An Audience With The King RPG

[Alkanoonion]

*****Harad/Umbar*****
With the meeting with Urken complete, the two kings returned to the ship.
On the way back to the boat one of the deck hands bumped into Fuinur. In the resulting scuffle, he slipped a message into Fuinur's hand. Fuinur looked into the man’s face and realised that it was Seth; Seth was Fuinur’s servant whom he had placed on Urken’s ship to spy on any suspicious activities. To cover up his surprised reaction, Fuinur hit Seth in the face and knocked him to the ground. “Clumsy fool get away from me” Seth stumbled from Fuinur’s wrath and disappeared below deck

The two kings climbed down a rope leading to a small boat waiting below to take the man back to the other ship. The small boat was cramped with Fuinur and Herumir, each with three retainers all fully armed, but the trip was short. Once back onboard the ship the two kings retreated to the captain’s cabin.

Once the door closed Fuinur opened the message from Seth.

My king all is going well, no news to report at this time. Tonight while the bear sleeps; I will tri to look through his documents. I will get a message you as soon possible.

Your servant and friend
Seth.


“Well” said Herumir “what does it say”?
“Nothing, just that the search goes on, Seth will send us a massage once he has news”

With the meeting over and no demanding business at hand and with the rebel ship at least one full day away, the two kings decided to take the rest of the day easy and rest in the sun. All around them worked the crew busy learning the trade of the sea.

[Marileangorifurnimaluim]

**** Harad/Umbar - Gramil ****

Gramil held onto his oliphaunt as best he could, his knuckles white, his face grim. The strange slow jerking motion of an oliphaunt he never could get used to, one reason he usually rode donkeys. The best he could do was keep his knees up so as not to clip himself on the chin. It made him look rather like an awkward skinny spider perched atop the creature. An unhappy skinny spider. There was never a more grateful man than Gramil touching earth at their first camp. He stood and stretched, and took in their surroundings.

Scattered low trees dotted grasslands that were warm and baked golden in the summer's heat. A sweet scent rose on the soft evening breeze, and stars began to fill the darkening evening sky.

Gramil hummed in his rich baritone as his pulled his bags off the oliphaunt, a tune Ethar recognized as they all knew it.

While they quickly set up camp, nightfall was sudden in the flats, Ethar picked up the descant of this old song of the stars, when they were seeded into the sky. By nightfall they would loom down at the travellers, dazzling the eyes. The Corsairs of Umbar learned to steer by the stars on these grasslands long before they used them at sea. Gramil had used them himself, in setting his fabled route to Nurn, one that bypassed both the Harad Road and Poros.

Gramil was pleased. They had made good time. The oliphaunts were fresh and eager to be out of the city, their ears perked, their trunks testing the air, the countryside, anything they passed. Ethar was an excellent rider and disciplined his mount to pay attention to the road, but Gramil's oliphaunt did what she liked. Gramil wisely chose the younger beasts for himself and the rest of the group, as they would follow Ethar's. Gramil was unsuprised the young Tiger was a good rider, but it startled him Jarl was so comfortable in the seat.

Ethar had a good blaze going as the sun vanished in a blaze across the horizon. They set no tents as it was unlikely to rain in this season. A fine cloth to keep out the bugs was all they needed. When they finished their song, Jarl commented:

"Gramil, I didn't know you were such a singer." He nudged an escaped coal back into the fire with his boot. Gramil blushed as he peeled the bark off a green twig to use as a poker.

"I was meant to be one of the Singers, teachers you would call them I suppose," he explained. "Taught and groomed to be such by the old Singer at our plantation himself. The warrior-priesthood is passed from father to son, but the Singers can be anyone.

"They have to be chosen by the warrior-priest's guild," Gramil looked up at the stars wistfully. "When I passed my twenty-fourth birthday and still was not claimed, a new course was set for my life."

[ October 12, 2002: Message edited by: Marileangorifurnimaluim ]

[piosenniel]

***** DALE-Girion *****

'Tell me, how came Bard to send you? I know your King. He and my late father often held council together, which I attended.'

Girion had not the opportunity to answer Stonehelm's question. His concern for Orodan had refocused his attention, and he offered the support of his long friendship with the Elf to allay his fears.

But now, the watch had been set by Girion, and Orodan made less distressed by his own resolve. The Man sat near the Dwarven King, rubbing some medicinal salve on his wound. Hringa had assured him it would speed the healing of it. His eyes stung from the pungent vapors, even as a healing warmth spread about his thigh. Done, he eased his leg into a comfortable position and listened to the deep voices of the Dwarven singers. Their songs boomed out like hammers echoing in mighty caverns - the occasional high, clear counterpoint of a single singer shining forth as a well crafted gem.

He watched Stonehelm's face as the dwarves took up new songs. Each new grouping of singers challenging the next to outdo them. There was marked pride that played upon the young King's countenance for his companions, and an easy sense of fellowship reflected in his gaze. Yet, there was that sense of responsibility and command that always sat deep behind his eyes.

Girion marvelled at the naturalness with which the Dwarf moved between these roles. He thought of his own Father, then, and how such came naturally to him, also. He felt young, unschooled by such grace, and wondered if it might ever come to him.

[ October 10, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[VanimaEdhel]

*****Rhûn Nation*****

Lovek collected the liquor from the grumbling men. He smiled a bit to himself. It made him feel good to be taking all of this useless, mind-numbing liquor and putting it to good use for once. He knew the men would just have used it to get drunk and then they would have been useless.

"We should see if we can find some wood as well. This should get the fire started, but it will need more fuel once it gets started," Lovek said, looking at Kasteni, "Shall some of the others seek wood close to these parts? For I do not believe that they should remove themselves too far from this area."

"No, I suppose not," Kasteni said, gesturing to the others to look around close for wood. The howls could be heard and they sounded as if they were drawing nearer. One particular cry caused all the men to freeze momentarily.

"You heard what the Advisor commanded!" Lovek said, breaking the silence and shaking himself out of his break in thought, "Get the wood!"

