Brothers of Mirkwood
From Library of the Randirim
Contents |
Chapter One: Inn of the Lost
A few weeks ago...
By the time he reached the building the rain was all he could hear. The dull, rhythmic pounding of heavy drops of water against cotton. His cloak had long since soaked through causing his hood to stick to his head like a second skin. Still, even that news seemed more fortunate than the appearance of this "inn." A section of the roof had long since collapsed revealing bare beams that stretched to the sky all too much like the ribs of some long decaying carrion.
In truth he considered just passing the building by. It certainly could afford small protection from the elements. For a moment he entertained the notion that it may have been forsaken for a sturdier structure but as he drew closer he saw the light of the hearth coming through the tattered shutters. Still, he could have kept moving. He had been on the move for most of the day but a few more nights should see him in the town of Bree and that was where he hoped to pick up on the trail again.
All the same he sound found himself striding up the shoddy steps and through a derelict door. The smells of sweat and ale and mold mingled here to form the stench of the forlorn. He moved down a short, musty corridor and into what must have passed for the common room. Several puddles were seeping into the wooden floor where the rain had beaten its way through the roofing but a bright and warm fire blazed on the hearth. Worn and weathered men crowded around it, casting long shifting shadows across the sodden floor. Some of the men looked over at him as he entered the room but they soon turned their attentions back to their miseries. Making his way past them he turned towards a table in the far corner being tended by one of the most forlorn men Garaf had ever laid eyes on. His jowls hung loose in the shadows giving his face a perpetual frown and his eyes reflected the sorrow. He watched the hunter approach without any sign of mirth or great notice. "You've come to late, traveller. We're all filled up."
"I fear I did not enter seeking lodgings."
"What're ya after then? Ya sure didn't come out here just ta drink swill."
"I'm seeking a man. He would be similar to me in height and appearance but perhaps garbed as a scholar. He may have come through here some weeks ago, two months at most."
The old man looked up at him and Garaf removed the cowl so that the man might see the resemblance. Both he and Esslar shared the grey hair and eyes of their father, though his brother's were some shades lighter than his own. They were the both of them taller than most though he was a full finger's width higher than his sibling, and while Esslar remained thin as a reed Garaf had a stature to match his size. "Well if 'e did come here I think I'd 'member it... 'n I don't think that I do."
"I see." Water flew forth when he flipped his hood back over his head but everything in the inn was already damp. The innkeep didn't seem to notice, or mind. "Good fortune to you." The man let out a scoff at that but Garaf had already turned about. There were no more glances or hails as he passed by the hearth-watchers once more and out out into the rain.
Two months prior he had returned from a ranging and found to his surprise that his brother had moved away from Thranduil's Halls. No one quite seemed to know why Esslar had elected to go traveling, especially in such dark times. Many had said he had gone west though and so had assumed that he was traveling towards the Grey Havens. Garaf couldn't believe that though. He had not seen his brother for some time, since he had departing on that ranging, but he knew him well enough to know the scholar was not ready to take his final journey over the seas. And so he had followed him, through the Mirkwood and over the Misty Mountains. A merchant in Imladris had told him that he'd seen a man like Esslar many weeks prior to Garaf's arrival there, but that was the last clue the Hunter had received.
The rain resumed it steady drumming as he stepped back through the door but as his feet carried him west it seemed the thudding might have been lessening. The last rays of the sun disappeared on the horizon and with it his hopes for finding a peaceful resting place for the night. It would make his arrival in Bree-town all the swifter though, and perhaps hasten the day of their rendezvous. And surely, he'd keep walking and traveling until that day finally came.
Chapter Two
A bright blue sky stretched high above him. It enveloped and encompassed the world and only the warm shingles soaking heat through wool and leather to his back was there to remind him that he was anything but floating in the great cerulean expanse. Far below him the sounds of the city of Bree floated up from between the buildings to mingle with the light strums from his lute. These were the moments that Esslar loved best, and he had no doubt that if his brother had been there then a voice would have been lent to his instrument to celebrate the majesty of the sky above.
Instead if was just Garaf alone, laid out atop the roof of one of the many buildings that made up the township of Bree. Below him people moved along the path known as the Scholar's Stair and from time to time he could cast his glance ground-ward to watch for his wayward brother. Given the name of the place it seemed the most likely to find Esslar. A number of people, particularly those at the Summer Festival, had recommended the land to the west, a place called the Shire. Garaf had to admit that it did sound of the sort of place his peaceful brother would favor, but he rued leaving Bree before he was sure his brother wasn't there. He would never have admitted it but part of him was even interested and curious of these places beyond the Misty Mountains.
