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Author Topic: The Road Goes Ever On  (Read 1979 times)

Isaac Brandywood

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The Road Goes Ever On
« on: July 28, 2015, 02:39:00 AM »
The way to Woodhall was the one Isaac knew best. Why, his cousins’ home was as much a home to him as his own little house in Hobbiton! While he would be more nervous on the road to, say, Bree, or Longbottom, or Stock, he almost seemed carefree and would go on foot, and at night, to the Burrows home. It had been a tiring spring for Isaac - what with allergies, and children taking the opportunity to mess about in the open and injure themselves for their mischief, Isaac had had enough time and occasion to practice his craft on his neighbors and friends in Hobbiton. All this without the mayor of the Shire’s knowledge, but he could easily maintain that he was only doing a favor and anybody else could have done the job. He’d spoken to Jayden about his latest exhaustion, to which Jayden promptly suggested a break. It had taken a few hours for the suggestion to make any sense to him, but he had eventually given in. After all, this was no trip to Southfarthing, where the accursed heat had a terrible effect on his heart. No, he was going for a two week visit to the Burrows’ home! He might even enjoy himself, said his father.

So he had departed early in the day (Astron the 10th) but stopped for a rest at both Bywater and Tuckborough; the former for lunch, the latter for supper. He’d brought along all his other meals. Funny how he could easily run on only three meals throughout the day when at home, and his mother would pester him to eat properly, and while he travelled, he was hungry as a horse! Tuckborough was really not his favorite town (he felt like he owed books to half the Tooks on the village) but he got along better with the Tooks than with the owners of The Floating Log (the only decent place to get a meal in all of Frogmorton, in his opinion). He expected to stay the night at Tuckborough, but he had only not foreseen one thing: the Thain had seen him.

The Thain! While Hobbits do not often feel terror of authority, Isaac had not had very good dealings with the current Thain on his quest for professional recognition. He had finished his dinner at the inn he was to stay at, paid for his room, and left only to replenish his stock of ink (couldn’t go a day without writing in his diary, of course). It had been mere luck that Isaac looked out the door of the shop he had bought his ink from - it was certainly the Thain of the Shire, alongside his insufferable wife Lalia, outside the shop speaking to a neighbor! Isaac nearly dropped the little ink bottle he was buying, and couldn’t even manage to pick up his leather bag in time (to the distress of the clerk, who was ready to close for the night). Oh, really, what was he to do if caught? What if the Thain heard how he had become a terrible book-borrower in the land? Or that he’d practiced his craft in Hobbiton against his recommendation? So of course Isaac paid hastily for his ink, fled the shop, and resolved to leave immediately.

Mad? Certainly. Just a night of sleeping outdoors terrified Isaac, but it was almost preferable with meeting face to face with the infamous Lalia Took, when Isaac had won the usually good-natured Thain’s enmity. “Mr. Brandywood, but you’ve just paid your room for the night!” protested a clerk at the inn, but Isaac left without a word and scrambled onto the road again despite it being almost ten to eight. He was lucky not to meet anyone on his way out of Tuckborough, but he could dimly see the candles and lanterns lit as the Thain went on through Tuckborough, possibly to spend the night at a relative’s. The majestic Great Smials went by unnoticed, as Isaac Brandywood could only think of leaving the town as quickly as he could without being spotted, and arriving at Woodhall just as quickly.

The truth was, he really shouldn’t have bothered with the trip. Two hours later of scrambling about on the Stock Road through Green Hill Country, he was panting badly, and he couldn’t see an end through the dirt road through the woods. Not only was he exhausted himself, he feared his oil would run out, and every noise made him jump! It was the last place a civilized Hobbit should ever be, his aunt Ada would have agreed with him. And yet he managed to walk further an hour. It was only when his feet began to give him trouble that he stopped. He placed his bags by a particular maple by the road, and caught hold of it to catch his breath. A shooting pain through his chest made him panic for a minute, but it faded away almost as quickly as it had come. But Isaac was far more worried for the temperature of his feet. Despite the fact that it was spring, and the hair on his feet, they were beginning to feel utterly numb to the cold.