Lovek cleared some ground and began getting the ground ready for a fire...

[Tharkûn]

*****Dale-Garlin*****

As the great beasts plodded on, Garlin got used to the steady rhythm of the great beasts' plodding on. Gramil, on the other hand, seemed to be very cautious on his beast, and almost jumped off with every step. They were about two days into their journey now, and the trip was going smoothly. He and Ethar had rekindled their friendship, and now they got on famously. Ethar would tell him all the things that were worth knowing in Harad, and he would tell Ethar the same of Dale. Just now, Ethar was telling him, "...and if you want a good time, find the ninth street to the east of the second guard house, and the third building once you turn right on that street. Knock on the 2nd door in that building and say, 'Ethar has sent me.' They'll open the door and you'll have your pick of..." "I get the picture, Ethar," Garlin cut in, hoping that Jarl hadn't heard. "And here I was thinking you had your eye on that shop girl!" Jarl jokingly yelled over. Blushing, Garlin steered his and Ethar's conversation towards something a little more... legal. "Are there any good wine merchants around?" He asked, since he had intended to buy some for his mother, stuck with that good for nothing alcoholic that he had the dishonor of calling a father. And so, the beasts trod on, Ethar detailing the finer wine sellers to Garlin all the way.

[ October 10, 2002: Message edited by: Tharkûn ]

[Bêthberry]

^ ^ ^ ^ Erebore/ Lonely Mountain ^ ^ ^ ^

Stonehelm listened to the singing of his dwarves with pride and marked time with slight nods of his head. They were stalwart and indominable, at battle and at play. Their delight in making, in creating was a gift from Mahal which lightened even dark nights like this. It was a good day to be a dwarf.

Stonehelm glanced over at Girion and then at Orodon. He watched the two young leaders and thought he could see himself in their faces scant years ago. Proud, overeager, self-centered and unrestrained even, no doubt unsure of themselves. Well, he had proven himself at the Seige; perhaps this trip will be their proving ground.

He looked back at the singers. Curin and Burin in particular were well rehearsed at such songs. They reveled in the cheers which resounded around the fires and in the comaraderie. Stonehelm suddenly felt himself outside the circle, a step removed from the sport of the song. He was alone. None to share his private thoughts. He was a leader. That, too, Girion and Orodon would have to learn, the loss of personal or private satisfactions. And the loneliness that comes with leadership. A memory of Ingeld flooded his mind and for a few moments he succumbed to its pleasure, but then shook it off. Who was taking watch? Had Hringa organized it? His eyes turned to the perimeters.

[ October 10, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

*********Harad/Umbar*********

The second day of sailing ended with little incident. They had made excellent time, for the current in the Bay and the winds had been going in their direction. The next three and a half days would bring a different tale. It was certainly possible for a large shallow-bottomed vessel to sail up the Anduin as they intended to do. However, the current would flow from north to south. Their progress was bound to be slower.

But that was not the only problem. Just ahead, Urken saw the isle of Tolfalas. Further along was the mouth of the River itself. Now the difficult job would start.

Soon they would see whether the Corsair ship had made it this far. And the state of the villages along the river banks would give them an important clue. For if the villages had been raided and burned, Urken expected there would be trouble from the residents along those shores. One Corsair vessel looked the same as another Corsair vessel to the inexperienced eye. Why should anyone think that their ship had come for any different purpose than to pillage and raid? Given these circumstances, the priest did not think the folk of South Gondor would welcome them with open arms whatever Elessar might proclaim.

[ October 11, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Belin]

*****Rivendell*****

Elladan, in spite of his surprisingly irritable mood, grinned slightly to himself at the care that Elrohir took to make sure he was seen. He would never have had to turn his head to know his brother was there, or even to know that the expression on his face was the unreadably grave one that he used whenever he was particularly concerned about something, but it was extremely polite of him. Elladan was mollified.

"Oh, most of my thoughts are worth much less than a penny, selfish, petty things that they are, but my thanks for your offer," he answered. "I only have one to make up for it. Do you think it's too late at night to wake an old hobbit? I have some questions that I don't think an elf can answer."

------------------------------------------

Mr. Bilbo Baggins, though (or perhaps because) he slept through most of the day, was often restless at night when the moon is shining. The elves paused for a moment outside the door, listening to catch a faint cadenced mumble coming from his room.

"Should we interrupt him?" whispered Elrohir. "I think he's writing."

Elladan looked thoughtful. He tapped on the door, lightly enough that the old hobbit could quite politely pretend not to hear it if he chose.

[Shadow_Staar]

*~*Blue Mountains*~*

Mikhelm sat and drank his ale, which was much to his liking, and listened to his King answer all the questions the hobbits had to ask. He somewhat drifted off, and thought about to argue his points. 'We should be left alone, as we always have been,' he thought, 'We should not be bothered by elves, or men!'
"NO!" He shouted.
"What is it Mikhelm?" Theron asked.
The older dwarf looked slightly embarrassed, "Nothing, sire, just thinking aloud is all." He turned back to his ale.
The hobbit looked at him oddly but then turned back to Theron, to ask more questions and listen to him tell his story.

[Susan Delgado]

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

Hardo looked at the older Dwarf for a moment. His outburst was more tha odd and out of place; it was a little worrying. He had to travel a thousand miles with this person? Perhaps he'd be better off leading the Hobbits by himself, without the Dwarves and their lack of self control. He bacame aware that someone had addressed him. It was Theron.

"What?" He said.
"I asked where you were planning to go after you left Bree," The Dwarf repeated, somewhat irritatedly. He didn't appreciate people not paying attention when he spoke.
"Oh. I thought we'd continue down the West Road until we get to Rivendell and then decide where to go from there."
"Rivendell!" The oldest Dwarf, Mikhelm, shouted, "No way you'll get me to go along with a bunch of Elves!" He leapt to his feet and seemed ready to storm out the door, but Serin, the youngest of the three Dwarves and the only one who hadn't spoken yet, grabbed the back of Mikhelm's tunic and pulled him back down onto the bench with a muttered, "Sit down and be quiet."
Hardo gave him the doubtful looka again and said, "I didn't say we'd be going with the Elves. I said we'd choose where to go after Rivendell."
The Dwarf growled to himself and went after his meal as if it deserved a punishment. The others ignored him and continued their conversation.

