A Contest of Wardens
Location: By the Esgalduin, Forest Region, Doriath
IC Time: Nighttime on Trewsday of Summer - June 24, 469
Participating:
Beleg
Delmar
Nuridhwen (Dilarion)
Among the wardens clustered at the riverbank is Beleg Cuthalion, as might be seen even from a distance with the starlight reflecting off his
silver-trimmed circlet, and the mighty longbow that lies resting next to him with his sword. At a lull in the conversation, his eyes wander downriver
towards the pale orange shimmer of a small fire. He hops up lightly to his feet, taking his weapons, and moves towards this light. His manner is easy,
and it is likely he knows the source of the fire.
"Delmar, you are solitary," he says as he approaches the other, no surprise in his voice at this fact. He crouches down to bring his gaze to the
Maenfaroth's level.
Delmar rises his head ,as he hears Beleg's voice . His eyes meet Beleg's and he says " Greetings , Farothir Beleg . Indeed I'm solitary now , but let it
not trouble you . My loneliness isn't uncomfortable for me . "
He smiles faintly and moves a bit aside to give Beleg some free space near the fire . Then he gets a flask out of his haversack and offers it to Beleg .
"Nay, I am not troubled," Beleg answers with a smile, taking the flask. "Solitude is sometimes the best company. I know you often prefer it." He takes a
drink, then closes the flask again and hands it back with thanks.
Delmar takes a drink of the flask too and puts it back into his haversack . " Indeed I do " he says " But sometimes I wouldn't mind to have a good
interlocutor . " Maenfaroth looks around him and takes a deep breath of a fresh night air . " It's a great pleasure to sit near the fire somewhere in
the forest ... Much better then even in the halls of Menegroth , to my mind . " he says with a strange and a bit sorrowful expression on his face .
There are shorter strides, but ones that fall little less quietly than those of Beleg, that follow behind the Chief Marchwarden. Another warden, perhaps
seeming relatively young and also bear, has trailed the path of Beleg just to the place where the firelight makes a dim ring of light in the night.
The faroth Dilarion ducks his head a bit as he approaches this ring of light, perhaps some gesture of apology for interruption though no words has he
yet spoken. But, this is soon to change.
"Ah, Farothir, sir?" he nigh-timidly intones.
Beleg rests down at the fireside, laying his bow and sword aside and resting on an elbow. "You do not care for Menegroth, eh? I find it a place of many
diversions, and most of them are pleasant," the captain replies. He looks up with the approach and summons of the other warden. "Speak, Dilarion," he
says, beckoning the other closer.
Delmar nods at Beleg's words and replies " I didn't mean to say , that Menegroth is not to my liking. I just wanted to say , that sometime a quiet
forest and dark sky full of stars are more pleasent to see then the cave halls of Menegroth . "
When Dilarion approaches , Delmar nods to him and waits for the faroth's words .
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The faroth ventures forward at his chief's beckoning, and in the distance, in the direction from which the Farothir and this younger warden had appeared,
there might be heard remnants of a bit of suspicious-seeming laughter.
Before he speaks, though, Dilarion inclines his head politely toward Delmar. "The others, Farothir, spoke some riddle to me, just after you left. I
could not figure it, but they bid me ask you if I wished to know what two things the riddle speaks of... They deemed that you might know..." Again there
might be heard a trickling of laughter from afar, and then the faroth recites. "Plucked and then purposely unstrung, But to be strung once again, What
then flies should find a straight path, Not wobble with great strain."
Beleg groans lightly at Dilarion's words, saying, "They ask this because they know I am no master of riddles." Sighing, he grins to Delmar and then
quiets to listen to the wardens' challenge. "I suppose a 'bow' would be too simple an answer for such clever minds as yours?" he asks with irony.
Watching the talk of Beleg and Dilarion with a light grin , Delmar leans back on a trunk of a nearby tree , and when the farothir easily guesses the
answer he notes " I think it would take some more difficult riddle to make farothir strain his mind " . He grins to Beleg and Delarion .
A wary glance does the younger warden shoot back toward the sounds of laughter, not seeming very amused in the least; if the riddle was made teasingly
to Dilarion, now, with the inclusion of Beleg and the presence of Delmar, the wardens who wrote it have increased the number of others who are touched
by the joke.
"Aye, perhaps..." the faroth begins, his brow furrowing in thought, perhaps seeming to repeat the riddle over in his mind. "Aye, perhaps the first lines
speak of a bow? But what of the latter two? An arrow? But..." He pauses, seeming to lose himself in pondering once more.
"Or a harp, though I know few harpists who unstring their instruments at will," the captain replies. "Is the true riddle that our fellows have too much
time at leisure and thus idle minds?" He purposely raises his voice with this so that the others nearby might hear it, though his grin remains and it is
apparent he teases.
"I do not think 'tis a harp, sir," Dilarion replies at length, bringing himself out of thought and casting another glance toward the laughter, which has
quieted since the rising of the voice of the Farothir.
"Perhaps they do have too much time at leisure and now spend it formulating these word-games, but I think, rather, that in this riddle, if the answer is
bow and arrow, they speak to me teasingly. It is no secret that I am not an extraordinary shot, and they noted that their 'arrow' should fly straight
and not wobble..." The words trail off, perhaps almost seeming unsure of themselves.
Delmar smiles at Dilarion's words and remarks in quite a loud voice " Maybe those , who thought of this riddle , are trying to let us know , that they
want to practice more with the answer of their riddle ? In that case , that can be easily organized . " A wide grin now lightens maenfaroth's face , and
this is a rare thing to be seen . He gives a wink to Dilarion and casts a quick glance toward the group of jokers .
