Post by The Pilot on Oct 13, 2007 18:30:10 GMT -5
The young ranger rode along at a leisurely pace down southward-winding road. She studied Narthas' precisely-wrought map of that region, trying to espy landmarks in the distance. She had passed Minas Tirith's harbor about an hour before, and had also taken that opportunity to cross the Anduin as bridges farther south were far and few between.
To help pass the time, Lauren started to hum Mozart's “Marriage of Figaro” to herself. After idly going over the same portions several times, however, she made the executive decision to haul ass.
“The hell am I doing taking my time here? Time is something Middle-earth doesn't have at this point. C'mon Miril!”
The steed snorted and broke into a gallop down the road, a cloud of dust in her wake. The heat these days were not so much of an issue as they were when she and Nicole first dropped off in Middle-earth. It was still definitely warm, probably in the high eighties, but not sweltering.
Now, in accordance with her new map, Lauren surmised that she was less than ten miles from Emyn Arnen now, which might translate to another half hour of riding. She lifted her bum off the saddle and bent so low that her face almost touched Miril's mane. “Almost there!” she said to the horse. With that, she ushered her to go faster.
Soon, the road began to move away from the river and head east a bit. She came to the summit of a small rise, and at that top she saw the hills of Emyn Arnen and the town at it's feet. A kind of cold sweat came over her when she realized what exactly she had to do. After only a moment of pause, she continued on, and about 15 minutes later, reached the outskirts of the town.
It was a bustling, happy little place, filled with bustling, happy little people. The market square was nothing compared to the outdoor mall that was Lampwright Street, but the dozen or so vendors selling their fruit and their poultry seemed really quite content about it.
The main square, the center of the town, had a small stone fountain with a tree growing in the middle, attempting to mimic that of the tree and the fountain of the citadel, she thought. Children were prancing around in the knee-deep water as mothers and their babies stood nearby, chatting as they kept an eye on the little ones in the fountain. She felt strange being on horseback, as though it were rude or something, and so she dismounted and walked Miril down the main road of the town in the direction of the hills. She mounted the horse again after passing through the south “gate”, and rode on for few more minutes up the road as it wound through a grove of old oak trees. At the top of the hill was a grand old house, comprised of several buildings. The main house was three stories tall in most parts, and at the north most corner was a small tower. What would have been in her time a driveway was paved in gravel, and it circled around again, a shallow stone pool. It was quiet and incredibly peaceful. Dismounting, she gestured for Miril to stay where she was while Lauren approached the front door.
Her heart rate sped up and hands shook a little and she raised her hand. But before she gave herself time for second thoughts, the knuckles of her right hand met with the door in an almost assertive manner. She knocked five times.
A moment passed before she heard someone approach the door and unlatch it. The heavy thing swung open with a deep creak, and there stood just inside a dashing young fellow in a hard leather cuirass with a sword at his side. He sized her up and cocked his eyebrow before addressing her.
“What brings you to the house of Lord Faramir?”
Lauren swallowed hard. She stood up straight and decided that she had almost nothing to lose from this. “I am here on an errand. I wish to speak with your lord if I may.”
The young man looked at her again before deciding that her strange demeanor wasn't anything more than eccentricity. Lauren shouted at him in her head: 'Let me in! Let me in, dammit!'
The guard stepped outside, leaving the door ajar. He walked past her with a confident gait and approached her horse. “Let's put her in, first. We can't have beasts like this crowding up the path, can we.” With that he took the reigns and led her over to the stables. Lauren followed close behind. “Geran!” the youth shouted out as they approached the open stables. There were about 4 horses in their side of the stalls. “We've got a guest!”
“Right, sir!” a middle-aged man appeared from inside the building, a brush still in hand. He had salt-and-pepper stubble to match his salt-and-pepper hair, and there were bits of straw scattered about his shoulders. “Ah, this is a fine horse indeed, sir.” He turned to Lauren. “She yours?”
“Uhm, she was lent to me.”
He continued to inspect the steed, paying careful attention to the gear. “I've not seen one like this since the Coronation. Where did you get her, if you don't mind me asking?”
Lauren paled a little. “The stablemaster of Rivendell.”
The two men looked at her. “Rivendell...” Geran said, nodding. “I would be keen to hear some of your stories sometime, milady!”
Lauren laughed nervously. “Not today,” she said, faking a smile. “I've had a long journey.”
“It seems that you have.” He took the reigns and led Miril away. “I shall see you again, lady!” And with that, she was left alone with the unnamed young man again. He beckoned her to follow him back into the house.
