Treachery of Men RPG

[littlemanpoet]

"My lord Ulfang you mean?"

Apparently, his sire was not the one Uldor was looking for. Who then? Lachrandir would not stoop to ask. Time would tell. Lachrandir was curious, and intended to watch Uldor surreptitiously for any indications as to whom he so eagerly awaited. It could be useful information with which to bargain later. Of course, one should expect that there would be no need to even consider bargaining with this ilk, since Caranthir was their liege lord and they owned this land from him; it was not their own. But sometimes these vile Men forgot such things as oaths sworn; so it would be useful to take any advantages that availed themselves.

Lachrandir smirked, and cared not if Uldor recked it; the fool had clearly not even thought of his sire, and did not know if he would be present. Which suggested that Ulfang was losing power, if he had not already lost it.

“I am not sure where he is, Master Lachrandir. He should be here shortly. . .very soon.”

Lachrandir furrowed his brow. Master Lachrandir? Fool. Uldor needed to be reminded of Lachrandir's deserved title as Lord Caranthir's emissary.

“How was your journey out this way? Was it very difficult?”

The fool was trying to make conversation. "Lord Lachrandir, Master Uldor. My lord is your sire's lord; and thus I am to be given the same honorific by my lord's servant's son. Be sure to remember it.

"As for our journey, it was quick and uneventful, of course, for we are Eldar and our horses are well trained for such journeys. I am sure you cannot understand.

"But mayhap you should send a servant in search of your sire." Lachrandir allowed a sarcastic drawl into his tone. "For he may be forgetful that he has arranged this feast, being a Man of such advanced years."

Lachrandir held Uldor's eyes, for he was almost certain that Ulfang knew nothing of this feast, not having been told by his sons.

[Nogrod]

“No, I....you.....I don’t know.....I am frightened”, Embla managed to utter before she started crying.

Maybe it was the late hour or maybe it was the mead Fastarr had enjoyed quite a few cups that night… maybe it was because Embla clearly addressed him… or because she said she was frightened, or because she started suddenly to cry. But Fastarr hurried to her and took a strong grip from her shoulders.

“Please my lady… there is no need to be afraid. You’re in safety now. Lord Khandr and Hugo are in the house as well as I. We will protect you from whatever it is you’ve met! … I’ll defend you with my staff… with my life, against anyone who dares to wish ill for you.”

Yes. Fastarr was a bit drunk again - the last long draught by the fireside had clearly done it - and he both seemed to think and talk things he shouldn’t. He vaguely realised it, but only vaguely.

“It’s not that…” Embla mumbled and started crying even more violently, wrapping her arms around Fastarr tightly so that Fastarr could feel her slender body trembling against his own. Instinctively Fastarr laid his arms around her and pressed her firmly towards him. How fragile she feels… like Aud felt… and the scent… But at the same time Fastarr became conscious about the awkwardness of the situation. If lord Khandr would enter the hall right now… Embla leaned her head against Fastarr’s chest and wept while Fastarr gently stroked her hair with his fingers.

So even if Fastarr felt quite happy to be in the position he was he still was relieved when Embla pulled herself away. Fastarr tried to look at Embla in the eye, but she looked resolutely downwards, scarlet in the face. Slowly she raised her head and met his eye

“No Fastarr, it’s not anything like that.” She looked terrified, guarded, shook her head slightly and paused. It looked like she was concentrating on what or how to say what she would say next. Fastarr almost held his breath under her stare.

“It’s just the strange athmosphere and…” she laid her eyes low once more and hesitated, “my life… it’s just a tunnel with no way out… except….” she shivered but as soon as she felt Fastarr pulling air to his lungs to open his mouth Embla looked up to him again and braved a smile. “Now you said something about mead, didn’t you? I think we need some…”

She pulled away from Fastarr and looked questioningly towards the fireplace. It took a second from Fastarr to be back in the here and now.

“Yes, my lady. The armchair by the fire, please sit down. I’ll get you a cup from somewhere.” He was about to turn towards the door when Embla laid her hand on his.