His fingers remembered the tune he played better than his memory, which dimly recalled it as a lullaby played in the woodland realms. Still, the sound refreshed memories there beneath the sun. He recalled when he was still very young, barely 100, and had managed to strike a knot of wood with his arrow from 200 paces away. It was a trial he had practiced at for many years and once acheived his father permitted him to join on his rangings. Together they covered the width and breadth of the Great Greenwood in what the elves would still consider the early years of the Third Age. His memory of his mother had faded some, but he could still recall his father in that way that boys can. Tall and strong, with hair like smoky steel and ever a wise word of advice. Garaf had been enraptured with the tales of his father's battles, though the man seldom spoke of them on his own and took pride in the fact that they had had adventures of their own before his father had fallen during the darkening of the wood.
And he remembered his mother, faded though the memory was, always waiting for them to return; always patient and smiling with a secret worry living behind her eyes. He remembered finding out he would have a brother. By then he had been full grown in his own right but he had still ventured forth with his father. He remembered watching Esslar grow; receiving his names, learning to read, choosing the path of the scholar over that of the hunter. He had very much been his mother's son. Esslar had no love for bow or blade; for hunt or ranging. He loved books and tales, food and festivities, peace and kindness. Garaf had spent too long in the dark to know these things still in his heart but he loved his brother for his benevolent being.
His memory was stirred as a wet plop announced the arrival of a "gift" from some avian traveler who had been passing above. Garaf wiped the lute clean and set it aside to watch the travelers below. Somewhere out here, in this land of Eriador beyond Imladris, was a tall, thin scholar with silvery, grey hair, and this hunter would find his quarry.
Chapter Three
He had spent nearly a month in Bree before he was convinced of Esslar's absence in the crossroad-city. From there he had headed further west, into the land known as the Shire and inhabited as it was by the halflings. The way was easy going and his new mount, Feredir, made it swift. He had come by way of road and bridge and twisting path past field and flock and fauna. And at a place known as the Waymeet he had met many little folk, some of whom told him of a kindly silver-haired elf who could be found in the Ewefields outside Michel Delving. A few had even been well enough to offer an address of 3 Chalk Road.
And here he stood, looking across a well-kept yard with a modest field of flowers and a festive banner prominently displayed. A mat before the threshold proclaimed "Welcome!" in their tongue and a lazy stream of smoke rose from a modest flue. It was a hobbit dwelling to be certain, if large for one of their size, but it had the very feel of Esslar about it. Garaf could even spy the edges of bound parchment through many of the windows even from the road.
The tea would soon be ready but Esslar would not have known it. His mind was buried in the tome he had found buried amongst dust and cobwebs deep in the Took's Library. The book was not of hobbit-making and much was written in the stern cirth script, though occasionally notes were scribed in the flowing letters of tengwar. Simply put it was a book of stories, largely revolving around certain persons of the ancient lands of Cardolan. The book told of old waywatchers and guardsmen and even some of the more virtuous scoundrels. Esslar was quite immersed in it and did not notice a knock on the door until the third repetition.
Garaf was beginning to wonder if anyone was home as he rapped for the third time on a round wooden door he would have had to stoop to pass through. His brother was prone to let his mind wander, to be sure he was known as Reinind, but what could distract him from a caller at the bell. He raised a gauntleted hand to rap one final time and the bright blue door swung open.
The scholar had been expecting another halfling. He seemed to recall asking one or two (or was it four?) to tea, though he could not recall the date he had requested. They came frequently all the same. The youngest would ask for grand stories of far-away places and the older were often after advice on logistical matters or help with the mending of small hurts. He had only been here a few months but he was proud of how he had become part of the community. Instead of a smiling hobbit face, however, he found a pair of armored knees on his welcome mat. Eyes more accustomed to musty pages and dim reading than full sunlight followed the knees up the legs and over the torso to a face that even now would appear grim to those who were not accustomed to his brother's subtle expressions. He blinked once or twice though before he realized whom it was who stood before him. "Garaf!"
Esslar reached out and embraced his brother. "I didn't think to see you again for some years longer! Come, come in! Have you traveled far? Of course you have, what a silly sort of question. Take a seat, if you please. There's tea to be had, I believe. Oh, I must see if I have biscuits left..." and then considerably softer "drat those Harfeet and their insatiable hungers."