“This...is...no good,” he panted to himself. The Hobbit pulled out a sheet he had brought to himself just in case the Tuckborough inn’s sheets looked too dirty, and he wrapped the sheet around his feet for warmth. A soft sigh escaped him when the sheet began to affect his feet. That, and the warmth his lantern by him emanated, made him mumble, “I’ll...I’ll get up in a bit.” The promise went unheard, and the young Hobbit fell asleep beneath the maple tree and by his lit lantern. Fifteen minutes later the little light went out, but Isaac couldn’t have noticed. He was truly, fast asleep. He had very odd dreams about chasing fireflies through the Far Downs, and at some point, the lights became all too brilliant. It must...be light already, thought Isaac to himself dreamily, and the dream seemed to fade away. But when Isaac opened his eyes, there was no sun to greet him. It wasn’t warm, either.

[ooc: The usual disclaimer of “if you need anything edited, I shall edit” applies! Now, I believe the lights that surround Isaac when he wakes is the light of the party (if Mew is travelling with a party) Mew will be going with to Lindon. Of course, if she goes alone, she’ll still be bringing light for herself. So that’s the entry for them to meet!


Another explanation I’d owe you is Astron 10th - April 1st, according to the calendar used in the Shire.

I think that’s it!]

Played by Jo

Tintaldé

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The Road Goes Ever On
« Reply #1 on: July 28, 2015, 12:23:00 PM »

"Brew a fire and warm some water," the elleth said softly to her companions. "The little one is risking fever."

One of the two lights, elven and glowing soft in the dark, retreated, soundless footsteps taking it away to do as was asked. One remained, casting the elleth's face into all but pure shadow from behind her, for what was present in moon and starlight burnished wide cheek bones, and brought some green to eyes otherwise turned bottomless pools in the night.

Its' call to her was no stronger than it had been, the sea that had been her father's mother and lover and sister in one. It's occasional desire to be traversed by her was growing steadily more consistent though, and so rather than return to Lorien from Rivendell as intended, Tintalde had persuaded her companions to journey to Lindon, so that they might take some days of peace there before the long trek home.

The little Halfling was fortunate it had been such, it seemed, though Tintalde's fascination over his form was keen enough that she might have stopped even if he had not been shivering in fitful sleep. All alone in the dark, too -- even she, fearless in her wandering as she was, shuddered at the danger he'd put himself in.

The slender fingers not hidden in cloak touched Isaac's brow fleetingly, but then they were replaced with the far more permanent touch of a heavy cloak, warm with the touch of clothing recently work and rich with the scent of wild jasmine and crushed grass, though underscored by a tangier, almost bitter scent of medicinal herb. Nonetheless, it would put that shivering to rest if nothing else did, which was part of her objective.

"Those feet do little good for you wet," she said simply, though the hand holding out a piece of dried fruit was as gentle as her tone was brisk. "About as much good as a dead lamp, really. Do you hurt anywhere, little master? Apart from a stuffy head and frozen fingers and toes, I imagine."

[OOC: Thanks, dear. I know what the months are, never fear. xD]


'what you do in the present is what defines you now'

Isaac Brandywood

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The Road Goes Ever On
« Reply #2 on: July 28, 2015, 05:30:00 PM »
It wasn’t just the light that had roused Isaac from his sleep. Isaac hadn’t noticed, being half unconscious, but it was also the soft, shimmering and unfamiliar voice of a stranger above him that had brought him to. And it was perhaps better, as the unorthodox sound of an elven voice might have been as effective to wake him up as a barrel of iced water over his head. What mightn’t have been right was that there was only one light, that cast a large shadow over the Hobbit. The aspiring healer’s mouth dropped open in astonishment, and he could have been awake for an hour. But despite instinct screaming at him to bolt right then and there, it was some unnatural feeling that kept him from running for his life at the sight of the shadow before him.

When the shadow of the Man - it must have been a Man, nothing else could be so large - stepped back, the moonlight and starlight illuminated the lovely face of the stranger. Then Isaac gasped in wonder, for he had never seen anything such as the likes of the creature before him. He had seen, and spoken to, Men at Bree, but those were loud, uncouth, and ugly creatures. They were truly just larger versions of Hobbits with less decorum. This was nothing like them. For one, it was most certainly female, what with her delicate features and long and luscious hair. She was tall, fair and unknown, but there was also a slight tenderness in her light green eyes that he had never expected to see in an elf. For there was no mistake that was stood before him was an elf - no other being could have been so...otherwordly.

