Treachery of Men RPG

[Dimturiel]

Tora was making her way towards Dag's forge with resolute steps. She was glad that her father had sent her to go and not her brother. She prefered to be out of her house at the moment, being fed up by her mother's excited talk about the coming of the two elves. That was the way her mother always behaved. She liked to see signs that thier lives would get better in every event, even in the ones that were clear to have bad consequences. Not that Tora found the presence of the elves an event with bad consequences. Of course, things were bound to change one way or the other, but there was the possibility that the change would not affect them too much.

But why did everyone had to be so enthralled by their coming? What did they think they would do for the settlement? From what Tora had heard of the elves, she knew that they were proud and very hard to please. What could they feel for the inhabitants of the settlement save contempt, if not even disgust? And how could their coming improve the way things went in the settlement? Could her mother not see that it was a foolish thing to believe?

Tora had reached the forge. She knocked at the door and then entered. She could see that Dag was not too pleased at her coming, but there was nothing that she could do about that now. And standing in front of the door without saying anything would surely not improve Dag's mood. Therefore, she took a deep breath and began:

"Greetings, master Dag." she said. "You know that my father has asked you to mend his knife and you told him that it would be ready today. Well, my father has sent me for it. Could you possibly give it to me?" She paused, looking at Dag uncertainly.

[Kath]

"Bergr?" Came a familiar cry from behind. "Bergr! I have a message from my lord Khandr!"

Bergr straightened, ugly words in his head. Idiot, Hugo, he muttered under his breath, that's any idea of a hunt gone today, and just when I needed one. He cut off his own train of thought, aware that he was being unfair on the messenger. Turning he placed as broad a smile as he could on his face.

"Well what is this message then?" He asked walking toward Hugo, sheathing his knives as he went.

Hugo held a letter out to him, and Bergr regarded it with wary eyes. He could read well enough, but he did not want someone waiting while he did so.

"I suppose you can't just give me the general idea of what it says?" He inquired, receiving a small laugh from Hugo in response.

"No I cannot, sir, for I do not know what the message says myself. I will take a verbal answer though if you would rather that than write one down."

Grunting at the compromise Bergr read, his features darkening as he learnt of the rudeness being shown to the Borrim even at higher levels than he experienced. The bars had been increasingly cold toward him of late, with his requests for ale being ignored and the door shut in his face. He wondered now if this had anything to do with the arrival of their Elvish friends. The invite to a feast was met with more pleasure. It had been some time since the small number of Borrim in this place had all been together and he looked forward to speaking with them again.

"Tell our lord I will be there." He instructed Hugo, and watched as the man made his way back toward the city, presumably searching for the other Borrim. Sighing he took a knife from his belt and marked the tree he was standing by to remind him of the place of his latest quarry and began his own walk home.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Briga purposefully stepped to the front and addressed Gunna. She chose her words with care, all the while keeping a wary eye on the other woman who stood a short distance away, "Cheese for fresh game? Yes, we would be interested. The hunters do a good job of keeping my husband supplied with meat. Just this afternoon, Hunta came to me with a great slab of venison. It is too much for our own household, even with the feast tonight. Rather than take it to the smokehouse or trade it at the market, I'd gladly do an exchange with you for some cheese."

The younger woman who had first answered the door stood sullen and silent. Even though her eyes were guarded, it was apparent that there was considerable bad blood between these two. Before Gunna could reply, Briga turned to address the younger woman, "Embla? Did you not have something to do? I believe my husband asked you to polish the silver cups in preparation for the festivities tonight. As Khandr has been kind enough to ask both of us to grace his table, surely you will want to help?" Embla shot back a sharp glance but then turned and disappeared down the hallway.

Briga turned back to Gunna and began speaking in a relaxed and confidential tone. "I am sorry. You must excuse her behavior. She is new to our household.....a second wife. And it is taking her a while to understand her duties." There was no anger or derision in her voice, just a hint of disapproval as if Briga was genuinely puzzled why Embla should not immediately jump to her command and do as she was bid.

"What say you then, my friend? But before we shake hands on the bargain, may I see the cheese first, or do you plan to drop it off later? Ad please do tell me what your name is. I know so few folk in this town."

[bill_n_sam]

Dag:

Dag paused in his work long enough to hear the girl’s enquiry. Just as he had known it would, Ulfast’s imperious commission for a sword would necessarily put on hold all the other mending and crafting he had obligated himself to do. This was the power that birth brought – the power to shove aside others less fortunate in the circumstances of their conception and drink first and longest from the cup of prosperity. The utilitarian knife of a common farmer, what did that matter when it came to the demands of a chieftain’s son? Those beneath could wait, while the few who rode upon the shoulders of the many took what they wanted, simply because they could.

These thoughts flowed through Dag’s mind as he began hammering once more on the sword. No more than ten blows had fallen though, as Tora waited patiently, before Dag carefully laid aside the red hot blade and finally turned to her, wiping his hand over his face. “The metal must be worked just so, while it is at the right temperature, or the blade will be brittle.” he explained without preamble. Tora nodded her head in apparent comprehension, although her face betrayed her puzzling over what this might have to do with her father’s knife.

“I’m sorry. You must tell your father that his knife isn’t fixed yet. I’ve been . . . required to provide a weapon, for Ulfang’s son.” Dag noted Tora’s gaze fixing upon the still glowing metal he had been working on. His eyes slid sideways to the sword also, then back to her own dark ones, hoping her father would not take out any disappointment over the delay on the innocent messenger.

He hesitated, then said, “Well, the repair should not take long, no more than an hour’s work. I’ll do it now, and let the blade there rest.” He regarded the girl, considering that she had probably a long enough walk from her farm to make it not worth her while to return there and then walk all the way back to the forge a second time.

“You may wait here, if you wish, or if you have other business hereabouts, you might want to see to it while I work on the knife.” Dag walked a pace over to where a small pile of implements awaited his attention. A thought struck him, then, and he waved his hand casually in the direction of his own home. “Or, if you prefer, pass the time visiting with my wife and her sister. I know they always enjoy hearing the gossip from the outlying farms.” He smiled briefly at the girl as he plied the bellows, stoking the fire and plunging the knife blade into its glowing heart.

*************************

Gunna:

"What say you then, my friend? But before we shake hands on the bargain, may I see the cheese first, or do you plan to drop it off later? And please do tell me what your name is. I know so few folk in this town."

