarl stood at the window of his second story room, in hopes of a breeze, and fanned himself in a half-hearted manner with the set of trade agreements he was to present to King Herumir of Harad today. There had been no word yet from the King’s minister as to when the meeting would occur. Or if it would occur, for that matter. Time and priorities seemed to take on an altogether different meaning in this clime.

A passing vendor in the street below caught his eye. The shallow, woven basket, filled with a multitude of inviting fruits, balanced perfectly on his head. He called out the names of his wares and their prices in a sing-song manner as he walked down the street. Jarl hailed him. With a practiced movement, the vendor swept his basket to the ground and looked up to where the strange, pale skinned man stood.

They bargained in the age old way. Jarl pointed to the two fruits he wanted; the vendor held up a small coin and five fingers, indicating how much he expected. Jarl smiled and shook his head ‘no’., offering instead two fingers. The vendor looked insulted and held up five fingers, again. It went on like this for a number of minutes, until the bargain was struck to the satisfaction of both. Two pieces of fruit for three coins. Up came the fruit, one at a time, and down went the money. Jarl’s smile met that of the vendor’s, and they nodded to each other.

A knock at his door turned his attention from the window and its passing scenes.

‘Come!’ he said, biting into the sweet, orange flesh of one of the fruits. ‘It’s open!’

[ September 25, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Thenamir]

===== Blue Mountains =====

There were days when it just wasn’t any fun to be the king. This was one of them.

Theron IV Axehand, appointed leader of the Dwarves of the Ered Luin, looked with disgust on the debacle that had become of the “council” he had called to decide how to respond to the summons of Elessar Telcontar, calling himself King of all Gondor and Arnor. Nothing remained of order in the torchlit stone hall, and several of the assembled had “stepped outside” to settle private arguments. He arose and stood, all 4-feet-8-inches of him, at his head of the table and thundered an order for silence. The rest of the attendees all froze where they stood, one with his hands nearly around the throat of another.

“I have NEVER witnessed the council devolve into such chaos. One might think that I was presiding over a council of ORCS!!!” This was met with muttering and growls from those in the room, but they grudgingly took their seats. No one had ever bested Axehand in battle, real or mock, and no one felt inclined to challenge him now. “Am I the only one who can hear the arguments of both sides in this debate without calling for my blade?”

Serin Stonewright, well-respected though still considered a “young dog” by dwarven standards, arose and addressed the room. “My lord Axehand, I am not one who has travelled widely outside our realm. And yet I and many like me can see our people growing restless, our culture beginning to stagnate. I know the arguemnts of those who would largely close us off and insulate us from the rest of Middle Earth. We do have a good life here, but we cannot shut out the world forever. And if we do, who is to say that one day an evil like Sauron’s will not rise to threaten us, much closer to our homes? Our great cities were thrown down as nothing in the breaking of the fortress of the Melkor the evil one...”

At this point, one of the others jumped up on his chair and interrupted. “Yes, and what did we get for it? what have the outsiders’ realms done for us? We do not forget our kin who were slain when we claimed our own, the Nauglamir of old, slain by those tomfool elves! And did the men help us out? I say let them buy our weapons and slay each other, and take no notice safe here in our halls of stone!” There was a rumble, half approving and half catcalls, that rose and threatened to break out again into fighting except for the cold-mithril countenance of Axehand at the head of the table.

When the room had become silent again, Theron Axehand said, “Enough debate. Since we cannot decide among ourselves, let us send one from each side, along with myself, to this great council. We will each make our cases before the High King. We will seek his leave to determine our own directions. You Serin, will make the case for greater openness, and you Mikhelm Bonecrist will argue for our freedom from interference. As your ruler, I will decide between them, and seek the favor of the king to allow us self-rule.” There was grudging consent from both sides, and the dwarf-council was dismissed.

Two days later, the delegates were preparing to set out...

[Carnëiach]

The Shire

"Mr Gamgee! Mr Gamgee! Wait for me Mr Gamgee!"
Sam stopped in the road between the fields and the forest, looking around for the disturbance. He heard quick breathing and in a swift movement pulled his pony over to the side. A small hobbit boy errupted out of a line of bushes, breathing heavily, leaves adorning his unruly hair. In the same movement, The boy swept a clumsy, overdone bow and stood in front of the mayor, beaming.
"Ta da!" He declared.
"Peregrin T- No wait, my mistake. Silly me, mistaking young Brando Took for his uncle!"Sam looked at him for a moment, smiling, looking as if he was remebering something long ago. Brando knew he was remembering his adventures with Pippin and that he shouldnt intrude, so he took the moment to catch his breath. However after hed done this he grew impatient; he hadnt rushed away from the mushrooms to stand around, whether it be with the famed Samwise gamgee or no. He coughed lightley and Sam turned to him.
"Good to see you Brando."
"Well, I thought that I was coming on this quest-"
"Its hardly a quest Brando."
"- That Id better be at you and Mistress Rosies house on time-"
"Earlt actually."
"So I decided to keep you company!" Brando finished triumphantly, taking no heed to the interuptions, as is the way of the Tooks; get what you want done, no matter what.
Sam busrt out laughing at this, patting the young hobbit lad on the head. He kept his pony walking slowly and Brando, beaming once again, walked beside him.
"So...when do I get my sword for this quest-"
"Journey."
"-Journey then?"
"No sword Brando."
"Bow and arrows?"
"No."
"What about a broadsword? I can see myself with one of them-"
"Im not giving you a weapon Brando. Youre too young."
"Oh. You sure Mr Gamgee?"
"Yes Brando."
"Oh...well what about-"
"Brando!"

[piosenniel]

***** DALE *****

Sire?! A hint of a smile curved the corners of his mouth as he turned now to greet his son. He thinks I've called him here about another misdaventure! He watched Girion shift nervously from one foot to the other.

Bard laughed, out loud. A low rumble coming deep from within at first, then bursting out upon the surprised Girion. The King wiped the tears of mirth from his eyes, and drawing close to him, clapped Girion on the back. 'So, has it come to this?' he said, pouring the young man a glass of wine. 'That now when you are called before me you cannot help but think I have found you out in some misadventure?'