[ October 11, 2002: Message edited by: Susan Delgado ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

***Shire***

Brando had been watching Mikhelm with curiosity and nearly leapt out of his skin as the dwarf yelled out.
"NO!"
The others looked at him quizzically but he just mumbled something about thinking aloud and Brando turned his thoughts back to the story that the hobbits were hooked on.
However after a while, they started discussing the finer histories and points of the story and Brandos eyes drifted back to Mikhelm. The dwarf had been sitting quite quietly all night, his mind apparently on something else, answering painstakingly politely when he spoke. Now the polite face was cracking and he looked bored and deep in thought.

Suddenly he looked up and saw the young hobbit looking at him closely. Heat rushed to Brandos face, embarrased at having been staring at the pensive dwarf, and he suddenly found renewed interest in the table in front of him...
He looked up after a minute and the dwarf was wearing a look of slight amusement instead of the polite mask. He smiled at the hobbit and relieved at not having offended the dwarf, Brando smiled back. The others laughed at something in a new story which Odo was telling and the hobbit lads interest switched to that. Mikhelm seemed to sink back into his thoughts, but his face was still slightly amused.

[Thenamir]

======= Blue Mountains / Shire ========

Theron completed his story and proceeded to clean his pipe, which had long since grown cold. "Well now," Theron said sleepily as he stretched his legs out under the rough wooden table, "the hour is getting late, and we have a long way to go at a quick pace if we don't want to be last at the King's Gathering. I'm not the energetic dwarf I used to be, and so I am going to bed, young hobbits. Your Mayor Gamgee asked us to travel with you, and so we will be at your service tomorrow morning at daybreak." Theron gave a "let's go" glance to Mikhelm and Serin, who rose from the table and followed Theron to the hallway that led to their ground-floor rooms. Like most dwarves, and hobbits, they preferred to rest close to the earth. THe hobbits began buzzing to each other as soon as the dwarves left the table, but were soon out of earshot.

Theron opened the door to their room. They had taken a hobbit-room, where everything was hobbit-sized, and so just a wee bit smaller than they were used to. It was better, however, than the rooms built for men, where everything was patently oversized.

"So, what do you two think of our new travelling companions?" Theron asked of his two subjects.

[Celebmornie]

***Rivendell***
Thule went around gathering the things she knew she would need. She had come from The Shire and her food supply was low. When she was ready she went to find Elrohir. If she was to be there guide she would need to find him.

[ October 11, 2002: Message edited by: Celebmornie ]

[Guildo]

<<<Eryn Lasgalen>>>

Nefros

Finally Nefros became too tired to run anymore much less hold Isilya while running. He laid her down gently in a small clearing. He was very confused about what to do; his sister was hanging on the verge of life and death, and his best friend’s fate was unknown.

Nefros began to sing a song he always sang to his sister before she went to rest at night.
Shortly after he finished his song he heard a noise from the east and heading straight in his direction.
“a party of elves, they must have heard my song” he said to himself.
“ I know now what I must do” he kissed his sister on her forehead, and began running back to the south knowing the party of elves would take better care of her than he could at the time.


Orodan

It was now early morning and still no sign of Nefros, over the night Stonehelm and Girion had given Orodan much comfort and well wishes, but the time to move was now and Orodan was afraid he would have to represent Eryn Lasgalen alone.

The party was now ready to make progress again when a noise was heard from the northern part of the circle, it was Nefros barely recognizable, his face was covered in thorn scratches and ridden with sorrow. Nefros fell to his knees as Orodan approached him.

“you need not explain anything my friend, you need rest” as he placed his hand on Nefros’s head.

“Perhaps the dwarves will agree to let you sleep in their wagon while we travel”

Orodan was now truly glad his companion was back safe, though he was still quite sorrowful of the loss of Isilya.

[ October 12, 2002: Message edited by: Guildo ]

[Ringwraith Number Two]

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

Orlo had sat in silence throughout the meal, half-afraid, and half in awe of the dwarves. He had certainly been alarmed when one of the dwarves had shouted; but Hardo, he thought, had handled the situation quite well. All in all, he was quite relieved when the dwarves had decided to retire for the night.

He watched as the Dwarves disappeared, and turned to his companions,wanting to ask Hardo the question that had been nagging him ever since the dwarf had shouted.

"Well, Master Proudfoot?" he asked. "Are we travelling with the Elves, or not?"

He knew very well what he would like to do; the Elves were the most fascinating and enchanting people of Middle-Earth, and Master Gamgee's avid descriptions of them had made him want to see (and even talk to) the Elves even more..but Master Gamgee had not neglected to tell him of the animosity between the Elves and the Dwarves either.

[ October 12, 2002: Message edited by: Ringwraith Number Two ]

[Bêthberry]

^ ^ ^ ^ Erebor/ Lonely Mountain ^ ^ ^ ^

On foot, pony, and cart through Mirkwood, progress was slow and tempers of the entire crew of dwarves, elves and men of Dale curt and testy. They had 188 miles to cover and barely made seven miles a day. Often, the cart wheels snagged in ruts and rocks and it took seven or eight hands to push the heavily laden carts off. Even at the height of mid-day, the sun barely breached the canopy overhead and rarely reached the forest floor, a green sea of swaying ferns, mosses, subshrubs, tangled branches, and fallen, decaying trees. Tree trunks loomed liked forbidding sentries and voices were quickly swallowed up, their direction masked so that if anyone left the trail, not even voice could guide him back. Dank humidity rose suffocatingly from the floor.

