[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Marsilion was sitting by himself in a corner of the common room. He was thinking about the ravages of the disease on the land and of his family. His father and elder brother,Argil, were somewhere in Northern Eriador tracking the foul creatures of the enemy, but his brother's wife and two small sons, and Marsilion's mother had been left behind in a small settlement on the Mitheithel. This plague must be affecting the land there. Marsilion bit his lip as he thought of his young nephews going hungry.

The Man raised his head as the halfling, Anson, began to speak. The meeting which the Bree-landers had called was to begin shortly. Marsilion unfolded his long body and stood. Moving quietly over to the table where the halflings sat, he introduced himself to Anson.

"My name is Marsilion, son of Armegil. I am a ranger of the north in the line of Isildur." He spoke softly, and it crossed his mind that the hobbits quite likely had no idea who Isildur was and he internally scolded himself for his rudeness. "I would hear what you have to tell of this disease." he continued, "for I fear it strikes my homeland as well, and I hope to represent my people as we look for an answer." He looked at Anson as he spoke. The hobbit was tanned and weather-roughened. Marsilion guessed he was a farmer. His brown eyes were bright and intelligent. The other hobbits gathered looked worried and tense.

Anson, obviously the leader, greeted Marsilion. "Please sit." he said, motioning to one of the empty seats at the large table. "We're still short a member, but as soon as she returns we can begin. It's good to meet you, Marsilion son of Armegil."

"And you, Anson Hornblower." the ranger returned as he sat down in the seat Anson had indicated. He rubbed the silver ring that had been his grandfathers; he wore the ring always and rubbing it when he was worried was a habit he'd developed years ago. He smiled to himself, as second son he'd inherited the ring, and Argil had inherited their grandfather's sword. Oh the fights it had caused! But now he rubbed the ring, and thought of Argil.

An older hobbit sitting closer to him leaned over and spoke. "I'm called Fredegar of the Shire. May I ask your name?" His musings interrupted, Marsilion looked over at the hobbit, Fredegar.

"My name is Marsilion, and I make my home in the Wild." he answered.

"What have you seen of this plague?" The old hobbit asked. Now other hobbits of the party were leaning closer, interested. Anson seemed distracted though, looking toward the door every few seconds. Marsilion told them of the dead animals he'd found in the Bree-lands and of the rotting vegetables and the pervasive stink of death that was hovering over the land. Head after head nodded as they recognized the illness from his words.