What Once Was Great . . .

What Once Was Great

Day 7 - 

Finding and gathering the escaped slaves took much more time than I thought.  Many ran from us as well as their captors.  I wish them luck in their travels.  28 former slaves are now under our protection.  I find Artem and Podo discussing a thing they found in Valtar's tent.  It seems he had a head in a chest.  But not a war trophy.  No it is a tool of the Shadow.  It is used to communicate with others.  So it comes to show that once again Valtor deserved destruction.  And that the Shadow's corruption is spread further than thought.  

It also shows that Men are easily corrupted.  Men are weak.

We begin our march North - home.

Day 8 -

Artem has hunted early and brought down two elk.  More than enough to feed all of us for the return trip.  He has also discovered a shorter route to return us to Beorn's Hall.  I have not traveled these paths long but again Artem shows the difference between us.  Men are weak.  

As we explore the South and journey North I wonder how my companions are handling the company of the young race.  Also I begin to think of the weakness of Men and find myself wondering if I am making excuses for my own short comings.  Isn't it easier to blame my race than myself?  It is a thought that leaves me cold and unsure as we travel on. 

Day 9 -

Artem and Podo hear of a fight in the distance and use their stealth to investigate.  Braegin follows behind while I find a suitable place to watch over both my companions and our charges - the now freed slaves.

A dirty man stands before 4 of the bandits we recently made leaderless.  I can not hear them but Artem and Podo tell me he was repaying a debt he owed them and was keeping the bandits from us.  Artem and Podo listen for a short while before Artem unleashes a deadly volley.  Braegin charges into the fray and the dirty man also joins the fight.  The bandits fall before I can even make my way closer.  I am weak.  The companions collect some weapons before returning to the group.

The dirty man is called Shanker.  He talks a little with Podo and then leaves.  I am not sorry to see him go.  He disturbs me for an unknown reason.  He is known as a troublemaker in Beorn's Hall.  Again I am not sorry to see him go.  I am weak.

Selva a slave Podo rescued splits off from us here.  She will make for the Mountain Hall.  It seems she is a woodsman after all.  The way she holds herself speaks of a martial upbringing.  I am not worried for her safety.  We send her with a few weapons and more than enough elk to make the short journey.

Day 10 -

We arrive at Beorn's Hall a full day earlier due to Artem's woodland skill.  I am weak.  Beorn invites us in and listens to our story.  Podo sings a beautiful song of our deeds while Artem plays a melody to compliment Podo's voice.  It has inspired me to try and sing in the future.  Beorn wise and good allows the escaped slaves to stay at his Hall.  He will find places for them if they wish to stay.  

Artem explains in more detail about the head we found at Valtor's camp.  It seems an agent of the Shadow lies somewhere to the South.  Beorn listens to the plea for help but decides he is unable to help without a foe to see.  With no target to vent his rage upon he will not act.  For the first time I disagree with my chief and offer my services to Artem as well as Beorn.  I will become Beorn's hound and find this foe for him hiding in the South.  Beorn disagrees with me in return but allows me to go all the same.  Does Beorn also think I am weak?  Too weak to even be a faithful hunting dog?  

We feast for the night.  I make sure to return Odo's sword to his shield maiden.  Her tears bring anger to my heart and I am glad again for the death of Odrik.  I am weak.

Day 11 -

I stop and visit my father and explain my reasons for leaving him for an extended time.  I have made preparations for Brunor to check on him from time to time and see he is kept stocked.  We argue at first but finally gives up.  Instead he gives me Giantbane.  A great spear passed down from father to son for many generations.  I accept the gift with reluctance and promise to return it.  

Artem, Podo, and Braegin believe the agent of Shadow dwells in the heart of the Old Forest Road.  We will go to Dell and Rivendell to ask aid for keeping several small outposts safe upon the Old Forest Road so that we may have both aid and safety if we need it.

Day 12 - 

Artem once again impresses me with his archery and his hunting.  Podo's breakfast is once again delicious and seems to wash away the weariness of the road.  Braegin speaks with a raven and learns news of his homeland.  Before we are set to investigate the Old Forest Road we will prepare ourselves.  Promising to meet at an Inn to the North in a month's time we go our own ways.

I will go South to better my skills and make myself familiar with the creatures, woods, and dangers we will be facing in the future.

Day 33 - 

I begin my return trip today.  I make way for the Inn and my companions.  I find myself missing them far more than I had thought possible.  We have known each other such a short time but it seems to have impacted me greatly.

Day 43 -

It is the day of our promised reunion.  Podo and I await Artem and Braegin eagerly.  Podo was the first be here and sits comfortably near the fireplace.  

Soon the four of us are reunited and set pace for the Dale the first of our stops.  Telling tales of our journey I feel lighter than I have since Beorn's Hall.

