The Anduin, at dawn.

Arassuil, a short, rather stocky man, continued pushing his way through the snow. “You are likely right, Aranarth. But humour me, brother. I have had strange dreams of late.” Arassuil grinned at Aranarth, who scowled and shook his head in annoyance but pushed the snow away even quicker. “Bah, you and your dreams.”

It was midmorning, and the sunshine glinted brightly, almost blindingly, off the snow. Nevertheless, neither man could miss seeing the large wagon coming up the road from the south, drawn by two large aurochs. The animals were slowly forcing a path through the snow that reached up to their knees, but it was very slow going for them, and their driver, walking beside them and holding their reins, appeared to be a very old man.

“There, brother, didn’t I tell you!” Arassuil slapped Aranarth on the back, and started making his way to the wagon. His brother grinned ruefully and followed. This was not the first time the chieftain had been right, in the face of all good sense.

“Hail and well-met!” shouted Arassuil to the old man. “Wait for us, we will help you.” The old man paused and leaned wearily on the flank of one of his animals. They did not hear him murmur his thanks to the Valar.

“Here, old man, get up on the wagon and we shall lead the animals,” said Arassuil. “You are very near Bree-town, where you can rest.”

The old man sighed and climbed up onto the front seat of the wagon. He looked closely at Arassuil, and then at his companion. “You must be of the folk of the Dúnedain, if I am not mistaken.”

Arassuil glanced at the old man, a bit surprised. “Aye, so we are. Although few remember that people of the kings of Arnor, the kings of Arthedain, remain still in Eriador. I am Arassuil, and this is my brother, Aranarth. And who might you be, then, old one?” The old man smiled. “I am Gandalf, or perhaps your people know of me as Mithrandir.”

Aranarth raised his eyebrows. “Mithrandir the wanderer, with strange powers, not an Elf, nor yet a Man?” Gandalf smiled. He looked at Aranarth, who was tall, and dark-haired, with grey eyes— every inch the echo of Elendil, of Elros of Númenor. And yet it was the other, the short, stocky man, with coppery hair and blue eyes, who held the spirit of those ancient heroes.

“You may not believe it, but I am he,” Gandalf answered. “I heard about the need in the north, and have brought this wagon of supplies, little though it is, from Gondor, to help.” Both men stared at Gandalf at this. “You, alone, all the way up the Greenway?” asked Arassuil. Gandalf replied, “So I said.”

They had now come within sight of the walls of Bree-town, but Arassuil suddenly pulled on the reins of the aurochs and brought the wagon to a halt. “I beg your pardon, Mithrandir, and,” he grinned, “Aranarth my brother, but let us stop here for a while and take some sustenance. I wish to think for a moment.” He looked steadily at Gandalf. “You will still be able to shelter tonight in Bree-town, Mithrandir, regardless.”

Gandalf smiled, feeling less weary than he had felt earlier. He climbed down from the seat and walked to the back of the wagon. “Very well. The oxen will be glad for the break. And I am willing to wait for your thoughts, Arassuil.”

The children saw the traveler while he was still a distance away– impossible to miss that large wagon in the flat landscape! — and ran to fetch their elders. By the time Mithrandir reached the gateway, a sizeable crowd had gathered. He halted, scanning the faces of the men quickly.

A fair-haired, middle-aged man, tall and broad and self-assured, stepped forward. “Hail, old man. Welcome to Tharbad. I am Offa, the blacksmith of this city.”

Mithrandir nodded. “And I am Gandalf. I have heard of the suffering of the peoples of the north, and have brought this wagon of supplies from Lebennin, in the south of Gondor.” The crowd sighed in surprise and joy, and Offa raised his hand towards the traveler. “Then welcome, Gandalf, and you have our thanks! You may bring the wagon to my smithy. I have a barn there that is large enough to hold to contents of the wagon.” Some people in the crowd began to mutter at this, and Offa looked around, glaring a little at the mutterers. “We will unload it, and you may stay in my home as long as you like, before you head back.”

Gandalf shook his head. “These supplies are for the folk farther north up the Greenway, who are likely starving. I ask for your hospitality for a night, so that my beasts might rest a bit before we head on.”

Offa frowned at this, and there were disappointed cries from the crowd. “It is only February, Gandalf. There is still much of winter left. And you would risk your life heading north?” Offa nodded at a section of the crowd, and five or six other men came up and stood behind him, staring at Gandalf with a slight air of menace. “Better to stay here and… accept our gratitude.”

