Thanks. I certainly smiled when I read that part, which What Exit? wrote. Made my day. Good things come to those who wait! I hope to expand upon that scene a bit sometime soon.
After a busy winter, spent mostly in Edoras repairing and expanding his tower, Deor has (with the help of the King’s builders and the worthy Dwarves) expanded the basements of his new tower-in-progress. With a safe, sturdy, dry cellar for the storage of alchemical ingredients ready and waiting, he has moved in permanently (or at least as permanently as he can with dinner back at his family home five nights a week!) Work is occasionally interrupted by snowball fights in the front pasture among Deor’s younger cousins and their friends, who come to the tower for stories and warm drinks beside what is reputed to be the warmest hearthside in Edoras. Deor’s days are alternately spent between his own research and assisting King Elfwine with tasks that can be eased by magic in Edoras itself.
After many a long night at his drafting-table and extensive consultation with the King’s architects, Deor has laid in plans for his tower, to be expanded gradually from the house provided by Elfwine. A large stone basement for the storage of alchemical supplies is largely complete, with some extensive underground tunnels planned for additional storage and the ever-necessary secret doors and escape routes. The main floor is currently serving as an alchemical laboratory and makeshift library, with a small and spare bedroom in one corner of the building and a larger kitchen in the opposite corner. One wall is nearly covered in drawings, sketches, and plans for the expansion of the tower, the new alchemical equipment Deor is designing and building, and the complex arcane symbols of both alchemistry and magic; Deor has single-handedly driven up the price of paper in Edoras and has begun to have to import the largest sheets of it from Minas Tirith. A huge stone fireplace, the one extravagance Deor has permitted himself, sits a few feet inwards from the wall to minimize heat lost through the chimney wall to the outdoors. Except for a few chairs and rugs around the fireplace itself, the main floor is covered in large wooden tables, most of them already sporting burns from spilled experiments. The tables themselves are covered in complex arrays of glassware, stoneware and bubbling potions, most of which contain experiments, though a few always hold the herbal teas of which Deor has grown fond in the long winters of his youth.
Loath to trespass on Elfwine’s generosity any more, at least this winter, Deor has confined the rest of his plans to the drawing board; a second floor, to be added in the future, will house his library, well off the dampness of the ground and the smokiness of the alchemical laboratory. (The bubbling potions and burning powders will remain downstairs, where fires can be more easily dealt with.) The library will be covered in shelves on the walls and chairs and tables on the floor, with the warm woolen rugs his family has always made*. A third floor, to be added in the eventual future, will house a map room and observation deck, with extensive (first wooden, eventually stone) balconies and Deor’s personal residence. A kitchen and a small smithy might be added on to the ground floor, to allow for even more room for alchemical and magical study. Deor even has a notion for running water, pumped from the small creek that meanders down his gently sloped garden to a storage tank on the top floor by a windmill, then released at will from pipes running back down again. This latest idea, combined from his astonishment at Elven fountains and stories of Hobbit wind-powered mills, may be a long time in coming and require years of careful tinkering to perfect, a process Deor plans to enjoy thoroughly.
His garden, just now planted as the snows melt, contains many of the local herbs that he uses in his alchemistry and magic. A larger section is well-tilled and ready for additional planting as soon as Deor can acquire the seeds or rootlings of more exotic plants. A less practical portion is devoted solely to flowering plants, large rocks, and shade trees, with a rough-hewn chair on a mound at the center for reading on pleasant days. One oak in particular was carefully uprooted and Levitated into place and is already more than fifteen feet tall, to provide Folca with an outdoor roost for the warmer months. Deor is anticipating Ghan’s help at speeding the growth of the garden, especially the trees. The shadiest part of the garden will also, Deor expects, serve to conceal one or more secret exits and entrances.
*It seems to me that Edoras never had a clear sense of economics- the people are great horsemen, we know, but I don’t think they ate horses and I don’t recall them being farmers and I’m assuming that cattle and sheep farming would be at least present, if not popular. I’m at least sure that sheep exist in ME, since the three Trolls in The Hobbit discussed mutton. In any case, I’m assuming that Deor’s family, at least, do maintain their own small flock of sheep, for wool more than mutton.
