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Logs-Shire trip: Catching Up on Events, and a Gift for a Hobbit. Stock
Road, Outside Tuckborough But there
is something sombre and staid in the manner of the one who lingers to
the east of where she walks, as if even the glad warmth of the summer
sun on high finds him not: a tall figure, broad-shouldered and sturdy
by the measure of his kind. Beneath the shadows of his hood, green eyes
watch the road. Beneath the shadows of the trees nigh to where the ways
cross, a soft breeze stirs his grey cloak. She would almost pass the figure by and offer him but a nod in return, but perhaps some thought has occurred to her that causes her feet to pause. Walking forward no longer she has stopped and now turns to regard him carefully- a brief light of curiosity finding her eyes as she does so. And then, she speaks: choosing her words carefully as she does. "I have walked much of the Shire and I have spoken to some Hobbits who know things of herbs, but as yet, all I have found is this.." One hand reaches within the folds of her cloak to produce a red-leafed plant; withering slightly now as it begins to die.. "Which is not the plant we seek..Still, there are others promised me they would look for it during their travels, and perhaps it may be found here still..." For a time,
there comes no more than the whisper of bright steel across wood; thin
curls of pine fall to rest beside his soft, grey boots. Blue eyes drift momentarily to the blade and the log upon which he had sat; perhaps the light catching her attention, though it is only momentary..The hand holding the plant is opened, and the wilted thing drops to the ground below- red leaves curling and turning brown.. "They seem eager to help, the hobbits.. though they do not know the reason for their offer other than that it is because I seek these things.." She pauses her speech, uncertain for a moment.. "It seems curious to me that you have not learnt their tongue.." Curiosity again alights in her eyes as she watches him, though she will not utter the question- 'why not?' allowed, it is left hanging at the end of her comment so he will not feel obliged to answer, if he does not wish to.. "I did
not wish to." Silence
from Linnelei follows Rosgwaen's first comment, and momentarily she lowers
her eyes as one afraid to have offended. The sharp gaze follows the plant
as it is drawn up and crushed, and she shakes her head, "No, they
are not.. the younger ones in particular seem most eager to help and those
with whom I have spoken know some things on herbs.. I have heard of this
one however, from the young-one who took me to find this herb," One
hand motions to the red plant, "I have not yet met him..." As if unthinking--
but with no less of the slow, stoic grace that easily might be deemed
his wont-- Rosgwaen passes his hand into the folds of his grey cloak,
depositing the crimson plant somewhere inside. "Then I shall seek
my kinsman as well, for leagues and seasons have passed since last we
spoke in full of all that we have seen upon the long roads of the world,
and many are the tales yet untold. This search has offered us precious
small time for converse. Eyes follow
as the plant is hidden away, though she offers no objection but nods her
head once at his words.. "And this search shall go on, I think, for
those who I have spoken with know of it, but cannot recall it growing
here; just as I have searched where I once found it, but found nothing
but common wildflowers there... Tell me, Rosgwaen, where do you plan to
go from this place? If you do not mind my asking, for I am curious as
to how far I should travel with you, if you can endure my company that
long.." The last words are said with little sincerity, and a smile
graces her features beneath the hood.. "He
lingers at times upon this road, or so I have seen at the least, though
more oft at its eastern end. The Woody End that place is called, to judge
by the voices of the tree-cutters that are wont to work there. But I have
searched for the redleaf there too, and found none. "I have
been near to the Woody End, but not yet into it, though I shall know now
where to search for him when I walk there again and perhaps I shall see
him. I have searched much of the north of the Shire and not found the
redleaf, though if you wish to keep that red herb, there is a meadow of
it, nearby to our camp..." One hand now motions to the cloak and
the plant hidden away inside. "It may be so," he intones, mood less gaze turned eastward through the trees. "Yet I would speak this to you if I may, Linnelei of the Havens: many are those to the east whom I deem should not be trusted by our kind." Rosgwaen's eyes seek the healer's. "There is one by the name of Tolion, a wanderer and a West-man. I trust him, and I would seek him. But our paths crossed last at Amon Sul, and I know not whither now he roams." A shadow of a query finds his voice, and his gaze. And his
gaze would be met, should he so seek it, "I would not trust everyone
I meet to the east, Rosgwaen, but those who earn my trust certainly. I
have learnt my lesson once when it comes to trustworthiness, and I do
not wish to have to learn it again," Linnelei says; her voice dark
a moment, lost in some memory that has resurfaced at the words... "As have I," comes his hushed voice again at the first of her words, no less solemn than his nod. "As have I." Beneath the shadows of his hood, tension finds the corner of Rosgwaen's strong jaw. But he speaks no more of it. "Yet if I pry not overmuch in the asking of it-- who among the Engwar would you seek? But pardon me, if you would: I should not leave such a thing lying as already I have." He turns, silent steps carrying him eastward and deeper into the wood. A snap of twig and a rustle of leaves can be heard in the distance. Soon it is followed by the soft patter of feet and odd, uneven noises, croaklike at times. Pretty soon to view comes a small hobbit-tween. His hair bounces quickly on his head as quick steps lead him through the woods of stock. In one hand he holds a note-pad and in the other a small pencil. The pad is open and it appears to have some small scribbling in it. Immersed in his own thoughts the Bolger lad walks, until a shape in front of him moves and his eyes and face darts to face it. He blinks amazed for it was not too long ago that he saw a Big Folk. His patter stops and he walks away from the center of the road.