“No Fastarr. We need no cups, we need to talk.” She looked at the man just like someone used to giving orders. Fastarr was ever more confused but nodded and turned back to get a smaller chair from the table.

Embla sat down to the easy chair and took a long draught of mead as if she was desperate for a means to loosen her tongue and then offered the vessel to Fastarr who had just settled down beside her. After Fastarr had put the jug back to the little table beside them he realised that Embla had been studying him all the time he had drunk.

“This probably is no major secret to you but I still need someone to tell this… and if I know my husband’s household well enough then you are the one I can share it with… I mean you were married with a Bairka and so you know something about what we think and how we feel.”

Fastarr was stunned with that opening and couldn’t answer but by nodding slightly.

“How do you think a Bairka would feel if given to someone as a second wife?” She turned to gaze the fire while small tears moistened her eyes. After shaking her head she turned back to Fastarr. “It feels like being a carpet in the hallway, walked over by everyone… or like being a trinket bought and sold at a whim, then put away unwanted…” It was close Embla didn’t broke yet again but this time she had the jug to her hands and she took another draught from it.

Fastarr waited for Embla to put the mead back to the table and to wipe her tears. He didn’t do that only out of politeness but also because he needed every second he would be given. So many thoughts ands questions were criss-crossing his mind now. Why is she confiding in me? She’s honest, right, but what does she conceal in her heart? Surely she wasn’t afraid because of that? ... How beautiful she is! Her moist eyes that gleam like gems in the firelight… her straightforwardness and sense of honour like any Bairka would have… like Aud…so like Aud…

Now tears started to form over Fastarr’s eyes in turn. With slightly shaky hands he took his turn with the jug and then pulled himself together as well as he could.

“You speak like you’d be speaking about my life… my life with a beautiful Bairka-girl like you. But it was me then who was the carpet that was walked over…” Fastarr breathed in heavily. “I don’t know how familiar you are with my past but her name was Aud and she came from your village. We were married when I was twenty and had twins the next winter, a girl and a boy, Aïda and Farran they were. Then came that cursed winter spawned in Angband and they both died… cursed be that winter and the might of Morgoth for ever…” The tears were now flowing freely down Fastarr’s cheeks. He tried to concentrate on his story. With his voice breaking he continued.

“She started an affair with a Bairka-man called Starkadr right after our twins died. He came from a bit better off family than I did… I don’t know whether that was the issue but whatever... I hid that knowledge to my heart for a half a year and told no one, not even Aud about it… so I truly know how does it feel to lock your sorrow inside you. It grows and gets darker day by day...” Fastarr swept his eyes with his sleeve. He was about to reach for the jug once again when he suddenly pulled his hand back and continued.

“And so it happened that I met this Starkadr in the harvest-party at fall…” Fastarr went quiet and swallowed staring at the fire for a moment. “I went berserk and killed him… with my bare hands… I banged his head to the stonefloor of the inn so long he was no more…” Fastarr bursted into tears and hid his face into his palms shaking violently as he cried.

“I know, Fastarr…” Embla whispered and stretched her arm out to gently stroke at Fastarr’s hair. “That’s horrible…”

Slowly Fastarr regained his presence of mind and straightened his back. He turned to face Embla with a serious expression. “Never carry your load alone as darkness grows inside one when they’re not aired out and that may lead to deeds one can not take back…”

Little did his slightly drunken mind understand how right on the mark he had hit.

[Folwren]

Uldor burned under Lachrandir’s obvious rebuke. The elf tried in no way to go about it politely. To correct Uldor at all could be dangerous, but to do so bluntly was practically stupidity itself. Uldor’s left hand dropped down from the table and his fingers silently closed around the hilt of one of his daggers, out of Lachrandir’s sight. He could not keep a grimace of hate from passing over his face. But it was only brief, and then it was gone, and his hand left the hilt and returned to the table.