He smiled fully on his son, and handed him the wine. 'Let us drink to a new venture, Girion.' he said softly, raising his glass to him. 'Dale has need of someone who will represent her interests at Elessar's court. And you are just the man to do that for her!'

'To Dale! Long may she prosper!' Bard brought the glass to his lips and drained it.

Astonished, Girion lifted his own glass to meet his father's. 'To Dale!'

Once done, Bard brought forth the letter Thranduil's son had sent to Girion, and waited while he read it. They spoke, then, of the issues Dale wished to lay before Elessar. Girion asked many questions concerning different points, and Bard noted how quickly he had grasped them. His approach to understanding and resolving the questionable areas was different from Bard's, but the King marked the sharpness with which his son's mind viewed the intersecting problems and worked with them. A certain pride and hope took seed within him as he watched his son maneuver through the issues.

When they had finished speaking, Bard asked that Girion return tomorrow to receive the documents he would take with him. He bade Girion contact Orodan for the particulars of where and when to meet with his party.

Girion took his leave, and went to prepare for the journey.

The king poured himself another glass, and raised it toward the West.'My thanks!' he said.

Sipping his wine, he called for several of his trade advisors to meet with him in the small council room. It would be a long night, he was sure of it, but by the morrow, Girion would have the documents he would need to persuade Elessar.

[ October 09, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Elenna]

*****RIVENDELL*****

The messenger had arrived the night before, a burly man riding a gray horse. "I have a message for the Lord of Rivendell!" he had said proudly as he rode into the courtyard. Meneciriel had looked at her husband out of the corner of her eye - Lord Elrond would not wish to receive this man, a rider of Gondor.
"My lord, this message was sent to you. King Elessar wishes to speak to the lord of Rivendell, not to a few of his household advisors," Erestor's voice was agitated as he sat before Elrond. "And Arwen will be disappointed if you do not come."

Meneciriel flinched - her husband had just stuck a dagger into Elrond's most tender spot.

"I care not." The elf-lord's voice was harsh with sadness and pain. "I have said my goodbye to her, and do not need to go again. Elladan and Elrohir will go, as well as some others and Meneciriel, since you do not seem to wish to, Erestor."

"But, my lord!" Ciri cried, sitting up ramrod straight in her chair.

"That is my decision. We need not discuss it."

And so Meneciriel found herself preparing for a long journey. Her companions would be the sons of Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir, as well as Fanelen, a maiden of Rivendell. She brushed away a tear as she slipped a folded cloak into her knapsack. It would be a very long time before she saw either her husband, her daughter, or her home again.

[ September 24, 2002: Message edited by: Elenna ]

[GreatWarg]

***Rhun***

Ulwyte searched the marketplace, hoping to see foreign imports. Trade with the Dwarves and others of Middle-earth was no longer much profit, and his little nation mostly lived off of imported items from countries beyond Middle-earth. Someone stepped in front of him, nearly shoving a set of daggers in Ulwyte's face.

'Made by the best smithies in Harad!' he boasted. The two blades were dull and black, straight with cheap hilts.

'I think not,' Ulwyte snorted, disgusted. He thought of the blade made by Dwarves hanging in his home. Middle-earth imports seemed so much more beautiful than the dull blackness of Harad. Ulwyte pushed past, thinking of retiring back to his room several blocks away when a messenger riding a great steed broke the crowd.

'Are you Ulwyte?' the messenger asked, stopping in front of him.

'Yes, of course.'

'The Steward has a message for you!' the messenger bellowed, handing a notice to Ulwyte. He then reared his horse and with a snort and a whinny it turned and began fighting through the crowds.

Ulwyte glanced at the letter. The wax seal of the Steward was in proud red. Reading quickly through, Ulwyte grinned and began to make for the capitol.

'So, my friend Kasteni, you have an errand for me,' Ulwyte murmered.

[ September 24, 2002: Message edited by: GreatWarg ]

[VanimaEdhel]

**********Rhun Nation**********

Lovek received the summons by Kasteni. He commanded the men he had been training to continue to practice, and immediately made his way to where he knew Mislavini and Kasteni would be.

Ah, I wonder what is commanded now? Lovek wondered, the sound of his heavy footfalls echoing in the hallway, even over the din of the few others that passed through.

On the way to the chamber, Lovek saw other troops training. Very few were actually working. Lovek sighed inwardly at how common this was.

Why do they not work? Do they not know that discipline will bring them success? It is no wonder I command the best troops, if all the other men do is sit around! Lovek thought. In his disgust of these other men, he felt the warmth of pride fill him. His training brought his troops to glory. He had never lost more than half of his troop in a battle, and, even when he had lost the battle, his troops always managed to pull off great accomplishments in the battles. Lovek was very well-respected as a leader, although he was not the best nor the highest. He had, however, developed an ego about himself.

Lovek paused as the guards opened the door in front of him. He saw Mislavini and Kasteni, goblets in their hands. Lovek disgustedly looked at the drinks. Lovek did not drink alcohol, for he thought it would slow down his senses. He had, however, submitted to the strong attraction of the weed that was available.

"My Great Captain," Lovek said respectfully to Mislavini, "Did you summon me?"

[ September 24, 2002: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[Ransom]

***Rivendell***
Elrohir paced on a balcony overlooking the main gardens of Rivendell. The preparation for their trip were in the hands of his older brother and the Erestor, leaving Elrohir with much time to ponder the events of the previous week.

The summons to attend the audience at Minas Anor had created quite a stir in Rivendell. Granted, Erestor had been quite rash in his conversation with Elrond. However, it sorely tried his self control when he heard his father’s decision. Erestor’s wife, Meneciriel, would be sent to Minas Anor with both Elrohir and Elladan.

He forced himself to step back and think. Indeed, his love for his father was stronger than ever. However, he considered Erestor a close friend. And his blood boiled whenever one of his friends were hurt. But he couldn’t afford to let this dissuade him from his current goals.