Not only did the trolls eat mutton, but the eagles would not take Gandalf, Bilbo and company to any settlement of Men: “They would shoot at us with their great bows of yew, for they would think we were after their sheep. And at other times they would be right”. Also, Beorn kept (unusually intelligent) sheep.
Ghân is happy to help Deor with Plant Growth as well as Stone Shape.
Can’t yet at least, see above post.
Rohan raises plenty of sheep and cattle and has extensive fields of grains.
Come February 3rd the party has gathered in Minas Tirith. Pippin is happy to play host to all. He is looking better than when last seen but also a little depressed, Meriadoc has gone off adventuring again. It seems Meriadoc has had the good fortune of not only long life with great health and the magic growth of Entdraught but now through a pair of very magical potions and his typical great fortune he has shed a score of years of aging. He is adventuring with Taurenal’s party that includes Bjorn the Beorning Druid.
Gilraen has been working at the house of healing and has been waiting for everyone to gather back. She has a request for her friends. “Would the party be willing to ride south to war with my father? He would actually use us as a special scouting group to support some marine operations. Sir Thoroncir would be the official Liaison to the army and navy with the rank of Sea Knight Captain. Internally the party would of course still be free to decide leadership.”
I need to do a bit more with Malacandra on Gil-Gandel and then we should be able
to start the next adventure.
Thoroncir will of course go where he is bidden by the princess, and hopes his friends and compatriots will join him. He has enjoyed an extended stay in Minas Tirith with his true love but is nevertheless now conscious of a sense of wanderlust. He is ready to return to action, sword in his hand and courage in his heart. Southwards he shall go, savoring the memory of Gilraen’s sweet kisses.
A naval adventure you say, what do I look like, a Brandybuck?
Oh well, anything to assist. 
Late one night in December, Sir Thoroncir walked the upper ramparts of the Citadel in Minas Tirith. The guards and watchmen knew him and nodded as he passed. It was a cold, clear night, and he could distinctly hear the Standard of the King, black silk emblazoned with the Winged Crown, Seven Stars and White Tree, snapping in the wind high above the Tower of Ecthelion. He had spent that day happily in Gilraen’s company, but now found his thoughts drifting back to another night not long before…
He had been grievously wounded, cut deeply by the swords of the four hulking half-orcs who had come after the princess with such grim purpose. Now they were all slain and lay in a heap around him. Elendur the Ranger also was dead nearby, pierced by many arrows, and Thoroncir had sent Amlaith, Elendur’s comrade, away to see to the defense of the rest of the caravan. Not far away could still be heard the clash of steel against steel, the cries of the wounded, the whistle of arrows and the shrieks of dying horses, and the night sky was lit by burning wagons.
But the battle had moved away, and the princess and the knight now had some measure of quiet. Thoroncir lay against the wheel of a wrecked wagon, bloodied and weakening. The attack had come while he was not on watch, asleep between blankets, in a doublet and trousers but unarmored. He had quickly taken up his longsword Cirist and run into the fray, but the enemy’s swords had inevitably found their mark. Princess Gilraen cried as she dressed his terrible wounds, calling upon her white magic with a faltering confidence that even her skills could now save him.
Her champion said haltingly, due to his great pain, “Come, my lady, dry your tears. For I die happy, having known your healing touch so many times earlier, and having known the sweetness of your kiss in Rivendell.”
She said, weeping, “You will not - must not - die this night, good Thoroncir. Not yet, I pray, not yet! It is too soon. There is so much else that life still has to offer you.”
He smiled a little, and winced. “Would that it were so, but I think not. My time grows short. My lady, not long after we met I declared my love for you, and swore a mighty oath to protect you from any harm. Do you remember?”
“Of course I do,” she said, still striving to heal him.
“Since then we have shared adventures and perils, hardships and plenty. My love has only deepened since first I saw you, playing with your sister in the Courts of the King. I hold true even now to my oath, although ere long I may no longer be able to act upon it.”
“You must not speak this way!” the princess said fiercely, and in her voice was a touch of the steel that was at the core of all who were of the House of Telcontar. “Do not, I beg you. Hope is not yet lost.”
