Castle Maladil - RPG

[Bêthberry]

Chuckling quietly to herself at the romantic enthusiasm of the young Bree lass Andreth, Bethberry held out her gloved hand for Wyrd, who came at one whistle. Then, petting his feathered head, she asked him to follow the orcs someway to ensure their departure. The falcon flew off, probably thinking that a few well-aimed dives around the creatures' heads would provide some diversion for him and a final warning about who not to mess with.

Bethberry then rose from the campfire, a tin cup with tea in her hand and strode to the injured elf.

"Nardol, I believe your name is, will you take some tea? By name I am Bethberry, of the Old Forest."

She looked steadily into his eyes and wondered if he could see in hers that her years were as long, nay, longer than his. A suspicious elf, adding injury to anger, would not provide the most opportune company to the group, yet, still, if Elrond had sent him there must be some worth to him. Bethberry wished she thought more highly of elves so she could call upon her friendly reserves of respect to win him over, but she remembered too strongly the petty tyrannies, bitter betrayals and vain jealousies of early years. This one was not like Haidan, or Arcon, Vanyar elves. Reaching him might take some time.

[ December 10, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]