Orcs.  Artem hears the sounds of many feet.  Braegin smells their foul odor and announces they are orcs.  Braegin and I position ourselves in the middle of the road and await their arrival while Artem and Podo wait for an ambush.  

The orcs are many in number and at first seem to be taken back by the sight of us blocking the road but soon begin fleeing deeper into the forest or up the road.  Some attack us upon the road but Braegin and I make short work of those that tally to long within the reach of our weapons.  Artem and Podo devastate those that flee and I am gladdened to see the ground littered with orc corpses.  Soon a party of elves appear.  They were the cause of the orcs fear and rightfully so.  These elves differ from Artem who seems to be a natural extension of the forest.  These are like the stars.  So bright and pure they make me feel small and dirty and unworthy to be in their presence.  Artem exchanges many words with the hunting party in a language I do not understand.  The mere sound of it is like beautiful music.  Again I am reminded that Men are weak.  

Artem introduces us to the elven party.  Legolas and Lady Irime shine even more brightly than the rest of the elven party.  Lady Irime invites us to dinner and it is clear from Artem that this indeed a great honor and something we can not refuse.  

Oh but I wish too!  

The Lady smells of lilacs and all that is good on a warm spring breeze.  I am unkempt and covered in orc blood.  I have not bathed in this week yet and even if I had do not feel it would have been enough to attend a table with her.

Smiling and nodding I lock these emotions deep within my heart and follow Artem deeper into the forest.  Artem and the Lady share some small words that I can not hear.  Before long we are brought to a clearing that has a feast laid out fit enough for a kingdom.  A large silver wash basin is noticeable and I take great care to clean myself as best I can.  For the first time I am able to see that I am not the only one affected so.  Braegin seems to have been struck mute with the Lady's beauty and Podo also seems beside himself for the first time.  

Dinner passes by very quickly and honestly I remember very little other than ashamedly sneaking glances at the Lady Irime.  Suddenly I find myself addressed by the Lady.  In a panic I ask her to please tell a tale of Men.  She does me a great kindness and tells a tale of Men who dwelt to the North that I may be descended from who had a once great kingdom.  Sadly it was swallowed by the ocean and the Men fell into barbarianism.  Men are weak?  But were not always so?  I am a decedent of decent and honorable Men.  A Man of Twilight.  I feel my heart quicken and surge with hope, regret, and embarrassment.

The rest of the night flashes in a blur.  Artem and Podo sing a song and please the Lady.  Braegin exchanges wits with the Lady and seems to both challenge and please her.  I can only sit at the table and keep the emotions in my heart from showing on my face.  

Only now in privacy can I write my feelings to paper and banish them from my heart.

Men are weak.   What once was great.  

Men were once strong but now have fallen.

Men were honorable but have been corrupted.

Men had a kingdom even the elder races acknowledge but time has claimed it.

Men were once great but now are weak.

But once was great can be reclaimed.  What once was great can be remade.

Men are weak but a person, a Man, could be a guiding example.

Exploring the past.  Accepting the failings of Men and pushing forward.  

Men could reclaim their greatness if we had a leader.  

I am not that Man but perhaps I can find him.

Men are not weak I am.

But I now know this and will seek to correct it.

It is only later - now - that I am reminded that we will be escorting the Lady Irime West.

I only pray that I do not embarrass my companions on our journey.

A Raven From The Lonely Mountain

Dearest Braegin,

I write you with great news from the mountain. I could not wait for your return with the snows of winter. Word is spreading of your work and we have new friends seemingly emerging from the stone. The news I send was not a secret for long.

King Dain received the visit of a merchant from Esgaroth. He bore letters of introduction from the Master of Esgaroth, and presented himself by the name of Lockmand.

He had a treasure to trade with us, a shield that once belonged to Thrór, the grandfather of Thorin Oakenshield. The shield had passed from Thrór to his son Thráin, and it was believed lost since when Thráin disappeared in Mirkwood one hundred years ago. Lockmand claimed to have bought the shield in a market in the far south.

In exchange for the shield, Lockmand wanted payment in gold, and a fair price was arranged. He also asked, as a favour, for a look in our records. He claimed to be a buyer and seller of treasures and relics, and he hoped that the old books might contain information useful to him. But we do not let foreigners easily in our Chamber of Records, and King Dain and his advisers deliberated for some time before finally refusing his request.

Fortune smiles on us for having this treasure returned to us. You will see it hanging in the great entry hall upon your return as we embrace.

Take heart! Father constantly speaks ill of you. No other suitor of mine occupies his mind as much. Erebor is full of richer dwarves with longer beards he says. Win your fortune and bring it home so that we might be joined in union before the stone eyes of Thorin.