He fingered the pommel of his cavalry saber, contemplating his next move. The political situation at home would not change much in his absence. Elrohir had extracted promises from the elves on the Council that they would not enact any ground shaking measures in his absence, much less attempt to further damage Erestor. Years of political intrigue and alliances would ensure that the politicians would keep their word.

Now came the harder issues. It was easy for him to play the game of politics when it did not concern himself. However, personal bonds were much harder to understand. Chief among his concerns was Erestor and his wife. It was true that Erestor was his dearest friend, and that Elrohir respected Meneciriel. However, he had never taken time to develop any type of relationship with her for fear that he would offend Erestor. He would ask his brother what to do. Elladan always had a way with people.

Elrohir sighed deeply before brushing a stray strand of brown hair behind his ear. There was the light chink of elvish mail hidden under the brown and green cloak and the soft padding of feet. The balcony returned to its vigil, silent and alone.

[ September 24, 2002: Message edited by: Ransom ]

[Isilya]

<<<<<<MIRKWOOD>>>>&g t;>


A murmur came running through the servants' hall:
"Orodan is traveling to Gondor for an audience with King Elessar. The king is going to
hand pick one of us to accompany him there and persuade the youngest son to return home."
Isilya stood in the corner, quietly reading. One of the more reclusive servants, she had no care for the gossip and tales that frequented the kitchens and the laundry rooms. She had heard many great things of the kingdom of Elessar, and deeply wished to see the Great City. She hoped that King Thranduil would pick her, but the chances were slim. Why would he pick an unimportant worker, even worse, a female, when he could have a lord of high standing? The rest of the day, she imagined herself off on the journey, but as the day drew to an end, her dreams slowly faded.
When she awoke the next morning, she was greeted by Nephros, her brother.
"Hurry, you mustn’t linger. The King is expecting you."
"What do you mean by this?" cried Isilya, shocked.
"I happened to see Prince Orodan yester-eve. I had a long talk with him about some current issues.”
Her brother had been very close to Orodan, even though his position was somewhat low, and Orodan confided in him on very deep matters. The King knew of this, and trusted Nephros almost as much as his son did.
“I have gotten you a promotion, Isilya. You are now the handmaid to Lady Nevethiriel, Lord Airechilion’s wife. You shall begin your new position as soon as we return.”
“Return from what?”
“The summons to Gondor, of course! The king insisted on bringing one more escort for Orodan, so as we were talking, I suggested you for the role. You have knowledge of the woods, and you’re not completely incapable of fighting. He seemed pleased with my proposal, and King Thranduil did not argue against it. Now, you’d best hurry. I have all that you will need in the next room. We leave at midday.”
Isilya, now prepared for the trip, headed towards King Thranduil's court. She entered the great hall with a slight terror in her heart, and curtsied toward the King and his son.

[The Fifth]

* * * * * * * * * * Rhûn Nation * * * * * * * * * *

Khuleln entered the hallway. His footsteps could be heard and his dirty-green cloak fluttered from a slight breeze as he approached nearer towards the Great Captain, bowed, and then stood near Kasteni, whom he knew well. He stood there in awkward silence for a few moments, pondering on why he was sent here.

"I have come, m'lord. What is the reason you call me..." He looked towards Lovek, whom he did not know, and then said, "..us here?" He asked.

[The Barrow-Wight]

* * * * * Rhûn Nation * * * * *

Kasteni looked up from his untouched mead to the two soldiers who entered the room. The older one, Lovek, was a warrior familiar to everyone in Ozren. He had held command in the forces of Ozren for almost as long as Kasteni, and the two had stood side-by-side on many battlefields as well as in council rooms. He was feared among their enemies for his effectiveness in battle, and by his troops for his ruthless discipline on the training floor. Mislavini trusted him completely, not seeing the threat to his power that was so obvious to Kasteni.

This one will be safer kept far from the capital. He will prove a valuable asset on the road, and he won’t be able to scheme so far from the Great Captain’s throne that he covets.

The second fighter was also well-known. Khuleln’s family originally came from Khand, far to the south and now threatening war on the Ozren borders. They had emmigrated from that far country when Khuleln was still a boy, but their wealth had ensured he grew up in privileged Ozvalada society. That had inevitably led him to the military where he had served with honor in the devestating campaigns against Dale and Erebor. His distinguished service had earned him a spot in Kasteni's eye, though, and the Chief Advisor had promised his father, a good friend for many years, that he would find a way for Khuleln to distinguish himself further.

This one I can trust.

Kasteni looked impatiently toward the door.

“Perhaps your third man is not in Ozvalda,” said Mislavini, draining his cup and motioning for a servant to fill it again.

“No, my lord, he is here. Just this morning he brought a message from his father concerning the trade routes to the east. I know him, and he would not have left the city so quickly. I don’t belive he is eager to return to his rural home just yet. He’ll be along soon.”

Mislavini sat on his throne and took a long drink from his goblet. He pointed to benches to his left and commanded Lovek and Khuleln to sit.

Kasteni remained standing.

[ September 24, 2002: Message edited by: The Barrow-Wight ]

[GreatWarg]

********Rhun Nation**********

Ulwyte snorted with disgust, seeing many warriors sitting amd smoking their weeds and drinking their alchohol. The nation was falling at a rapid rate after their defeat and the Dark Lord was thrown down. Yet that proved better for the people of Ulwyte's little nation. Trade has increased for them since the Shadow had departed two years ago.

Entering the large hallway, Ulwyte slowed down to study the decorations that adored the massive hall. Many of them Ylwyte recognized as works from a certain country that he had been to many times, and a few others also. Yet it was strange that there was nothing from Middle-earth there in the capitol of Rhun. Sauron had kept them from trading with his enemies.

Entering the Great Chieftein's chamber, Ulwyte saw that he was late. Two others stood near, both of them warrior types. Kasteni and the Great Chieftein both had goblets in their hands, and looking much carefree.

'Excuse the delay, Great Chieftein,' Ulwyte spoke, bowing. 'The markets are busy today, and it is hard for one to receive a message, let alone get to their destination.' Ulwyte then looked over the two others. They were both of warrior types, which were not often seen in his nation, and both looked especially well-trained and strong.Ulwyte nodded to Kasteni, reading what the Steward's eyes. Kasteni evidently did not trust one of them.

