Raedwulf
09 Nov 2009, 18:28
Aye, it may be that we will journey into Rohan soon.
He pauses, looks down, speaks more softly...
Well, it may be that you will journey into Rohan. Nay! Do not ask! It is enough for you to know that there was reason enough for me to have come north. It is too soon, too soon by far for me to return, and yet... Those things that drive us all onwards in these dark times may drive me back...
He looks down again, his right hand clasped around his tankard, his left traces abstract designs upon the table-top; lost in reverie, he speaks not, but sits, grim and pensive, for a little. Then he raises his head, leans back, sips his ale, and fixes you with his stern grey eyes.
I am a Westfold man. More, I was born in the hills, and it is the hills I love, not those wide grassy, windy plains of the East-mark. If to Rohan you come, it is like enough that you will make your way to Helm's Deep, the mightiest fortress of my people. Edoras? Nay! No strong place, or rather not strong enough. It is the seat of the Eorlingas Cyninges... I mean, of the Lords of the Mark. Strong enough in a pinch, but no fortress; it is to the Deep that you will come, I think. These are not quiet times, and surely Theoden Thengling will have quit Edoras ere we, or you, should come there. And if need should drive you first to the Dunharrow, then Helm's Deep! Edoras! The Westfold! All are lost!
Now, mark you, an you come to the Deep, there is a man you will meet, if he yet lives. Be respectful toward him. He is old now, and yet was mighty in his time. In Westron he will be named to you Gamling the Old; no name, in truth, for in the true tongue Gamling means nothing more than "old man". But so he is known now. I never knew him young, but knew him, oh yes! I knew him when he was younger...
If neither Theodred, son of Theoden, nor Erkenbrand are at the Deep, then it is like that Gamling will be left in command of whatever garrison remains there. That alone should speak to you of the quality of the man. When I was less in years, little more than a stripling, he was... you would say Under-Marshal, perhaps, in the common speech. Aye, a lesser leader of men. Stern & grim he was, tasked with the training of the younger men, for he was, as I have said, old enough; grey-eyed, grey-haired, grey-bearded; even then. Hard won was any word of praise from Gamling, and the brighter for it!
Yes, he has fought in his time. Every man takes his turn in the winter watches, when wolves and dark creatures, in their hunger, stalk the herds of men. More! Rohan is a land mastered by men, but the lands around? They are not so tame. To the North lies the Entwood, and there is no place wilder. We do not venture into it, or at least, not far. To the East... But you know of that way. The Marshes are a foul place, the land beyond is empty, but a bitter wind blows from thence, and betimes it has been an open road for fouler things than ever the Marshes birthed. For a score of years now, trouble has come upon the Mark from the Misty Mountains and out of the East.
And then there is the West. If you follow the Isen you come to lands that perhaps could be fair and yet are empty. Few men live there, and old tales tell that once there was plague, war, and misfortune, and a curse was laid upon the land ere the Eorlingas came to Rohan. But if you turn North when you pass the Gap, then you quickly come into the lands of the wild hill-men and herd-folk of Dunland. Ever they have been our enemies, and a trouble to us. Forgoil they call us; strawheads though we are not all fair-haired, as you can see.
Has Gamling fought in his time? Indeed he has, and a great name he won for himself in old wars and border raids! So he was when I knew him, and a hard taskmaster. Woe betide the misplaced blow, the weak wrist, the soft-held shield, or a man none so nimble in the saddle! Then would Gamling wax wroth. Few words would he spend upon you, but every one held both edge & meaning! And if he spoke in praise of you, "Good!" might be the only word he said, but that was weorðmynd, that was glory!
And when you saw the eored ride. Ah! Then you knew his worth & the love he spent, so cloaked in hard words and dark looks! The thunder of the horses, the streaming manes, the flowing motion; the easy grace and skill of the riders; and then the line wheels as one, the charge like the crashing of a wave! It is through men such as he that such things may be. An you meet him, remember this & give respect to great worth. He was young once and, if The Great Ones permit, perhaps one day we too may grow old...