Gunna smiled tentatively at the woman from the north. Her husband must be wealthy indeed, to be able to afford a second wife. Although Gunna, with Mem always available, realized how helpful it was to have a second set of hands to get through all the work there was in a day, she was more than glad that she did not have to share Dag’s affection with another woman. Watching Embla’s stiff back as she retreated, and seeing Briga visibly relaxing, Gunna sensed that perhaps this accounted for the obvious tension between the two Borrim.

“I’m Gunna, wife to Dag, a blacksmith and armorer. We live not too far off, under the eastern wall of the town. I . . . I know, perhaps some of the townspeople have not been too friendly. They . . . they are shy, or suspicious, of strangers. When we first arrived, three years ago, it was the same for us. People . . . people are . . . frightened, I believe. Frightened of what they do not know, and of what lies ahead of us, in these uncertain times.” Gunna closed her mouth abruptly, wondering if she should be talking like this, to a woman of position, and a stranger at that. “Well, yes, fresh venison sounds wonderful. I’ve heard your hunters are very skillful.” She hurried on. “I wasn’t sure if you would want the cheese, so I didn’t bring it with me. It’s quite large and I had no free hands. But I can bring it right by, if that’s acceptable.”

**************************

Mem:

Mem’s mouth hung open as Dulaan spoke. Surely the old woman was making a joke. But if so, it was a cruel one. Mem knew Dulaan well enough to know that, regardless of the old granny’s penchant for teasing, a kinder hearted soul could not be found in the Ulfing settlement. Could it be that the old woman was serious? Mem shook her head in disbelief, while her hands busied themselves with finding the pot and settling it near the edge of the cook fire. In confusion, the young woman called out to Jóra, who sat playing with the gurgling baby. “Sweetling, the tea is in that clay jar, by the basket of turnips. Can you fetch it here?”

Unconsciously, Mem fingered the bright bit of woolen cloth which Gunna had tied about her head that morning as they dressed. The hair which had grown in after her fever so many years ago, was brittle and of a strange rusty coloration. Gunna kept it clipped short – shorn like a sheep in spring, Dag would quip. What man would even think of her in terms of affection, Mem thought distractedly? Never in her wildest imaginings would she have guessed that Fàlki . . . Mem’s hands froze as the full impact of what Dulaan had said hit her. Fàlki! What did she even know about Kata’s son? Quiet? Shy? With a certainty, he was both. So much so, that even Mem, with her sharp ears, had barely heard him speak more than ten words in the two years in which he had occasionally accompanied his mother to their house. Could she even say she knew the tread of his feet, so like it was to that of his twin?

With a start, Mem realized that Jóra was speaking to her. “Mem. Mem! Here’s the tea.” The girl was setting the little clay jar gently into her hands. Taking a small palm full, she tossed the fragrant leaves into the heating water. Trying to collect her fractured thoughts, Mem turned to where she felt the old one sitting familiarly knee to knee with her. “Dulaan, I . . . I don’t know what to say. Are you in jest? Fàlki? I . . . I never even imagined . . . “She stopped, helplessly searching for the words to express her confusion, and the dim, far away hope that lay beneath.

[Dimturiel]

Despite the disappointement brought to her by her father's knife not being ready yet, Tora could not help feeling intrigued. A sword for Ulfang's son? But why? And which son was that? Of course, she did not voice her questions aloud. She knew it was not her place to know such things, and she was not sure she would get an answer, anyway.

Tora welcomed Dag's proposal of her going to his house. She did not feel up to walking all the way to her home and then returning later, yet neither did she want to remain in the forge. She somehow felt as if she would in a way be hindering the man from his work. And she had already abused enough of his kindness. Not many would put aside a task given by the chieftain's son for the mending of a plain farmer's knife. Therefore, she smiled to him and said:

"I am very grateful for your kindness, master Dag. I think I will indeed pay a visit to your wife and her sister. I had not seen them for a while, and I have been longing to talk to them."

She nodded to Dag and got out of the forge. It was not a long walk from Dag's forge to his home-not as long as the way back to Tora's farm, anyway. She soon reached the house and, after a soft knock on the door, she entered. There was a certain intimacy between most of the inhabitants of the settlement, and so no one bothered with rules of courtesy such as waiting to be invited in a house before entering.


On entering, Tora noticed that Gunna was not there, but that did not mean that her sister, Mem was alone with the baby. There was also Kata and Jora there, as well as Granny Dulaan. As far as she could see, Mem was talking to the latter with a flustered expression on her face.

"Greetings, Mem."said Tora brightly. "Hello, Kata and Jora. Good day, Dulaan. I hope you do not mind me being here, Mem. Master Dag sent me here while he finishes mending my father's knife. If it bothers you, I could go. I see that you already have your hands full."

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hunta was just on the verge of slumber when a shadow at the front of his tent brought him awake. Laylah growled and raised the hackles on her back, and when Hunta saw who it was that had disturbed them he did not still her. “What do you want?” he mumbled at Hugo. “Can’t you see that I’m trying to sleep?” He had spent so much of himself on the chase this morning that all he wanted for the remains of the day was rest. It annoyed him that this creeping fellow who did little for his livelihood but fetch and carry for his master would interrupt that. Either because he was oblivious to Hunta’s annoyance, or that he was simply used to such treatment that he was able to bear it without reaction, Hugo delivered his message without sign.

“You are wanted for a feast tonight at my master’s table.” Hunta wanted to know what the occasion might be. “My master wishes to discuss the matter of these new arrivals from the west. There are tidings in the town that they are here on matters of war.”

“The Elves?” Hunta asked, his interest finally piqued. He had never seen one of the immortal beings but something about the tales he had heard of them stirred his blood and lightened his heart in a surprising way. “Tell your ‘master’ that I’ll be there.”

When Hugo was gone, Hunta left his tent with Laylah intending to walk toward the Ulfings’ great hall, hoping that there he might catch a glimpse of the Elves. But as he came through the wings of the house he found Briga in conversation with an Ulfing woman. He quickly discerned that his catch was being put to good use by the older woman….Hunta was a great fan of the Ulfings’ pungent cheese, and he savoured the opportunity of enjoying some at the feast tonight. When he heard that the woman had not brought the cheese he immediately stepped forward. “I can bring that here for you, if you would like,” he offered.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Briga again slipped forward and spoke. "What a fine idea, Hunta. I think a cheese and egg pie would do very nicely along with the venison for our dinner tonight. If you could go with Gunna to pick up the cheese and return here after that, I could get started on the cooking. Plus, you might help Gunna carry the extra meat back to her home. It would be difficult for her to manage on her own. The packets are sitting in the kitchen."

