Here There Be Dragons - RPG

[piosenniel]

Gondor - Visitors in the night II

Several hours had passed since the brothers began their watch. As on the previous nights, the lights on the top floor of the residence in the Queen’s apartments had gone out first, while those of the King burned far into the night. And as before the large window in Elessar’s main room remained invitingly open – secure it was supposed because of its height from the ground.

All was quiet as the two crows leapt up from their branch and flew quickly to the broad sill of the King’s window. The one lamp on the table near the door burned low; the room was empty of people. Stretching his neck round the corner of the frame, Wahid could see the brighter light of the desk’s lamp to his right.

‘He’s in his office,’ he whispered to Wasim. ‘Fly to the high little window above his chair and drop down on him. I’ll come in here, from the side. The Great Wyrm willing, we can finish him off in short time and be on our way back south within the hour.’

Wahid dropped softly to the floor, changing to mannish form. His slim fingers found the double edged knife they had hidden previously in the crack beneath the sill. Flattening himself against the wall, he moved along it toward the door to the office, listening intently for any movement of his target. Just outside the door he stood still and silent until he heard his brother land on the hardwood floor below the little window.

There was a cry as Wasim’s garrote pulled tight against the King’s throat. Wahid rushed in intending to finish off the man, but Elessar kicked out with his stockinged foot and caught him square in the gut – knocking him hard against the door jamb. The knife flew from his hands, clattering loudly across the floor. Wahid ran quickly to fetch it, but Halmir had heard the odd sounds coming through the door. With a cry, he burst through the entryway, the guard from the stairs following close behind.

Wahid was pinned to the floor with a lance through his chest by the stair guard. Halmir, his sword drawn, flew into the King’s study. Elessar, he saw, was clawing at his throat in an attempt to loosen the deadly noose held tight against it. And holding that noose was a wiry, dark haired man, who looked at Halmir with a sneer on his face as he tried to cut off the King’s breath.

Halmir aimed a downward cut at the man’s arm nearest him, the tip of his sword dealing a small glancing gash to the olive forearm of the assailant. It was enough to make him loosen his grip on the garrote, and Elessar ripped the thin cord from his neck, turning round to deliver his own blow to the man with the penknife he’d left on the desk. Halmir held back from any further thrusts of his sword in the small quarters, not wanting to injure his King.

Wasim called out to his brother in their clan tongue to flee, glaring at the Gondorians when the face which appeared in the doorway was that of the stair guard. With a strangled cry he leapt upward, leaving the other three men to watch in bewildering confusion as his form changed to that of a small crow and fled through the small slit window into the welcome cover of darkness.

‘Skinchanger,’ rasped out the King, regaining his wits quickly. ‘Alert the guards, Halmir,’ he ordered, pushing the man out of the study and toward the door. ‘And you,’ he cried, motioning for the other guard to follow him. ‘Come with me! We must see to the safety of the Queen!’

[Mithadan]

Baran was awakened by a knock upon the door of his room at the inn. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes and scratching at his beard, he stood and walked to the door even as he heard a second knock. "Alright, alright," he said with a yawn. "I'm coming. I'll be right there."

He opened the door to find the corridor outside his room crowded with men at arms wearing the black livery of the City. They were accompanied by the innkeeper who looked extremely unhappy. The soldiers entered the room with their weapons in their hands. Baran found himself standing with a spear pointing squarely at his chest. "I'm sorry Baran," said the innkeeper. "They wouldn't wait. I'm sure this is a mistake that'll be cleared up right quick. I'll speak with Piosenniel. She'll know what to do."

The leader of the contingent of guards stepped forward, keeping a wary eye on the massive Beorning. "You are Baran, the shapechanger?" he asked. Baran nodded. "Baran, the Beorning," he replied. "Then come with us," the guard continued. "No trouble now. If you change shapes, we'll be forced to kill you."

