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Logs-Shire trip: Teaching Westron Great
East Road - Shady Glen The candlelight of the windows beside the road is quenched, the smoke-breath of the small chimneys diminished first to tendrils, then to memories. Tilion's vessel, thin and horned; Elbereth's scattered lamps that shine between the blackness of the clouds: the dusk-hour is long past, and they now cast the only light that falls here, a wan hue of silver though it may be. For the eyes of the one who walks beneath the dense trees west of the road, it is more than light enough. Grey-cloaked, grey-hooded, he walks with his head bowed, as one who seeks for something upon the floor of the small wood. Another has found a place within this small wood, though it is not on the floor but above in the trees. Just a blue-grey hint of movement that could be almost mistaken as an obscure shape of light, and then the figure stirrs briefly to life though still focused on her hands, and the object they hold- a simple wooden flute. Furrowed is her brow as she goes to raise this to her hidden lips and blow, but something new distracts her attention.. Searching, that gaze moves to focus on the forest below, and then she speaks quietly, so the stillness is not entirely broken: "Rosgwaen, if you search the redleaf you will not find it here. I have already looked." Wordlessly, he raises his head, stepping nearer to her tree: a shadow treading shadows, his mantle dappled by the vestiges of moonlight. "Then I tarry here in vain." Rosgwaen's voice, when it comes at last, is drowned in a hush deeper than even his wont. "In vain for the search, at the least... if not for other matters." The soft hiss in the dark must be the deep drawing of a breath. "There is aught that I would ask you, Linnelei of the Havens." Blue eyes do not break their gaze but watch him still; though Linnelei is unmoving for the most part. The flute is lowered, and hidden somewhere within the folds of fabric.. "I have searched many places in the Shire now and found no trace.. yet I would continue still, though my hope of finding it fades.." And now she pauses, hesitant and almost uncertain.. "What would you ask me?" "There is still the Road that cuts eastward, there is still the north, and the south, and forest to the east of this land; though the latter has an ill name, or so 'tis said, and never have I walked there. But I cannot cease to hope." He reaches with both hands for a branch above his head, grasping it fast, climbing up into the boughs of Linnelei's tree with a speed and certainty little seen in these western lands among those not of Silvan kind. There is little sound save the softest groan of wood, and the faint chafe of metal upon metal beneath Rosgwaen's cloak. "I would ask..." Now he, too, pauses, standing upon a nearby branch, cold eyes closed. "If you are loath to teach another of the uncouth tongue of Men." "I do
not lose hope that it may grow elsewhere outside this Shire.. though I
have wandered many meadows and forests and gardens, and spoken to many
hobbits who know things of herbs, and who know of the Shire, and there
are those who know of it, though none have seen it in their lifetimes..."
A sigh escapes her lips now, though it is but another breath; exaggerated
just slightly.. "I found need once more to speak it upon a day not long past, for my path crossed that of a Sick--" Rosgwaen pauses, tilting his hooded head-- "a Secondborn woman upon a horse. I queried her in that vulgar tongue, but I do not deem that she believed I was one of her kind. And I would not endanger our party, nor our quest, by such speech." Still he stands, his posture almost rigid in its straightness. "I wish to learn, if you would teach. I have asked such a thing of Sidthoniel as well. For better or for worse, it is I." "I have met this woman, a day or so just passed upon her horse while I spoke with some halflings.. Though I do not know if she knew me for what I was, or thought otherwise.." Linnelei's voice fades off, and she fades into thoughtful silence; attention shifting from Rosgwaen before her to sweep the forest and the stars above.."I shall teach you then, though I think it shall be difficult to teach something to someone who does not entirely wish to learn as I feel you do.. though I shall try as best I can." "'Tis a matter of pride among my family: they do not speak it. I did not speak it. Why learn such vulgar speech, the low tongue of the Secondborn whose kind so oft has betrayed ours?" Something distantly proud finds Rosgwaen's voice, something futile and far away-- it gathers, and waxes, and at last ebbs away like the tides. "Change is the stain of Time that finds all lands beyond that land of my siring. I wish to learn, for I wish to survive. "But I would learn first," he continues, "if I may, and if I ask not overmuch: did the horse-woman speak of her errand in these lands?" "Pride..."
The word is repeated as if she were tasting it, though whatever feelings
it may contain are hidden behind the neutral tone and lack of anything
else spoken to follow any thoughts she may have been having.. "Then
I suppose, you shall learn and survive, for I shall teach you as best
I can." "There is another, a West-man-- Brongil is his name, or was: I have seen him but once. Yet I asked him if he seeks those others among the Secondborn who walk here, and he said only that he was on patrol, and stalked the trail of a large deer. The other, the horse-woman, would tell me no errand at all." Rosgwaen falls silent for a time, and his brows, darker than the hair upon his head, lower over eyes both wary and keen. "I like this news little, and trust neither of their tidings in full. If the rideress truly sought for a companion, why did not she speak of it to me? If this Ranger truly was on patrol, why did not he speak of the comings and goings of others of the race of Men? ...All the more reason, I fear, to learn their tongue, that I may better discern their words." "Hrmm..."
The thoughtful noise drifts from beneath the hood as Linnelei hears Rosgwaen's
words; her own brow furrowing thoughtfully in mild concern and concentraition.."Perhaps
she did not trust you, Rosgwaen.. or not enough to tell you at least why
she ventured here. To me she said she came searching for a companion,
and that she had met earlier with one of our company who questioned her
on herbs, and would not be satisfied when she could not help..."