[ September 24, 2002: Message edited by: GreatWarg ]

[The Barrow-Wight]

* * * * * Rhûn Nation * * * * *

Mislavini stood swiftly and threw his goblet to the floor where it shattered into many pieces.

“Who is this young pup that names me a chieftain?” he shouted loudly down at the startled Ulwyte. “Does he not know the difference between the Great Captain and a dirtly, stupid chief of a squalid little country of shepherds? Does he insult me? Where is my sword?”

Mislavini took a step forward toward the surprised and confused Ulwyte who stood shaking, wondering what he had done. He thought that Mislavini would strike or him, but he saw Kasteni rush forward.
Unfortunately for him, the Chief Advisor did not come to his aid.

“Bow down before your Great Captain, mongrel!” said Kasteni in a hateful voice. “This is not your father’s hut.”

Dismayed, Ulwyte dropped to one knee and bowed his head, awaiting a blow or kick from Mislavini. But the Great Captain and Kasteni had moved away and were in a heated but whispered conversation.

The other two warriors stood, waiting to see what would happen.

Kasteni and Mislavini continued to talk, and their voices soon turned to a calmer tone, showing that the Chief Advisor had somehow soothed the leader’s anger. Kasteni turned and looked to Ulwte.

“You may rise, young warrior. But do not speak again in this hall.”

He beckoned Lovek and Khuleln to stand beside the younge man and then moved to a place beside his lord.

Mislavini spoke.

“You have been summoned here to accompany the Chief Advisor on a journey. Kasteni will lead you into the heart of Westland where he will approach the new king of Stoneland and demand justice for the people of Ozren. He will be my voice, and you will be his sword, spear and bow. Now go.”

He sat back on his throne and Kasteni indicated they should leave. He bowed to the Great Captain and followed them through the tall doors and into the courtyard of the Keep. He looked at Ulwyte who still looked stunned at Mislavini’s unexpected fury.

“That was stupid. Your father is a chieftain, and perhaps to you he is a great man. But Mislavini is the Great Captain, and to him your father and all chieftans are his subordinates, lesser men who live to serve him. You are lucky he was not armed.”

He looked at Lovek and said, “Take these two and lead them to the western chariot stables at the far side of the city. There you will find my chariot and horses and provisions for our journey. Prepare them and have everything ready for our departure from the city by noon tomorrow. Is that clear?”

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

^^^^^^^^Lonely Mountain^^^^^^^^
Frain Thaneson walked as quickly as his stout legs could allow. He was excited about the unusual message he had received from Thorin III Stonehelm, requesting his appearance before the King. However, he was also unsure about it.

He was not worried about the invitation that his King had received from new Gondorian king. Instead, Frain was worried about why his King wanted to speak with him about it.

Rumor around the strong stone halls was that the message was of an audience to be held with King Elessar and with all other diplomats of the free realms. Frain could only think what would happen if things went wrong. Elves, dwarves, men--in Frain's mind that could only cause one thing: chaos.

But all the matters of diplomacy and politics were not Frain's specialty. No, Frain was the Head Engineer of the workers under the Mountain. There were many repairs that had been needed to the old kingdom and new halls and wings made and overseen by him after the departure of Smaug. It was all Frain's work.

Frain was a manipulative man....or dwarf, in this case. He had wheeled and dealed and crept his way up to the top of his occupation. Long years he had worked as a lowly craftsman, but now, after working even longer making deals than digging or building, he had become the Chief of the Royal Corps of Dwarven Engineers. This was a highly coveted and important position. It soothed his vanity to achieve it.

These traits are what got him all his riches and renown. His family was prominent and socially popular, for all loved what Frain had done to improve the workers' labor laws. Often a lucky worker dwarf found an empty chair next to him during his beer break, and more and more good gossip spread about Frain. These are also the traits which made him think that this summons might grant him even more money, gold, and other such riches and glory. For Frain was a dwarf filled with much greed, and this often drove him to get what he wanted and to work hard for it.

But what had this to do with the summons to appear before King Thorin III? Problems with his contracts or the possibility of new contracts? Frain was certain that the ideas for a new hall in the twenty-first wing had not gone astray, so he felt almost confident that nothing was terribly wrong. Frain just wasn't sure.

[GreatWarg]

* * * * * Rhûn Nation * * * * *

Ulwyte muttered to himself secretly. Sometimes he thought that leaders thought too much of themselves, no matter how great they were. Kasteni most likely had saved him from some punishment or another, though he was expecting something more outright and to the point. That was, of course, only how he was brought up. How difficult it must be to be in a high position in a government and constantly have the fear of doing something wrong!

Fingering a few items that might provide some trade, Ulwyte continued thinking about the government structure. It was quite simple, really, but they never actually tell you how to deal with such things. It was usually just to do what they told you to do, and if they felt like killing you, then you were dead, and never retort or cower from a blow. It was those simple rules by which Ulwyte had lived by. But then again, he had rarely met anyone as important as the lord of the entire country.

'Perhaps next time I should listen to what father actually has to say before talking,' Ulwyte muttered.

[ September 25, 2002: Message edited by: The Barrow-Wight ]

[Birdland]

*****Eryn Lasgalen (Mirkwood)*****
Orodan smiled reassuringly at Isilya as she approached the throne, and her brother Nefros gave her a sly wink over the Prince's shoulder. The young Elf-Maid gave a deep curtsy to her Lord, hoping he could not see her knees shaking.

"You may rise, child," Thranduil smiled and gestured towards a stool, as he sat down himself. Isilya hardly knew what to make of this. To sit in front of the King? But Thranduil had suggested it himself. She supposed she must consider his wish to be her command, and perched herself gingerly on the edge of the padded stool.

"Isilya, is it? Your parents were loyal, faithful servants in these halls for nigh seven yéni, and your father served his kingdom with honor during the War against the Dark Lord. His presence is sorely missed."

Isilya lowered her head and offered no answer to this. It was too soon to speak of her father. She wondered if she would ever be able to speak of him without tears.

"Your mother is well?"