To make matters worse, storm clouds rolled in and heavy torrents of rain pelted through the tree tops, turning the path into a morass of heavy, clinging, oozing mud, a veritable bog. The carts careened on the slippery ground and, under the strain, the front axle of the first wagon snapped, sending wagon and contents tumbling into the mire.

[GreatWarg]

*****Rhûn Nation*****

Ulwyte carefully tied his horse to a stake. It was shaking at the howling voices around. It wouldn't even attempt to drag the stake like this. Others were doing likewise, then tramping off to gather wood. The inhabitants of the area had either fled or were killed. A dreary end to a day, Ulwyte mused. No wonder the were-bears had left them when easier prey was running afoot.

'Pah! No wonder no one dares come around here, if half those dreaded tales of cursed beasts are true,' was the general mumblings of guards that passed back and forth dispiritedly heaving wood.

As the howls seemed to draw closer, and unfriendly eyes glared out of the darkness, the great fire lit up. The dancing flames sputtered and hissed, and the shadows drew back. Immediately, all the eyes lit out and the howls stopped.

[piosenniel]

***** DALE-Girion *****

It seemed to Girion that nature and the Forest were bent on keeping them from the river. He had been riding in the first wagon when the axle snapped, and now he found himself in the mud of the road along with the rest of the baggage and goods. His leg was still very tender, and faithful as he was about keeping it clean and covered with salve, still it did not appear to be healing. He pushed the pain of his movement to the back of his mind, and heaved himself to his feet.

The Dwarves had gathered about the wagon. He could see Rubin and Orodan helping to gather up the scattered contents along with Hringa. The others stood about pointing and at the wheel and axle and discussing what they might do. Fixing it did not seem an option in their discussion.

Girion approached Stonehelm. 'Shall we load all this onto the other carts?' He pointed to the mound of goods that had now been piled just to the side of the road. 'The other carts look full to bursting already. I don't know how much more the ponies can pull. Were I making the decision, I might suggest we strip down to essentials now in order to carry on.' He looked at Stonehelm, surveying the extent of the damage. 'But then these are your goods and your people. I will follow your lead in this.'

[piosenniel]

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

It was the evening of the second day, and the odd party of travelers from the south found themselves making camp near dusk. A great wide plain spread westward from the shadow Mountains, with islands of vegetation dotted here and there where water was available.

It was at one of these inviting sites that Jarl called for a halt for the day. They had pushed their mounts to put distance between themselves and the city, and now the poor beasts were tired.

The riders dismounted, took the equipment from the oliphaunts, and left them to forage. Jarl pulled a wineskin from his baggage and took a long pull on it, passing it to his companions. 'All this talk of wine had me thirsty for a taste of it!' he grinned. 'Gramil and I will gather some wood for a small cooking fire.' he said, winking at Gramil while passing the skin of wine back to him. He turned to the two young men 'I noticed that you both brought short bows. Could we prevail upon you to find a little fresh meat for us, O Mighty Hunters?

Garlin and Ethar were glad to be stretching their muscles. They waved good-bye and set off, bows in hand.

Gramil busied himself with making a small fire, while Jarl filled a pot with water and set it over the flames. When it came to a gentle boil, he put in some of their dried vegetables and spices and a dash of wine for good measure. He dragged his saddle over and sat on it, giving the broth an occasional stir. Gramil, sprawled at his ease on the other side of the fire.

'About your question,' he began, passing the wine to Gramil, 'of why Dale would be interested in where the Kings of Harad have gone.' Gramil opened one eye and looked Jarl's way, expectantly. 'I had heard through various sources that a messenger had come to the Harad courts with an invitation from the new King Elessar to attend upon him. Is this true?' He hurried on before Gramil could speak. 'If it is so, then Dale must also have received this message and has sent someone to Minas Anor. I cannot think who Bard might have sent, but I know had I been there it would be me travelling to represent Dale to the High King.' He looked at Gramil and held his gaze. 'When is this meeting, can you tell me?'

[Elenna]

******Rivendell - Meneciriel******

Meneciriel sat up yet another night, looking at the map. It's funny, she thought to herself. It's only a few inches from here to the land of the Beornings on this map, but it will be one of the longest journeys I've ever been on.

Straightening up, she went to the kitchens, hoping to find Elladan or Elrohir there, getting a midnight snack. She snatched a pastry stuffed with carrots and asparagus, as well as a mug of juice, and made her way to the great library of Rivendell, hoping to find something among the scrolls there that would give her more confidence about their upcoming journey.

[ October 13, 2002: Message edited by: Elenna ]

[Susan Delgado]

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

Preoccupied with his brooding about the Dwarves' presence and what it might mean for his already unpleasant trip South, Hardo failed to hear Odo speaking to him. Finally, Odo had to practically shout in his ear to get his attention, with Orlo and Brando waving enthusiastically in the background.

When he realised they were addressing him, he snapped, "What!"
Odo sat back in on the bench, wary of Hardo's ire. "We just want to know where we're going and if we're really going with the Elves or not," Odo said in a small voice.
Oh. "You already heard my planned route to the Dwarves. I imagine whether we travel with the Elves or not depends on whether they've already left Rivendell or not. I imagine they probably have."
"Oooh," Brando exclaimed, "So you just lied to the Dwarves?"
Hardo snorted at the uppity boy. "I certainly did not! I was trying to prevent a scene that..Dwarf...wanted to cause. Now, it's time we all went to bed. We have a long road in the morning."

They rose, paid their bill (and the Dwarves' too, Hardo noted with irritation) and went off to their rooms. They passed the Dwarves' door on their way; by the snoring behind it, the were already fast asleep.

[Celebmornie]

***Rivendell***
Having no luck finding them anywheare else, Thule decided to go to the library. Maby they will be there.She though to herself. She walked down the corridors looking for it untill finally she saw the door labled 'Library'. She went in and after looking aroung decided they were not there. She decided to find a book to read since she knew she would have trouble sleeping tonight. She started browsing the shelves.