Briga glanced over at Gunna and smiled, "If you would excuse us for just a minute, I''d like to show Hunta where that meat is so he can carry it over to your house. Perhaps it might be nice if the two of you could go together now."

Beckoning to Hunta, she gestured that he should follow her down the hall and then discretely guided him off into a side room. She lowered her voice to explain, "Hunta, don't worry about the meat. I'll have the kitchen maid give it to you before you leave, hopefully with Hunta. But I need to pass this along from Khandr. As the letter says, my husband feels there is something going on behind closed doors. The Borrim have been shut out, not just on these wedding negotiations but everything else at court. Whether or not this 'something' involves the Elves who have come, Khandr has no idea. But could you speak with Gunna? We are so isolated here, so off by ourselves, that we don't even know what those outside the court are thinking or feeling. I doubt she'll know too much about those Elves but perhaps she or her family have some feelings about what has happened to Ulfang. There used to be such good relations with him. My husband is at a loss to understand what is happening. For the good of our clan and liege lord, we all need to work together to uncover whatever is behind this change in sentiment at court. I know Khandr would appreciate anything you can pick up from Gunna or her family. I must go now. I have much to do, but I leave this matter in your able hands. Please give my apologies to Gunna for leaving so abruptly." Briga turned and walked away before Hunta could even answer.

[Durelin]

Being cemented in her body meant that Jord had to physically follow the man she wished to talk to, and so by the time she felt it good to approach him, she was in a foul mood. She always had to be careful who saw her and Uldor together, and where anyone saw them. Her worries were not many: she knew that likely the fools thought her his mistress or something equally demeaning, but she still had them. The less she was seen at all, the better. And so it pleased her that Uldor did not notice her until she was practically breathing on the back of his neck.

“You will hold to it,” Jord whispered. The man appeared unaffected, but she sensed his surprise, and a bit of something else that she liked. “The brave and honorable Uldor keeps his promises, just like his father…” A smile formed slowly on her face as she spoke. This boy was sworn to Morgoth just as Ulfang was, and they both knew there was no turning back for him any more than there was for her. But that was the end of their similarities.

Uldor sneered at her, and Jord considered the joy of reaching out and patting his head – a reward for being smarter than he looked sometimes – once she really had him on a leash at her feet. She searched his eyes and gave him the sense she was boring into him whenever he met her gaze, giving him yet another reason to let his eyes travel elsewhere. He would learn never to meet her gaze, with naïve defiance and arrogance from fiery and uncontained youth, soon enough.

“I thank you for your flatteries, woman,” Uldor maintained an air of carelessness as he threw the comment at her. Jord internally struggled, but kept her own mask firmly wrapped around her face, and her body practically laughed. He will be thanking me for more, and begging for anything I will give him, soon… Always soon. But she had the patience of millennia.

“Always the gentleman. Even to those Elves, I imagine, and even when they announced their request? Seven thousand? It will indeed be a lot of blood on your hands.”

The man looked at her, his face finally betraying a bit of shock. She continued to smile, knowingly, and she let her eyes slowly look Uldor up and down, lingering on certain parts, whether or not she found them interesting. Obviously some found them to be quite interesting. He was fairly handsome, by human standards, though also approaching old age by them. Yet in mind and spirit he was a boy to her, fresh-faced and hotheaded.

Not allowing him time to respond, she gave him one more question to consider, “And whose blood would you rather taste?”

[Dimturiel]

The company had now become larger than Tora had expected, and she was wondering whether she should not excuse herself and go and see if Dag had not finished her father's knife. The hunter that Gunna had bought made her uneasy, although why exactly she could not explain. Perhaps it was the fact that he seemed so different from the people that Tora usually saw. Or maybe because one like her usually mistrusted those that were not part of her little community, and took time before coming to regard them, if not as friends, then at least as people from whom there was no evil to be feared.

The gloomy topics that had been discussed until Gunna and her companion came were now forgotten. Instead, the women began gossiping of small family affairs, showing their curiosity and indignation, shaking their heads, and talking as if no dark cloud would ever threaten their living. Tora was somehow pleased by this. She felt her heart lift, knowing that there were people that still talked of such insignificant matters with the same eagerness as they had before discussed the designs of the elves. She turned her attention to Kata, although the tale of the apalling deeds of Halma's younger daughter were quite known to her, as she had heard many people taking of them. To many this event held as much importance as the coming of the elves, and to some even more.

The women were shaking their heads with disbelief as Kata spoke, and Tora too, tried to show her disapproval of such behaviour, although deep inside she did not feel half as apalled as the others. And being known to speak always what was on her mind, she did not hesitate to share her oppinion with the others.

"Well, it surely was a dreadful thing, running off like that with her sister's promised man," she said, "but you should not judge her too harshly. I know the poor girl quite well, and she was always telling me how much she loved him, and she was so sad when she heard he was to be her sister's man. She really cared for him , you know. Of course, this does not excuse what she has done, no, indeed, not at all."

[Folwren]

“Taste?” Uldor said slowly, looking at the woman who had materialized beside him, like some spirit or wraith from another world. “Who’s blood would I rather taste? Foolish woman, you know nothing of war, do you?” There was a strange, dark flicker in her immeasurably deep eyes, but he didn’t care to analyze it. “Does it matter to me who I kill? One way or another, all their blood will be spilt. I do not care if it is with elven or orc blood that my blade and hands are wet with, so long as it is not in vain.

“The blood of seven thousand Ulfings will not be on my hands at all,” Uldor went on, turning away from her and walking up the gravelly path. “You speak as though I were king already and could make these decisions. Since you appear to know everything that happened today in private ears, you should know that my father did not give me the choice of whether or not we obey the elves’ summons. He gave me the job of seeing that they were fulfilled and to figure out the best way to conduct the muster.