"Yes, My Lord" answered Isilya, glad of the change of subject. "She has returned to our people, who live in the Narrows."

"And so the children remain to take up the duties of the parents. As it should be. Nefros has served my son well, and speaks highly of your skill and intelligence. I value his opinion, and believe between you and your brother, my son will be well-cared for on the journey to Minas Anor."

So she was going! Isilya controlled herself enough not to flash a joyous smile of gratitude towards her brother, but only held her hand to her heart as she rose and curtsied again towards Thranduil and Orodan. "It is my highest honor to be able to serve my King and his heir, my Lord. I can only hope that I can fill the role that my parents held in the Halls of my King, and I live only to serve my King, and my Lord Orodan."

Thranduil smiled at this, studying the young Elf all the while. "My son. I believe you and Nefros have preparations to make for your journey. I would speak with this daughter of Eryn Lasgalen further."

Orodan and Nefros exchanged glances, but there was no gainsaying this command. Orodan left the throne room, and Nefros, after offering a deep bow to his King, followed him.

Isilya was left alone with the Lord of Eryn Lasgalen, feeling oddly like a coney under the eye of the hawk. Now that she had the new responsibilities and the chance for travel that she had craved, she strangely wondered if there was some way she could get out of it.

"So, you have vowed to serve my son faithfully. But what of your King?"

"My Lord!" she stammered, "I live and die for the Ruler of Eryn Lasgalen, as do all the people of the Green Wood."

"That is good, young Isilya. For your brother will always serve the needs of my son, as it should be. But I will require eyes and ears on this journey as well. The Man King of Minas Anor desires to establish trade between all the kingdoms of Middle-earth. But the Silvan Elves have always sustained themselves. Though a few luxuries have been acquired for our own use from these other Races, the treasures of the Green Wood have been preserved for the use of our own people, alone. It is my great desire that this should remain so. Do you know of what I speak, child?"

"Yes, my Lord", Isilya answered quietly.

"Good. I have servants amongst the Folk of the Air, who will be available to carry messages to me. I only bid that you correspond with your King as you make this journey, and keep me informed about the doings of these other races who may travel with your party, particularly the representatives of Dale and the Lonely Mountain. Do I make myself clear?"

"Absolutely, my Lord." said Isilya, white-faced.

"Splendid! Of course, our conversation here will go no farther than this throne room. You may go and make your own preparations for your journey, now." Isilya rose with relief, grateful that her interview was finally over, and dreading the "duties" that had been laid upon her shoulders.

She curtsied low towards her King, and turned to leave the audience. But just as she reached the door, Thranduil placed one other burden on her.

"Isilya? By the way - have you ever made the acquaintance of my younger son, Prince Legolas?"

[ September 25, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]

[Kettle of fish]

***** Dale *****

Rubin slipped into the hall after Girion and hung towards the back, as was expected of him. He could tell by Girion's stiff posture that he was expecting a berating from his father. He himself couldn't think of any occurances that the king could be aware of. There HAD been that brawl last month, but he was sure that he had taken care of it fairly competently.

He glanced at his father, the king's attendant, who was watching the exchange between Girion and his father. He then fixed his eyes upon his father's hands, which where clasped in front of him, fingers twitching slightly.

Ahh... so it was a journey to...Rubin did not have time to decipher the last word when King Brand burst out laughing.

With a silent gesture of thanks, he turned his attention upon Girion, and then swept his eyes around the room - mentally cursing himself for not doing this first.

His father had continally drilled it into him that it was necessary to always look for possible harm that could come to the royal line. Rubin smiled to himself that so far, most of the possible harm had been self-induced. He was sure his father had noticed his mistake of not checking the surrounding environment first and grinned apologetically. He would have to be much more vigilant, especially now that they were leaving Dale.

By now, Girion had turned to leave. Rubin watched as the young man who would one day be king of Dale strode towards the door, the approving eyes of his father following him.

As Girion passed him, he stepped into line behind him, controlling himself from asking immediately what the letter had contained.

[ September 25, 2002: Message edited by: Kettle of fish ]

[Susan Delgado]

******Shire******

"You want me to go where?" Hardo asked. "Displeased" did not do justice to how he felt after hearing what the Mayor had planned for him.
"Trust me, Hardo, it's a great honor." The Mayor's tone was persuasive to the point of pleading, but it did nothing to win over his reluctant clerk.
"Honor? Are you serious? You're sending me into the wilderness!"
The Mayor was getting annoyed now. "The center of the Kingdom of Man is hardly the wilderness, Hardo. Now, look, either go on this mission or go back to your family in Frogmorten and don't come back."
Hardo stared in shock. "What? You're firing me if I don't go?"
The Mayor sighed. He'd been dreading this part. "No, I'm firing you whether you go or not. You're getting older, Hardo. I think you need to retire for a while. You have been doing this job for more than sixty years; it's time to take a break. I thought you could accompany this diplomatic mission as an honorable send off. That's all."
Hardo was speechless. Ya, he was old, but he wasn't that old, was he? Seventy eight was still a hale and hearty age, wasn't it? He stammered a farewell to the Mayor and stumbled outside.

He fell asleep under a tree and was awakened by a gentle shaking. It was one of the Mayors other clerks, a young lass named Lark. She said the other delegates had returned and the Mayor wanted to talk to him. He went...

...And was sorely disappointed again. Two lads around the age of thirty and a little boy! How was he supposed to deal with this situation? He did not relate well to young people. He was certain it wasn't his fault. It was just that young people didn't know how to act these days, and so on and so forth. He continued in this vein for some time.

[Alkanoonion]

******HARAD/UMBAR******

It was a hot day and Herumir was in a foul mood. He had just received confirmation that a Corsair ship had slipped out from Umbar a day before, intending to pillage along the river in South Gondor. Such actions would jeopardize any chances for revitalizing the coffee trade. As of yet no word had arrived from Fuinur, the King of Leowenna, who was to travel with Herumir up the bay and the Anduin towards Minas Anor.