His brother's reactions were ever a source of secret amusement to Garaf, and all the more so for the relief he felt now. His whole journey long he had feared to find an abrupt end afore a loosely piled mound of soil and bare marker. But here was his brother, now retreated back into this home and flitting off towards where the kitchens must be. Garaf took the liberty of inviting himself inside, though he indeed had to stoop considerably to pass within, and closed the hatch behind him.
His gray eyes cast about a large and cozy room, with wooden floors and pale blue walls. Books were everywhere of course, but at least they were largely relegated to a shelf rather than piled about the floor. Trophies, displays and even a painting or two were hung from the walls and the warm smell of summer flowers pervaded the house. Yes, he thought, this is a place worthy of Esslar the Reinind.
Esslar's fretting over the state of his pantry aside he soon returned to the room with a pair of plates featuring a small cake to each. And after some hustling and bustling the two were soon sitting in two lush (if somewhat small) seats near a finely made red table. The cakes, Garaf found, were laden with honey and ginger but not overly so. Still, he had only taken a single bite when he set the plate down, looked sternly at his brother and asked the question that had brought him all these hundred leagues across Arda. "Brother, why did you leave the wood and with no sign of your passing besides?”
Already on his second, albeit small, bite, Esslar was startled by the question and nearly choked. "Whatever could you mean? I thought the note I left would tell you that."
His brother leveled a gaze at him that could topple trees. "Esslar. You left no note."
"No note?" Esslar was almost annoyed, but as the situation began to dawn on him he was mostly flustered. "I have a distinct memory of scribing to your correspondence on this very subject. It took me several weeks to settle on the appropriate vernacular. No note! I'll tell you were the note is! I placed it right between the third and fourth chapters of my copy of the Lays of Dol Guldur so that I would not forget to place it upon the mantle! No note." By this point the scholar and risen from his seat in a huff and was stomping his way over to some far bookshelf in another room and ever could his undignified notions on the absence of this note be heard. A moment later he stalked back out with a book bound in blue leather and thrust it in front of the warden. "There is your note, brother!" And sure enough, kept between the third and fourth chapters was a fine envelope, somewhat worse for the wear.
Garaf glanced coolly at the book and then back up to Esslar. He sat there, looking up at Esslar (though Reinind certainly seemed a more apt name for the moment) for a few moments and was rewarded entirely for his time and effort as he watched the realization slowly slide over Esslar's face. Simply to embellish the effect he stated "I do not doubt that there is a fine note of such lettering and wordsmithing as could bring tears to stone, but I wonder, Reinind, how I was to receive such a note when it was here with you and I was far away."
Esslar slumped back in his chair in shame, and placed his face in a weary hand. Long silver hair fell around his head like some glittering cascade. "Reinind I have been named and Reinind I am truly. I fear I could never redress this error. I have given you needless worry no doubt and you have come far for my sake in vain. If not for my forgetfulness you would have remained happily at home, I'm most certain, for I do know how you love the woods and yet here you have come to sit and the woods are far, far away and Fanaur you have brought with you and Gilcarch as well and all your accouterments for lengthy journeys with unknown ends and all because I simply did not recall to remove a docket from a tome and place it upon the mantle!"
And then Garaf looked on his brother with forgiveness and some hidden amusement, for it occurred to him that this was entirely something his brother would do in earnest innocence. The warden voiced his forgiveness and at the pitiful, hair-obscured look of his brother he did have to suppress a chuckle. "All was redressed when I found you in good health, mind, and, it would seem, fortune. If you should feel the need for further recompense however, I would certainly enjoy hearing how you came to all this..."
Chapter Four
What Garaf learned from his brother that night was thus:
Many years had Esslar spent beneath the boughs of the Mirkwood reading his books but of late he had taken an interest to seeing the far-off places of history about which he so often read. As the mislaid letter relayed, he had heard of a land far to the west where fields and cheer were the prevailing elements and his heart had quickened to see it. When Garaf had not returned from his ranging in a timely manner, for certain circumstances had waylaid him, Esslar had devised to set off on his own with the intention of leaving his note upon the mantle to await his brother's return. Garaf knew that the possibility that he might not return from a ranging had never occurred to Esslar, but he saw no reason to point that out.