Baran raised a thick eyebrow. There were only five of them. He stood a good chance of defeating them if he took the Bear form. But that was not a certainty. Moreover, even if he did defeat them, he would remain a fugitive in an unfriendly city...a city he wanted to stay in. He still planned to take ship to the south and Minas Anor was the only place to book such passage. He shrugged. He had not done anything, so why not go along? He gathered an armful of clothing and allowed himself to be led off by the guards.

The streets were unusually busy this morning. As he walked along, escorted by the guards, he could hear many of the passerby whispering, "Shapeshifter." He felt as if every eye in the city were on him as he was led up two circles and placed in a well-built cell. The door closed with a thud. A guard shouted in to him, "We'll be watching you, so don't try anything funny!" He had no intention of doing so. He sank down on a bunk and promptly went back to sleep...

[piosenniel]

Gondor

Wasim chances upon the prisoner

He had not flown far before fear settled in on him, replacing the anger and grief of his brother’s death. Fear of Wyrma . . . fear of what she would do to him and his family should he return with news of the failure of this mission. Wasim landed in a small hawthorn tree, thick with foliage and settled into the shadows near the trunk. He needed to think.

The maenwaith changed to a small, brown sparrow. They would be suspicious of crows, now, he thought, berating himself that he needed to let them see him change as he escaped. But a drab little sparrow would do nicely. Feeling the shift come over him he thought of his brother, the older twin; the one who had taught him the simpler changes. Can’t go down that path now. He ruffled his feathers, shaking the memory from him.

With the change came a creeping sense of exhaustion. Darkness played on his bird senses, prompting him to tuck his head beneath is wing. I’ll just rest a bit . . . the new day will come soon . . . I can think more clearly then . . .

~*~

Filtered sunlight, the sound of gruff voices and feet tramping beneath his leafy hiding place roused the little bird from his torpor. Loud mutterings of ‘Shapeshifter’ sent shivers down his spine, and he pressed himself even more into the shadows. There were armed men below, in the livery of the King. His heart nearly burst from his chest, beating so fast from fright. They have found me out! he thought wildly.

But the noises passed him by.

Hopping to the end of a branch, he dared a peek out. Guards there were, a great number of them. Their lances and swords bristled as they herded someone along. Wasim cocked an eye at the giant of a fellow who moved along in their midst, and a quick memory of the large man who had passed them last night returned to him. A memory of both the size and that vaguely familiar smell.

‘They name him “Shapeshifter”,’ he murmured to himself, as he flew along after the crowd. His understanding of the Common Tongue was limited. But he made out the words ‘king’ and ‘kill’ and one more, ‘prisoner’. Wasim perched on the gutter of the building they were approaching and watched as they prodded the man inside, then slammed the heavy wooden door behind him firmly and locked it. Several guards were stationed outside the door, their faces grim, weapons close at hand. From what little he could make out of their talk, they thought this was the one who had tried to kill the king last night. The sparrow hopped back in surprise at this turn of events, losing his footing on the gutter’s edge. One of the soldiers, seeing the bedraggled bird, threw a handful of small stones at him. ‘Go on you little thief,’ he yelled. ‘We’ll not be sharing our lunch with the likes of you!’

Wasim flew off, leaving a lingering farewell on the soldier’s helm, and circled round to the rear of the building. The back of the cell faced onto an alley and high in the back wall was a small, barred window, affording the occupant some fresh air and light. He landed lightly on the thick sill and took a quick look in. The man had lain down on his bunk, and appeared to be sleeping. His eyes were closed, at least. The bird settled in to wait until he heard the man’s breathing subside into a slow rhythm punctuated by the occasional snore and low mutter.

He dropped down in a silent glide to the man’s pillow to hear what he was saying. ‘Fools!’ he heard; then, ‘Weaklings!’ ‘Change’ followed in a threatening tone. A few mumbles . . . and then a strange word, one that conjured no meaning for him, ‘ . . . bear!’