“I would he had asked me first for a word in private,” he went on bitterly. His voice sank and he spoke more to himself than to his fair companion. “These elves are treacherous. They care nothing for us. They grasp for that gem their father made and strive ever to fulfil their wretched oath. That was the oath that I heard today.” He shuddered again with the thought of those words spoken in his hearing.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hunta thought that he would go mad with the tattling of these women. Either that or the boredom of their idleness would plunge him into a sleep from which there would be no waking. He wondered what madness had led him to accept the errand that brought him here…what was there of use that he could possibly learn amongst such people?

His boredom must have been evident for a younger woman came and offered him some more tea. He accepted it with a tilt of his head and some clumsily muttered words of gratitude, but he did not sound convincing even to himself. He was not meant for small spaces and polite conversation, his place was elsewhere, with the ground for a bed and the branches for a blanket. The sheer presence of their nattering numbers weighed on him so that he felt as though he we smothering, and overcome by the sensation he shifted in his chair uncomfortably and in the agitation of the movement knocked over a low stool that stood near him. The conversation faltered and all eyes were upon him. He glanced about, much like a buck cornered by the hounds, and his hand reached mechanically for Laylah’s ruff for reassurance, but his hand met only air. Instinctively he whistled for her and the great dog came trotting through the door to curl up at his feet. Too late he remembered the woman Gunna’s request that Laylah remain outside.

He could not have mishandled the situation more, and in a fit of desperation he tried to divert their attention from his many lapses. “This girl who’s run off,” he asked, groping blindly for something to say. “Is it, well, is it really that terrible what she’s done? So long as everything is done…properly, I suppose is the word…then what matters who she was engaged to? I don’t understand the ways of your folk in these matters….I understand precious little about these matters amongst my own folk to be sure. But if I were ever to marry…well…” he felt himself heading into uncharted and dangerous forests but pressed ahead “I wouldn’t want to marry a girl who’d been stopped from running off with someone else just because she was supposed to marry me. I would want her to, well, not run off…if you see what I mean…”

The profound weight of his own idiocy pressed upon him like a stone.

[bill_n_sam]

As the conversation had shifted smoothly into the familiar paths of juicy gossip and merriment over their neighbors’ little foibles, Gunna had breathed more easily. She had never in her life expected the Northerner to actually accept her polite invitation. But the women, for the most part, seemed largely to ignore his unlooked for presence, perhaps more in the way of one who stoically ignores an itch when circumstances deem it too impractical or impolite to scratch. Old Dulaan threw the stranger several pointed looks, and little Jóra had gone to refresh his tea, but, for the moment, Gunna allowed herself to listen in amusement and feigned consternation at Kata’s tale of Halma’s daughter.

"Well, it surely was a dreadful thing, running off like that with her sister's promised man," young Tora spoke up. "But you should not judge her too harshly. I know the poor girl quite well, and she was always telling me how much she loved him, and she was so sad when she heard he was to be her sister's man. She really cared for him, you know. Of course, this does not excuse what she has done, no, indeed, not at all."

Gunna was aware of Tora’s own loss that was surely part of the conviction that lay behind her declaration. There had been no such love either expressed or felt between herself and Dag, Gunna reflected, when first his proposal of marriage had been made. In fact, the proposal had come directly from Dag’s father, and, although she knew Dag, Gunna had never once spoken with him directly before this proposal arose.

To Gunna, the prospect of marriage had loomed ahead of her as a stubborn obstacle to be fought against and overcome, if at all possible. Her decision to make herself lifetime caretaker of her blind sister was one which she would not cast aside, not for any man. And she had prepared herself to do battle with whatever skill, wit or craft she possessed to foil any attempts by her father to marry her off. Therefore, she had been totally caught off guard when her very first insistence that she could not, would not, leave Mem behind was countered with Dag’s suggestion that Mem should accompany them to the new western lands, as a welcome member of his household. In fact, the couple’s very first conversation had consisted entirely of Gunna grilling Dag as to the motivations behind his offer. Dag had listened patiently and finally, when Gunna had stopped to draw breath, replied good naturedly, but in solemn tones, “If we are to marry, you must be content. If I force you to leave Mem, you will make my life a misery. Bring her, if that is all it takes for us to have peace between us.”

In the end, there had been no forcing, no coercion. Now, Gunna couldn’t imagine happiness without her stubborn, quiet husband and their beautiful child. Like Tora, Gunna felt great sympathy in her heart for both the daughter and the already spoken for boy. Love, it would seem, dares all, endures all, survives all, even when others decree it should never come into being in the first place.

Gunna, now seated by the low burning fire next to Tora, jumped slightly at the sound of a stool knocked to the floor. Her head turned instinctively to the corner where the hunter sat, his face bearing a startled look of embarrassment. But, instead of apologizing, the man pursed his lips and whistled. With a bound, his huge, hairy dog galloped into the small house. Gunna was more startled than offended. The dog seemed quite obedient to its master’s commands. In fact, it curled itself right up at his feet and settled down at once without any upset. But still, the mother in her worried about the baby, who played happily in Mem’s lap. Before she could formulate a protest though, the man was speaking.

“This girl who’s run off,” he asked, hesitantly. “Is it, well, is it really that terrible what she’s done? So long as everything is done…properly, I suppose is the word…then what matters who she was engaged to? I don’t understand the ways of your folk in these matters….I understand precious little about these matters amongst my own folk to be sure. But if I were ever to marry…well…” He faltered a moment, but went on. “I wouldn’t want to marry a girl who’d been stopped from running off with someone else just because she was supposed to marry me. I would want her to, well, not run off…if you see what I mean…”

Gunna did see, with perfect clarity. So, despite her misgivings, this Borrim, this Hunta who had manfully put up with the unenviable task he had been assigned by his mistress, was not so unlike her own Dag. Men of action, not words. Men who cared little for conventions, and listened to their own hearts. Strong, skilled men who would not hesitate to use force to protect themselves, or those they cared for, but who realized that force brought to bear in a marriage was folly. Perhaps, then, these northern cousins were not as alien as they might seem, at least some of them.

Unknowingly, Gunna smiled at the hunter, who had stumbled to a halt and looked even more embarrassed for having spoken. “What you say makes sense, Hunta.” Gunna replied. “Although unfortunately, I’m sure many will not see it that way. Halma and the boy’s parents, certainly. In our community here, there are many traditions surrounding the betrothal of a man to a woman. Such a promised union creates ties between one family and another, ties not easily discarded. Our people are bound by many such ties, each to the other. Ties of blood, ties of marriage, ties of loyalty cemented by oath giving.” Her thoughts flew briefly to Ulfast and his sword, but she forced herself to bury that nagging fear deep in her heart. “I’m sure it is the same with the people of Bor. In one way or many, you must be bound to the others of your clan. To break those ties must be frowned upon very severely, is it not so?”

