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Southern end of the Plain of Angrenost
You stand now just north of a great arch in the solid ring wall which encompasses the area around Orthanc. Looking out across that plain, you notice that it seems verdant and well tended. Groves of trees abound, and indeed, lines of great trees line the very path upon which you stand, as it journeys far northward towards the great tower Orthanc.
The western horizon still glows with the Sun's departure, but the Moon now rules the dark skies, and the Sickle swings clear and bright in the clear Autumn sky.
*************** There is a waxing gibbous moon above. ****************
The white robed man pulls a clay pipe from between his teeth after clamping on them a couple of times while observing you from afar. The black crow, having been denied the pleasure of chasing any other rings of smoke now that no new ones are being sent out, has also turned an interested eye toward you. Its oily black feathered wings carry it to an overhead position from which it may better observe the newcomer.
Meanwhile, the figure pockets the pipe and places the now freed hand around the topmost possible grip of his staff. Finally, one his brows arches, forcing the other to bristle and overshadow the eye to counterbalance its counterpart's actions.
Bronwyn watches from a distance, her hands folded tightly about her waist. She watches the crow with more concern than the approaching man. Silent, and steady, her gaze flickers between one and the other. She opens her mouth to speak, then shuts it again promptly. Words are, one might think, at a lost for her.her.
The man's pointed is all but covered by a thick canopy of a beard which descends to waist level, vaguely resembling a thick ensemble of thirsting vines in search of more territory. The ends of it are curled very slightly, more so to the sides. Voluminous robes are made slave to the machinations of probing winds, shadowy creases seemingly taking on various hues to match the colour of their surroundings: pale blue to mimic the sky, grey as passing clouds, green like to waving grasses.. Not one colour is dominant and the change is so subtle and fluid that it can easily be mistaken as a trick of the eye and play of lights on an otherwise perfectly white robe.
"Well met," is said in loud greeting. "You are not familiar with this land, I can tell. Then to you I must say well met and welcome to Isengard, may it meet your standards and lend you comfort in time of need."your standards and lend you comfort in time of need."
"Well met, friend," Bronwyn answers softly. With yet another step forward, she smiles and half-bows, regarding Saruman's face with keen interest. A moment of relucatnce at first, then a warm, wide smile. "I am...indeed unfamiliar with the lands," she says, sweeping one arm around to emphasize the surroundings. "But was brought here by...friends. They seemed to feel that this place would be...safe, for me." The hesitance in her words are slight, yet noticeable.
Saruman replies with quieter voice than used in greeting, the black pupils of his eyes glimmering with the warmth of a smile which does not take long in presenting itself upon the lips: "If safety you seek then you have found it for this land and citadel is my home and never am I lax in my duties as Master and Guardian. Within these walls, one can take shelter from any danger lest it be desired to hide from oneself. That, I have no power over." There is a pause while Saruman looks to you with renewed interest. "What then is it you wish to take shelter from?"
"Shelter," Bronwyn says with a deep sigh, "from my own." She turns her head away, looking now towards the sky, her countenance showing her own deep sadness at the thought. "A Guardian and Master is whom I serve, as well," she continues slowly, "but in our lands Kiern is not flesh and blood; he can protect only those who believe...and sadly, many appear to not anymore." At this point, she startles slightly, once again turning her eyes to meet Saruman's. "But...I overstep myself. I hail from Dunland, and am called Bronwyn. I serve as one of Kiern's Ceoltoir's...priestesses, if you will." With this, she curtseys deeply, lowering her eyes.
The mountain-tops immediately behind and to either side of Saruman shimmer from the reflected light of day upon unsullied snow. The sun's movement through the sky may be followed in unique fashion by observing the snow-touched light as it reaches new peaks while relunctantly relinquishing its hold on others. In time, you shall be the one embraced by the burning peaks and already some few nearest you have begun blossoming.
Saruman speaks in pleasant manner, as before, yet it is clearly coloured by an undertone of dismay triggered by your very words. In fact, to the astute, his eyes darkened at the mention of shelter from your own and lack of belief. "It seems I have stayed hid overlong, studying what I believed was most important at the time while others have known more and more suffering with each passing day. A mistake I am not bound to repeat. I have long been fond of Dunland. Not for its open plains, rolling hills and clear streams. Nor its birds, stag or keen-eyed hounds. It is rather the people, their songs and manner that has drawn me. It has always been my goal to keep guard your people against the growing darkness but in that, sadly, I have not been so strong as hoped or desired."