Your sparkling gem,
Mar daughter of Munin

A New Season

Summer was coming.  The wet rains of spring were slowly giving way to warm winds coming from the west.  The water in the rivers and streams was running warmer.  Artem could see the vibrant flora and fauna of this part of the Wilderlands changing before his eyes.  Season change was important to the elvish people.  Their immortality led to an affinity for experiencing external change.  The elves had a saying that translated roughly to the common tongue of man:

"If one is patient, the world will change for you"

Artem always disliked that expression, he felt as if it was symbolic of the apathy and isolationism of the elvish people.  In his travels he had begun to appreciate it's deeper meaning.  He began to experience the change that is so hard to see in the elvish realm.  He could see his companions age before his eyes.  He could see the children of the Woodsmen taking their first steps.  He could see the change brought to these lands by Beorn and the tiny Easterly Inn.

He could also see the growing shadow.

If he was patient enough, would the world turn to light or to shadow?

He slowed his pace a bit so the hobbit and dwarf would not grow weary.  The Beorning, Beran always kept a steady pace without complaint.  Artem had grown fascinated with the Thane.  He had never had a human friend before.  He was solemn and honorable, but had a zeal for life reminiscent of the hobbit.  Meeting such individuals of the child races almost made his own race seem even more cold and distant.....if nor for Irime.

They had just set out on their journey to accompany her to the west.  She smiled and spoke softly.  She was warm and smelled of lilacs.  Artem was enamored with her.  He tried to avoid staring at her, but found that a hopeless venture.

Why had she selected them to accompany her west?  Surely Legolas and the elvish warriors would have been a more capable force to protect her?  Where was she going?  Artem knew that she was far too elusive to find out her destination and motives with direct questions.  He could only hope that she would reveal more as they walked this road together.  Until then, he was content to enjoy the view.

An Unexpected Fellowship

An Unexpected Fellowship

My name is Beran to any who may find this journal I ask that you return it to Beorn the Bear.  I am sure a reward will be made available to you for it's return.  Beorn, my chief, if I have fallen . . . know I fell honorably and upon my feet.  

Day 1 - 

Beorn has asked I keep a detailed notes on my dealings with these "visitors" until they can be called friend.  I was called down from my patrol up North to help find the murderer of two Thanes.  They were my friends and great wardens.  Their spears and shields will be missed.  They were discovered dead by Artem the elf, Podo the halfling, and Braegin the dwarf.  These "visitors" claim to have no involvement in their deaths and wish to assist in tracking their murderers.  Arrows removed from the victims prove an orc tribe attacked them.  Artem claims that a third man, a prisoner, was in the boat at the time of the attack as well.

I will believe it when we reach the scene of the murder.  It makes no sense that orcs would attack two Thanes to free a prisoner.  The prisoner would not have been a creature of the Shadow . . . so why did the orcs attack and free "him"?  The elf accuses me that Men are weak and claimed by the Shadow.  I wish to argue but am unable as I have seen it happen.  Men are weak.  The dwarf speaks up now and agrees with the elf and accuses me of being too young to help.  Again I wish to argue but I can see the years of experience etched upon his face.  Men will never the amount of years he has seen.  Men are weak.

Day 2 -
We arrive at the murder.  A prisoner did escape.  He has stolen Oddo's sword.  About midday I discover the corpses of two orcs killed by one spear.  Obviously Morovik's work.  His spear strength was second only to Beorn.  My companions pretend to help while playing in the river.  I discover another body that they had missed.  This one killed by a single sword stroke.  The prisoner?  He avenged the Thane?  He has a four day head start.  I would ask to pick up our pace but Podo seems to be hard pressed to keep pace now.  We may lose him if we do not hurry or if he doesn't stop.

The dwarf now accuses Men of not being able to fight the Shadow.  I do not rise to the bait.  He is right again.  It has taken me many years to learn to wield my axe and I am still learning.  I will die before mastering the weapon while he is still young.  Men are weak.

Day 3 - We are closing in on the prisoner.  The elf Artem . . . his woodland skills are impressive.  He moves like the wind and can shot the eye of a cony at 60 yards.  A small outpost lets us know the prisoner was a young man from Stoneyford.  We press on.

Day 4 - Come upon a farmstead just outside of Stoneyford.  The elder is kind enough to let us stay.  He has seen the prisoner - his name is Odrik.  We will reach Stoneyford tomorrow.  Soon we will have answers.
I decide to hunt for the elder in repayment for his kindness.  Artem beats me to it.  He brings a full string of cony.  Podo hunts and finds all kinds of herbs both for cooking and medicine.  The elder is well supplied.  I am once again reminded of how Men are weak.