One eyebrow is arched up toward the other Elf- briefly questioning, though
for now, she persues it no further... "I thanked her, for such aid as she offered. She showed to me those herbs that she bore in her saddlebags, and I spoke that she had not that which I sought, but I thanked her still. Perhaps I chose awrong my words. Words of a tongue, I deem, that is spoken in all of the lands of our people, save one. "Lothlorien." Beneath the shadoes of his hood, he almost smiles. Almost. "The Golden Wood beyond the cruel teeth of the Mountains of Mist." A shrug passes across Linnelei's shoulders at his words. "I am only relaying to you what she told me when I asked if she had seen the herb, not accusing you of anything..But perhaps again your grasp of that tongue failed you. Soon though, I shall teach it you, and you will not again experience such troubles." There is a hint of teasing in her voice as she regards him now, though now his once-home is revealed, she nods her head.. "Ah, of course.. I had not thought of Lothlorien until this moment.. And you came west, but did not leave?" "I came to know that hope may spring, unlooked-for, from the very hour of need." Rosgwaen nods, slow and sombre as the wind among the trees. And he speaks no more of the matter. "And I thank you. 'Tis in the matter of pronunciation, I think, that my need for aid is most dire." With a pause, his eyes close for a time-- and slowly, in halting Westron made by his accent far too fair: "Tonight is a pretty night. The moon is the bright twinkle." Linnelei nods too, just once, and again her attention wavers briefly for her gaze to take in the surrounds before she shifts that gaze back to Rosgwaen again. "Even my accent is often not as perfect as it should be though--" She pauses as he speaks his words; holding silent chuckling inside her and expressing this only as an amused smile (though it is one somewhat concerned- perhaps realising the task ahead of her...).. "Oh.. well, that's not exactly right.. maybe you'd like to try.." She pauses, uncertainly, and then reconsiders.. "Well, that second part didn't exactly make sense..maybe.. 'the moon is shining brightly..' maybe that is what you wanted to say..." The words in Westron thrown in between her words in Sindarin seem strange and out of place.. He remains calmly stoic at her mirth, Linnelei's smile neither redoubted nor returned. "I thank you," Rosgwaen speaks, first in Sindarin, then once more in broken Westron. "I thank you. Tonight is a pretty night. The moon is shining brightly. It is--" furrowing his brows, he traces the outline of a first-quarter moon in the darkness between them, "part moon, not a round moon, and the stars are many lamps." And after a pause, he returns to the elven-tongue, save for one word alone. "I know not if 'pretty' is the proper word." Still containing laughter- much amused, Linnelei tries to look encouraging, and reassuring. "I think it is a quarter moon, tonight.. and a round moon is called a full-moon.. and, well, I cannot think of many hobbits who would describe the stars as such, but I suppose it makes sense..." A pause now, her own Westron slightly thrown by the switch between the two language; though now she remains in the common-tongue.. "Pretty.. well, there are other words which could be used.. beautiful and such-words like that..but pretty can also work, yes..." "Tonight is a beautiful night. The quarter-moon is shining brightly, and the stars are a thousand lamps." This latter invention draws a small, tight smile to pass across Rosgwaen's lips, and a pleased glint to find his eye, though still his Sindarin tones are plain upon the common words. Somewhere in the night, owl-calls haunt the trees. "I see into the dark, to see for a hunts-at-night bird," a questioning glance to Linnelei, "that makes a sound I am hearing." Carefully does Linnelei listen to Rosgwaen and she does not interupt until he has finished at which time she reiews all he has said.. "Hrmm.. Well, perhaps.. Owl! An owl.. Maybe you would say.. 'I look into the dark to see an owl which I can hear..I suggest this to you, Rosgwaen, that we find perhaps Frodo, or another hobbit whom we trust- and I know of some who would help us if we asked it of them, for they are not afraid, and we need not fear them.. and we should listen to their words and how they are spoken and you should better understand how things are pronounced.. For I think learning in this fashion would take a long time indeed. What say you?" "An owl," Rosgwaen repeats softly in Westron, testing the word upon his tongue, nodding in thanks. But at her latter words he abandons swiftly the Common Speech for his native language. "Nay... nay, I thank you, but it cannot be so. I wish to ask no more of Frodo-- for already has he aided me in searching for the caranlas, though his lead was false, and alas-- nor do I wish to speak to him plainly of that land which once I called home, nor to mention it by its name. I do not wish to speak to the other halflings at all, save at dire need. Already I fear they guess at our presence here, and at what we are: such high matters and troubles as they are better spared from. But I will linger unseen in the woods beside their roads, and listen to such speech of theirs as I may." Linnelei says, "An owl, yes." Linnelei soothes; sounding much like the patient teacher.. though, now that his language has changed, so does hers.. "Ask no more from Frodo then.. There are children hobbits; they have heard stories of us but no one believes what they say as their words are regarded as stories only.. and there are other younger hobbits- ones who are blind to all else save for the fact that we are tall... " Now she sighs lightly, and almost silently- sitting back against the tree and gazing up at the other.. "Linger then, if you will, but I still feel that speaking will help more than listening in silence ever could. It is your decision, of course."" "I shall
linger, then, for 'tis what seems most well to me. And I thank you once
more." With a deep nod, Rosgwaen falls silent, and the wind stirs
in the leaves of the night.
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