Slowly, Bronwyn stands, her eyes once again seeking out Saruman's. "Then...you have been amongst us before?" she asks wistfully. "I had not realised...but then again, most of my childhood was spent deep within the woods. Part of my parents pennance for.."- the girl blanches somewhat, and shakes her head. "But that is of no issue." One hand moves to brush away an annoying lock of hair which dangles precariously over one eye, and slowly she continues. "But the spirit has grown week in Dunland, I fear. I myself...found myself kidnapped, and left to rot for several weeks by rebels who disagreed with our...current status." She shrugs slightly, her arms wrapping about her tightly as if to ward off the memory. "Several weeks I had spent in a box, no less. But thankfully, some new-found friends released me and brought me here for my safety."
She turns then towards the south, looking off in the distance sadly. "My home is my home," she whispers almost inaudibly, "but the darkness grows so quickly now."
Saruman looks just over your head, to a location that is pointed out with the obsidian crown of his staff. "I last visited the Ceardh, lingering most in and around the fallen keep. There I met two others and they, as you, have mostly forgotten the more pleasant occurances before their time. Of Saruman and Isengard only few know of in full." The wizened man's foreheard wrinkles as he fetches memories associated with the meetings. A sad smile follows, "Warriors both and expecting only the worst in meeting another on the road, even if he was naught but a lone man bearing no weapon or armour." Saruman's eyes meet yours, though it would be difficuly to discern wether they are in fact looking upon you with anything more than a passing fancy since they are masked by the grey shadow of thick brows. "Only recently I had word of other ill news. Dunland's people having occasion not to trust their own. And now I have heard even worst, suspicion grown into violence."even worst, suspicion grown into violence."
"Indeed," Bronwyn says, lowering her tear-rimmed eyes, "and violence which threatens the very heart of our land." She turns about then, trying to shield her sadness by straightening her back slightly. "It would be much better, should they blame me for whatever reasons...but it has gone beyond that. Much deeper does the disease lie within them." Again, a hand nervously tugs at a particularly annoying hair, which lines her face. Her posture is somewhat stiff, and every movement she makes seems quite forced, even uncomfortable. "But I...a Ceoltoir who displeases most, disgusts others, cannot quell it."
She seems to miss the reference to the two in Caerdhe wood. Slowly, she turns again to face you. "So here I am...no friends, not even enemies. Only safety which shelters me; but how then can I serve our people, if I can not be with them?"
The low end of Saruman's staff cuts through a tall ring of grasses, opening a passge to the more open reaches beyond. "Isengard has been shelter and even home to many of Dunland. Here, they rest and regain their strength. Never has hope been lost. Isengard is not for the hopeless." Grimmer now, Saruman continues after a sharp intake of breath. "How can you best serve your people? Do not seek shelter from what cannot be avoided. How do you think Dunland would now fare had its people hid from the more hurtful wrongs? There is always a way in which to remedy even the deepest of sores. Do not lose faith in yourself or those who you are sworn to oversee. In Isengard you may feel momentary at ease but in Dunland only will you find solace."
Bronwyn nods sadly. "That indeed I do know," she whispers, "but the others...they had brought me here. And now...here I am, though I did wish to return to my home." She looks now into your eyes, her eyes widening slightly. "They felt that somehow my safety meant keeping me from my home, though, in all honesty...I did not wish to come here." She pauses, then quickly adds, "Although, mind you, the hospitality here has been most welcomed, and appreciated."
Bronwyn shakes her head sadly, "I would sooner die at the hands of my own, to be exiled to a land which did not belong to me." Her words trail off, now only silence lingering. Her hands nervously move to her hair, as if its current state is unusual, though she handles it with mild contempt.