Day 5 - Arrive at Stoneyford.  I am told to go into town and find out what I can.  Podo will accompany me.  Artem and Braegin fear resentment from the town.  Or that the attention will alert Odrik.
The town is led by a woman filled with hate.  She almost does not let us in.  I find that Odrik's adoptive father lives here.  I go to question Helmgut.  Podo decides to wander.  Helmgut is not too helpful.  He is drunk in regret.  Men are weak.  Raffik his son was killed by Odrik and that was why he was a prisoner.
I go to ask Broomhilt about the night and am met by Artem and Braegin.  They had found Broomhilt first.  I am able to piece the night together between her and her father's story.

Odrik loved Broomhilt and asked her to leave with him.  Raffik her husband returned and a fight ensued.  Raffik struck Broomhilt and Odrik attacked to defend his love.  The weapon belonged to Raffik and I believe was accidentally used to kill him.  Helmgut arrives and disarms Odrik.  Odrik is set to go for judgement from the Beorn.  He uses the orc attack to escape and kills the orc to avenge the Thanes.
He may not be a bad man but the elf is quick to remind me that this would not happen if it had been elves such violence does not exist.  Men are weak.
     
Broomhilt finally admits that Odrik had returned to ask her to come again.  He is across the river.  We journey across the river in pursuit.  We are in Woodmen territory now.  We are forced to camp once it gets dark.  Odrik is close I find a used fire pit and the ashes are warm.

Day 6 - Find Odrik's broken dagger.  Dwarf is quick to remind that if it had been dwarf make - it would have never broken.  Men are weak.

Find site of a struggle.  4 bandits try to attack us.  We quickly dispatch them.  2 to the elf. 1 to the dwarf.  we take a prisoner.  Men are weak.  Artem questions the prisoner and learns Odrik was captured.  I believe he will join the bandits.  Men are weak.  The bandits are lead by Valtor the Bloody - he will attack the Dale.  Artem then kills the prisoner.  Interesting.

We find the camp.  It is full of slaves.  Podo and I agree to free the slaves.  Podo goes under disguise to free the slaves.  Braegin has no interest and camps in the trees.  Artem stalks the Valtor the Bloody.  For the stability of the Wildlands he must fall.  I enter the camp in disguise to help free slaves and help Artem.  Odrik is within earshot he is selling out all of his friends and family.  Men are weak.  I signal Artem to attack.  Artem attacks and kills Valtor in seconds.  I accuse Odrik of working with the assassin.  Odrik is attacked by his new friends - fitting.  A man attacks me but I am able to get a clean blow in on his stomach and split him like a rotting deer.  Podo has unlocked almost all the slaves.  Panic begins to work in our favor.  Odrik is almost free and going to escape.  I signal Artem to finish him.  I watch as Odrik falls.  He deserved no better.

We will lead the slaves back to Beorn's lands.  Here they will be safer.

Artem has struck a blow on my behalf.  He did not need to help with the bandits.  He could have forfeited like the dwarf.  I will follow him to repay the favor and perhaps I will become stronger.

Men are weak - it is true but that makes us strong too.
We are not disillusioned like the Elves and Dwarves.
We acknowledge our weaknesses and seek to overcome.
This is our strength and our weakness as we can be corrupted by it.
We are short lived - so we will live to the fullest
We are barbarians - so we may adapt and thrive and pass it on
We are passionate - so we may live and feel the world around us instead
of hide in it's past.

I will keep this in mind to embrace and overcome it - if I travel with these companions will I become more than Man?

Who is Watching?

How could a lowly human brigand like Valtar have obtained an object of such evil?  Everything else fell in line with what Elladan had grown to know of humans.  There existed a significant portion of the race who would squander what little mortal life they were afforded on petty squabbles over territory or some long past slight.  Valtar supposed himself the true king of Dale.  The veracity of his claim to the human city did not interest Elladan in the slightest.  The human was a savage and a slaver.  The two arrows he sent through the petty tyrant's throat were well spent to rid the Wilderlands of his cruelty.

The morally ambiguous tale of Odrik, a lost soul who slew a fellow man responsible for attacking a woman...that made sense to Elladan.  Human passion burns quickly and red hot like a torch.  Odrik's flight from the village for a new life, made sense.  His capture by Valtar's henchmen, plausible.  Odrik's bargaining for his life by selling out his own kin was morally reprehensible, yet still fell in line with what Elladan had grown to know about the reasoning of humans.  All of these things were explainable.

It was the severed head.  The sunken black eyes, the stretched skin and the gaping mouth.  The eyes...the hideous eyes.  They haunted his thoughts and disturbed his meditations.  They were filled with shadow and blackness.  He had heard stories of undead agents of the Shadow using such things to communicate.  But how did it end up in a chest in Valtar's tent?  Valtar was a petty bandit lord.  He was no servant of the Shadow.  Or was he?  Were the whispers of a necromancer to the south more than mere tales?  Did Valtar merely stumble upon it and keep it as a prize or was there more?