[Bêthberry]

^ ^ ^ ^ Erebor/ Lonely Mountain ^ ^ ^ ^

Stonehelm looked at Girion. The advice was good, wise beyond the young man's years, although perhaps easier done for not owning the goods himself.

Most of these are Frain's goods for trade. Pose the question to him. Let us see where his sympathies lie, with Erebor or himself.

OOC: And here I thought I had set up a situation with good comic potential--dwarven mud fights. *grins*

[ October 19, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[piosenniel]

***** DALE-Rubin *****

Rubin watched Girion as he stood and then walked toward the King. He could tell the Prince's leg still bothered him greatly. Girion had not allowed him to care for the wound, not wanting him to know, he was sure, how bad it really was. 'Udûn take you!' he swore quietly, thinking of the spiders.

He was helping Hringa pile the spilled goods off the muddy road when he remembered that this was the Dwarf from whom Girion had gotten the salve. He told Hringa that Girion's leg was not healing well, and asked if he might have something stronger they might try.

'Let me take a look at it.' said the Dwarf. 'Then I can decide what might be best for it.'

Rubin thanked him, and returned to his Prince's side, awaiting for a chance to speak.

[piosenniel]

***** DALE-Girion *****

Girion walked stiffly toward Frain. The Dwarf stood, hands on hips, shaking his head at the muddy heap of trade goods in front of him. 'Curse all those Spiders and their children's children!' Frain muttered under his breath.

Girion waited for the Dwarf to notice him, which he did soon, casting a none too friendly eye on the Man and the Elf which stood just beyond him.

'I have spoken with Stonehelm.' began Girion, ignoring the disgusted look on the Dwarf's face. 'He asked that I broach a suggestion to you that I had made to him. It concerns how we might lighten our load since we no longer have the wagon. It has a great deal to do with your wares. Please hear me out, and we will abide by your wishes as we can.'

Frain looked at the Man, expectantly. 'Well! Talk! I'm not one of those Elves who can pry into other peoples' minds and hear them!'

Girion steped back a pace, and bowed his head to the irritated Dwarf, a smile quickly hidden. He outlined what he had suggested to the King, and asked then what Frain thought they might do.

[Marileangorifurnimaluim]

**** Harad/Umbar - Gramil ****

'I know had I been there it would be me travelling to represent Dale to the High King.' Jarl looked at Gramil and held his gaze. 'When is this meeting, can you tell me?'

"Ah, the meeting." Gramil brightened, relieved. He had learned much of the king's plans in the days before their departure - being nearly family had many advantages. Almost as many as disadvantages. Clearly Jarl knew nothing of the intended attack on the Corsairs, else he would not have been so casual in broaching this subject. That in itself set Gramil's last concerns to rest, concerns already eased by Jarl's easy (and detailed) descriptions of his travels as a young tradesman. His experiences were much like Gramil's own, and could not be invented by any spy or mercenary.

"The meeting is on mettare, the last day of the Gondor year." Gramil rubbed his chin, taking Jarl's point right away. His mind leapt to their possible routes.

"My route to Nurn is shorter than the crossing of Poros - follows the river Harnen which is very easy to ford near the Shadow Mountains. It takes us directly into the heart of Nurn. But - " he said reading the growing disappointment in the line of Jarl's shoulders: he was fully aware this route would take them far from Minas Arnor. " - if we continue on the Harad Road to Poros, we can sample the poppy wine of Western Nurn and still be in time to Minas Arnor." Though just barely, thought Gramil.

He tossed a few twigs and kindling onto the fire, smiling and pleased as he watched Jarl's shoulders straighten, his chin lift. Yes. This was important to the man.

******

Ethar nodded at Garlin, pointing with his chin to the left, while he circled to the right. The light wind was their eyes, and, more importantly, away from their dinner. The rabbit sat up, sniffing. They had their bows already drawn so that motion would not disturb their prey. Both arrows were away.

"Good shot!" Ethar clapped Garlin on the back as they added this rabbit to the first.

[ October 13, 2002: Message edited by: Marileangorifurnimaluim ]

[Kettle of fish]

***** Dale-Rubin *****

Rubin watched Girion talk with the irate dwarf, but made no immediate attempt to broach the topic of Girion's leg while the dwarf considered the proposal. He did not want to appear to be coddling the future ruler. That hurt to his pride alone would cause Girion to staunchly ignore any suggestions for treatment for his leg which could lead to serious circumstances. Rubin knew that Girion would rather have his leg amputated from festering than have his pride hurt.

Eventually, he walked over to Girion.

"Your handling of Orodan was masterful. But remember that for the interests of Dale, you must also maintain good relations with the dwarves."

Rubin paused and looked at Frain ordering the other dwarves angrily. His voice dropped a notch.

"And perhaps with healing to your leg sped up with a salve, you could ride as well as that time your father asked if you had any thoughts to a wife from the leading families.", Rubin's voice grew grave.

"A king must ride well"

[Guildo]

<<<<<Eryn Lasgalen>>>>>>

Orodan & Nefros

Orodan fell back in the line to the end wagon where Nefros was lying to see if he was ready to speak. Orodan was quite surprised that even when the wagon weel broke and they all had to fix it Nefros slept through.
Nefros now told his story to Orodan and many of the others heard, Orodan even saw a few smiles when Nefros reached the part about the use of his flute, Orodan thought it to be very clever as well.

“This is a Grievous time for you my friend, but be glad no matter what your sisters fate may be, with the elves she will receive the honor she deserves.”

“Now be at rest my friend, you have much healing to do, and I must see you get back to cheering up soon.”

Nefros did not smile, bur from the look on his face it was apparent he wished he could.

Orodan approached King Stonehelm and began a rather meaningless conversation but Orodan quickly moved it to something very important to the both of them.

“I say King Stonehelm you are starting a good relationship with this forest, you have already won a battle for it against its greatest enemy, you may call me a mad elf but I have an idea that may interest you.”

King Stonehelm answered by only implying he wanted to hear and how, and he could never befriend a forest.