Saruman chuckles softly, face lit by a more pleasant light. "If their intent was to keep you from home then Isengard would likely not have been their choice for any and all of Dunland are welcome. Despite the loss of old ties, there is still much traffic to and from the lands immediately west of Helm's Deep. Also, most in my employ are men and women of Dunland. So you see, Isengard is not too sound a choice for who seeks isolation. Nay, you were brought here for other reasons. We have a similar goal, you and I: the strengthening of Dunland. You were brought here to see what aid may be given should there be need for it. The gates of Isengard are ever open and aid readily given if there be good cause for it."
Bronwyn arches a brow, and tilts her head slightly to one side. "There is great need, indeed," she says slowly. "I fear our people have for too long have had nothing. Our lands, stolen from us...the forgoils now sullying what belongs rightfully ours with their own ilk, Nay." She shakes her head emphatically, for once a sign of seemingly sure of something. "There is much awry, and little guidance. Each one who 'leads' us, supposedly, have their own desires and lusts. None, however, are for the good of all, only themselves."
Though she still seems nervous, she takes a step forward and smiles. "Our people are proud people, kind Saruman...but have little guidance in such matters, unfortunately."
Saruman returns your smile in kind, "I had seldome heard complaints of poor leadership from any of Dunland. These things are new and disturbing. I am loathe to interfere in such matters for I wish only to give advice where advice is saught for though I will take a first step to give comfort. Already a small caravan has been made ready with supplies and food to be given to those towns suffering from repeated attacks by the Rohirrim. Some, I hear, have had their fields granaries set fire and their fields torn by the passage of warrior-bearing steeds. Now, having heard your words, I will also send arms so that those willing and brave enough to stand against the Riders may protect their lands if there is little or no help to be had from others within Dunland."
Bronwyn shakes her head. "I only repeat what is muttered in the street," she says quickly. "And the forgoils are our bitterest of enemies...they would gladly let down their life to send them back to their own hell." Her face is now flushed with excitement, her words stumbling over one another. "You are most kind to us...to me, even. To give so freely your aid and kindness."
Saruman shakes his head, staff moving in similar manner. "Nay, I do not give aid freely. I must call for a favour in return, though you are free to refuse it. I must ask that you not immediately return home but take part in the distribution of food and supplies. A priestess will be of great value in such matters. And perhaps you at least will not forget from whence came the caravans and I will have one person at least whom I can meet with friendship when in Dunland."
Bronwyn arches a brow. "A favour is easily returned, seeing that Kiern's will is served." She looks upon you curiously, now tugging slightly at her cape to cover her chilled shoulders. "I do not easily forget deeds of kindess, or of assistance. THe few friends I have, would attest well to that."assistance. THe few friends I have, would attest well to that."
She then sighs sadly, her expression paling. "But I do not know how to seek them out, except for in Bree." She pauses, and glances again over her shoulder. "Yet another place, so far away."
"You will find the wagons only short distance away," Saruman's eyes follow the length of a paved road, "west of the inner gates. Once there, look for a red-haired man. He is in charge of the party and shall welcome you. Send word to Isengard if there is ever a matter of importance that I might do better to know."
Bronwyn nods. "I shall do just that." She purses her lips, and smiles again, broadly and more honest than any previous. "Your kindness shall not soon be forgotten, friend Saruman. By neither Dunland, nor myself." With shis, she crouches down low, palms placed firmly upon the ground. "Your wisdom and kindness shall travel far. Kiern will no doubt be pleased with you...as if you were one of our own." The ancient oath taken, Bronwyn now rises, again clasping her hands in front of her. "Be well, kind Saruman. And should you need solace within our city's walls...only seek me out, for I shall return this great favour you have given."
Saruman's eyes narrow from the onslaught of wrinkles brought on by a broadening smile which forces his beard to rise in accordance with the slanting of lips. "I thank you for your generous offer though I hope I will never need to call upon it for that will mean great trouble for Isengard, if not Dunland. As for the supplies.. you can take what you wish from the wagons for the benefit of those you think will also need them
Bronwyn nods and smiles. "I have kept you too long," she says sadly. "I am sure you have greater needs about this...citadel, than the complaints of a lowly priestess. But my offer does stand...and I do not easily forget such kindness."
Silently, Bronwyn turns about and heads back towards the wagon. She glances occasionally over her shoulder to smile at Saruman, until she disappears in the darkness."
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