“Rivendell?” he asked with a smirk as they crossed the gravel path. “I should like to hear your tale as well.”
“Well. I must speak with Lord Faramir before any tales get telling.”
He chuckled a bit. “Fair enough.” They went inside, and he closed the door behind them. “By the way, I am Bergil, the son of Beregond, at your service. Let me tell Lord Faramir that he has a guest.” With that , he bowed and left Lauren to entertain herself in the foyer.
Normally the immediate environment would have sufficed to keep her stimulated, but her mind had blown a fuse as soon as the young guard introduced himself.
“Bergil,” she muttered dumbly to herself. Her eyes, as she imagined them, would have been as wide as dinner plates, knitted brows cleaving a Grand Canyon in her forehead. Aside from Elrond and Glorfindel, Bergil was the first canonical character she had interacted with. But why was she so much more shocked at seeing him than the two elves? She didn't entirely know, but it might have had something to do with all of the psychological changes she'd undergone since first falling into Middle-earth.
Lauren paced around in anxious circles for what seemed like too long before Bergil came back.
“Milady?' The voice seemed to come from nowhere, and she was startled out of her empty thoughts.
“Ha, oh- yes hi,” she stumbled. The young man shot a look at her before sighing.
“Right this way.”
The girl composed herself and followed him down the hall. They rounded a corner and headed up a flight of stairs, where they continued down another hall. Bergil stopped in front of a nondescript door and knocked.
“Come in Bergil,” the voice inside called.
It took every ounce of self-control Lauren had not to have a seizure. The young man opened the door, and the two of them were ushered inside.
The room was spacious despite the walls being lined with bookshelves. Several large windows, flung open to circulate air, flooded the room with light. On a far wall was a fireplace long since used. But the thing that Lauren found to be most interesting was in fact a single man sitting behind a single table littered with papers, books, and scrolls. The man in front of her looked much more like Viggo than David, much to her surprise. His hair was black, not the caramel brown crown featured in the movie, and his eyes were a soft gray, like charcoal. He rose from his seat and reached over the table to shake Lauren's hand, which she reciprocated.
“Good afternoon, little lady,” he said. Lauren shuddered with anxious excitement. “What can I do for you?”
She swallowed. “I...” she began, already stumbling over her words. “I've been sent here to ask for lodging under your roof.”
The lord of the house raised his eyebrows and grinned. “Oh? And who would have sent you for such a thing?”
Lauren paused. “An old friend of yours, Lord. W-would you happen to remember a certain Narthas Randomie?”
The smile was gone from Faramir's face and his eyes widened. He fell back into his chair and studied the desk before him before looking up again. “Bergil, leave us be for a while.”
“Yes sir.”
“Thank you.”
Lauren heard the door being quietly shut behind her. Faramir beckoned for her to sit down, and she did.
“How is it that you know Narthas? You are not of Elf-kind, nor do you seem to be from these regions.” After a moment, he leaned in over his desk, hands clasped together. “What is your name?”
Shit. Shit. Shit. She couldn't pull the 'Narthas' niece' thing now that he knew she wasn't elvish. Should she still give him her latest alias? Think up something fast, you fucking idiot. Why the hell did everyone in Tolkien's universe have to be either black-haired blond? He must've had something against brunettes.
“I am Laurelin of Amroth, Lord. My... my father knew the elf, and so when he was slain in the war, Narthas took me in as his own. He sent me to you, thinking perhaps you could provide me with room and board.”
She knew there were many, many holes in that story. For one, Narthas was equally as close to the Princes of Amroth as he was with the family of the Stewart. Why he would have sent her all way to Ithilien instead of just keeping her closer to him in Amroth was not something that Faramir would overlook so easily. Or why he sent her away to begin with was another matter.
“There are many who lost their families in the latter years of that Second Age,” he sighed. “And I am sorry for your loss.”
Suddenly Lauren felt like a piece of shit making up a story like that. With that last sentence, she was reminded of his loss. He lost EVERYONE. His parents, and perhaps the most important person in his life: Boromir. Lauren wanted to curl up and die for dredging up his past.
“Lord, I... I am so s--” She was cut off when he held up his hand, slowly shaking his head.
“It is in the past, milady. We look to the future now, and be glad that there are still friendships.” At this he rose and walked around the table to stand next to her. “I deem that you have seen terrific things in your day, Laurelin. And if you are a friend of Narthas, then you are a friend of mine also.”