Before they could sail, however, they needed to travel swiftly to Umbar to stop the rebellion by the Corsairs who had been ordered by the local Council to turn over all ships, but had refused. Herumir had ordered a battalion of Olipaunts to be prepared for an attack on Umbar. To make the attack successful, Herumir needed Fuinur and his men to assault the city from the opposite side.

Just then a man entered. The man was tall and dark skinned, with short-cropped black hair. He was wearing bright red pantaloons and his chest was covered in many tattoos. Herumir recognised the man as Seth, the personal servant of Fuinur the King of Leowenna. “Finally” said Herumir “what news from Fuinur?”

“Mighty King Fuinur sends his greetings and a message that he will arrive shortly with a small force. His men will be ready to depart for Umbar within the hour”.

Just then a large tall man with dark skin, long braided black hair and piercing black eyes entered. The man was wearing bright yellow loose flowing pantaloons, with a matching tunic that was slit at either side, leaving his chest bare. His chest was also covered in tattoos and he had a golden chain with an emerald on the end. As he walked into the room he called out, “Herumir you old dog, how are you? Do you believe that Elessar, as if one meeting will make all of the world's worries disappear?”

“Finally Fuinur, what kept you?”

Fuinur looked at Herumir and smiled, “I heard rumours that a rebellion was going on in Umbar, so I stoped to gather a small force just in case we need them.”

Herumir laughed, his earlier foul mood disappearing as one more problem was solved. “Great, how soon can you leave?”

“I can leave now if you need. What's the plan?”

Herumir looked at Fuinur and said
“First, I need you to circle the city and attack from the opposite side at dawn tomorrow. Secondly, under cover of darkness I need a smaller force to board and hold the ships to stop them making a run for open sea once the fighting starts. Once the city is secure, we seize control of a ship. Then we'll find and stop the ship that sailed yesterday.

[Marileangorifurnimaluim]

**** Harad ****

The city was fairly bathed in steam as Gramil wiped his brow, returning from a comfortable lunch. The market sellers, noisy as birds at first light and sunset, peacefully sipped cooling joices and wafted fans at this hour. Gramil dodged through a string of strapping lads who carried crates of squawking chickens, brushing away the loose feathers that filled the air. Chickens clearly didn't like to be disturbed this time of day either.

A smart tradesman would barter now, Gramil thought glancing about, when they were too tired to argue. But he was tired himself, and smiled at the lost opportunity, where both sides were equally defeated by the sun. He turned - and that was how he missed the first collision. From the cursing, scattering explosion of chicken feathers, and the oliphaunt dancing backwards in the street, it was clear exactly what had happened. The next crate was directly behind the oliphaunt and collapsed with a dull crack as her foot went right through it. The strange careless rider on the oliphaunt's back shouted over the din: "So-ray! So-Ray!" He was pallid as an albino. Then the man switched to a strangely accented declaration of "Pardons! Mistake!" which made more sense, and regained control of his beast.

He waved cheerfully to Gramil, "should I offer to pay for the damage?"

Gramil shaded his eyes as he looked up, "No, they will catch the chickens."

"The Mumak is not easy to ride, but the seller says I have a natural seat. Ha!" Gramil dodged a little off the road out of the way, but the beast did not respond to the command to charge: Mumak were smart, and she was already learning to ignore him. At closer range it was true, the stranger did seat well. But he clearly did not know a thing about oliphaunts.

"How much did you pay for this Mumak?" Gramil asked.

"Nothing yet."

"Then continue to pay nothing. If she makes it to the end of the street, we will call it lucky. She is very old."

The stranger dismounted from the oliphaunt and offered his hand. "I am Jarl of Dale."

Gramil took it, and smiled. "That I know. Your face is famous here."

"But it is not proof against being cheated," Jarl grimaced.

"Far from it. Who can resist the chance to cheat someone famous?" His smile flashed, "They will brag for a week."

Jarl sighed, "I thought the time of day would help me." And Gramil laughed, deciding he liked this stranger who saw so quickly Harad's greatest weakness: the sun.

*********

Gramil had nearly forgotten the encounter when a month later he was summoned to the King.

[ September 25, 2002: Message edited by: Marileangorifurnimaluim ]

[Ringwraith Number Two]

******The Shire******

Orlo silently thanked Master Merry over and over again in his head, as the fact finally registered in his brain that he was actually going to Gondor. His possessions were packed, of course, family informed ("Take care, son, and eat well" were the sound words of advice from his stout father) and he could hardly sit still for excitement.

He had also found out who else was going on the mission at the council that morning: a elderly Hobbit named Hardo Proudfoot who seemed frankly formidable, a young active lad called Brando Took, and another hobbit named Odo Took, the third cousin of Master Peregrin himself, whom he greatly admired.

He looked around his warm surroundings: he had arrived quite early -he hoped he hadn't arrived too early, but it was an important journey after all. Sam and Rosie's little house was very cosy, and very hobbit-like. He suddenly realised that a very long journey lay ahead of him: there would be no warm bed and roaring fire to return to when night set, only the cold and distant stars, and very uncomfortable sleeping places.

Yawning, he settled into the cosy armchair, preparing himself for the journey ahead.

[ September 25, 2002: Message edited by: Ringwraith Number Two ]

[*Varda*]

***Blue Mountains***

The morning of their departure dawned. Serin stood at the door of his home, looking out over the mountains. He had never contemplated journeying so far from home before, always having felt that everything he needed was right here, in the Ered Luin.
Hoisting his pack over his shoulder, he left his home and made his way to the stone hall, where he would meet his companions, Theron Axehand and Mikhelm Bonecrist.

Gathered around the hall were many other dwarves, all clamouring for his attention, hoping to discover what they would say to the High King, and how it may turn out. Near the front of the crowd was a surly looking dwarf, who glared at Serin as he strode past.

“Meddler” he growled. Serin received many such looks for wanting to associate the dwarves with the other races of Middle Earth. At the same time, he saw many reassuring glances, of the dwarves who fully supported him. His resolve strengthened, he marched up to the hall, and stood with Theron and Mikhelm.

Theron raised his arm in the air to call for silence.