The man twitched in his sleep, his big hand striking out like a paw in the air. Wasim launched himself out of the way of the flailing limb, but not soon enough. His tail was hit by the hand, knocking one of his feathers loose. Caught in an eddy of air it fluttered down in a crazy spiral to land near the prisoner’s nose.

With a barely stifled squawk, Wasim flew up to the sill and back to his tree. His mind worked feverishly with what he thought he had discovered. Here was something he thought he might use to take the edge off Wyrma’s anger. A maenwaith of some sort, here in the northern lands!

He flapped south from the city mulling over his small trading chip . . . the unkown word, ‘bear’, fixed firmly in his memory.

[piosenniel]

Gondor

Pio visits the prisoner . . .

The five riders had avoided going through the city that day. Instead they had risen early and taken a leisurely ride east toward the river, turning north along it for a short way until they reached Harlond. Today was the day Faragaer had promised to take the children down to a few of the small trading docks on the river and then return the following evening. Cook was to go with them; she was wanting to visit a sister of hers just north of Pelargir.

Haladan, the first mate, hailed them from the ship as they approached. ‘Come aboard, Mistress Piosenniel!’ He winked at her as the three children raced up the plank followed by Cook at a slower pace. ‘I see you’ve brought our precious cargo,’ he said, laughing as the three young ones crowded about his long legs. ‘Show Mistress Hester to your cabin,’ he instructed Isilmir, ‘and get them all settled in, young sir.’

‘We’re leaving in about an hour and we’ll return late tomorrow,’ said Faragaer, coming to greet her. The children were already pushing Cook along the deck as they chattered like magpies at her and any passing deckhand. ‘Early in the evening. Come and sup with us, then you can make for home.’

Pio accepted a small glass of wine and settled in on the foredeck to talk with the captain until the ship sailed. He asked if she had been detained at all as they’d left the city. When she frowned at this strange question, he went on to say there had been some trouble at the palace last night. ‘And soldiers had swarmed down to the docks asking if we had seen anything out of the ordinary. We said no, asking what they meant, but they were close mouthed and glanced about at everything with suspicion.’ Pio returned that they had not come through the city and had seen no signs of the soldiers. ‘How odd!’ she thought, before the conversation turned to other matters.

~*~

Morien had made his way slowly to the level where the library stood, his progress blocked by the press of people and soldiers in the streets. This was one of the days he knew the Elf and her children usually visited the library then stopped off at the Inn on their way home. At each entrance to a higher level he was stopped along with the rest of the throng. Questions were asked by armed guards and those people not known by the guards or their fellows in the crowd were pulled aside and ‘looked into’. Fortunate for Morien was the fact that his was a well know face to the soldiery.

The library was closed, but a fury of blows on the side door brought a wide-eyed librarian to open it an inch or so. No, Mistress Piosenniel was not inside. No one was allowed in today. Morien turned and walked away, then was called back by the librarian’s shout. ‘She was going to the docks today . . . I remember her mentioning that.’ ‘Hope it helps!’ he shouted to the Innkeeper’s retreating back.

~*~

A last drink of wine was interrupted by the clatter of hooves and a loud shout. Pio stood up just in time to see Morien clamber off his mount and run up the plank. ‘Mistress,’ he said in a voice ragged from his haste and exertions. ‘It’s Baran. They’ve taken him . . . the soldiers have . . . they think he’s tried to kill the king.’

Haladan poured the gasping man a mug of wine and prised the details of the story from him. Morien wiped his brow with the sleeve of his shirt and taking a gulp from the mug told all he knew – the rumors heard in the Inn, the truths he had gleaned from them, and finally the arrest of Baran because he was the only Skinchanger whose whereabouts were known.

Some of the crew had crept near to hear this fantastical story. Old one-legged Tom elbowed his way close in and stood shaking his head and muttering loudly at the details of the attempt on the King.