Another man, shorter and slighter than the blacksmith, with dark hair and gray eyes, stepped up to Offa, and spoke with him in low tones. Gandalf watched as the two men argued, Offa’s voice growing louder, the men around him growing restless. “We will take the supplies to my barn, Osuald, and that’s the end of it!”

Osuald turned to the crowd. “People of Tharbad, consider what we should do! It would violate the ancient laws of hospitality to steal from this traveler, who should be treated as a welcome guest. Even worse, we would be stealing from people in great need.”

He paused. “Are any of us starving?” Men, women, and children looked at each other; some shook their heads slowly. “No, we are hungry, but we still have some of the harvest left, and our hunters still find prey. There are still fish in the Greyflood. And spring will come earlier for us than for those poor folk up north.”

The crowd sighed, and Gandalf realized that in spite of his size, the man Osuald was held in respect by them. Offa glared at Osuald, then at Gandalf, but he knew that he would not have his way.

Osuald smiled at the traveler. “I am Osuald, a farmer and fisherman here in Tharbad. We townsfolk will shelter you and your animals as long as you like, Gandalf, and perhaps when you leave, we might be able to spare some of our stores for our brethren up north.” Gandalf marveled: could it be that the noble blood of Númenor had not entirely vanished from these abandoned places?

Gandalf spent that night in Tharbad, and all of the next day, exchanging news with the people, but he would not stay longer. His sense of urgency was increasing, and he set off north again before dawn the next morning.

Mithrandir paused on the path, leaning on his staff and watching the sun set over the vast, snow-covered plains to the west. The two aurochs pulling the large wagon came up behind him and stopped, their cloudy breath warming his back.

“Aye, gentle ones, we still have a sennight to go, before you will have a chance to sleep in a barn. But so long as we don’t run into a blizzard, we should be well enough.” He unhitched them, patting them affectionately, and gave them hay from the wagon to eat, melted snow in a shallow pan to drink.

Mithrandir himself made do with tack and washed it down with a pint of Gondorian ale. He unrolled his sleeping rug in the wagon. “I must confess, I am weary.” The aurochs regarded him with calm brown eyes.

“If not for Círdan’s ring,” he reflected, twisting the ring around his finger, “I do not think I would have attempted this. Even though the need is very great.” He sighed.

“I do not remember such a winter as this in all the years since I came back to Ennorath. It is almost as though the great enemy, Morgoth Bauglir, had escaped to bring winter forever. But no,” he admonished himself grimly, “Gandalf, old spirit, your nerves are weak. Get some rest.”

Towards morning the dream came again. Mortals suffering, starving, freezing to death in the cold. Mithrandir rose quickly, hitched the animals to the wagon and set off. “Ilúvatar be praised, another fair day. If this continues, we shall indeed make Tharbad in six or seven days. And then north, to the old realm of Arthedain.”

He smiled to himself, an ironical smile laced with worry, and marched off north, and the aurochs followed steadily behind.

((To be continued… ))

The Fellowship’s Path Through Moria

Some time ago, when we were assisting the dwarves of Moria together, I happened to mention that the place was starting to appeal to me. You were surprised, so I’m writing to explain myself a bit.

When I entered Moria in the east, I must confess I was dismayed. After seeing the influence of elven beauty and grace in Hollin, the dark, twisting caverns of the dwarven realm were frightening. Nevertheless, I began helping the members of the expedition– it was that, or just give up and go home to the Shire.

Eventually, as I traveled farther west, I began to see stronger evidence of the dwarves’ amazing skill in sculpture and architecture and all kinds of craft. The wide, beautiful space in the Great Hall of Durin! The gardens of Tharak Bazan, the stupendous Waterworks, the Stone Hall where the light shines in on mirrors, the great wide Second Hall and the Bridge of Khazad-dûm… No wonder the dwarves are here to reclaim it.

I can almost see Moria as it must have been once, teeming with dwarves, scaffolding everywhere as high as the ceilings, the halls flooded with light, and noisy with the sound of dwarven voices and music.

Although the orcs and goblins (and wargs, and merrevail, and worse things) have taken over much of it, I have hope that the dwarves here may eventually succeed. Perhaps more will come from Dain Ironfoot’s land, far away in the east, to help.