“We go forth to meet with the High King Elessar to discern how our fate will lie. On our return, we shall have decided whether to have relations with Elves, Men, and Hobbits, or whether to continue to isolate ourselves in our realm. “

Many dwarves cheered, and with that Theron, Mikhelm, and Serin set out on their journey to Minas Tirith.

[VanimaEdhel]

**********Rhûn Nation**********

"Aye, m'Lord," Lovek said, "It shall be done."

Lovek led the two out and briskly marched through the halls. The others struggled to keep up. Lovek travelled through all the familiar corridors.

When they reached the chariot stables, Lovek took them over to the provisions.

"You must all do your part here," he said, gruffly, "Here. Take this."

Lovek divided the provisions up among them and the three made ready.

"On the road," Lovek said to them, still sounding gruff, "We must move quickly to the Westlands. We must not delay. I shall move as quickly as I can, and you must do so too? Is that clear? I know not whether I will be riding Ratislav, but, either way, we must make haste. Is that clear? I have no room for stragglers in my troops."

Lovek heard himself say "my" troops, but thought nothing of it, for it was always what it said, as he was most accumstomed to leading instead of being led. He just assumed that he would be in charge, as he generally was.

"Now, do I make myself clear?" Lovek said to the other men.

[ September 25, 2002: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[The Fifth]

* * * * * Rhûn Nation * * * * *

Khuleln nodded. "Clear, sir."

He looked towards the city. Bustling, as usual, but a bit more crowded. People were busy doing business in those parts. Khuleln never held any interest in these kinds of things. The sky was almost blindingly azure and nearly cloudless.

Not noticed, a rather nasty-looking spider, hairy, with many slender legs, slung itself down from its web at the darkest corner of the stables. From the gust of a wind, the spider snapped loose of its web and landed on top of a sorrel horse's nose, just as it was breathing in. The steed snorted and neighed loudly, rearing up and shaking the spider off. The obsidian hooves swung down once the creature was shaken off and smashed off part of the stable door. The small pieces of wood splintered and landed with a slight hollow-sounding thump upon the gravelly ground.

Khuleln glanced at the others, and walked up in order to calm the disturbed horse. Unfortunately, he never worked much with horses, and the sudden movement made the steed rear up again. The other horses lifted their heads up, cocking an ear in interest. Khuleln backed away, a bit startled. "Perhaps we should wait a moment."

[ September 25, 2002: Message edited by: The Fifth ]

[GreatWarg]

********Rhun*********

Ulwyte looked up, startled. The horse was quite disturbed, but Khuleln seemed in a dangerous position, with the horse's hooves kicking madly.

Lovek scowled. 'Calm that horse down.' Ulwyte merely nodded and moved cautiously and slowly. He grabbed the horse's leather reigns and struggled to calm the equine down. It swung its head around brutally, nearly knocking Ulwyte down. Lovek came up and grabbed the other side and tugged on it with such force that the horse stopped, an eye glaring at this new enemy. Khuleln seemed a little dazed at this particular episode.

'We had horses back home,' Ulwyte explained, wondering where Khuleln came from. He certainly did not come from the capitol. 'But they were much tamer. Foreign imports.'

[The Fifth]

* * * * * Rhûn Nation * * * * *

Khuleln grew a bit angry at the horse, but then remembered that the horse was a horse and there was not a thing that he could do. He grumbled, "O, but we had horses. But not horses like these who are frightened nearly to death by spiders!"

He stood up, not bothering to wipe the dust off from his dark-colored clothing. The horse continued to stare at Lovek with anger, its eyes white-ringed now and its ears folded back aginst its lightly armored head.

He did listen to Ulwyte's words, and walked nearer towards the angry horse. The steed snorted again, then seemed to calm down completely, forgetting about the incident with the spider-thing. Then Khuleln looked down upon pieces of the stable door. The other horses were still a bit curious, for they only caught a glimpse of what happened. They seemed to nicker in laughter at their friend, their black tails swinging a few wandering flies away.

[ September 25, 2002: Message edited by: The Fifth ]

[GreatWarg]

* * * * * Rhûn Nation * * * * *

Ulwyte nodded briefly in acknowledgement before heading off to pack under Lovek's intensive stare. Since when were they Lovek's troops anyways? Kasteni was commanding this trip, even if he had told Lovek to get them here. With that brute growling and glaring at anyone who got in the way, they had reached the stables without much adventure. In fact, Ulwyte mused, he could probably be a one-man army.

Ulwyte tied up his pack, making sure the trade goods were secure. They may be going off to discuss matters, but that did not mean a good trading oppurtunity would not come up. Ulwyte hoped that he could perhaps find something good in the Western lands, where Sauron had not allowed them to trade and lied to them about its inhabitants. He thought of perhaps being one of the first to make new trades with the peoples from the Western lands. That would secure him a good fortune as a merchant, though his father wanted him to become a warrior.

Ulwyte checked to make sure his blade was sharp. It was not one of the black-hued blades of Rhûn, but it came from lands beyond Middle-earth, where their nation had some trade. He also strapped his bow and arrows together, also not made in Rhûn. But what Ulwyte really wanted was a Elf or Dwarf blade, often rumoured to be the best in all the lands. Merchants would kill to get one of them, for they were rare and very expensive.

Taking all these things, Ulwyte went once again to hear what Lovek would order.

[Susan Delgado]

******Shire******

Posted by Faye Took:

It was a bright morning day while Odo walked down the road to visit his old friends Sam and Rosie Gamgee. On his way there, the mission popped in his rather thick head. Elves he mutterd to himself. 'I haven't seen elve sence I was just a boy.'Then to Gondor! Can't wait to see King Ellasar. Never met a king before.'
Odo was just about there. His heart began to pound with excitement to see his good friend Sam. 'Just another bend.' Odo began to walk faster until he came into a jog, and then to a sprint. Odo saw Sam out in his garden pulling weeds. 'Sam!' cried Odo 'Odo my lad!' Odo and Sam hugged with huge smiles. 'Its great to see you!' Odo said smileing. 'And you too my lad' Sam patted him on the shoulder and brought him inside.