Esslar had piled his books and belongs into a wayn (which accounted for nearly all the possessions within their abode) and started off down the old elven road through the wood. Aside from some trouble crossing the old river with his baggage, he managed to reach the other side well enough. He was able to pass through the Misty Mountains and come at last to Imladris with nary an incident. From there though, things had changed considerably and Esslar had had many adventures, great and small. While his baggage and many books were lost in the process, he had happened to acquire some wealth. Coming at last to the fabled land known as the Shire, Esslar had used that wealth to purchase a (by elven standards) modest home in an area known as the Ewefields. His adventures, brief though they may have been, had moved the bookworm to compassion and, inspired by tales of yore, he wished now only to lighten strife of Eriador in these dark times.
"And this, aside from the joy of seeing my oft-departed brother, was the cause for my enthusiasm when you appeared on my threshold." he began. "In ages past there were great groups of men and elves and even a few of dwarves that would help the free peoples against the evils of those times. Today those groups, if any still exist, are few and rare. There were the Dunedain of old, but they have grown thin and sparse and cannot fully protect all that they would. The waywatchers of Cardolan, of which I was recently reading, were another such group but sadly they seem to have ended along with that noble kingdom. Indeed, even the kingdom of Gondor which does guard all kingdoms behind it much as the elven-kingdoms of Beleriand did shield the realms beyond them from the brunt of Morgoth."
Garaf seized a slight opportunity when Esslar took a breath to slip in his question. He knew that if he should not get to the point of the matter then the entire morning would be spent before Esslar found his way to it. "All this is well, but what has it to do with my arrival?"
"Ah, yes! I would have us form such a band. A band of brothers! Literally, to be sure, at least at the start, for perhaps it might grow as others of like-mind are found, and we could give succor to the sick and swords to defend them and you could range as you would in these lands and be of some use, though I certainly don't mean to say that you are not at home. But of course the lands of the Elvenking are well defended where as these lands are not and so I think your spear might be of better use here and while you were..."
"Esslar..." Garaf's voice cut into Esslar's fancy and the scholar, who's arms had been swinging about with the energy of his idea, suddenly froze as in sudden fear. "My duty is to Elvenking Thranduil, not to the peoples of this land."
"But you yourself have remarked that the shadow has been lessening for many a year."
"And recently it grows again. The Elvenking will need his wardens to defend the realm. There is even speak of moving ever further north, farther from the taint of Dol Guldur."
"Oh... well..." Esslar's enthusiasm seemed to crash in all around him and the look of it was plain upon his face, for Esslar had never been able to shield his thoughts to many, least of all to his family.
"You need not look so shamed, brother. I did not say nay. The way back through the mountains is as yet closed and until it is re-opened then I am to remain in Eriador. I have leave of the King's Captain-age to whither where I will until this task is complete. I say such only to make two points: Firstly, that I am neither prepared nor able to remain ever long in this land regardless of purpose, and second, that I can swear no oaths or owe no fealty but to the Elvenking for that is where my true duty lies."
There was a long pause where Esslar remained suspended in his animation, much like a doll whose strings have become tangled. "...then you will do this?"
"Aye, for the time, I will make this Company with you. Though my face is grim my heart does yearn to be of some useful purpose and what good of spear and bow if not to defend those without? Alas, if I were not to render this service, I am sure you would endeavor to do so on your own. I do not think that I would like that ending, for your lore is strong and your runes well, but I have seen saplings with stronger arms! And I see that by protecting these lands I do also protect you, who through whatever choice have chosen to reside within them. I spot but one folly in your purpose."
"Oh?" And Esslar guessed at his meaning too soon. "Oh! Have no worry about that, brother. I know the purposes to which we are best set. I have intended that I remain here, at least for a time, to plough some fields and learn of these people and to yield what comfort I might. It had occurred to me that the lodging across the road is quite large and that I might, if I could but find the funds, purchase it and keep it as a way-house for wanderers and those who need such shelter. And for the wanderings themselves, I had imagined that you would ever see to them as I know that is your want."
"I think that is well, but is not of which I speak." And Garaf watched the befuddlement on Esslar's face a moment before he continued. "Companies need names by which they are known to those who would seek their aid and those foes that would fear them. What shall be our name?"
Esslar nodded and thought for a few moments. Garaf fancied he could almost see the inner workings of the scholar's mind churning away with thought. After a time, Esslar spoke again. "It seems to me that this is a time of wanderers. Those who wander by choice and those who are left to wander by ill chance. We too have wandered, though I do confess that of that activity you have besought far more than I. So then let us be the Randirim, Company of the Wanderer!"