“Am I to stay, then?” she asked eagerly.
“Aye. But under some condition. I would like to send a message to Narthas to ask for his mind on this, and also: if you are to stay in this house, your room and board will not be free.” His tone had taken a parental tone and he looked down at her accordingly. “You are to work for your lodging whilst you are here.”
“Oh, of course my Lord. A thousand thanks,” she said, smiling. “And a thousand more.”
“We shall get you started in a few days,” he said, ushering her back towards the door, then opened it. “Bergil will show you to your room here.”
Lauren turned around. “Thank you so much, Lord Faramir. I am in your debt.”
He laughed, and smiled at her. “That you are. But worry not, arrangements will be made to pay that debt.”
She laughed too. “Of course, Lord.”
“And I should also like to hear about your horse.” With that, he closed the door to his study.
“Come with me, miss.” Bergil motioned for her to follow. She did as she was told. The two of them ended up doing a short tour of the house before coming across the guest wing. She did a victory dance in her head when the guy opened the door of a small room on the ground floor, told her the lavatory was down the hall, and left to fetch her saddlebags.
The room was a good size. Maybe twelve by ten feet, with a full sized bed in the middle, a vanity in the corner, and lots of windows on one wall. Off to the side was a tiny washroom, almost a closet. She checked the windows; they opened, and the ground was right there. Getting in and out without warranting attention? Easy mode. She suspected that her view looked out to the east, and a few hundred yards away there was an orchard of sorts spanning several square acres.
Lauren turned from the window and leaned against the wall as she began to think. Which Autobot would be meeting her? How would he get here? When? How was she to meet him? There was no way that they could communicate prior to meeting... it would almost have to be by coincidence. Maybe she should leave him some clues as to where on the property she was...
“Here are your things, Laurelin.” Lauren jumped as Bergil broke her train of thought.
“Oh, yes, thank you.” She rushed over to where he put the bags on the bed, picked them up, and set them on the vanity. She desperately hoped that no one had looked inside.
“Supper is at sundown in the hall.” He bowed and turned to take his leave, but Lauren stopped him.
“Bergil,” she said. He turned around. “Where is Beregond?”
The young man knitted his brows, probably wondering how this girl knew his father. “He is in town and should be returning tonight.”
“I see. Thank you, Bergil.”
“My pleasure, milady.” He left, and Lauren set to work figuring out how exactly she was going to rendezvous with a robot that night.
To help pass the time, Lauren started to hum Mozart's “Marriage of Figaro” to herself. After idly going over the same portions several times, however, she made the executive decision to haul ass.
“The hell am I doing taking my time here? Time is something Middle-earth doesn't have at this point. C'mon Miril!”
The steed snorted and broke into a gallop down the road, a cloud of dust in her wake. The heat these days were not so much of an issue as they were when she and Nicole first dropped off in Middle-earth. It was still definitely warm, probably in the high eighties, but not sweltering.
Now, in accordance with her new map, Lauren surmised that she was less than ten miles from Emyn Arnen now, which might translate to another half hour of riding. She lifted her bum off the saddle and bent so low that her face almost touched Miril's mane. “Almost there!” she said to the horse. With that, she ushered her to go faster.
Soon, the road began to move away from the river and head east a bit. She came to the summit of a small rise, and at that top she saw the hills of Emyn Arnen and the town at it's feet. A kind of cold sweat came over her when she realized what exactly she had to do. After only a moment of pause, she continued on, and about 15 minutes later, reached the outskirts of the town.
It was a bustling, happy little place, filled with bustling, happy little people. The market square was nothing compared to the outdoor mall that was Lampwright Street, but the dozen or so vendors selling their fruit and their poultry seemed really quite content about it.
The main square, the center of the town, had a small stone fountain with a tree growing in the middle, attempting to mimic that of the tree and the fountain of the citadel, she thought. Children were prancing around in the knee-deep water as mothers and their babies stood nearby, chatting as they kept an eye on the little ones in the fountain. She felt strange being on horseback, as though it were rude or something, and so she dismounted and walked Miril down the main road of the town in the direction of the hills. She mounted the horse again after passing through the south “gate”, and rode on for few more minutes up the road as it wound through a grove of old oak trees. At the top of the hill was a grand old house, comprised of several buildings. The main house was three stories tall in most parts, and at the north most corner was a small tower. What would have been in her time a driveway was paved in gravel, and it circled around again, a shallow stone pool. It was quiet and incredibly peaceful. Dismounting, she gestured for Miril to stay where she was while Lauren approached the front door.