[Susan Delgado]

******Shire******

The day dawned bright and clear. Hardo looked around and thought sourly, Oh, it's going to be a hot one today. Just perfect for leaving home for who knows how long. He sighed and went back inside to repack his few belongings. To his great disgust, the others all seemed very excited, even eager, to be off.

Around midmorning, Sam called the four of them together for the last time. They were all packed and ready to go, and Sam wanted to give a speech. Hardo wasn't surprised. He was a natural politician and politicians always wanted to make speeches.

"well, lads," Sam began, "Today's the day! Today you set off on the mission of your lives!" Hardo snorted at such empty-headed enthusiam. Odo and Orlo were all but cheering aloud, and Brando seemed distracted. He just wanted to leave as soon as possible. Sam continued, "I wish I was goin with you lads. I wish I could go and see Lord Strider again, but I can't, so all i can say is, enjoy yourselves! This is a journey you'll never forget!" At this, Odo and Orlo did cheer, and even Brando looked excited. Finally, though, Sam fisnished his speech and the four travellers mounted their ponies and set off down the road toward Bywater and beyond that, Bree and Rivendell and eventually Gondor itself. Despite himself, Hardo felt the contagious enthusiasm of the younger hobbits. This may be a stupid, pointless mission, but at least it would be a change from his ordinary life.

[Belin]

********Rivendell***********

"So this is the kind of King he is," said Elladan.

Erestor nodded.

"He is wise," Elladan continued, noticing Erestor's sour expression. "He will be more than King of Gondor; he's the King. This is just as I would advise."

"Yes, of course," said Erestor shortly. Elladan decided to let the matter drop.

"Strange though...we were there so recently, and I had not thought to return. There's so little left to settle between us. Erestor, do you think that Arwen--"

"I think, Master Elladan, that this talk is more worthy of the road. There are plans to be made now."

Elladan sighed. He seemed to be the only one in Rivendell that wondered about the rule of the king to come, and the only one that would talk about Arwen. Perhaps the others were wiser, to accept the loss of Arwen and disentangle themselves from the fate of the world.

Then again, Erestor in a better mood would have been the perfect person to discuss his solitude with. Certainly they would have to speak when he returned.

"Plans, yes.. They have seen to the supplies already, I think? Then we only need to plan our route."

[Marileangorifurnimaluim]

**** Harad/Umbar ****

It was the first feast day after the new moon, and Gramil stirred at dawn, disturbed by the sounds of children singing in the street below. The song he knew well, the history of the Great Flood which covered Harad and Umbar nearly 500 years ago. He let the music filter into his dream, snuggling under the sheets.

And then the gods saaaaaaay:
*clap-clap. Clap.*
Let the water wash away..

It was a children's song, teaching them the evils of not listening to their parents, the evils of their parents not listening to their king, and so on, until the priests did not listen to the gods but spoke words to their own profit. It was deceptively simple, but Gramil appreciated the subtle warning that the system could break down at any stage. Including above.

Sweet scents wafted up from the avenue below, incense... cooking food.. As his idle mind started identifying them, Gramil finally admitted to himself he was awake, like it or no. He sat up rubbing his eyes.

The counting house below his suite would start stirring in an hour or so, but he was excused from his duties today. The servants had thoughtfully placed King Fuinur's invitation on his bedside table so he wouldn't forget. Not that that was likely. Since Fuinur's father stepped down, Fuinur and Gramil saw eachother rarely, and only on business. This invitation was no exception. Friends had warned him weeks ago that his semi-retirement was coming to an end.

Fuinur wanted the man who opened the trade routes to Nurn to accompany the man of Dale - who better? - and knew of no reason Gramil should not return. Gramil's throat dried. There was a place he hoped to never see again. Given the events of his last visit, he wasn't sure it was wise for him to return. Events it was best the king knew nothing about. He was not sure how this fit in the breakdown of the system, but he knew better than to call the wrath of the king upon himself.

Gramil wasn't worried. Much. He knew the king as a boy, when they had filched sweets from the feast tables together. Fuinur was masterful, but, like the dragon his namesake, he could be swayed to a different venture. So long as he felt it was his own idea.

Several hours later, Gramil loped up the long winding steps to the king's palace, readying his excuses in his mind. Oddly, the ornate great doors to the main hall were closed, though a page came quickly to his knock. As he was lead through the familiar arched passageways, he glanced about and realized he didn't recognize any of the guards. Strange. Fuinur kept his personal guard with him at all time. He couldn't have this many new recruits.

"Where are we going?" he asked his guide in a mild voice, hiding his concern as they missed the turn to the king's audience chamber. "Has the king moved his quarters?"

But they had already arrived at a back chamber, and he was welcomed politely by... a speech.

"King Fuinur gives his greetings, and apologizes he could not be here today, of these most auspicious days." The retainer had official orders. Stacks of them. Gramil's appeared to be about halfway down. "He is detained elsewhere, but gratefully accepts your homage and obeisance - glory to the realm." The efficient man took a breath and scanned the parchment in front of him. "One Jarl of Dale, representative of King Brand of Dale, has come to negotiate trade agreements with our King. Our King Fuinur, the Dragon, the lord of this realm and all it tributaries bestows upon you, Gramil, trusted counselor and tradesmaster, the honor and all necessary powers to conduct such agreements in the manner you see fit for the benefit of our land. Glory to the realm." The clerk finally looked up, pointing to the parchment. "Affix your seal here."

Fuinur had assumed his acceptance. There was no honorable way out at this point. Gramil puzzled over one line of the document.

"What is meant by 'all necessary powers'?"

The clerk blinked. "It just says 'all necessary powers.'"

"Recruitment of guards? Transportation? Access to the treasury?"

The clerk looked helpless. "I.. I don't know."

Gramil smiled and shook his head. Fuinur must have been in a hurry to be this sloppy. If he had given this to anyone else.. Still, Gramil thanked his luck for this much. He may just need all of those powers.

He affixed his seal and nodded, "I accept in the light of the sun."

[ September 26, 2002: Message edited by: Marileangorifurnimaluim ]

[ September 26, 2002: Message edited by: Marileangorifurnimaluim ]

[ October 06, 2002: Message edited by: Marileangorifurnimaluim ]