Once again the vision of those eyes ensnared his thoughts.   The hollow, sunken black eyes.

These thoughts raced through Elladan's mind as he was sitting cross legged in the grass under an oak tree, full of the green leaves of summer.  Suddenly he felt as if he were falling backwards into a bottomless abyss.  Everything went to black.

"You have seen the darkness and it haunts you, yes?"

The voice was Irime's.  He could hear the concern in her softly spoken words.  For the first time since he had left Valtar's tent his mind was focused on a different set of eyes, the lovely chestnut brown eyes of Irime.

"Yes, I saw it.  I cannot clear my mind of it.  What does it mean?  How did that fall into the possession of a human bandit?"  Elladan asked the vision.

"Lord Thranduil, suspects much, but knows little for certain.  We are all sensing a growing darkness to the south.  Orcs and men are being used as pawns in servitude to the Shadow.  You must investigate, Elladan.  The others must not know that you serve as Lord Thranduil's agent.  The Shadow must be kept unaware of the fact that the eyes of Mirkwood and Lorien are transfixed upon it."

"I will do my best, my lady." he replied with solemn conviction.

"I know you will Elladan.  Keep safe.  You have more allies than you know" she replied.

As suddenly as the vision of Irime came, it passed just as quickly.  Once again Elladan was sitting alone under the oak tree.

He opened his eyes to study the beauty of the Wilderlands in the throes of summer for only a moment.  Such beauty needs protection, he thought to himself.

He rose to find his companions.  He found solace in their company.  The newest addition, the Beorning human known as Beran, was honorable and capable.  Elladan felt comfort in knowing that one more blade was at his side as they faced the looming dangers ahead.

Time to Reflect....

Podo sat leaning back against the chair in his small little room over the main hall of the Easterly Inn, the winter was settling in and he had stop going out with Artem till the snows melted below his belt buckle. Mainly since unlike Artem, Podo was not able to stride effortlessly on the top of the fallen snow like a winter hare, one of the many gifts that came naturally to the an immortal Elf.

 Though Podo was not unable to go out with Artem it didn’t really bother Podo that much. Podo really needed the time alone to reflect on the things that have happened since he left the Shire almost a year ago. He also wanted to spend more time working on getting Dody and Agatha to accept his growing fondness for Berylla Brandybuck. Also this allowed Podo time to further make in roads inside the tavern with the local woodsmen who would stop in to get out of the weather while traveling the road or bring Dody some mutton for sale.

 Podo would delight the woodsmen with tales of their many adventures and show them some of the gems he managed to take from Smaugs own belly that washed up along the shores of Long lake. But mostly it was time for Podo to reflect on all that had transpired over year since he left the Shire with Togo Boffin of Whitfurrows the local Sheriff. It was about a month before he met Artem that Podo had buried Togo Boffin on a small hill by the Brandywine Bridge, just north of the Old Forest. It was here that Togo Boffin had a special fishing spot that he used to love to sit at all day long fishing for some fresh Trout. In fact thinking back on it catching those trout out of the Brandywine could be the only time Podo ever saw Togo Boffin of Whitfurrows smile. So Podo felt it a good thing that he had buried Togo Boffi there or at least that was the logic he used to chase away the doubts of burying his him so far from the Shire. It wasn’t that Podo had really done anything wrong, it’s just that he knew if he had taken his remains back to Hobbiton that he would have to fill out meaningless reports to the elders describing how Togo had passed away peacefully in his sleep. As well as knowing the disdain some of the Elders had for Podo, it was not his fault he was the illegitimate son of Adalgrim Took. And after all that Podo knew he would just end up just another glorified pack pony to another sheriff or worse living at home with his mother and her new husband Podo’s stepfather Polo Baggins. As well as watching his mother and stepfather Polo fawn over his stepbrother Posco and stepsister Prisca No this life away from the Shire was much better, all the better especially since he took his stepfather’s the last name Baggins, it was not like it was not the truth. It was after all his mother’s new married name, even though she always tried to tell him who his father was and insisted he use his name Took.

 No, Podo always felt weird using it since his father openly would not acknowledge him and using Baggins as it turns out had been quite a fortuitous decision as it resulted in many a free pints at the bars when he arrived in Lake Town. Not to mention it helped with his introduction to Gloin of Lonely Mountain, which then led to being selected to help locate and rescue Balin and Oin of the Lonely Mountain from the their disastrous run in with the mewlips down near Old Forest road. Who would have thought that Podo Baggins would even meet Dwarves the like of those that helped recapture Erebor and defeat Smaug. No this life on the road with his new friends Artem and Braegin was quite a bit better then life in the Shire, it also led him to meet the lovely Berylla Brandybuck, whom he had single handly rescued from the Goblin King himself near the cave of the Northern Pass of the Long Climb, granted Artem and Braegin did help cover the retreat, but the story told better his way and there was no harm in that. Yes, life had turned out much better for Podo since he struck out on his own and he was not going back to the Shire any time soon, in fact if Podo played his fortunes right he could see owning an Inn, much like this one that Dody and Agatha ran for his somewhat distantly related “Uncle” Bilbo Baggins.