He nodded painfully. “But tell me, when now you look into your own heart, do you find any feelings for me other than as healer and compatriot? Have I proven myself worthy of your love, fair Gilraen? For I would know this ere I die.”
“Good Thoroncir,” she said, “had you not saved me, tonight and so many times before, I would not be here now to look into your eyes and tremble at what I must say next. For you are entitled to the truth, and so I tell you this, honestly and from the very depths of my soul: As you love me, so do I love you. With each passing day you are more and more in my heart’s most treasured place. If you will have me, my dear champion, I am yours, now and forever!”
The knight-errant’s failing heart leapt at her words. Overtaken by emotion, he held out a bloodied hand and unhesitatingly, smiling through her tears, she lay her own hand within it, pale and soft against his weathered skin. Great was their joy, despite the pain of his wounds and of her heart at the thought of losing him, as they kissed.
Then the night around him began to grow darker still, and he realized that death had now come for him. “’Tis well,” he said quietly. “For all you have given me, tonight and since first we met, I thank you, my lady, and bless you, and wish you well. Mourn me not, but farewell!” And he slumped against the wagon-wheel, his eyes closing at last.
“No!” cried Gilraen, her eyes ablaze. “No! It cannot be. I will not let you be taken away from me, dear one, not now!” With renewed determination and matchless skill she used all her healing arts. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, and just before Amlaith returned with word of their triumph over the brigands, the handmaid of Estë swooned to the ground, having spent herself utterly that her true love might yet draw breath. And there the Ranger found them, both bloodied but living, with gentle smiles on both their lips which belied their roughened state.
And now, in Minas Tirith, Thoroncir placed his hands on the battlements and took a deep breath of the chill night air. He heard a noise and saw a small form wrapped in a heavy cloak move closer through the dark.
“The night is cold, my lady,” he said as Gilraen drew near. He opened his arms and she came into his embrace, lifting up her face for a kiss.
“I will depend upon you for warming, then, my love,” said she. “What brings you out on these high walls? I had some difficulty in finding you.”
“For that I apologize,” Thoroncir said, “but I had much on my mind, and the crisp air of Foreyule seemed the proper tonic.” He kissed her again, and then she rested her head against his chest. Long they stood there, lost in their thoughts and content in each other’s company, looking out together over the lights of the White City and not-far-distant Osgiliath.
“Soon we will head south, I believe,” she said after a time, “and like as not you will meet my father.”
“I can only hope I will meet with his approval,” said Thoroncir, half in jest, “as I evidently have with yours.”
“It seems probable,” said she, looking up and matching his tone. She smiled slyly. “My half-Elven intuition tells me thus, I will have you know. My mother likes you very much indeed, and she has impeccable taste in Men, after all.”
“That is a great assurance, Gilraen.” Then he turned serious, and took her hands in his. “Sweet lady, dearest love, let us plight our troth and be married, for I would have the whole world know how I feel, and join our lives together forever. For I am wont to go in harm’s way, and would die your husband when the time comes, if such is my fate.”
She held him tightly and looked up at him, but her countenance was troubled. She said, “My love, nothing would please me more than to marry, but it is not as simple as that. Would that it were! As you have your duties to the Order of Sea-Knights, so too do I have mine to the Healers of Estë, and in truth, having been so brief a time in these grey robes I am loath to cast them aside to wear a bridal gown just yet. Then, too, consider my family. A princess of Gondor may not marry but by the King’s leave. As you know, Elrond my grandfather set a high dowry-price for the hand of his daughter, and in turn her husband may now do the same for me.”
“Let it be what it will,” said Thoroncir unhesitatingly, “and I will pay it, and gladly.”
“Dear man,” she said, touching his cheek, “I expected no less. Consider this also. I am young as the Dunedain reckon years, being not yet seventeen. Even my namesake was but two-and-twenty when she married Arathorn my father’s father, and her own father thought initially that she was too young to wed.”