Isaac’s fascination had only stumped other logical responses for a full minute, and then the thoughts came flooding back. What was this elf doing, kneeling before him, in the Shire at all, while he slept? How was he to address h-h - Oh, for goodness sake, Brandywood, get a hold of yourself! he tried to admonish himself, for he could already feel his cheeks changing color at the prospect to speaking to the elf lady. He needn’t have bothered, as the apparition before him placed a cloak around his trembling shoulders. Only then did the lad realized exactly how cold he had been, and how the blushing wasn’t entirely on account of embarrassment. He’d been very, very foolish to leave Tuckborough, Thain and all, and venture out into the cold night on his own.

The elf spoke to him. “Those feet do little good for you wet,” she admonished Isaac. “About as much good as a dead lamp, really.” The young Hobbit closed his mouth and wrapped his arm around himself to draw the cloak closer to him. It smelled familiar - of grass, and wood - but not the nature that he knew. It must have been the smell of some other forest, far away, that he would never know. And while Isaac looked up as if to speak, no word came out of his mouth. It is better to pass over the cursing out he was giving himself for his futility. “Do you hurt anywhere, little master? Apart from a stuffy head and frozen fingers and toes, I imagine.”

Only then did his mouth begin to work again. “I - I - I think not, ma’am - ” stammered Isaac. “I m-must th-th-thank you for your kind gesture. I fear I m-might have miscalculated the dangers of travelling alone by night.” He pressed a hand against his own forehead, starting to fear fever. He was only a little warm, and nothing to worry about. And yet, the entire situation made him nervous. His breathing became more labored, and it resulted in a little coughing, but he eventually pressed a hand against his mouth firmly and stopped himself from hyperventilating. So he returned his attention to the elf lady, and once again thanked her. “I am - indebted to you, no d-doubt.” He stood before her, and made his best attempt at a bow (his numb feet were giving him trouble). “Isaac Brandywood of Hobbiton. Yours truly.”

Played by Jo

Tintaldé

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The Road Goes Ever On
« Reply #3 on: August 01, 2015, 04:52:00 AM »

"You only think you might have, do you? Well, if that gives you comfort, little one..."

She almost, almost chuckled at the oddity of the situation, and how she, of all beings in the world, would find genuine amusement out of a situation in which a social quirk or gaff difficult to understand was part and parlay of. But then, the fact that she at least recognised what an attempt to salvage pride was something to be satisfied with herself...and even she knew, bar a twitch of her mouth, that to laugh would be inappropriate. He truly was very cold, worryingly so, and she would have suspected far worse than a mild fever had she not been able to see with sharp eyes that his vision was neither clouded nor dilated.

That, and if any could sympathise with not drawing such quirks out into the open, it was her.

He was breathing more laborously, and Tintalde's brows drew in concern at that, dissatisfied even when he spoke clearly enough to her that all was well, and more so considering he had not, in fact, answered her question entirely. I think not was not, for a Healer, a satisfactory answer, let alone one with the kind of dog to bone complex that Tintalde was better known for. But he was sitting up, so one could at least deduce that he wasn't seriously injured, though once he was on his rear again, the hand holding him up rubbed his back through the cloak to steady his breathing, and open up his airways.

"Tintalde," she said dryly, a moment after he'd introduced himself. "And we would be here all night if I attempted to illustrate my origins and where I've kept home since. I would much rather have you moving and in front of the fire at first, oh little, lost Isaac. Can you stand? T'is only some steps. To the fire being kindled over yonder. I will hold the cloak, don't fret."


'what you do in the present is what defines you now'

Isaac Brandywood

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The Road Goes Ever On
« Reply #4 on: August 01, 2015, 07:36:00 PM »
“You only think you might have, do you? Well, if that gives you comfort, little one…” The fair elf lady chuckled at his poor wording, which Isaac would have done if he also wasn’t slightly frustrated at his own mistake. Just as well, his trouble breathing from the shock and cold was not allowing him to laugh much. The elf seemed to understand that something was wrong, which was quite a switch in roles for a physician like Isaac. Usually, he was the one to ask and pester his loved ones if they felt alright. He had grown accustomed to shrug off any concerns for his own health (a habit his aunt Ada had picked at many times in an attempt to make him see reason). The young Hobbit gulped, then inhaled to regulate his breathing. It seemed to calm him further more, and after a few breaths he felt better.