Her heart rate sped up and hands shook a little and she raised her hand. But before she gave herself time for second thoughts, the knuckles of her right hand met with the door in an almost assertive manner. She knocked five times.
A moment passed before she heard someone approach the door and unlatch it. The heavy thing swung open with a deep creak, and there stood just inside a dashing young fellow in a hard leather cuirass with a sword at his side. He sized her up and cocked his eyebrow before addressing her.
“What brings you to the house of Lord Faramir?”
Lauren swallowed hard. She stood up straight and decided that she had almost nothing to lose from this. “I am here on an errand. I wish to speak with your lord if I may.”
The young man looked at her again before deciding that her strange demeanor wasn't anything more than eccentricity. Lauren shouted at him in her head: 'Let me in! Let me in, dammit!'
The guard stepped outside, leaving the door ajar. He walked past her with a confident gait and approached her horse. “Let's put her in, first. We can't have beasts like this crowding up the path, can we.” With that he took the reigns and led her over to the stables. Lauren followed close behind. “Geran!” the youth shouted out as they approached the open stables. There were about 4 horses in their side of the stalls. “We've got a guest!”
“Right, sir!” a middle-aged man appeared from inside the building, a brush still in hand. He had salt-and-pepper stubble to match his salt-and-pepper hair, and there were bits of straw scattered about his shoulders. “Ah, this is a fine horse indeed, sir.” He turned to Lauren. “She yours?”
“Uhm, she was lent to me.”
He continued to inspect the steed, paying careful attention to the gear. “I've not seen one like this since the Coronation. Where did you get her, if you don't mind me asking?”
Lauren paled a little. “The stablemaster of Rivendell.”
The two men looked at her. “Rivendell...” Geran said, nodding. “I would be keen to hear some of your stories sometime, milady!”
Lauren laughed nervously. “Not today,” she said, faking a smile. “I've had a long journey.”
“It seems that you have.” He took the reigns and led Miril away. “I shall see you again, lady!” And with that, she was left alone with the unnamed young man again. He beckoned her to follow him back into the house.
“Rivendell?” he asked with a smirk as they crossed the gravel path. “I should like to hear your tale as well.”
“Well. I must speak with Lord Faramir before any tales get telling.”
He chuckled a bit. “Fair enough.” They went inside, and he closed the door behind them. “By the way, I am Bergil, the son of Beregond, at your service. Let me tell Lord Faramir that he has a guest.” With that , he bowed and left Lauren to entertain herself in the foyer.
Normally the immediate environment would have sufficed to keep her stimulated, but her mind had blown a fuse as soon as the young guard introduced himself.
“Bergil,” she muttered dumbly to herself. Her eyes, as she imagined them, would have been as wide as dinner plates, knitted brows cleaving a Grand Canyon in her forehead. Aside from Elrond and Glorfindel, Bergil was the first canonical character she had interacted with. But why was she so much more shocked at seeing him than the two elves? She didn't entirely know, but it might have had something to do with all of the psychological changes she'd undergone since first falling into Middle-earth.
Lauren paced around in anxious circles for what seemed like too long before Bergil came back.
“Milady?' The voice seemed to come from nowhere, and she was startled out of her empty thoughts.
“Ha, oh- yes hi,” she stumbled. The young man shot a look at her before sighing.
“Right this way.”
The girl composed herself and followed him down the hall. They rounded a corner and headed up a flight of stairs, where they continued down another hall. Bergil stopped in front of a nondescript door and knocked.
“Come in Bergil,” the voice inside called.
It took every ounce of self-control Lauren had not to have a seizure. The young man opened the door, and the two of them were ushered inside.
The room was spacious despite the walls being lined with bookshelves. Several large windows, flung open to circulate air, flooded the room with light. On a far wall was a fireplace long since used. But the thing that Lauren found to be most interesting was in fact a single man sitting behind a single table littered with papers, books, and scrolls. The man in front of her looked much more like Viggo than David, much to her surprise. His hair was black, not the caramel brown crown featured in the movie, and his eyes were a soft gray, like charcoal. He rose from his seat and reached over the table to shake Lauren's hand, which she reciprocated.
“Good afternoon, little lady,” he said. Lauren shuddered with anxious excitement. “What can I do for you?”
She swallowed. “I...” she began, already stumbling over her words. “I've been sent here to ask for lodging under your roof.”
