[piosenniel]

Rôg

Rôg hid his reluctance, poorly at best, to discuss ‘shapechangers’, as men termed them, by passing the basket of flatbread to Airefalas. The man looked at his offering in surprise and declined. A few moments of awkward silence ensued, during which Rôg looked to Aiwendil to intervene. But, the old man looked on in some amusement and lifted his chin slightly to Rôg, encouraging him to handle the younger man’s questions as best he might.

‘You’ll excuse me if I lecture a bit,’ he began, putting his plate aside. ‘Shapechangers is a term used by those who don’t have the skill for changing. And often it is heard in an . . . unkind way. Better you use ‘maenwaith’, ‘skilled folk’. An Elvish word. Less offensive. And in some ways it’s been taken over by the clans and made their own now for their collective self.’ He looked at the younger man, wondering if he’d ever traveled in the northwestern regions. ‘You have maenwaith, you know . . . in the upper regions of The Great River. Beornings, they term themselves. An interesting clan . . . they only take the shape of bears. In fact, before we left Minas Tirith, we saw one in The Seventh Star.’ He shook his head at the remembrance of the gigantic man who had been challenged by the Captain’s wife. ‘It was the first time, actually, that I laid eyes on the Captain’s wife, Mistress Piosenniel. She was . . . well, let me say, she had been wary of the stranger and when he addressed her, she did not receive him well.’

‘Pulled her blade on the Beorning is what she did,’ he heard Aiwendil say to Mithadan who had looked over at the mention of her name. ‘Thought he might put the children in danger in some way. Never mind he towered over her and outweighed her by a good ten stone if not more.’ Mithadan’s brows went up in alarm. He was quickly reassured the Beorning had backed down. ‘Invited him for a visit, she did,’ the old man continued. ‘He’d asked about Bird, as I recall . . .’

Mithadan and Aiwendil fell to talking about the incident as Rôg took up his conversation with Airefalas. He gave a very brief description of the maenwaith clans in the south – a brief reference to clan names and what they signified; how the maenwaith were organized for the most part within each clan and the loose organization they shared as a whole, saying that his family had been traveling traders and had interactions with many of them. The picture he drew was colored, he knew, by his own clan’s view of things . . . stressing the fiercely held autonomy and independence valued by each clan. ‘Though,’ he said, ‘since I have returned, there seems to be some shift in the way of thinking of those who are said to lead the confederated clans. The Eagles, and other of the more outlying clans, I have heard, wish to keep the traditional ways while those who live more in concert with the men in Umbar wish to move toward a mannish style of life.’ Rôg’s quiet nature had often allowed him to be overlooked in conversations in the camp, allowing him access to various bits and pieces of what was going on within and without the camp.

He made no mention of his own clan or its whereabouts. Despite the fact that Aiwendil seemed to trust Mithadan, both the Captain and his First Mate were Men. Nor did he go into what details he had gleaned in the past days about the Eagle Clan. Old cautions learned from childhood die hard. He did address the direct question – ‘. . . does this mean that you share their ability to change shapes’. ‘As for me,’ he said lightly, before passing on to questions of his own, ‘My clan is also . . . maenwaith. And I have a little skill in changes.’

‘But tell me, I know little of you or of your Captain, save what has happened here in the South. Are you both from Minas Tirith? Have you sailed with him long?’ He paused for a moment, wondering if he should ask, but natural curiosity stayed his hesitancy. ‘What sort of man is your Captain, I wonder . . . to have such a dauntless wife. And who is this maenwaith they call friend?’ He leaned forward and spoke with a low chuckle. ‘When Aiwendil first found out that Mithadan was here, in camp, he said a very strange thing about him and Piosenniel.’ He gave a quick glance toward where Aiwendil and Mithadan sat, their attention on their own conversation. ‘People of honor, he said, but wherever they go, trouble follows . . .’ He spoke lower. ‘I half expect to see Mistress Piosenniel come bristling into camp at any moment, blade drawn, to effect your rescue! Though I’m sure,’ he added quickly, ‘she will stay at home keeping her own little ones safe until your return.’ He drew back and spoke in a more normal tone. ‘And what of you? Is there a wife and family waiting for your return?’