“Master Stonehelm, I deeply desire to return the beauty and “good” magic of the vast forest, you seek it for its strong wood for building. I think there is a way for the both of us to get what we want”
“As you can see there is much dead wood here that still holds much strength” Orodan said as he pointed to a fallen tree.

“If we begin to Groom the Forest for this dead wood, clean the forest so to speak, I’m sure it will be enough through the years to build your bridges and help restoring your lost city.” Orodan said awaiting Stonehelms reaction.

[Ringwraith Number Two]

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

Orlo awoke, realising heavily that they would soon be leaving Bree behind, and getting on the wearisome road again. His spirits were further dampened as the problem of the Elves and Dwarves hit him. Gloomily, he looked about the room. Judging by the greyness of the sky, it was very early morning. Remembering the talking-to Hardo had given him the last time he had woken him up early, he decided to let the others sleep.

He quickly packed up the loose and stray things in the room they would need, and proceeded down to the hobbit rooms, feeling increasing nervous. He raised a timid hand and knocked gently on the door. He could hear the inhabitants of the room stirring and mumbling, and then a bearded face opened the door and peered through a minute crack. It appeared to be Serin, who raised a bushy eyebrow.

"Good morning, sir," Orlo said in his most polite tone. "I'm very sorry to wake you so early in the morning and all, but I'm here, t-to ask you to get ready f-f-or Rivendell. We're s-setting off after breakfast."

The dwarf grunted in acknowledgement and shut the door. Orlo stared at it for a minute, and scampered off to wake his fellow hobbits.

After a great deal of grumbling and mumbling, everyone was finally dressed and ready for breakfast. The Dwarves had already finished, and much to Orlo's disappointment, breakfast was a hasty meal. Finally, the Dwarves lead the ponies out of Bree and onto the road.

Orlo turned to Hardo and their Dwarf guides. He himself had no idea where Rivendell lay: he hoped the others would know. It appeared they did, and so the travelling began again. He fell back a step to walk with Serin, and smiled politely in greeting, hoping to strike up a conversation with the Dwarf.

[ October 13, 2002: Message edited by: Ringwraith Number Two ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

^^^^^^Erebor/Lonely Mountain^^^^^^

Frain was now troubled. Yes, very troubled indeed. What was he to do? He had a choice: To risk the lives of the ponies and carts to bring a few sample goods to the new King, or to leave it behind to ensure a reasonably safe journey.

What shall I do? Less goods, less repairs needed for the carts. More goods, a new customer. Frains thought to himself.

Frain was a very wise dwarf, which may not have been seen at first look. He seemed hostile, quick to anger. Maybe he was, on the outside. Yet his years brought him much knowledge.

The King in Minas Arnor shall just have to trust the value of my services and friendship. I shall not put my boys and the ponies through the pain. Frain decided, and told Girion, Orodan, and Stonehelm.

Though he thought he had made a wise decision, Frain thought later that he might regret it. He somewhat wished he could take back his words, yet he knew he couldn't--he wouldn't.

[Marileangorifurnimaluim]

**** Harad/Umbar - in Nurn ****

A small figure disappeared over the ridge and into the brush. The two men the lad left behind were much scratched from scrambling through brush trails under brambles, trails never meant for more than children's games. It had been a day's crawl, frustratingly slow. But they waved to the boy, wondering if he could see them. They felt unnaturally exposed in the open air now.

"Well," Al-Gareth said with a glance to his armsman, "with any luck we'll see him again."

"I hope so, lord."

[ October 16, 2002: Message edited by: Marileangorifurnimaluim ]

[piosenniel]

***** DALE-Girion *****

Girion breathed a sigh of relief at Frain's words. It would be easier going if they left a great deal of their baggage and wares behind. He accompanied the Dwarf to where Stonehelm stood, and listened as Frain told the King of his decision. Girion volunteered his help to organize the sorting out of the wagon's good's, with the leave, of course of Frain. Frain would be freed then to pick what he valued most to carry with him.

Once done with this task, Girion sought out his attendant and let him take care of his wound, using a new salve and a compress given to Rubin by Hringa. The soothing effect of the herbs was immediate, and Girion felt his leg muscles relax into a more normal posture. He tried a few steps. The leg still hurt, but still he thought it seemed less. He clapped Rubin on the back, thanking him, and laughing at the remembered incident of future wives.

'Yes! a king must ride well,' he mused, 'but then that would require a horse, I think!' He laughed again and went to offer help to Frain with his sortings.

[ October 13, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

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

Jarl's spirits had lightened at the generous offer from Gramil. They had discussed their route, and had agreed to continue north along the edge of the Ephel Duath to where the Poros River flowed down from the mountains. Jarl and Garlin were both enjoying this look at the wilder area adjacent the Shadow Mountains, or what had formerly been the western fence of the dark land of Mordor.

Once there, they would turn west and follow the river to the Harad Road at Haudh in Gwanur. There would be time enough then for poppy wine, he mused.

They were now ten days into their northern journey. Garlin and Ethar had become quite adept at hunting small game, and each night marked a good meal with good companionship.

Jarl wondered at the ease with which Gramil had agreed to change plans to accomodate Jarl's wishes. He enjoyed the man immensely, and was in fact beginning to consider him a friend. But still he wondered - what advantages did Gramil see for himself in going to Gondor?

The sun was high in the sky. He adjusted his headgear to shade his face and urged his mount on. Looking over at Gramil, he saw the man staring at a number of birds circling in the sky to the north and east of their position.

[Alkanoonion]

*********Harad/ Umbar*********
The two ships moved slowly up the bay. Just ahead, Funiur saw the isle of Tolfalas. Further along was the mouth of the Anduin River. Now the difficult job would start. The two ships changed course heading for the mouth of the river. From the port side looking towards the back of the ship, Funiur stood, watching the landscape drift by.