The question had been asked in all innocence, but a stillness fell on the room as each considered Gunna’s words and what the arrival of the elves would mean to the loyalties of every family, every man, woman and child, from chieftain to ambassador, from farmer to smith to hunter.

[piosenniel]

Káta’s brow furrowed at first as Gunna began to speak. The man’s word’s had not made sense. It was the family, the parents, who made the marriage. Sentiments of love, more like to be feelings of ‘need’, were transitory. It was the ties made between families; the passing of herd-wealth between them; the status, the position gained, which formed the first basis for the wedding of one family with another. Parents strove to choose well for their children as well as for the family. At least that is how her mother and father had done for her. Affection, her mother and her grandmother had told her, would come with time as the man and woman came to know each other; to fit together as husband and wife, as parents themselves.

And so it had been between her and Grimr.....and so it would be for her sons and daughter when the time came.

Káta pursed her lips and cast her eyes briefly toward Granny. Now what had that old woman been talking about to Mem? Fálki, was it? She gave Mem an appraising look. Hmmmm..... Fálki was still young; Mem even younger. And what with the move to this new land and the effort of settling the family in, she and Grimr had not yet turned their thoughts to the making of ties between their family and another family of those other Ulfings who had come west. She gave a sly little smile and nodded her head. This might prove a suitable family with which to make ties. I will speak with Grimr tonight about this, she thought to herself. And perhaps we can arrange some little get together. I have been blind to my son’s inclinations! she chided herself.

‘Jóra!’ she called out as her daughter set down the teapot near the fire and looked to be settling down to hold the baby once again. ‘Help Granny up, won’t you little bird?’ She smiled at Gunna. ‘We need to be getting back, Gunna. Grimr will worry if we are too long away. Mem, so good to see you once again. I’ve no doubt your skilful fingers will turn the wool we’ve brought into more of your fine thread.’

Granny and Jóra joined her near the doorway. ‘I hope you enjoy the goose we brought. Grimr and the twins brought it down just today.’ She made her good-byes to Tora before leaving, and nodded politely toward the Borrim man. ‘Come on, you two!’ she prompted her daughter and Granny. ‘Jóra, bring the cart near, won’t you? And, yes,’ she said grinning at the pleading face the young girl had put on. ‘You can take the reins for the trip back.’

[Folwren]

“But oh! I spoke wrongly, did I not? You made no oath. Your father did. Your father is a wise man, who makes promises to keep them…but perhaps you are the wiser, who does not make them at all.”

Poisonous woman, Uldor thought bitterly to himself. Beastly thing. How had he ever thought that she might be of use to him? Trickster! She would lie, wouldn’t she? And twist things. Just like he. He allowed a slow smile to take hold on his features. He could match her wit. Let her twist what words and webs of lies she would, he would meet her and use it to his own good.

What did she know of his father, anyway? What did she know of what passed through that old dotard’s mind? Why did she even care? And she called Ulfang wise? Because he made promises and kept them? The smile grew until he was nearly laughing. He cast his eye on her.

“Yes, my father is a wise man,” he said, choking on the thought with laughter and contempt. “He listens to me, and I help make him all the wiser. His promises? He holds to them because that is how it should be. But I? I will make no promises until I know for certain that they will aid me in gaining my own ends. Do you understand?” The smile was gone, the expression now hard and savage. His handsome face was twisted with a flash of raging desire. He reached out and grasped her wrist, pulling her about to face him.

“Listen to me, and understand, and if you report, you can tell your masters this. I will not make an oath to anyone if I am not absolutely certain of the reward. You know what I mean. I don’t care about these elves who have come to ask our help. I don’t care if you know everything. I will use it all to my own good and I will gain what I seek.”

[Nogrod]

Back at the tent Fastarr checked his purse. Nothing had been taken. Not that he would have expected it as he had learned to trust Svana and Willap during his regular visits to the sweatlodge. But it was better to be safe than sorry. And he had also another reason to be content with the purse. He had spent a little less he had foreseen so at least at the moment there was one thing less to worry about.

After polishing the bronze-rings of his quarterstaff and checking the coated-sharpened tips of it - and making the last check in front of the mirror - he went out. The sun had fallen low enough to leave the streets in shadows although the sky was still bright with light. A slight wind was blowing in the almost vacant alleys and in the absence of the sun’s warming rays the air felt colder than it actually was. Fastarr pulled the collars of his fine dark-blue tunic up to cover his neck and started briskly to Khandr’s residence.

Now as he came to think of it, he had only used his better clothes once before during this visit to the Ulfing settlement. It had been the first day after their arrival when they had introduced themselves to the chief Ulfang and his sons. After that these finer clothes of his had just laid at the one end of his tent, folded nicely to wait for the next chance to be worn. Fastarr was no dandy, but he enjoyed dressing to the finetextured clothes that felt so much smoother against the skin and had some colour to please the eye. And being clean and tidy was clearly preferable to being dirty and sweaty in any case. He was in a good mood for a change.

And there was also a curious satisfaction that kept growing inside him as he saw the looks of the few locals around following his passage. They were used to see him as the “Horse-Man”, as they said, a servant in his rugged clothes hardly being different than they were themselves: an easy target for mockery or indifference as a stranger of their own stature. Now his retainership was clearly shown out and Fastarr felt he was giving them back every piece of grunt and joking in full as he went steadily and proudly through the streets ignoring every pair of eyes watching after him. Surely, retainers were no upper-class people, but there was a distinction between a commoner and a retainer. Fastarr enjoyed that little difference to the fullest as he walked through the streets.

There were some local ruffians having their afternoon ales in front of a tavern who tried to mock him against the general feeling of astonishment with calls like “Have you stealed your clothes, Horse-Man?” or “Looking pretty, going for a girl? But if it’s anyone I know, I’ll cut your private parts personally!” and the like. Fastarr decided to just ignore them. At least today, as he took care to notice who the men calling after him were.