“But maybe you should send a servant in search of your sire," Lachrandir went on after answering Uldor's question. "For he may be forgetful that he has arranged this feast, being a man of such advanced years.” Uldor’s eyes locked with the elf’s. Lachrandir mocked him now, Uldor was sure. He guessed, or even knew, that Ulfang might not have even been informed about the feast.

“We respect the advancement of years here among men,” Uldor said coldly. “Some of us do our best to help those of older years. My lord Ulfang did not arrange this feast. I did it for him when he asked me to. He may easily have forgotten, however.” He lifted his hand to call a servant. One came and Uldor told him quietly to see if Ulfang were coming to the banquet. The man was off a moment later and Uldor turned again to Lachrandir.

“Is there anything else you are curious to know and to help me arrange or correct, Lord Lachrandir? You seem to have a keen eye, ear, and tongue and I’m sure you could help with a great deal if you set your mind to it. Come, who else do you see missing who might have forgotten about the banquet?”

[littlemanpoet]

If the fool did more than place his hand on his knife, he would be sorry, thought Lachrandir. No, it seemed he had some sense, certainly not of propriety, but of pragmatism. One does not kill emissaries unless one wishes to go to war with those the emissary represents. At least this Uldor knew that much. Ah, yes, this Man hated him. Lachrandir did not miss the flash of true feeling, brief as it was.

Now came a veritable flood of explanatory words, with even a little Sindarin thrown in to perhaps try to impress Lachrandir. The Elf's lip curled up ever so slightly in amusement. Nor did it escape his notice the Man's shabby attempt at complex Sindarin grammatical construction. It made Lacrhandir's skin crawl. And now he does precisely that which I suggested and should have thought of himself. Let the fool try to save face.

“Is there anything else you are curious to know and to help me arrange or correct, Lord Lachrandir?"

The Man's sarcasm was offensive and revealing, showing no subtlety, of course, especially when he thought he was being the most subtle. The Man continued.

"You seem to have a keen eye, ear, and tongue and I’m sure you could help with a great deal if you set your mind to it. Come, who else do you see missing who might have forgotten about the banquet?”

The Man could not help sneering as he finished his jibing insult. Lachrandir was not about to allow himself to be caught up in a child's game with this boor. He regarded Uldor with cold condescension as he considered what reply to make; one had to be made since a question had been posed.

It was obvious who was not there. The Borrim ambassador was conspicuously absent. The invitation that had come to Lachrandir at the Borrim emissary's home had requested the presence of only himself and Tathren. But to mention this would be to descend into the tribal affairs of Men, which was beneath Lachrandir's dignity if not his notice. And for whom had Uldor been searching if not his father nor the Borrim - for why search for uninvited guests?

"It is of little concern to me whom you might think ought to be here and is not. All that matters to me is what answer the Ulfings give my lord Caranthir, and that need not be given tonight. Time enough in the next few days or so. But I see one of your brothers rises. Is he then master of ceremonies instead of you?"

But Uldor did not have a chance to answer Lachrandir's question, for Ulfast had begun to speak.

[Celuien]

Ulfast had wondered how best to announce the hunt, and found a perfect moment provided by his brother's foolish jibing with Lachrandir. He had heard the question about missing guests; though they were a large part of the people near the settlement, the Borrim had not been invited. But hidden in his pocket, Ulfast held the note from the missing contingent. Ignoring the continuing exchange between Uldor and the Elf, he stood at his place.

"My friends! I welcome you all to the Ulfing hall. We are here to honor our guests, the emissaries of Lord Caranthir." He turned towards Lachrandir, still half facing the crowd. "May the friendship of our people grow ever stronger through the years."

The crowd cheered, and Ulfast missed the Elf's reaction in his delight at the sour frown that crossed his brother's face. He faced the room again and held up a hand for silence.

"Yes, we have new alliances from afar. But, truly, can we not find allies nearer our homes as well? The Borrim have long dwelt among us, and yet we have not always been as good friends as we might have been - as we should have been." He glanced at Uldor long enough to see by his disinterested, irritated expression, that he knew nothing of what was to follow.