"Aye, some practice then, of arms and not merely of wits," Beleg says, laughing at the banter between them all. He stands lightly, taking up his sword
and bow in his hands. "Let us choose a tree across the river for our target. He whose shot 'wobbles' the most, must swim to retrieve all our arrows once
all is done." The captain's eye is mischievous at this challenge.
Delmar stands up and grins to Beleg " Something tells me , that you won't be the one to get wet today , sir " he says " But I'm ready to accept the
challenge . After all , swimming isn't the worst thing to happen . " Maenfaroth takes his bow and gets an arrow out of his quiver . " Well , choose the
target , captain ! " He says , waiting for Beleg's decision .
And who could deny a challenge of the Farothir? Especially when one's skill has already been put to question by a riddle of jokesters. And so it is that
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Dilarion accepts the challenge with a slow nod, even with the prospect of being the one who shall end up swimming across the river to retrieve the
arrows, and takes his bow in one hand, slipping an arrow from his quiver with the other. And though these movements are fluid as are most made by the
Firstborn, there might be some hint of nervousness discernable within them.
"T'would not be the worst punishment for poor shooting," Beleg answers as he strides back towards the riverbank. "An orc would give worse." He shouts at
the riddle-makers to come join them, then looks across the wide flow of Esgalduin, scanning the other bank.
At last he points, "That damaged birch," he says, pointing to a bent and slender tree. "It is dying and will not mind any longer our arrows' shots." It
also makes a difficult target, with its thin and mostly leafless crooked trunk. The captain pulls Belthronding up and strings it, while he calls across
the riverbank to signal any passers-by to clear out of the path of the arrows.
Delmar casts an estimating look on the birch on the other side of the river and the nods slightly , as if to his own thoughts . then he stretches his
shoulders , strings his bow and looks at Beleg, awaiting his shot . at the same time he carefully examines the tree .
But the riddle-makers do not appear and their laughter has ceased and is no longer heard. Perhaps they do not wish to have their own skill matched
against that of the Farothir? Dilarion still seems faintly hesitant, but he keeps a firm grip on his already-strung bow and his eyes steadily upon Beleg.
"Perhaps you should take the first shot, sir? ... as an example for us, verily," he offers.
"An example of what, I wonder," Beleg says, laughing lightly. Nevertheless he pulls Belthronding up and nocks an arrow, the great bow such as not even
all elves might have the strength to wield seeming an extension of his arm. Smoothly the string comes back, Beleg sighting down the line of the bowstave,
and looses the arrow with an imperceptible movement of his fingers. It flies forward and pierces the birch just below the bend in its trunk, the force
of the blow causing the dead tree to tremble fiercely.
Delmar winks in delight and surprise as he sees Beleg's perfect shot . Maenfaroth looks at his bow and hands doubtfully , but , nevertheless , he takes
Beleg's place on the river bank and rises the bow . The string is pulled back smoothly and after a moment the arrow flies in the direction of the target
. The trunk of the dead tree trembles as the second arrow pierces it . Delmar managed to hit the bend of the trunk , but he seems not happy with his
shot . " I hoped it would hit farothir's arrow ... " he mumbles .
An example of what? The words of Beleg nearly prompt a short laugh from the younger warden, but he instead merely smiles, something that edges upon a
wary sort of smirk.
An example of a fine archer, of course. But Dilarion does not speak these words, for his eyes are too attentive to concentrate on speaking at the same
time, and these very eyes widen slightly at the shaking of the old birch as first the arrow of the Farothir and then the arrow of the Maenfaroth strike
the dying tree.
With a faint sigh, though one of determination and not of despair, Dilarion takes his own place at the riverback, and pulls his own bow up, nocking his
arrow. Then, carefully as he might, the faroth draws back the bowstring and sights the tree across the singing Esgalduin, perhaps finally releasing the
arrow with a breathed prayer that it fly at least across the river. And, it does, though it wobbles slightly along its path and does not strike the
birch but rather sticks in the ground a few meters in front of its target.
Beleg lowers his bow, watching the other shots with a careful eye. Even after the arrow is loosed, his eye remains on the archer a time, instead of
following the arrow's path. "Well done, Delmar," he says quietly as he at last does look to the birch, now sprung by two arrows.
Once Dilarion has let loose his shot, the warden smiles, clapping a hand on the young warden's shoulder. "I deem the trouble not your aim, mellon, but
the telling of too many scathing riddles. Nevertheless your confidence will grow if you plant it in something other than our fellows' opinions. Now, off
on your midnight swim," he says, laughing.
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Delmar watches carefully Dilarion's shot and then adresses him " I'm sure your miss is caused by pure nervousness , mellon . More confidence will help
you , I deem . " he pauses and then adds with a grin " Well, I hope the water is warm this night , Dilarion . And as for me , I think I need some sleep
now . " With this words he bows to Beleg and Dilarion and walks back to the fire . Then he wraps upin his cloak and closes his eyes .
The faroth lowers his bow and looks up to the Farothir, lending there the briefest smile before the thought of swimming across the Esgalduin overtakes
this. "Aye... I will keep your words at the fore of my mind, Farothir," he says with a short nod before skittering nearer to the riverbank.
Quickly, Dilarion sheds his cloak and tugs off his boots, ever so carefully setting his bow and quiver atop of these, and with but one glance toward the
river, he dives in, giving a slight cry of 'ai' at the cool water and beginning his swim toward the other side.
"Rest well, Delmar," the march captain says, then stands, arms at his hips, to wait for Dilarion to complete his swim. He apparently has no thoughts of
rest, for now at least, instead his thoughts tending towards amusement and affection for his warden companions.
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