Wilderness, Weathertop, & Wild Things RPG

[piosenniel]

Envinyatar’s post - Veryadan

Veryadan lay on the cot in his sparsely furnished room in the Guard’s Quarters. His cape was thrown over the straight-backed chair at his small desk, mocking him with its memories of the times he had hidden beneath its folds to escape the notice of the enemy. He sighed, turning to his side, his head now elevated on his right hand. One of his larger maps was pinned to the wall, and he traced with his gaze the route he had once taken from Calenhad over the Ered Nimrais to Ethring. There had been reports of increasing numbers of Orcs in the mountainous regions, and he had gone to investigate . . . and eliminate, as he could. Now that had been an interesting foray . . .

He caught himself . . . You are starting to sound like some of the old warriors! Drifting off into dreams of the olden, ‘better’, days! He laughed out loud, startling a sparrow who had come to rest on his window ledge, in hopes of a few crumbs.

‘I beg your pardon, Master Sparrow!’ he said grinning and shaking his head at the discomfited bird. The olden days were only a few short years past, he reminded himself, and I have not reached my dotage yet!’ The bird, appeased by the offer of a small wedge of seedcake, resumed his perch on the window ledge with one wary eye on the now up and pacing Man.

He had been chafing under the duties and expectations of life at court. True, Aragorn . . . No! King Elessar, he reminded himself for the thousandth time . . . had requested the presence of the company of Men who had fought with him, but now there were no foes to fight save the few mice he had seen scurrying to hide behind the arras in the great dining hall or the occasional flying bug that found its way through the open window in his room. And no dark plans to disentangle and avert save for those of his two darling sisters, whose sole purpose it seemed of late was to thrust ‘eligible’ females in his path, at every turn. He had been firm with them, saying he enjoyed their company and the company of their children, and indeed he was all a child could ask for as an uncle. But, that was as far as his desires in that area had gone. In time, perhaps, he thought to himself, when I have had my fill of wandering . . .

^*^

Later that day, seated at his desk, at work on the legend for his newest map, that of the lands just west of the Eastern Sea, in particular Dorwinion, he was annoyed at the discrete knock at his door that broke his concentration and thought to send the offender away with a curt dismissal. A few words heard dimly through the thin door and the sound of a familiar laughed stayed him.

With a grin, he threw open door, and thrust out his ink-stained hand to clasp the arm of the man who stood there, craning his neck beyond him for the source of the familiar laughter . . .