But already Rosgwaen pauses in his step, already his hooded head is turned to the road. The high summer sun is bright, and there is little shelter even among the trees. In such shadows as he can find, he stoops, taking up an ornate knife from beside a log and dousing its sun-sparkle in the shades of his cloak. There he pauses for a time, his long cloak a grey pool about his broad-shouldered form. Abegard remains in his place, not moving another step, although his body does lean forward. So he stays for a few seconds, until a glimmer catches his attention. Curiosity overcomes him and he walks a few steps closer. The glimmer now being hidden, he stares at the shape of the lady instead. Red hairs gleam bright and fire-like in the sun. "This one cannot talk, nor can he hear any words but he watches our mouths to understand what has been said," Linnelei speaks; eyes on Rosgwaen, though now she is tense and uncertain now- so swayed by the actions and what she feels could be the expectations of others..Hands are folded away within her own cloak of blue and grey and from looking at him, she turns that gaze to Abegard; crystalline eyes searching and then finally she speaks; her common-tongue rough after the words spoken to Rosgwaen only moments earlier. "Greetings, little-one." Slowly, Rosgwaen draws himself up to his full height-- ponderously tall, when set beside the people of this land; twice the height of many among the Shire-dwellers. And slowly, his hooded head gains a tilt. Whispered Sindarin, so soft as to be heard by none but the other cloaked stranger: "If it is so..." He is silent for a time. "He cannot sing, then, nor hear any song." But he does not draw nearer to the lad. Among the trees he remains, lingering, watching. Abegard looks fixed at the figure now speaking to him. A few seconds pass and he relaxes at the discovery that the tall person is not a new acquaintance but just the one he had met a previous night. With a wide beam, he waves enthusiastically at her and walks a few steps, but not too many, closer. It is not until then that he realises the woman is not alone, and the probable cause of the glimmer. He glances at the Big Folk next to her with the same amazed look and curiosity as he had done with the first. At the other's words, Linnelei nods her head slowly and solemnly. "It is true that he cannot, though he can make some noise- I have heard it when he tried to give his name to me, but it was not a word so much as it was just a sound...I pity him..." The last note is indeed filled with compassion as she now casts her gaze back to the hobbit. Again she must change her tongue, and the transition is done badly, with the first words coming out rather garbled.."I said the other night that we would meet again, though I did not expect it to be so soon.." What more can be said to someone who has given you no words? There is little.. Rosgwaen masks any mood as he nods to Linnelei, though little of his face can be seen at all, such are the shadows of his hood. To the small hobbit-lad then, the Westron words at once uneven and halting, and made by his voice far too fair: "How do you do." Brows lower in thought. "But, I must go. Farewell. Enjoy a light of the sun." A nod again, to each in turn, and the tree-shadows veil him at last as he walks deep, deep into the wood. No trace of him is left. No trace, save the lightest stirring of the bracken-leaves at his passing, and a small piece of wood beside a log, dappled with thin curls of its shavings. The tall woman speaks and his attention is paid in full to her mouth and her delicate lips. They are, however too fair for he had never seen such before. Distracted, he nods at her. As the tall man bows, Abegard turns to him and does the same. Following him as he disappears among the trees. His attention returns once more to Linnelei and he now walks much closer to her. An amused
smile graces the elleth's features at her companion's words (or lack thereof),
though, as he announces his departure, she nods her head once and then
follows him with her eyes as he leaves.. Apart from the movement of her
eyes and the turning of her head, she remains still.. and then, she stirs
ever so slightly and shifts her stance and looks out along the road- brows
knitting into a thoughtful frown... A wide smile stretches in the young hobbit's lips as the fair figure gets closer to him. There is something special about this person, it seems, for though he does not follow all the words completely, he understands perfectly what she is asking him. The hobbit remains motionless for a second, deep in thought. Just then a spark lights in his bright blue eyes and he nods rapidly, the strands of copper shaking atop his head. He points west. But quickly realises that would not be enough for her to find the location. He glances down and taking the pad he had been clutching writes quickly on the pad, with his pencil. Again, he points west, this time showing Linnelei the name written on the pad. It reads: "Took Gardens." The finger
is pointed west, and so westward does her gaze travel... "Took Gardens?
There are herbs there?" Within her voice there is now a gentle smile;
one appreciative for the help he has given.. Abegard remains
wide-eyed at the gift that was given to him. His hand trembles a little
as he holds the instrument. He closes his hand around it tightly and takes
it to his chest. He then lifts his beaming face to thank the woman, only
to discover she is gone. The beam fades as what is left is only the several
leaves moving where she passed by.
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