He pauses, looks down, speaks more softly...
Well, it may be that you will journey into Rohan. Nay! Do not ask! It is enough for you to know that there was reason enough for me to have come north. It is too soon, too soon by far for me to return, and yet... Those things that drive us all onwards in these dark times may drive me back...
He looks down again, his right hand clasped around his tankard, his left traces abstract designs upon the table-top; lost in reverie, he speaks not, but sits, grim and pensive, for a little. Then he raises his head, leans back, sips his ale, and fixes you with his stern grey eyes.
I am a Westfold man. More, I was born in the hills, and it is the hills I love, not those wide grassy, windy plains of the East-mark. If to Rohan you come, it is like enough that you will make your way to Helm's Deep, the mightiest fortress of my people. Edoras? Nay! No strong place, or rather not strong enough. It is the seat of the Eorlingas Cyninges... I mean, of the Lords of the Mark. Strong enough in a pinch, but no fortress; it is to the Deep that you will come, I think. These are not quiet times, and surely Theoden Thengling will have quit Edoras ere we, or you, should come there. And if need should drive you first to the Dunharrow, then Helm's Deep! Edoras! The Westfold! All are lost!
Now, mark you, an you come to the Deep, there is a man you will meet, if he yet lives. Be respectful toward him. He is old now, and yet was mighty in his time. In Westron he will be named to you Gamling the Old; no name, in truth, for in the true tongue Gamling means nothing more than "old man". But so he is known now. I never knew him young, but knew him, oh yes! I knew him when he was younger...
If neither Theodred, son of Theoden, nor Erkenbrand are at the Deep, then it is like that Gamling will be left in command of whatever garrison remains there. That alone should speak to you of the quality of the man. When I was less in years, little more than a stripling, he was... you would say Under-Marshal, perhaps, in the common speech. Aye, a lesser leader of men. Stern & grim he was, tasked with the training of the younger men, for he was, as I have said, old enough; grey-eyed, grey-haired, grey-bearded; even then. Hard won was any word of praise from Gamling, and the brighter for it!
Yes, he has fought in his time. Every man takes his turn in the winter watches, when wolves and dark creatures, in their hunger, stalk the herds of men. More! Rohan is a land mastered by men, but the lands around? They are not so tame. To the North lies the Entwood, and there is no place wilder. We do not venture into it, or at least, not far. To the East... But you know of that way. The Marshes are a foul place, the land beyond is empty, but a bitter wind blows from thence, and betimes it has been an open road for fouler things than ever the Marshes birthed. For a score of years now, trouble has come upon the Mark from the Misty Mountains and out of the East.
And then there is the West. If you follow the Isen you come to lands that perhaps could be fair and yet are empty. Few men live there, and old tales tell that once there was plague, war, and misfortune, and a curse was laid upon the land ere the Eorlingas came to Rohan. But if you turn North when you pass the Gap, then you quickly come into the lands of the wild hill-men and herd-folk of Dunland. Ever they have been our enemies, and a trouble to us. Forgoil they call us; strawheads though we are not all fair-haired, as you can see.
Has Gamling fought in his time? Indeed he has, and a great name he won for himself in old wars and border raids! So he was when I knew him, and a hard taskmaster. Woe betide the misplaced blow, the weak wrist, the soft-held shield, or a man none so nimble in the saddle! Then would Gamling wax wroth. Few words would he spend upon you, but every one held both edge & meaning! And if he spoke in praise of you, "Good!" might be the only word he said, but that was weorðmynd, that was glory!
And when you saw the eored ride. Ah! Then you knew his worth & the love he spent, so cloaked in hard words and dark looks! The thunder of the horses, the streaming manes, the flowing motion; the easy grace and skill of the riders; and then the line wheels as one, the charge like the crashing of a wave! It is through men such as he that such things may be. An you meet him, remember this & give respect to great worth. He was young once and, if The Great Ones permit, perhaps one day we too may grow old...