Approaching Khandr’s residence he noticed Hunta carrying a huge cheese. “Changing from a hunter to a herder, now are we Hunta?”, he called him some thirty yards away as Hunta hadn’t noticed, or at least not paid attention openly to him. Fastarr flashed an amicable smile as the hunter stopped and turned to greet him with a smile too.

“I’ve had weirder tasks than this today, my friend”, Hunta answered and waited for Fastarr to catch up with him.

“Okay... Care to tell me more?” Fastarr asked as they took jointly towards the house. Hunta answered after a short pause: “Maybe... maybe..., but I think the time for these will be later”.

Fastarr opened the gate for Hunta and they passed through it in quiet, but as they were approaching the stairs the doors swung open and Hugo rushed out to meet them. “So there you are! That cheese has been waited for in the kitchen! It should end up in the table where you’re most probably going to sit in a minute – and just think of what is required for that piece of goat’s droppings to melt into the dishes being prepared!”

Both Hunta and Fastarr were totally surprised by Hugo’s sudden hassle and they both stopped just beneath the stairs. “Please, hurry now, will’ya?” Hugo called them beggingly. Hunta and Fastarr exchanged looks and had considerable task in keeping their poker and not to laugh out aloud to the fussing of the servant. Hugo frowned and ran the stairs down. “Okay, okay, I’ll take it. Master Khandr and the lady are indeed waiting for you. Please get in then”. With that he took the cheese from Hunta and ran back in.

Hunta and Fastarr climbed the stairs slowly after Hugo and entered the hall. Khandr and Briga were standing there, waiting for the guests to arrive.

“Good afternoon lord Khandr, my Lady”, Fastar said and bowed courteously.

“Good afternoon your Lordship and Lady. I hope we’re not late?”, added Hunta in his turn and bowed too.

[Dimturiel]

Tora was walking as fast as she could. She felt she had lingered overlong, especially since those at home knew that she had just went to fetch a knife from the forge, and that did not usually take so long a time. She would have to answer for her long absence when she reached home.

But that was not what was bothering Tora most. If there was to be trouble at home, she would deal with it when she got there. It had not been totally her fault, anyway. She had heard many things that made her now feel quite uneasy. It was true, she was still too young to fully understand all that she had heard, but one thing was clear even to her. Something was about to happen in their settlement. Something was not quite right.

Yet she could not quite tell from where such a notion came. Maybe she had somehow senesed some anxiety in the settlement,or felt that there was something looming ahead of them, some time of darkness and difficulties and doubt. Or maybe it was nothing after all. Maybe the happenings of that day-the coming of the elves, the forging of a sword for Ulfast- were perfectly normal events, and only her mind-already used to sorrow and darkness- made more of them than there actually was.

With such thoughts forming in her mind, Tora reached Dag's forge. He found the smith still working on the sword. When she entered, however, he raised his head and smiled to her. Tora smiled back.

"I...I came to see if the knife was ready." she said. "And I thank you very much for putting aside so great a task as the forging of a sword for the chieftain's son for the mending of a mere farmer's knife. I also bear a message from your wife. She tells you that you should not forget your dinner."

Tora paused expectantly. She wondered whether to ask Dag to tell her more of the task that he had been entrusted, but she dared not do it. Such things were not right, and anyway, Dag would surely not confide in her, young as she was. And why did she want to know so much about this? Would it make her feel better? Would it ease her troubled mind? Surely not. Chances were that the answer to her questions would only bring more fear into her heart. Yes, likely enough, she would have to pay too great a price for her inquisitiveness.

[Celuien]

By the time Ulfast reached his chambers, much of his ill humor had dissipated. In truth, the day had not been entirely unpleasant. He thought that he would have to speak with Ulwarth later. There, at least, Ulfast had a solid ally in enmity for his older brother.

It was frustrating that Uldor had not spoken against the summons. Ulfast knew that his brother would be against sending men to aid the Elves, whether or not he said it openly. Perhaps there was a way to prod him into open defiance. Little time had been spent with the Elves. More hours of forced politeness to the visitors might provoke Uldor into carelessness.

Ulfast smirked as he realized that he did not know whether a proper welcome for the envoy had been planned. The greeting they had received as yet had been small, but the arrival of an important ally after long journey deserved more attention. A grand feast would be in order. Ulfast scribbled a message inquiring about the preparations for such an event and summoned a servant to bring it to Uldor. Whether plans had already been made or not, the message would annoy Uldor. Had they already been made, Uldor would be irritated by the apparent stupidity shown by the message. If not, the reminder of the need to show courtesy to the visitors would anger him.

A grand feast would require Ulfast to appear in his finest attire. He thought of the new sword he had ordered. If the smith had been diligent, there was a chance that it would be finished in time for the festivities. He decided to check on the sword's progress. For a moment, Ulfast thought of sendng one of his men to the forge, but then thought better of it. He would go himself. The smith would understand the importance of his task if it brought a chieftain's son to his shop. And too, he could test the smith's loyalty to him.

He left the Ulfing hall and strode through the village streets, enjoying the startled, fearful glances sent his way. He came to the smith's shop and called to the craftsman.

"I am Ulfast, son of Ulfing. How goes the work on my sword?"

[Child of the 7th Age]

The master of the house hurried over to the door and extended a hand of welcome to his guests, "Fastarr, Hunta, it is good to see you both. My wife and I greet you." Knahdr turned towards Briga, indicating with a little wave of his hand that she should stand beside him. For some time, they made small talk, speaking of this and that and some of the strange customs observed by the villagers.

Then Khandr led his guests over to a small table where cups of sweet honey mead had been set out on a silver tray. He picked up one of these and handed it to Hunta, encouraging the rest to retrieve their cups and explaining, "We are still awaiting Bergr's arrival but let us have a little refreshment before we sit down at the table. Everyone lift their drink. It is right that we take a moment to remember our bonds of loyalty to our tribe and our pledge to be good retainers of lord Maedhros for that makes us kinsmen here in a strange land. A toast now for the health and good fortune of King Bor."

Khandr lifted up his glass and drank, beckoning the others to do the same. When they had all finished, he explained, "We will wait till Bergr arrives to discuss the details, but I must say this first. I have called you here for two purposes. The great hall of the Ulfang is a cold place to be. I sense little friendliness or warmth as existed in the days of old. It is a good thing to be able to sit and spend an evening with friends. But that is not the only reason we are here." Khandr sighed and shook his head, "I wish it was that easy. There are so many secrets in this settlement. And I am shut out from so much that I fear that something, perhaps something treacherous, is going on. The signs do not bode well for the fortunes of the Borrim or that of our King. We can not stay here and do nothing. We must act. What and how we act is something we must determine tonight. "

"Now we will wait for Bergr to arrive and sit down to a fine meal. Feasting first, and then planning...."

