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Old 12-31-2006, 03:57 PM   #420
Mänwe
Shade of Carn Dûm
 
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Limaris’s answer to Inn Keepers question was little more than a nugget of the thoughts he felt for the area. It was with mixed emotions that he had been bought to the borders of Buckland; being many leagues from his mother who this month would be aged at seventy years was the main angst. As a child he had enjoyed the freedom and did not care for when he spent long periods away from home.

However as he saw more winters his ideas matured, he began to realise that his parents, more so his mother now that his father had died would become reliant on him for support. There were only so many years one could work full time, and a tanner’s occupation was not for the faint hearted; the early mornings and physical aspect of the job that needed to be carried right though the day took its toll.

He remembered, during his short stay at home before travelling to the White City to join the Rangers, that his mother would come home and collapse into the chair in the kitchen. He had got used to starting the fire in the kitchen and carrying the water from the well and performing other small mundane tasks that were essential for a meal to be cooked and the house to remain clean.

His mother he knew was just too tired to do them. Her advancing years would not help the matter, and Limaris felt slightly guilty at pursuing his own ‘career’ over that of his mothers wellbeing, despite her assurances that she would cope and that it was her wish for him to leave for Minas Tirith and make something of his life.

And so at the end of every nostalgic look back into the recent past, his mind would fall upon his promise that he would return to her. Though entering into the Rangers now made the promise seem unlikely, any leave was short and far between, a reflection on the state of the world and his commanding officers concerns. Coming north and west had also bought him into contact with the ‘true’ Rangers as he called them, those who had descended from the Dúnedain.

Tall, taller than himself and despite their often ragged appearance, their cloths worn and faded by their constant work in the field, their features were ever noble, and it seemed to Limaris that no hardship could better them, though no-one spoke of their history, in parts their sad history he was sure if someone did they would bear the sad past without so much as a glimmer of regret.

However they were few and there was a majority of the Ranger force made up from soldiers from the White City and its surrounding territories. Limaris was among giants, for the commanding officer is of the Dúnedain race.

It had become a secret practice among the ‘men’ of the Rangers to try and find who among them were of the ancient lineage. He had heard rumours of only three; they were hard to spot despite their apparent noble appearance, for their mind and bodies were that of a man in his early thirties but their years numbered closer to eighty.

So it was evident to him that it would be some time yet before he was able to visit his mother again, he had considered simply leaving, but a man who abandoned his duty invited fate worse than death upon himself, so he had resigned himself to the wait of being given leave.

A thought that was threatening to ruin his intended mission here in Stock, for again he had slipped into a slight trance like state. He would have to maintain character if he did not want the Hobbit to suspect that he was someone other than who he said he was.

Focusing on the Inn Keepers face, he noticed his mouth moving, he had missed what the Hobbit had begun to say,

“We do our best anyway,”

Limaris forced a smile onto his face to break the all to serious and out of character look he had, it was at that exact moment that the Inn Keeper was distracted by another Hobbit tugging at his sleeve, thankful for the interruption he cleared his mind of any thought bar the here and now.

Once again he was the cheerful Tehol. A choice of name that was all too real to Limaris, for it was his father’s name, a name given to him by his father Liramis as he was affectionately known. A good earthy sounding name as were all the names throughout the Arahad family. Though his real name was….


“I’ve hardly introduced myself properly,”

The warm sound of the Inn Keepers voice bought him back to the conversation. The Hobbit that had been next to him had pattered off to the far end of the counter to collect a plate of food and what looked like a key from behind the counter off a rack.

“I am Seredic Boffin, but everyone just calls me Dick. I’m not really from around these parts,”

Hearing that last sentence he realised he now had another avenue of conversation that he might pursue, for Hobbits were known to be close knit especially within families, so no doubt Seredic had retained interest in his home area; consequently he probably had news of the place, news that would flesh out his report when he returned to the company.

“…but, my dear sir, you must be most uncomfortable, bent half over like that. Let’s go find a seat,”

Limaris had hoped he would have noticed, but wanted to appear too polite to say anything, and following Seredic’s hand, he was pointing to an empty table, hard to believe given the Inn was filled to the brim, like a good tankard of ale. Seated comfortably he hid the sharp jab of fire that ran up his right arm as the blood was allowed proper circulation now that he was not leaning on it, and listened to the Hobbit as he regaled him with tales of the Inn’s beginning and his own family.

The Goodbody family seemed to Limaris a solid and dependable one. No great adventurers here, but a family respected and who were keen to promote themselves, though perhaps that was more on Seredic’s side as it was clear he was most proud of the Golden Perch, evident due to the verve with which he spoke about the place.

“We have people come from miles about just to taste some of this!”

At these words, Limaris jumped at the invitation,

“Remarkable indeed! I as a traveller have met many a strange person on the road, but this place as you say attracts many folk from all around, surely you must get some very ‘queer’ ones from time to time?”

Well, he thought, who said the most direct approach was a bad one?
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