All Podo had to do was have a for more of these grand adventures and he would have the money for it. Then all he wanted to do is is get Berylla to agree to help him run it, as well as have a few more adventures like the one in which he slew the Wight of High pass and saved a lonely traveller to help fill the Inn with patrons willing to buy a pint to listen to his tales.

Ranging the Wilds

The air was getting colder.  Steam rose off the wet moss on the trees and hung low over the shallow brooks to the east.  He sat perched on a limb around fifteen feet off of the forest floor.  He had been studying its tracks and the shallow scrapes it had made during the pre-rut season to mark the boundaries of its range.  Elladan knew it would only be a matter of moments before it passed through this close group of pines again.  Nature is wild, but predictably wild he thought to himself.

Suddenly he heard the gentle fall of hooves on the bed of pine needles blanketing the forest floor below him.  It was a large buck, majestic and tall.  Without making a sound he aimed his bow and let loose an arrow.  The point pierced the heart of the stag and it dropped instantly, with minimal pain and suffering.

The lithe elf dropped from the tree above and quickly dressed the animal.  He took care to save the hide as well as the meat.  Within moments he had his prize strapped to his back and was running at full speed through the dense woods.

The events of the fall raced through his mind.  The caravan, the rescue of the hobbit maid and their flight from the Goblin King.  Wicked enemies would not soon forget such a grievous slight to their perverted sense of honor.  Elladan did not believe they had seen the last of that goblin band.

His traveling companion, Podo, had been smitten with the feisty hobbit maiden they had rescued.  Elladan wondered if he might soon be losing his charmed little friend to a life of marriage and comfort?  He certainly did not begrudge Podo his happiness.  They had seen dark things and places in their short time together.  The shadow seemed to grow stronger with each step further away from their homelands, though there were pockets of vibrant life such as the quaint Easterly Inn.  Elladan also found hope in the settlements of the Woodmen.  The Beornings to their north were gruff and secretive people, but the Woodmen to the south were more open.  They were more pragmatic about life in the Wilderlands.

He continued his brisk run through the trees until he came close to their edge.  A clearing was ahead.  He had approached a settlement of the Woodmen.  Their small wood and stone dwellings had chimneys billowing warm grey smoke from their hearthfires.  Elladan smiled a bit.  He raced into the center of the group of homes undetected and hung the deer from a small rack.  It would mean food and warmth for these people.

Suddenly he heard movement behind him.  He turned quickly and saw a small child peering at him from behind a pile of firewood.  The boy was no more than 6 years old.  The boy waved at him quickly and then hid low behind the wood pile.  Elladan pulled a small wooden flute from his pack and placed it on top of the firewood.  He could see a small, wooden toy sword tied to the belt of the little boy.

"Good morning brave warrior" Elladan whispered to the child, who was still hiding behind the woodpile.

After a moment, the boy peered up over the edge of the woodpile, but the tall Elf was gone.

Light from a fire

The first arrow flew as true as any he had ever shot.  The razor sharp point struck home in the foul creature's chest and slowed in its flight, but passed through the monster.  Any living creature would have dropped.  It was then that Elladan recognized their foe.  This was the undead legacy of a human long since passed.  It's soul, filled with shadow, had returned to haunt the place of his death.  It was a Barrow Wight.  Elladan shouted out to his companions:

"It is a Wight, a creature of the shadow!"

The thick, grey fog summoned by the creature had encircled the camp and was closing in all around them.

Elladan spied the dwarf readying his axe.  He flashed to a memory of a song taught to the elven children.  Like most of the songs of the elves, it was sung with purpose.

"When the lifeless ones rise from the shadow

the darkness resists the spear and the arrow

to drive a Barrow Wight from this land

use the light from a burning brand"

"Braegin, it fears the fire!" Elladan shouted.  The dwarf quickly turned to the campfire and hoisted a burning timber aloft as he would a mighty great-axe.  He smashed it down into the shoulder of the advancing creature.

The fire stunned the Wight for a moment.  It paused and emitted a blood curdling scream of pain and hatred.

Elladan used the precious second to pull an arrow from his quiver and swing it through the campfire, setting it ablaze.

He quickly nocked the arrow and aimed for the glowing skull of the Wight.  The flaming arrow found it's home in the eye socket of the foul creature.  It shrieked hideously and in a sound similar to a small clap of thunder, it collapsed upon itself in a green mist and vanished.

A Gift...