Suddenly Khandr stopped and glanced around the room, a puzzled expression reflected on his face, "But where is my second wife? Where is Embla? I do not see her." He stared over at Briga who shook her head and shrugged her shoulders as if to say that she had no idea.....

[Lalaith]

Embla stood at the back of the hall, in the shadows. Much as she had been doing for the past few hours, she was skulking and smirking. She had enjoyed watching Briga rushing busily about, and whispering anxiously with Khandr - who was all the while distractedly running his fingers through his beard. So much so, in fact that she quite forgot to adhere to her usual policy such occasions – to get in the way, pick quarrels and issue counter-orders.

She observed Hunta stumping back, discombobulated, with the cheese. Fastarr, meanwhile, had arrived looking unusually spruce – well-groomed, almost. She guessed by his flushed glow where he had been – the sweatlodge. She felt a twinge of jealousy. Embla had, in her misery, almost given up on personal adornment, but she was fastidious by nature and had been a frequent sauna guest back in the happy Bairka days. But the restrictions imposed on Borrim womenfolk meant that a visit to a public sweat-lodge was out of the question for her now.

She looked at Fastarr again, as he joined in the toast proposed by Khandr. Oh, she knew him well, by reputation at least. This was the killer of Starkadr. It had been before her mother died, when she still lived among the Bairka. She remembered the woman Aud, returning shamed to her people. Mourning her dead babes and her dead lover, grey-faced and wasted by tragedy and scandal. The child Embla – always observant - had viewed this sad figure with a mixture of pity and intrigue.

Now it was she, Embla, who was shamed at the hands of the Borrim. But hers was a dull, hopeless shame, with no memory of a child or a lover to add spice to her despondency. Abruptly she was pulled out of her brooding thoughts about the ill-fated Aud and her Borrim husband – for the latter had just stepped, inadvertently, on the hem of her long cloak, not seeing her in the darkness.

“Dolt,” she hissed. The man recoiled and stammered something in apology. She looked him up and down with all the haughtiness she could muster, taking in Fastarr’s attempts to smarten up his apparel and appearance. “Better wise language than well-combed hair,” she added. The proverb seemed to hit home and she enjoyed watching the blush spread across his wide, honest face.

[Folwren]

“And your ambition will serve you well, Prince Uldor, in gaining…whatever it is you want…” Her voice was a smooth as honey, as quiet as a sweet bird, as beautiful as a summer day. She touched his hand gently. He drew it back, but didn’t let go. She stepped closer. “Anything you desire,” she said, her voice sinking as she finished. She smiled slowly, sweetly, almost lovingly; Uldor stared with astonishment at her perfectly beautiful face. “Now that is how it should be, is it not, my lord?”

His heart lifted and fell with an odd flutter. For half a moment, he bent closer and his lips parted just a little. His grip on her wrist had become gentler, but he hadn’t yet let go entirely. She looked up at him, her eyes like dark, deep pools, tried to draw him in closer and closer until he drowned within their depths. He let go of her and laid his hand gently on her waist. A slight shudder passed through her at his touch.

A sharp thought rebuked him in an instant. He leaped backwards, away from her, a look of fire flashing into his eyes and face. He had threatened her - his hand had hurt her small, white wrist, he was sure - but she returned it as a compliment and offered more of herself to him.

“What do you want with me?” he snarled. “I didn’t ask to be won over. I’ve got my own plans to fulfill and they don’t include you. Shut up,” he snapped, as she prepared to laugh and respond. “I don’t want to hear any more of your sickeningly sweet promises. With your lips you would kiss me and promise me wealth and power, and with your left hand you would trust a dagger into my heart and give my blood to Morgoth. You would rather see me crawl at your feet than be an honorable man. I will stand on my own - without your help.”

He turned about sharply, ending the conversation entirely, and stormed back over the hill and down towards the city. His blood pumped with fury and not a little confusion. His eyes blazed with hatred towards all, hatred bordering on murder. The guards at the gate cowered away from him, but he ignored them entirely as he strode through.

He went directly to the Ulfing hall, entered by the wide, front doors, and went through the corridors and up a flight of stairs to his room. He slammed his door behind him and threw off his cloak impatiently, tossing it into the bed. His feet slowed to a stop in the center of the floor. For a moment he stood, his hands curling and uncurling by his side. Then, slowly, he looked up and walked to the window.

The heavy, wood shutters were open and the breeze and sunlight flowed in together. While there, looking out, his temper cooled by degrees. His heart ceased to beat so furiously and his mind cleared of the anger and confusion. All that was left was the picture of that face – strange and foreign in it’s beauty. So dark but so utterly fair, the skin so perfectly white without a single blemish. Her hair was black as ebony, and her lips, he recalled…her lips red as blood.

A knock at the door broke into his thoughts just there. He shuddered slightly and then his head jerked sharply about on its neck and he looked towards the door.

“What is it?” he called.

“I bring a message from your brother, lord Ulfast.”

“A message?” Uldor grumbled to himself. “What message would that scoundrel want to send me. He never writes.” He opened the door with sharp abruptness. The unfortunate messenger stepped back at the sight his latently ferocious face. “Where is it? What does he want?” The young man held out the folded pieces of paper. Uldor took it impatiently from his hands and shut the door sharply in his face. He turned towards the window again as he unfolded the letter.

His eyes scanned the short letter swiftly. As soon as he had finished, he crumpled it with annoyance and tossed it into the corner of his room.

“Blasted elves, anyway,” he muttered. “But I guess it is necessary. Confound Ulfast and his nasty ideas of courtesy. Why didn’t I think of it?” he added at once. “It’s not his concern!”

Still grumbling to himself and thinking dark thoughts, he left his chambers and set to work preparing a fitting banquet for a proper receival of their guests.

[piosenniel]

Jóra flicked the reins against the pony’s back and crooned a few words of encouragement. She was enjoying this opportunity to try her hand at driving, and the fact that her mother sat silent in the back of the cart did not intrude on her pleasure. Granny sat next to Jóra, responding with the appropriate “Mmmhmmm!” and “Isn’t that just so” to the girl’s excited chattering.