"That error shall be made right." Ulfast drew out the letter. "I hold here a letter from Khandr, who has graciously offered to host a hunt for the Borrim and Ulfings alike. He wishes for a closer friendship between our people - as do I. And so, on behalf of the Ulfings, I accept this invitation, in hope that we shall henceforth hold a greater bond of unity and good will."

The room cheered again, and Ulfast sat. He was so delighted by Uldor's furious scowl that his own visage appeared nearly as benevolent as he hoped his words had sounded.

[Durelin]

The countless thoughts that flashed through Embla’s mind were clear in her eyes, and Jord smiled as the woman turned to leave. She had successfully scattered some seeds that would not require much nurturing. There was enough already there for them to feed off of: the girl’s hate and anger, her wounded pride. Nodding to herself, Jord turned to spot the man she knew was waiting nearby, trying and failing miserably to look as if he just happened to be there. When Brodda caught her gaze on him, he approached her.

“I cannot say I expected to see you again so soon, Brodda. What now?”

Her tone remained simply uninterested – she was in too good of a mood with her current thoughts to waste her time really snapping at him. Uldor’s servant relayed his master’s message to her, and her mood was hardly dampened. Not only was she firmly in the Borrim girl’s mind, but apparently she was in the Lord Uldor’s favor enough to be invited to yet another charming little gathering.

Absolutely charming…and she was sure the Elves would find it equally so.

Brodda led the way to the Hall of the Ulfings, Jord gliding along the dirt streets as if she had a fully armed and richly adorned escort. Uldor’s man hesitated at the doors – it was obvious the banquet had already begun. Jord doubted there would not still be a place for her, though, and she did not care about the Ulfings’ attempts at propriety, so she gestured toward the doors and gave Brodda a sinister smile.

The servant pushed the doors open and stepped aside as Jord made her way inside without hesitation, just in time to hear Ulfast, one of Uldor’s brothers, finish speaking. She did not spare him a glance, nor anyone else in the hall. She immediately approached Uldor himself, who was not difficult to spot as he sat with the Elf.

Jord gave a very slight curtsy, hiding her amusement at the sort of heated conversation she was interrupting. “I am thankful for your invitation, Lord Uldor, and am glad to be accepting it, though I am afraid I received it too late to seem a truly grateful guest.” She then smiled not at the man, but at the Elven emissary beside him.

[Folwren]

Ulfast’s announcement came utterly by surprise to Uldor. He had great difficulty keeping the displeasure from his face. How is it that Ulfast came to know of the feast before he? Why had he not received the invitation? And what in the blazes possessed the fellow to neglect informing Uldor before telling the entirety of the gathered guests?

What irked him more was that Lachrandir made another jab at him, using Ulfast against him. ‘Is he then master of ceremonies instead of you?’ the elf had said. Ulfast was master of nothing! And certainly not instead of Uldor!

The annoyed heir bit his lower lip as his brother finished his speaking and sat down. He was prepared to make a reply to Lachrandir when he caught sight of Jord behind them. He turned abruptly in his chair in time to see her make a small curtsey.

“I am thankful for your invitation, Lord Uldor, and am glad to be accepting it, though I am afraid I received it too late to seem a truly grateful guest.”

Uldor stood up quickly, nearly bounding to his feet. “It was not your fault the invitation arrived to late, my lady. I will show you to your seat. Forgive me, Lord Lachrandir.” He forgot to make himself unpleasant while he excused himself swiftly. “This way.” He didn’t touch her, but the movement of his hand indicated that she should walk forward in the way that his other hand indicated. She did, with a graceful nod of her head to the elven emissary.

Uldor led her to her seat and saw her comfortably situated. Uldor had scarcely seen her seated when he caught sight of Ulfast, returning to his seat. He excused himself swiftly from Jord and made his way over to Ulfast.

“What was that all about?” he asked in a hissing whisper, catching Ulfast’s sleeve before his brother could quite make it to his seat. “Where is this invitation? And why haven’t I seen it?”