The cool morning dew sparkled like gem stones strewn across the open glade.  The young elf had left the comforts of the Easterly Inn early this morning to find a spot in the woods to meditate.  He enjoyed the company of the dwarf, humans and hobbits, but felt a comforting solace in the wild that helped to settle his mind.

He found a open spot of grass under a large and ancient oak tree and sat down.  Elladan closed his eyes and cleared his mind.  He traced his steps backwards in time through his memories, taking time to reflect upon each thought and experience since his last meditation.  His mind was not so easily put at rest of late.  The words of Irime haunted him.  He felt the growing darkness looming over his small party.  He had no doubt that the seemingly magical serendipity that destiny afforded the hobbit would see him through this journey, but the future of the elderly human and his young son troubled the elf.  They had slowed them down.  Elladan knew the humans could not make the return trip to Esgaroth alone and their paths would soon split off from his own.

He slightly shook his head to settle his thoughts again.

Suddenly he felt a soothing brush against his ear and Irime's soft words spoke to him in his trance.

"Do not be afraid Elladan.  Though the darkness is strong, there is more to your story than you know."

He could almost feel the soft dark curls of her hair against his skin.

"When you awake look to your pack.  A gift from Lord Thranduil.  May it protect the light within you."

Suddenly his eyes opened and the soft morning light of the green glade filled his view once again.

He reached down into his pack and spied a package wrapped in soft elven fabric.  He slowly opened the wrapping and the glint of metal shone in the light coming through the branches and leaves of the oak tree.

He held aloft a mail shirt of pure mithril silver.  It was as light as silk and stronger than the sturdiest human steel.  The shirt was embellished with tiny oak leaf shaped mithril scales and ancient elvish runes.  This was a precious gift.

As Elladan removed his worn leather corslet and donned the shirt he felt both protected and at the same time apprehensive of what may lay ahead that Lord Thranduil would bestow such a gift upon him.

The Easterly Inn

In a hole in the ground there lived a Hobbit. Four Hobbits, in fact, with a fifth coming to join them. The Hobbit in question was one Dodinas Brandybuck, formerly of Buckland in the Shire, but now a resident of Wilderland. Above the newly-dug hole there was a newly-built inn, so new it still smelled of sawdust and glue, and the white-washed walls were actually white and not yellowed with pipe-smoke and spilled beer. He lived in the hole with his wife Agatha and his two young sons.

Dodinas – or Dody, as his friends called him (and he had a knack for making friends) – once considered himself to be a well-travelled Hobbit. He had gone as far as Bree, which for most Hobbits constitutes about twice the journey of a  lifetime, and dined out on his tales of strange, exotic folk and unusual customs. On one trip to Bree, in the common-room of the Prancing Pony, he met another Hobbit – the famous (or infamous) Bilbo Baggins.

The two fell to sharing stories, and for once Dody was the one who was flabbergasted and entranced by the other’s stories of distant lands. Compared to Bilbo’s journey There and Back Again, Dody had hardly stepped outside his front door. After several hours and several pints, Bilbo invited Dody to visit him at Bag End for dinner the following Sunday. Dody brought his younger sister Berylla and his wife Agatha along.

The dinner involved several bottles of wine and more tales of Wilderland, as well as innumerable courses. Dodinas declared that he was determined to outdo Bilbo, Dinodas climbed on the table and sang a story about giants, Bilbo enthusiastically showed them his collection of maps and diaries, and Agatha... well, Agatha sipped her wine and thought about practicalities. When Agatha Took married Dody Brandybuck, everyone assumed that the steely young Hobbit-maid would drum some sense into the notoriously eccentric and wild Brandybuck, and ensure that he found a business or craft to occupy his days. However, Agatha was a Took, and there is a latent streak of adventure and wanderlust in that family.

None of them could quite remember how it came to pass – again, a good deal of wine was involved – but a curious plan was formed. Since the successful Quest of Erebor and the defeat of the Dragon, a new era of peace and prosperity had fallen on the North. There was much more traffic on the Forest Road than before, thanks to the watchful eyes of the Beorning-folk and the revived Kingdom of Dale. These travellers and merchants would need somewhere to stay along the road. The plan was that Dodinas and his family would build, open and run an inn on the road between the Old Ford and the Forest Gate – quite close to Beorn’s Hall, where no evil thing dared go. 

Bilbo gave them some money to start the inn, as well as several letters of introduction to various dignitaries and persons of importance he met on his travels. The Brandybucks set off from Buckland a few weeks later, still slightly dazed. They crossed the Misty Mountains without incident, and presented themselves at Beorn’s house. Beorn ignored the letter of introduction, but was amused by the Hobbits’ presumptuousness (the barrel of beer carried from the Golden Perch also helped matters), and gave them leave to build their inn.