With home finally reached, Jóra hoppend down from the cart and ran round to help Granny down. She hurried off then to take the pony to the barn.

Káta had gotten herself out of the cart and stood waiting a short ways away from the house for Dulaan to draw nearer. She hooked her arm through the older woman’s and gave her a cat-like smile as she turned them both away from the door and began walking toward the bench by the big oak.

‘Come, sit down, Dulaan,’ she said, patting the wooden seat as she took a seat herself. A brief moment of silence passed as both women looked about at the familiar scene. ‘Now, tell me,’ Káta continued, turning slightly on the smooth seat to look at Granny. ‘Just what exactly did I think I overheard when you and Mem were by the fire?’

[Child of the 7th Age]

Khandr tossed his second wife a distracted glance and nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders, refusing to rise to the bait and be pulled into Embla’s discontent when more pressing matters remained. Yet her attitude was unsettling. Could the woman be trusted to do the task he had chosen for her? Khandr wished he had sought out Embla earlier in the day and privately spoken with her about the assignment. It was an important task and one that needed doing if they had any hope of penetrating the veil of secrecy that hung over the doings of Ulfang and his sons. As much as he loved and esteemed Briga, Khandr was certain that his first wife and long time companion lacked the natural duplicity and instinct for intrigue that would be necessary for this particular job. And perhaps for once, Embla would realize he was paying her a compliment by suggesting she take on one of the most enigmatic figures at court.

A heavy grey fog, sickly sweet and cold, swelled up and pressed against Khandr’s senses. He fought to push back his unsettled feelings, determined to go forward despite the obstacles. If he could not gain accurate information by open and honest means, then he must acquire it in other ways. All his instincts screamed out that some plot was being hatched, which could be detrimental to the interests of the Borrim and the king to whom he pledged loyalty. Khandr only hoped that the price for this information would not run too high.

Pushing back his gloom for the sake of his guests, Khandr gestured that Bergr should join them and directed the others to gather around the table. The dishes were quickly brought out and set before them. The women had prepared an elaborate feast. For the next hour, the Borrim focused their attention on the meal, sampling an array of soups, meats, breads, root vegetables, and heady cheeses provided by their host. When everyone had finished the first two courses, the house servants cleared away the dishes and brought out a custard tart seasoned with saffron and cloves. Instead of the usual ale, Khandr had managed to obtain a flask of fine red wine that had been brought up from the south; he had Briga approach each guest and offer them a cup.

As the meal came to an end and the guests settled back comfortably in their chairs, Khandr could no longer delay the inevitable. It was time to address the real reason he had asked the Borrim to come to his house this evening. He began by describing how difficult it was to get information from court. The old and easy friendship between the different branches of the Easterlings had completely vanished. “Everything has changed,” he lamented. “Ulfang and his sons have no interest in our marriage proposal. And I can get nothing out of them. I have no sense of what is going on. But my instincts tell me that great changes will soon take place. I fear these will not be good for us or for our king. We can not just pack our bags and go home, as much as I would like to do that. We have a duty to stay here and try to untangle this puzzle. And that is why I have asked you to come here tonight.”

“You are my eyes and ears,” he explained. “I can not be everywhere at once. And there are times when being an official envoy places me at a disadvantage. Many prefer to confide in someone who bears no official title. That is why I need your help. I will be asking each of you to secure information about a particular individual whose name I will give you. Go to that person, speak with them or their servants to try and find out what is really going on. Speak little, and saw nothing as to why you were sent. Once you have learned whatever you can, come back and share the information with me. This is the only way we will get anywhere. It is a pity that one Easterling has to spy on another, but in these hard days I see no other way to come by the truth.”

“As to your assignments…. Khandr glanced down at his list and read off the paired names in a cold, crisp voice: “Fastarr, Ulwarth; Bergr, Ulfast; Hunta, Uldor; Embla, the lady Jord; and Briga, Lord Ulfast’s wife. I myself will pay a personal visit to Ulfang. Is that alright then? Any questions or concerns?” His eyes swept nervously around the circle.

[Celuien]

Ulfast's calculating stare followed the smith as he moved behind the forge. A cold grin played at the corners of his mouth. Fortunately for Dag, it was not the mask Ulfast wore to hide his fury, the sly cover of pretended friendship that came just his wrath reached out with a deadly grasp. The man was bold. The rude trifle of a knife that had just been placed aside had no doubt been the task most recently in Dag's hand while the sword he now hefted had most likely lain neglected.

Ulfast thought he could sense fear coming from the craftsman, yet he had spoken calmly and deliberately, saying no more or less than needed. Such a man would be of good use if he could be reminded of his place in service to the son of Ulfang.

"Two days, you say? I had hoped it would be sooner. Tonight we hold a feast in honor of our allies of the Elven kingdom. Surely you have heard? Where better to display the work of a fine craftsman?" His voice rang with cool authority.

Ulfast's eyes drifted again to the knife, and for the briefest of moments, to the girl in the doorway.

"Or perhaps you have been attending to other tasks?"

[Noinkling]

Cornered! Like an old mousekin by the barn cat...

Káta had shooed off Jóra and now the two women stood under the slender ash tree that grew in the side yard. Granny opened her mouth to speak, thinking to dissemble as she could concerning her little exchange with Mem. But one quick look at Káta’s narrowed eyes and she knew she’d be caught out if even one falsehood passed her lips.

Dulaan sighed, her eyes flicking to the entry way to the little barn. One of the older boys stood there, half hidden in the shadows. Her head turned back to her questioner and one wrinkled hand reached out to touch Káta lightly on the arm.

‘Now, dear,’ she began, her eyes softening as she remembered the young eager girl Káta had once been. ‘You remember, don’t you, how when you were a young one and just in the first flush of love, or at least interest, how you wanted to know if that object of your affections thinks the same? Well, that’s how it is for our Fálki, our shy-boots Fálki.....’

She went on to explain the red-faced talks the young man had had with her and the request he’d made for her to talk to Mem if it were possible. ‘And once his ducks were all in a row, and he knew with some surety his feelings might be returned - why then he was going to speak with his father and you about approaching Mem’s family.’

Granny could just see the thoughts fluttering behind Káta’s gaze when Grímr’s loud voice rang out.....