Funiur was scanning the riverbanks for signs of the Corsair Ships passage. As of yet, the riverbank was peaceful. The land was bathed in warm sunshine. He watched the water birds flying down to eat the fish that the ships motion had disturbed, and smiled. There was purity in their actions. In the way that they could be happy at catching a smelly and slimy fish, so much so that with each fish caught and eaten, they would all pause and sing. The sweet simple sounds made him smile.
The smile was only momentary.
There had been little in his life recently to make him smile. The sounds of slaughter and death weighed heavily on his soul and on his conscience. If only he could return the sounds of happiness to the lands.

Funiur found himself imagining a more peaceful time. He could be on his own lands, working not towards a life of war, but working towards providing for his family and his people. He could see his men, rather then toiling with the tools of war, toiling over the rich soils to provide a wealth of foods.
They could all look forward to existing together in happy communities. His children could grow in a world were violence was not the norm, but the exception.
Funiur found himself trying to imagine a world of happiness, but the mental images were a brief relief.

As the two ships sailed up the Anduin, a call from the crows nest declared “Look to port’. Funiur looked up. The lookout was pointing ahead of the two ships.
Following the lookouts directions, Fuinur could see smoke funnelling upwards from a small village beside the river. Heading from the smoking remains of the village were a small fleet of angry fishermen.

Ordinarily, a small fleet of angry fishermen would be no hindrance to two ships in open water. They would just go around the smaller, slower vessels but with both ships being wedge at the mouth of the Anduin River, there was nowhere to go but forward.

Funiur found himself in a dilemma. Should he continue on course and fight the angry rabble, not only would he be placing his men in unnecessary risk, but he would be taking the life’s of ordinary and innocent people.
The decision was however, taken from his hands.

Oliphaunts, used in many of the previous battles had been transported to each conflict via ship. This particular Corsair vessel itself transported not only ground troops, but also two very valuable oliphaunts. Without them, there would be little chance of winning any future confrontations.
Normally the oliphaunts travelled well, having been breed for these traits (along with the necessary fighting traits needed in battel). Other than providing space for them in the hold area beneath the ships deck, they needed only the flimsiest of bindings.

As the Anduin River marked the end of a large expanse of salt water from the bay, meeting fresh water of the river, the oliphaunts violently express their need to both bath and drink. oliphaunts are fond of great expanses of water, this being their natural habitat. They broke free of their bindings to force their way from below deck. Above, they proceeded to stampeded all over the deck. Being trapped by the hight and solid riggings of the boats sides, the huge animals had nowhere to go but about the deck. Confusion and panic broke out.

The ship slowly drifted unattended towards the backs of the Anduin River. As the ship became beached against the bank, the small fleet of angry fishermen got closer.

Funiur observed the chaos around him. He looked across the river towards the approaching fleet, and so seeing all that which was out of his control, placed a hand over his eyes and said
“OH EXPLETIVE!”.

[Tharkûn]

*****Dale-Garlin*****

Smiling, Garlin watched as his arrow flew through the bushes, hearing the meaty thunk and hearing the last squeals of the rabbit. Rushing over, he picked up the body of the rabbit. What was that, his third? Last time he and Ethar had seen each other, they had been tied one to one. Thinking that there would be enough food by now, Garlin shot an arrow so steeply into the air that it whistled shrilly, the signal to return to camp. If Ethar was anywhere nearby, he'd either hear the arrow or see it in the dropping light.

Making his way back to camp, the first thing he noticed was the strange smell that wafted from the boiling pot of stew over the fire. Walking up, he asked, "Smells good, what's in it?", nodding his head towards the pot. "Some of our dried vegetables, spices, and a dash of wine for good luck," replied Jarl, who was sitting beside the fire on his saddle. Gramil, who looked much better now that he was on the ground, was sprawled on the ground, on the opposite side of the fire that Jarl was. Hearing a twig snap, Garlin spun. Ethar stepped out into the firelight. "Ah, Garlin, I heard your signal and came back. How many have you got?" Ethar asked. "Three. What about you?" Garlin replied. "Two," Ethar sighed, "I would have gotten my third, but your signal scared it off." Laughing, Garlin sat by the fire. Ethar sat opposite of him. In two minutes, he had one rabbit skinned and thrown into the stew. And so the night continued, the four acquaintances lying around the fire, catching some sleep, but talking throughout most of the night.

[ October 13, 2002: Message edited by: Tharkûn ]

[Robin Headstrong]

*****Rivendell*****

The halls of Rivendell were silent in the dark of the night. Fanelen was restless. The upcoming journey was all that she could think of; the thoughts persisently filled her mind and deprived her of her will to sleep. Was she ready to go that distance to the land of Beornings? And their new companions... She could handle halflings, but she detested dwarves- she had seen them before and thought them to be rude, brash, and incompetent. But she knew she was selfish to refuse the company of dwarves. Perhaps Fanelen could learn to accept them?

Fanelen silently walked out of her room. She couldn't sleep anyhow, so she might as well do something. But what? The young elf wandered down the hall aimlessly, hoping to think of something. The forest! Being out in the forest always calmed her. Or perhaps reading in the library...

Just as she was thinking of these ideas, she found Elladan and Elrohir in the dark. "Elladan?" she asked softly so as not to disturb anyone else. "Elrohir? What are you two doing up at this hour? You can't sleep either?"

[piosenniel]

***** DALE-Girion *****

Girion could smell the difference now. For the past eighteen days they had moved steadily toward the Anduin beneath the dense cover of the forest. The Elves had drunk in the deep scents of the trees and layers of fecund matter beneath them as a heady wine and rejoiced in them. But to the Dwarves and Men, it seemed much like a vast, dark blanket bent on smothering them with its lowering greeness that blocked the light and hid from their sight lurking dangers.

But now Girion could see the edge of it from the small rise they had camped on. The trees were thinning and the land moved down in a verdant sward toward the river's edge. The sun was just above the western horizon, and the soft light of its descent glinted off the top of the water, turning the river to a silvered band.