‘Can’t be that Baran fellah!’ he swore as he stumped across the wooden deck to where Pio sat. ‘Big fellah, ain’t he, with long dark hair all braided and a’hanging down his back. Feeling a might generous he was last night, and stood us some rounds at The Broken Pikestaff. Just come down from the liberry he said to get some fresh air. The crew from that ship from the south was in there and got to telling some tall stories, they’d heard second hand I’m sure, to him about some phantom tribe in the desert who could change their shapes at will. Airy-fairy yarns as far I could tell, but that Mister Baran seemed real interested. He kept the ale flowing and their tongues wagging almost ‘til dawn.’

~*~

Cook took the children under her wing, telling Pio there was no need to cancel the trip. She could rest assured they’d all be fine under the care of Captain Faragaer and his First Mate. ‘You go help poor Master Baran,’ she told the Elf. ‘The little ones and I will take our little trip and see you tomorrow evening.’ Faragaer gave his own reassurance, saying he would watch out for them as if they were his own.

Morien rode back into the city with Pio, leaving her to go up to the Locks without him as he had been gone too long already from the Inn. The guards were at first reluctant to let her in, but she would have her way, saying she did not fear the Skinchanger; he would do her no harm. They made her leave her sword with them, then ushered her in. The door creaked open and shut with a thud after her, leaving her to blink in the gloom of the cell. Baran had come awake, and sat on the edge of his cot blinking back at her.

‘There has been an attempt on the King’s life last night, Baran,’ she said, sitting down near the end of the bunk. ‘From what I have gleaned there were two Skinchangers involved. One is dead, the other escaped, but not before the King and his men witnessed the change from man to bird as he flew away.’ She watched his face as he took in the news. ‘I shall need to know what you were doing and where you were last night, so that I might speak to the King on your behalf. The fact that the assassin took his leave as a bird will speak well in your favor, seeing that your folk seem bound to the bear form. But there will still be suspicions that somehow you are in league with others of your kind from other parts whose abilities differ from your own. Elessar has known of the Beornings for many years, has he not? Had contact with them at times. He will be very curious to know about other sorts of Skinchangers.’

Pio looked up at the big man as he sat with his hands on his knees. ‘Did you have any suspicions of their having come to Gondor, Baran? The King will want to know.’

[piosenniel]

Rôg

‘This didn’t break of itself,’ Rôg said, placing the incense pot on the ground between them. ‘And someone would have noticed almost immediately that there was a problem when new incense was put in and the old ashes cleaned out.’ He raised his brows at Aiwendil. ‘Unless, of course, the last one to do so was very lazy and unobservant . . .’

‘Or unless the last one to fill the pot and light it was the one who removed the clasp . . .’ finished the old man.

‘A snake in the nest . . . you think?’ murmured Rôg. ‘But who will believe us here if we tell them?’

Aiwendil was about to speak when the sound of another set of footsteps approaching made him pause. Hearing a familiar voice speak to Narayad, Rôg leaned forward and peeked out. The other outrider, Surinen, was there. His face in profile, features lit and shadowed by the small fire.

‘Hide the pot!’ Rôg hissed under his breath at Aiwendil, watching as the old man’s long fingers drew the faulty incense holder into the voluminous folds of his robe.

Narayad had now stood up and was speaking in earnest to Surinen. Their voices were pitched low and Rôg could not catch the words. He inched nearer the fire, holding his hands out to it, as if to warm them. His ears strained to pick up the thread of their conversation.

[Mithadan]

Baran stretched his arms and yawned mightily. Then he scratched his beard before responding to the Elf. "I had no idea that shapechangers had come to Gondor," he answered. "And of course I will tell the King what little I know of them, though I know no more than I told you."

He looked about at the cell with disdain. "Horrid place," he grumbled. "I thought very highly of this King until he decided to lock me up in here."

"I do not know if he ordered you imprisoned," replied Piosenniel. "Or if some member of the Guard, having heard you were in the City, took it upon himself to act. You must understand that the people are shocked at the attempt to kill Elessar and are fearful and suspicious of strangers right now." She sighed and thought quickly about the unfortunate turn of events. "Where were you last night?" she continued. "Perhaps others can vouch for you."