The lord of the house raised his eyebrows and grinned. “Oh? And who would have sent you for such a thing?”
Lauren paused. “An old friend of yours, Lord. W-would you happen to remember a certain Narthas Randomie?”
The smile was gone from Faramir's face and his eyes widened. He fell back into his chair and studied the desk before him before looking up again. “Bergil, leave us be for a while.”
“Yes sir.”
“Thank you.”
Lauren heard the door being quietly shut behind her. Faramir beckoned for her to sit down, and she did.
“How is it that you know Narthas? You are not of Elf-kind, nor do you seem to be from these regions.” After a moment, he leaned in over his desk, hands clasped together. “What is your name?”
Shit. Shit. Shit. She couldn't pull the 'Narthas' niece' thing now that he knew she wasn't elvish. Should she still give him her latest alias? Think up something fast, you fucking idiot. Why the hell did everyone in Tolkien's universe have to be either black-haired blond? He must've had something against brunettes.
“I am Laurelin of Amroth, Lord. My... my father knew the elf, and so when he was slain in the war, Narthas took me in as his own. He sent me to you, thinking perhaps you could provide me with room and board.”
She knew there were many, many holes in that story. For one, Narthas was equally as close to the Princes of Amroth as he was with the family of the Stewart. Why he would have sent her all way to Ithilien instead of just keeping her closer to him in Amroth was not something that Faramir would overlook so easily. Or why he sent her away to begin with was another matter.
“There are many who lost their families in the latter years of that Second Age,” he sighed. “And I am sorry for your loss.”
Suddenly Lauren felt like a piece of shit making up a story like that. With that last sentence, she was reminded of his loss. He lost EVERYONE. His parents, and perhaps the most important person in his life: Boromir. Lauren wanted to curl up and die for dredging up his past.
“Lord, I... I am so s--” She was cut off when he held up his hand, slowly shaking his head.
“It is in the past, milady. We look to the future now, and be glad that there are still friendships.” At this he rose and walked around the table to stand next to her. “I deem that you have seen terrific things in your day, Laurelin. And if you are a friend of Narthas, then you are a friend of mine also.”
“Am I to stay, then?” she asked eagerly.
“Aye. But under some condition. I would like to send a message to Narthas to ask for his mind on this, and also: if you are to stay in this house, your room and board will not be free.” His tone had taken a parental tone and he looked down at her accordingly. “You are to work for your lodging whilst you are here.”
“Oh, of course my Lord. A thousand thanks,” she said, smiling. “And a thousand more.”
“We shall get you started in a few days,” he said, ushering her back towards the door, then opened it. “Bergil will show you to your room here.”
Lauren turned around. “Thank you so much, Lord Faramir. I am in your debt.”
He laughed, and smiled at her. “That you are. But worry not, arrangements will be made to pay that debt.”
She laughed too. “Of course, Lord.”
“And I should also like to hear about your horse.” With that, he closed the door to his study.
“Come with me, miss.” Bergil motioned for her to follow. She did as she was told. The two of them ended up doing a short tour of the house before coming across the guest wing. She did a victory dance in her head when the guy opened the door of a small room on the ground floor, told her the lavatory was down the hall, and left to fetch her saddlebags.
The room was a good size. Maybe twelve by ten feet, with a full sized bed in the middle, a vanity in the corner, and lots of windows on one wall. Off to the side was a tiny washroom, almost a closet. She checked the windows; they opened, and the ground was right there. Getting in and out without warranting attention? Easy mode. She suspected that her view looked out to the east, and a few hundred yards away there was an orchard of sorts spanning several square acres.
Lauren turned from the window and leaned against the wall as she began to think. Which Autobot would be meeting her? How would he get here? When? How was she to meet him? There was no way that they could communicate prior to meeting... it would almost have to be by coincidence. Maybe she should leave him some clues as to where on the property she was...
“Here are your things, Laurelin.” Lauren jumped as Bergil broke her train of thought.
“Oh, yes, thank you.” She rushed over to where he put the bags on the bed, picked them up, and set them on the vanity. She desperately hoped that no one had looked inside.
“Supper is at sundown in the hall.” He bowed and turned to take his leave, but Lauren stopped him.
“Bergil,” she said. He turned around. “Where is Beregond?”
The young man knitted his brows, probably wondering how this girl knew his father. “He is in town and should be returning tonight.”
“I see. Thank you, Bergil.”
“My pleasure, milady.” He left, and Lauren set to work figuring out how exactly she was going to rendezvous with a robot that night.