The Easterly Inn is situated near a little brook that flows out of Mirkwood towards the Great River, approximately twenty miles south of where the Forest gate opens along the eaves of the wild wood. A small stone bridge arches over the babbling waters, and just beyond that stands the inn. The Easterly Inn (Dindy jokes that it is the eastern-most outpost of the Shire) consists of a small but comfortable wooden inn containing the common room and a few guest rooms for Big Folk, some outbuildings and stables, and the Hobbit-hole beneath where the family lives.

Although it only opened a few months ago, the inn is gaining a reputation as a good stopping point for journeys east of Mirkwood. The beer is good, the food is excellent, and Hobbits make wonderful hosts (even when their homes are invaded by thirteen dwarves and a wizard, as Bilbo proved some years previously). In truth, the success of the inn has less to do with Dody’s beer or even Agatha’s delicious food, and owes more to Beorn’s promise of protection and the curiosity of travellers come to see the strange Halflings. Still, if someone comes to shelter from bandits, and stays for the food and the soft feather beds, that is still gold in Dody’s pocket.

The lonely lullaby

Baldor the merchant wept quietly through the night and into the morning.  His son, Belgo, cradled the elderly man's head in his lap and tried to re-assure him that he was safe now.  The man's physical wounds would heal, but the potent waters of King Thranduil's glade had brought back memories of the razing of the human city of Dale and the death of Baldor's wife.

"Humans have such powerful emotions", Elladan reflected, as he sat in the lush green grass of the glade.  The cries of the old man had broken the trance of his meditation several times during the night.  Baldor had cried out for his wife, and wept as he re-lived her dying in his arms.

"The shadow of Smaug will darken these lands for for an age" Elladan mused.

He tried to clear his head of these dark thoughts, though even in a beautiful elven glade, he found he could not keep his mind from turning to dark places.

The words of Irime haunted him.  For Thranduil's Steward to take notice of his journey and warn him of the darkness ahead was an ominous sign.  The shadow's reach was encroaching from the South.  He could feel it.  The men and dwarves of these lands had taken solace in the defeat of Smaug and the goblin rabble at the Battle of Five Armies.  Elladan feared that these small victories were merely a diversion.

Once in his travels he had seen the spires of Dol Guldur.  The darkness haunted his thoughts for weeks.  He could feel the shadow encroaching northward from that foul place.  Was that the danger of which Irime had warned him?  How could he and his companions, burdened by a wounded old man and his young son, take on a danger that troubled one such as Irime?

Elladan shook his head abruptly to clear his mind.  It was then that he noticed one of the butterflies from the night before had remained in the glade.  It must have become separated from the others.  Elladan's sharp elven ears could hear the lullaby of the creature, though when separated from the sheer numbers of the horde, it's magic was diminished.  The lone voice served only to soothe the troubled young elf.  He extended a hand and the butterfly landed on his outstretched finger tip.  Elladan gently placed it on the soft elven fabric of his cloak.  He concentrated on the beautiful sound of the butterfly's lullaby and felt calm, if only for a moment.

A bit of peace of mind

"Hobbit leaf is a curious thing..." thought Elladan, as he sat at the perimeter of camp, staring off into the black forest surrounding them.

"...it affords a bit of peace of mind even in the darkest surroundings."

The idea of smoking on watch would be unthinkable amongst his fellow elves.  The light from the pipe eroded his ability to see into the darkness, but was meaningless in comparison to the roaring camp fire warming the sleeping hobbit and dwarves.  The smell of the pipe weed might give away his location, if not for the loud snoring of the the dwarves.

Who would have imagined an orphaned elf camping with three dwarves and a hobbit?  Surrounded by vines determined to snuff the breath out of you, stalked by black crows with piercing eyes and besieged by the foul Mewlips, Elladan felt better than he had in a decade or more.  His brethren in Thranduil's court would look upon his companions with disgust.  They wouldn't see the fierce determination and battle prowess of the younger dwarf.  They would look past the charisma and vibrant life in the hobbit.  The elves were wrong.  There was life and adventure outside of the Mirkwood realm.  The elves had become haughty and complacent in their halls.  To them it was enough to keep the Shadow at bay in a never ending battle of attrition.  They had lost their connection to this world in their isolation.

"I will travel these lands as Artem, smoking its leaf, drinking it's wine and slaying the servants of the Shadow where ever I may find them."

Artem smiled and took another long draw of the Longbottom leaf from his pipe.  He exhaled rings of smoke, which floated up into the dark trees and caused the malevolent crows to chatter above him.

The helpful hobbit song....

Sung to the tune of high ho the merry ho.... The mere were down at the bottom of the well smelling of sticking swampy brine the dwarves were trapped till the hobbit came along and sunlight he did find, then the elf climbed up the rope and lowered down a helpful line and luckily we all escaped the mere just in the nick of time....