'Water!' His spirit leapt at the site of it and was refreshed. Rubin had come up beside him, and they stood a while, savoring the scents of the river born on the wind.

It was in his mind to urge the party on through the night, when he heard a gruff sigh from one of the Dwarves nearby.

'We should never have left the Mountains! The forest is passed but barely, and now we must face the dangers of the river. What have Dwarves ever had from trees and water but trouble and misfortune!'

[ October 14, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[The Barrow-Wight]

* * * * * Rhûn Nation * * * * *

The Kiseljak Hostel blazed brightly through the night, and though the were-bears circled for several hours just beyond the glare of the fire, they did not attack again. As the morning sun arose, the adventurers from Ozvalda saw the carnage that had occurred at the place. Bodies of soldiers and civilians littered the courtyard of the hostel, most ravaged beyond any recognition. Kiseljak had stood for decades as a place of sanctuary in the evil hills, but now it would protect no one again. Kasteni called one of the injured horse-guards to him and ordered him to make haste back to the capital to warn the city what had occurred.

“The sun is only now rising,” he told the frightened man, “and the monsters will not come out in its light. Your horse is still strong, and if you ride without pause you will reach the Great Captain long before nightfall.”

He turned to address the rest of the group.

“The attack through the night was unexpected. This hostel has been a safe place for many years, and it was never assaulted in such a manner before. I fear that our journey is now more dangerous than it was when we started, for the enemies of Mislavini were surely behind this.”

“Enemies?” asked Ulwyte. “What enemies could the Great Captain have?”

Lovek laughed gruffly, “You don’t rule an empire with a heavy hand and not make a few chieftains angry.”

Ulwyte understood that the remark was aimed at his father, and he said loudly, “My land is loyal to Ozvalada and always has been!”

Lovek smiled evily. “Perhaps in your lifetime, young one. But I was with Mislavini during his campaigns against your grandfather, and I remember a time when there was little love from the eastern provinces.”

Ulwyte began to protest, but Kasteni stopped him.

“Lovek was not saying your land had anything to do with this, Ulwyte. And if he would say such a thing, he would be mistaken. Pazin is a trusted ruler, but there are others who are not. Glamoc of Losinjin would not be unhappy if Mislavini was not represented in the Stoneland meeting. No doubt he has sent his own ambassadors, invited or not.”

He grabbbed the reins of Petrij. Kasteni had been very pleased when the horse had appeared out of the darkness shortly after the hostel had been ignited. He bore no wounds except for a long scrape from where the chariot harness had been severed in the attack. The stallions’s saddle had been recovered from the ruins of the wreck, and Kasteni climbed up into it and stood high in the stirrups.

“We are far behind schedule and the next hostel may be as unsafe as this one, though I doubt the beasts will range that far. Still, there are other dangers our enemies can set against us, so we must hurry. We cannot rest for long until we make the Aranaw Forest, and that is still a week’s hard ride away. There we may be beyond the reach of any Ozren threats, but the danger of the unknown will increase with every league. Let us move!”

With that, he sat and gave Petrij the sign to move. The horse jumped forward and the entire group followed as he rode quickly away from the ruined hostel. As the terrible place fell out of site, he turned to his three companions and said, “Please, each of you tell your thoughts as we travel to Aranaw. It will make the journey seem to pass faster, and the week may seem like a day.

[*Varda*]

****Blue Mountains****

Serin watched as the younger hobbit Orlo fell back to walk with him. Serin was pleased to take advantage of any opportunity to mix with the outside world, but he noticed that this young hobbit seemed cautious of him.

“Have you ever left your home in the Shire before, lad?” Serin asked kindly, hoping to make Orlo feel a little more at ease.

“No, this is the furthest away I’ve ever been.” Orlo answered, feeling a little more relaxed. Before long Orlo was chattering away, answering all Serin’s questions about trades in the Shire, the life and the culture. Serin walked along, storing all the information in his head, and hoping soon to talk with the elves. He had little idea of the distance to Rivendell, and followed behind the hobbits and Theron, who was in an animated conversation with Hardo.

Mikhelm walked with Odo, and Serin observed an air of grumpiness about him. Perhaps it was due only to the fact that Odo was talking constantly, and it was trying Mikhelm’s patience, but Serin also felt it was partly due to the Elves. He foresaw a difficult time in Rivendell, especially so if they were travelling to Minas Tirith with them.

Serin saw what could only be Weathertop ahead of them, and felt relieved when Theron called a halt to rest and eat.

[Child of the 7th Age]

******Harad/Umber******

Urken had miraculously managed to keep his own ship from beaching against the sandbanks. He was tenuously hanging on between the sand bar and the left bank of the river channel. The priest had no quarrel with the villagers, and saw no reason to waste their ammunition or strength. He also knew that sometimes going a step or two backward would actually get you a long way ahead. This appeared to be such a situation.

"Hoist the white flag," he yelled out to his sailors.

"But sir?," one asked.

"Do as I say and quickly. I know what I am doing, and tell the other ship to do the same."

A sailor scrambled up the mast and affixed the white banner just below the flag of Harad with its fabled oliphaunt.

Urken ordered that the small boat be put into the water over the side of the rail. He got inside, two daggers strapped under his waist, and had his men row cautiously forward.

Seeing the angry fishermen, he called out, "We have no grievance with you. We seek the Corsair ship that has gone before us."

Angry voices answered, "Why should that be? You are no friends of South Gondor. We do not believe you."

"Believe us not," cried Urken. "But do not doubt the seal of your king." Fuinur had also come along side in a small skiff. He held up the emblazoned proclamation for all the village folk to see. It was an invitation and guarantee of safe conduct.

The villages conferred together, shaking their heads in disbelief. It appeared to be genuine. They could not deny it.

"We will withdraw our boats, but will give you no aid in getting the ship free of the sand bar. We will also stand guard on what remains of our village. Should you place even one foot on the bank, your safe conduct will be of little worth."

Urken nodded his head, "So be it." Then he went to confer with the two kings.

[ October 15, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]