Minas Tirith: Raefindan
Raefindan watched the Ranger rise from the table quickly and block the youth's way. The youth glowered at him.
Raefindan knew that he should have made Mellonin take responsibility for her own curiosity, but he couldn't help being gallant. Responsibility. Gallant. More words they don't use much around here. Raefindan shook his head and came up to the Ranger and laid a hand on the youth's shoulder.
"Ravion? Greetings. I am Raefindan. I see you have the youth well in hand."
The youth turned a baleful eye on Raefindan. "Unhand me, barhop!"
"He needs to be taken well in hand," the Ranger responded. "Well met, Raefindan." The Ranger kept an eye on the youth. What do you say we do a Frodo and Sam to this Gollum?" The youth looked positively indignant.
Raefindan's eyes went wide. "Did you say Frodo and Sam? I've heard those names before! And a clever idea at that, if I take you aright."
"I should hope so! They're famous. If you hadn't, I would wonder where you'd hidden these last few years."
They walked the youth to a chair and sat him down, then pulled a pair of chairs away from the table and placed one on each side of him, and talked over him.
"This is not funny! It's unjust! You have no right to hold me this way!"
Raefindant talked over the youth's protests. "That's just the thing, Ravion. I don't know where I've been before about a week ago. Yet it's positively amazing what I recognize and recall. Such as Frodo of the Nine Fing- now see there? You didn't even say that, yet I remember vividly! It's as if I was at the Cracks of Doom myself!"
"I would not envy you that," Ravion replied. "Speaking of things forgotten and remembered, there was something I was supposed to say here."
Just then the youth bolted. He scrambled under the table, forcing the two tall men to pivot around it. The youth sprinted for the door and looked like he was going to make a clean getaway. A foot appeared before the door and tripped him, sending him sprawling. Ravion was right behind the youth. He sat on him.
"Good work, Mellonin. Clever of you to sneak around and cut off the boy's escape."
"I have a name, you know," the youth said in an injured tone.
"Let's have it then," Raefindant said.
"Faran. Not Gollum, thank you very much."
Rohan: Mellon/Amroth
Ędegard regarded Liornung and Bellyn. A fiddler minstrel and an artist. The artist could track. And he being a wheelwright added a perfect third to the triangle of seemingly worthless skills for catching a mad blacksmith. He shook his head. Better to have them near where he could keep an eye on them than out of sight and a possible danger. Or distraction. Of course, their music and talk might prove distraction enough as it was. This Liornung certainly had a gift for turning a simple thought into a spun out string of endless words. It might just prove to be an overtiresome companionship. He would have to make the best of it.
"You may come with me. If the lady can track, as you say, that is good." He turned north without another word and let them catch up to him. He was not about to make conversation. It was not his way, unless he was in a tavern and at least one good pint down his gullet to loosen his tongue. Wheelwrighting was silent work, and he liked it so. Tracking a mad blacksmith had all the appearance of being a tongue wagging time. He hoped not.
|