Isaac did not expect the elf, with all her fairness, to name herself too. “Tintaldé,” she added once he had identified himself. Tintaldé It was an elegant, foreign name, and he liked it. “And we would be here all night if I attempted to illustrate my origins and where I've kept home since.” The change in tone to a more energetic one began to wake the Hobbit from the languor that remained after his little nap. “I would much rather have you moving and in front of the fire at first, oh little, lost Isaac. Can you stand? T'is only some steps. To the fire being kindled over yonder. I will hold the cloak, don't fret.”

While Isaac might have protested to being called little by anyone but the stranger before him, he knew there was no time to complain about her aid. Therefore, the Hobbit huddled the blanket closer and got to his feet for further movement. The cold made his standing clumsy - they could be made of ice, for what Isaac felt. Still, the more steps he took, the more agile his footing became. The road was chillier than the grass, but the fire that Tintaldé referred to was worth the attempt. Once the shock, the cold, and the nerves had worn off, Isaac could now properly speak to his new acquaintance. “It’s truly a wonder to meet an Elf within the Shire, but I suppose it’s the most docile of the pathways west,” confessed Isaac. “Am I right to g-guess your journey is to the port of Lindon?”

What did Isaac know of Elves? He knew children’s stories, for one, mostly false and exaggerated by older Hobbits that had probably never laid eyes on one. Then there was what little he knew from scrounging up books from the Tooks to practice his letters for his craft. Oh, hadn’t he read a good bit about the world he was never to know? There were names scattered in Isaac’s memory, almost forgotten in place of other things that would be far more “useful” for his daily life - Lindon, Rivendell, Lórien, Eldamar, Greenwood...he could pinpoint them in a general direction if asked, but nothing else. There were also people’s names, but those had left him quicker and now he knew none of them. What was he to say to these Elves, when he knew nothing of their world?

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Tintaldé

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« Reply #5 on: August 02, 2015, 01:27:00 AM »

"Yes, I am."

She said it simply and noncommittally, as if travelling to Lindon was as common-place as walking the paths of the Shire. Though in truth, that was a turnabout of irony in itself; she, an Elf, would certainly be more likely to be found on the roads of Lindon, than on the paths of the Shire. It was simply by chance that she and her company had passed through this particular area to come across the frozen and nervous Halfling, it being rather deeper into the Shire than most preferred. That might have been Tintalde's doing, though. Subconsciously. Just a little.

Completely justified now, she felt.

But back to the point [something she often did frequently, reminding herself of that, though it hardly showed on her face anymore]; it was something a great deal more exciting for her than she let on, to be visiting Lindon. For she had never been before, not in all of her many young years, this place her father had dwelt for many a year before taking her mother to wife and the Greenwood as his home. Talking of it as she had on occasion with Tinuvagor simply made the yearning to see it all the stronger, for while part of her was called by the sea...mostly, she simply wanted to be there when, or if, snow fell. Which was close, at this time of year. Snow by the sea...just like in Valinor, apparently. It fascinated her.

But unless asked outright questions, stories and tales were not something Tintalde tended to share as freely as some of her kin, and so she left it at that, guiding him gently until she could push at his shoulders to sit him on the ground near the warmth. Glanced up, with a half smile, at the shadow that was her companion so wisely making his or herself scarce, though conveniently so with the excuse that was finding a point up high and yonder to guard the clearing. Good. Didn't need the nervous little creature actively succumbing to hyperventilation.

The cloak was settled snugly around Isaac once more, and Tintalde took a moment to set the bowl with water hanging above the fire to warm. Then she sat down, not too close as to be intrusive, not so far away as to be too far if he had need of attention...and for a moment, simply observed the shivering Halfling with...well, it was hard to tell. Whether daylight or moonlight, it was hard to tell anything with an Elf, and harder still for one not overtly inclined even among her own people to a great deal of facial expression. It lasted only a minute or two, however, her perusal, before she drew her long, thick hair back over her shoulders, and begin the process of first braiding it, so that she would ultimately wind it into a coronet off her neck and on her head.

"Why so far then, little one?" she said softly, eventually. "I know enough from Rivendell's great library to know that it is not common among your kind to venture from the safety of the Shire."