And yet, something makes me feel as though the golden age of Khazad-dûm has passed, that these dwarves might be able to make a home here again, but they will never be so populous and mighty as they were. I do not know the story of the dwarves; maybe someday one of our dwarf kinmates will tell it to us. As a child, I heard of the Battle of the Five Armies from old Bilbo Baggins (what a start I had, meeting him again in Rivendell!), but I’ve learned that there was another huge battle between dwarves and orcs, in which many dwarves were slain.

And of course, it seems that the Shadow we are fighting grows stronger every day. With Saruman’s betrayal, I do not see how Elrond and Gandalf can win. Perhaps the Men in the south have strength enough to resist.

Take care in your hunting! For the Shire!

Your fellow Marchwarden,
Sophronia

So what’s a poor RPer to do, when we have to mention these diacriticaled people or places? We use the extended ASCII codes, of course! To do this, get a list of the numbers associated with the diacriticized characters. (Here is one… the second table has the characters that interest us.) Note the decimal value of the character: for example, 150 will give you that wonderful û character used in so many, many, orc names.

To insert it into your typing, hold down the left ALT key, then enter the number on your keypad, then release the ALT key, and voilà! You should see the blingged character appear instantly. Using these codes, you can also prepare Quenya and Sindarin phrases ahead of time and save them in aliases.

So diacriticalling correctly requires a little more time, but it makes you look smart, like wearing glasses, which is especially important when trying to find others to group with. Use them in the LFF channel, and others will want to group with you, even if you are LFF to kill Gûrglzgrûb.

Naerrin married, and had a son, Gaerdil. He was a promising scholar, and when he reached adulthood, went to Imladris to study with the people of Elrond.

As is told in many tales, Sauron corrupted the Númenoreans and brought about the drowning of Númenor and the removal of the Blessed Lands from the circle of Arda. Elendil the Tall and his sons founded the realms of Arnor and Gondor, and for many years, there was peace. But Sauron returned to Mordor, and grew strong again. Gil-galad and Elendil decided to attack him, and elves and men from all over Ennorath joined the forces of the Last Alliance.

Naerrin’s husband, brother, and son also joined the army. Alas! The Battle of Dagorlad was terrible, and the Siege of Barad-dûr lasted seven years. Near the end, Naerrin’s brother was lost– presumed taken prisoner. Her son was slain just before Isildur finally defeated Sauron.

Naerrin’s parents were broken-hearted, as was her husband, and they took ship for the West. Naerrin herself stayed, but left Edhellond, traveling to Círdan at the Grey Havens. She heard of events in the Third Age, but remained indifferent, until she was caught in the battle at Edhelion, when evil dwarves attacked the refuge and slew many. Naerrin decided to learn how to use weapons, and how to fight and defend the weak.

She is a fierce fighter with spear and javelin, sometimes reckless. She is loyal and occasionally generous. She has visited the elf, Orthir, who lives near Woodhall in the Shire, and from him she learned the halfling’s habit of smoking, and she is perhaps too fond of the fine Dorwinion vintages. She loves a good story, and would listen to good music for days, if it were possible!

The evil that grows in Eriador has even come close to the home of Elrond, in Imadris. Trolls have long stalked the Trollshaws, of course, but there are worse things now in those woods. The sons of Elrond are hunting something– they believe it is one of the Ulaer, that is, one of the Nine wraiths, the enemy’s most terrible servants. I have been assisting them in this. I pray they are wrong, but my heart tells me they are right.

There is another strange creature in the vale of Tâl Bruinen. The hunter at Echad Candelleth, the man Wistan, picked up his trail, and we traced him to the Bruinen banks near the home of the fisherman Garbert. Garbert and his wife, Afanen, were afraid of the creature– it tried to take their baby.

Wistan and I set a trap for it, putting fish on a flat stone.

Setting the trap

Fish as bait

After some time the creature did come to the house, and it took the bait.

The wait

Repulsive creature...

Wistan’s leg was injured and he missed seizing it, but I chased the beast across the river, where a fierce orc captain attacked me. When I had dispatched the orc, I realized the creature had escaped.

Well, I was fighting for my life, Wistan!

I only hope it has been frightened away for good now, and will not trouble Garbert and Afanen any longer.

Calo anor na ven– may the sun shine on your road.

-Naerrin

2. Yes, mounted combat would be cool. I hope Turbine figures out how to do this…

3. Most of all, I want a new hobby, pyrotechnics. Collecting various types of chemicals to make gunpowder, adding colors… as you tier up you get recipes for bigger and more dangerous fireworks…