"I was in the library until rather late," he answered. "The librarian can confirm that if he recalls anything that happened past the end of his own nose. Then I began the long walk back to the Seventh Star. But I was hungry and thirsty and chose to stop at a small inn. The Pikestaff it was called, I think. There I spoke with the barkeep and others who were there, telling and listening to tales. Surely someone will remember me..."

He frowned for a moment. "As I was walking down from the library, I passed two men who were walking up into the City. The both wore cloaks and hoods, so I could not see their faces and they did not speak to me. But they smelled odd..." He laughed at Piosenniel's curious expression. "I am both man and bear," he said. "My sense of smell is better than that of 'normal' men. But these two men smelled familiar somehow. Kind of like Beornings, as if they had some animal in them. But at the same time they smelled different and unfamiliar."

"You may have seen the assassins, then," said Piosenniel. "But that alone may not be enough to get you released. Tell me, is there any way to prove you are a Beorning from the north?"

"Other than changing into a bear?" he asked. Piosenniel nodded with a chuckle. Baran thought for a moment, then smiled. "Yes," he continued. "I think that I can prove at least that I come from the north. About ten years ago I visited the Lonely Mountain. There I met a comrade of your King. A Dwarf. Gimli, Gloin's son. He told me the tale of the Quest of the Ring himself. He mentioned to me something only he would know. During the seige of Helm's Deep, your King and Eomer, who I understand is now Lord of Rohan, were battling Orcs outside the walls. They were forced to retreat and Elessar stumbled. The Orcs were quickly upon him, but Gimli slew them and he escaped..."

"I have heard that tale," said Piosenniel. "It is well known."

"Ah!", exclaimed Baran. "But do you know what your King tripped over?" Piosenniel shook her head.

"Gimli told me," he continued. "And he thought this was rather funny. The men of Rohan had given Elessar a helm to wear into battle. Well, Gimli told me that the helm was rather overlarge, and when he and Eomer turned to retreat behind the wall, the helm fell from Elessar's head. It was the helm that Elessar stumbled upon!" Baran smiled broadly, and Piosenniel's eyebrows rose at this tidbit of news...

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Surinen

“Latah will be fine, do not worry,” Surinen said in answer to Narayad’s questions. “But now Thorn has asked me to come and give you company,” he said peering around the edge of the lean-to. And seeing that younger of the two guests sat before the fire, he continued in a whisper, “he also gave warning that Rôg understands our speech, so take care what you say.”

Narayad glanced over at the maenwaith, a smile spreading across features. “Oh, that would explain his sudden departure from the well. For if I remember aright I had suggested we kill him, poor creature. And it is one thing to be killed outright, but quite another to know about it before hand!” he said trying to contain the laughter that threatened to override his words.

“Shhh,” Surinen sputtered. “How would you have liked to listen to us discuss your fate? You would not be so merry as you are now, I should think.”

“He knew what to do, and so would I.”

“Yes, well…they are planning to find a proper place for these two, and so until then you are stuck with me. And they…” he said waving his hand toward the lean-to, “ are stuck with us.”

“That is fine, I will enjoy your presence. But tell me Surinen,” Narayad asked suddenly serious. “Has Latah found the incense pot yet? I am worried about this, for it is her work to keep it lit, and some have said that it was this that started the fire, and that now she is looking for it.”

“No Narayad, I am sorry, but she has not discovered it. And I do not understand how it is missing, though I have searched for it with her. Such things do not simply melt away!”

“Could someone else have removed it?” Narayad asked. “It sounds strange, I know, but perhaps someone had a reason for taking it away. You were there, did you see anything?”

“What are you saying?” Surinen asked.

“Only that I am wondering if this fire was truly an accident, or perhaps someone is trying to blame Latah for it. I do not know.”

“Who would try to blame her, Narayad? It doesn’t make sense. The whole encampment knows that she would not do anything to harm the Meldakhar.”

“Still, I would like it to be found… for her sake.”