'what you do in the present is what defines you now'

Isaac Brandywood

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The Road Goes Ever On
« Reply #6 on: August 07, 2015, 03:26:00 AM »
“Yes, I am.” The elf put it simply, and Isaac therefore chose not to elaborate. It truly wasn’t wise to go asking questions to and fro. This was one of Elanor’s flaws, and often got her into trouble. A Hobbit never should look about anywhere but his business, and everything would run along smoothly. That was why Isaac always looked about in confusion when conversation would turn about the neighbors’ dresses or the love life of a Hobbit of an open reputation. And if asking too many questions was a dangerous thing to do in Hobbit society, it was even more so with an ethereal creature of grace like the elf lady that towered above him mercifully and yet had chosen to be kind to him when finding him cold and dirty on the road!

Isaac followed Tintaldé’s lead to the campfire. “If I may.” Isaac was also not a lad of many words, and he settled before the light and warmth of the fire without many words. His newest friend placed a bowl of water above the fire to warm. He had nothing to do but enjoy the comfort of the warm Elven cloak around his shoulders, and the merry crackle of the fire. Isaac had once heard that Elves did not use fire for light, as they themselves seemed to walk in shimmer and the light of the stars. This fire must have solely been made for warmth, or food. The young Hobbit could almost not believe his luck on how he had ended up in the acquaintance of fair folk.

Then Tintaldé turned to Isaac with a question of her own about his destination. “Why so far then, little one?” said she. “I know enough from Rivendell's great library to know that it is not common among your kind to venture from the safety of the Shire.” Ah, indeed. Why had Isaac left the towns? Why had he been such a little, stubborn fool? No, it was more a matter of cowardice. Isaac lived in the mercy of fear often - of what could happen, of what disease and dirtiness might bring, of what others could say. It was this fear that had driven him away from Tuckborough, thinking he could outrun the tongues of the wealthy Tooks. It really would have been a wiser choice to face the might of Lalia Took’s acerbic comments and sleep in a comfortable bed away from the chilly forest.

“I...I’m afraid I misjudged the speed of my journey to Woodhall,” confessed Isaac to Tintaldé. “It is true that these roads are still within the borders of the Shire, but we do not often stray into forests or rivers by our own volition. And I...I have been a fool to do so, too.” No doubt an Elf like Tintaldé thought the forest as a home, as the odd and tall did outside of the little world of the Shire. Still, Isaac continued his confession. “It seemed like I would be at least at the door of Stock by midnight, and the extra walk would not be terrible.” His lies fell a little flat, but what was Tintaldé to know that he was ashamed of his standing among the Tooks for his reputation as a book borrower that never gave them back?

It seemed as life would be so much easier amongst the Elves...and yet so much harder.

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Tintaldé

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« Reply #7 on: August 09, 2015, 12:26:00 AM »

If Tintalde noticed or not the hasty nature in which he spoke, the manner in which Isaac looked just so the other way, she made no sign of it. Quirked an eyebrow slightly, maybe, a dark shadow in the fea light that came from her with the onset of night, but no more. It was entirely likely and plausible that she hadn't even realised, for those who knew of her better. Then again, those who knew her best might say otherwise, and it'd be those who thought they knew her but didn't who believed they could lie outright around her and not be caught out in the nuances of doing so. But she made no comment for or against the distance in which her understanding of a lie could stretch, simply reaching over to test the heat of the water being boiled. It was entirely likely, though, that the atmosphere about her spoke for itself, and that was enough.

"Well," she hummed, "Nobody else can call you a fool then, if you've already laid claim to the idea yourself. Though of course, they would anyway, for all sentient beings seem doomed to be alike in this one aspect in particular -- that of getting into the business of others."

The water was hot enough now, and Tintalde stood, fetching a stick so that she could lift it from the fire without injury. Burns, it seemed, were not something Elves would escape. But then, it was a physical injury, after all.

"You won't be finding your way to this Woodhall tonight." She sat down again, reaching for the bag still strapped to her torso. "I'm going to give you yarrow for that fever; it will kill it before it takes real hold. It's best to be safe than sorry in that respect. The elderberry will soften the bitter taste of that, and the peppermint will settle your stomach. It is good for nerves as much as it is illness."

The elleth paused for a moment to place the herbs mentioned into the bowl, then considering the contents of her bag -- in doing so, as apparently unfettered in what she saw by the darkness as she would be in full sunlight. "Does your throat ache too badly? I can give you honey, but I have little left, and short of raiding a bee hive, no knowledge of where I could easily procure some. It is good for wounds too, you see...though it is unlikely by this point, I am sure, that my companions and I would succumb to any such injury."


'what you do in the present is what defines you now'

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