“And yet she married, in a time of war, to assure the continuation of Elendil’s line,” the knight-errant said. “The same is not at stake here.” He went on hopefully, “Your brother Eldarion is heir apparent, and will surely take a wife ere long, and your elder sister Silmariën likewise a husband. Thus your marrying soon would not be objectionable to my lord the King, would it?”
“Not objectionable, no, Thoroncir, think it not thus, but… not so easy a matter as you and I might wish it. The marriage of a princess never is.” Then, seeing his downcast gaze she kissed him once more, saying, “Come, be of good cheer, dearest one, for I do love you and wish most earnestly to be your wife, and call you my husband by law as you already are in my heart. But that day is not yet come.”
He held her near and said, “Of course you are right. In my yearning I forgot my place, and worse yet, yours, for you are not just mine but Estë’s and Gondor’s too. Forgive me, I beg of you.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” she said firmly. “We are but of one mind in this matter, my love. This is a question of timing, and good things come, as they say, to those who wait.”
“Then I shall await the day when we may live as husband and wife.”
“Say not ‘may,’ but ‘will,’” said she, smiling with a radiance and a happiness that made him love her all the more. “But for now patience must be our watchword, and discretion our practice. Fear not, good knight, gentle man, dearest Thoroncir! Know that my heart is as much yours as yours is mine.”
Thus was he comforted. And they held each other, and talked into the night, sharing their hopes and dreams together as they had never done before, delighting in the most perfect candor and harmony, like old friends long parted. And as the sun rose over the gleaming walls of Minas Tirith in the morning they went each to their own bedchamber, and both looking forward to their next meeting with all their hearts.
Ghân is happy to travel. He can offer his Animal Shapechanges to assist with scouting.
If the party do travel over sea, he can assist by casting Swimming and Waterbreathing.
Deor’s willing to do whatever the King needs. This has been a quiet winter- time to liven things up a little!
Ah well, if I must go within sight and sound of the Sea, it may as well be now while my head is still full of the wonders Iarwain has shown me over the winter. That should lessen my desire to travel to the Blessed Realm.
Over the months with Tom, Gil-Gandel truly feels young especially after spending a nearly year with so many that are young even by the races reckoning. In Tom though is an age that makes even conversations with Glorfindel and Celeborn pale.
Tom teaches Gil-Gandel the beginnings of songs to grow. He teaches how to put others to sleep or to wake them. How to weave illusions of the mind like waking dreams that feel real. Gil-Gandel seemed particularly adept at these. He was taught the basics of how to relieve fear in others or buoy their courage and how to encourage plants to grow or not as the case is needed.
Tom took Gil-Gandel down to Old Man Willow. He showed him how though he was a dark and malevolent spirit he was not truly evil with a capitol E and more just hungry and hateful. He showed him how Old Man Willow acted to protect this last refuge of the Old Woods that once spread to Rivendell and south to Fangorn. He then introduces Gil-Gandel to some of the livelier trees and discover that a have voices, slow and somewhat sad but voices. A quick trip to visit Brandybuck Hall and current Farmer Maggot introduces Gil-Gandel to the Shire.
Finally he takes Gil-Gandel to Bree to grab a few Ales at the Pony but he takes him via the Barrow-Downs and leads him to where Frodo and his young friends were captured and held. “I believe there is a young Hobbit with you, take this blade to her and tell her it might prove useful someday.” It is a Rune Blade like those that Merry, Pippin and Sam carried. He then spread a lunch that Goldberry packed and says, “Relax and be at ease, I have something to show you and a last thing to teach you.” A barrow fog arises and Tom teaches Gil-Gandel a song of great power to disperse the fog and send the wights back to their uneasy slumber. Gil-Gandel knows he cannot duplicate it, but someday, someday.
At the Pony Gil-Gandel plays many a tune. He uses a gentle song to practice his visual imagery and makes it subtle so as not to startle or disturbed. He finds it works best on the Men and Women of Bree but not nearly so well on the more sober Hobbits. The drunk ones it seems to work extremely well on. As to the Dwarves, even the drunk ones mostly seem to resist. Tom’s final gift to Gil-Gandel is a small pouch in the shape of a Water Lilly. Tom explains, “40 Goldenberries from my fair lady, they will speed you and Cúran on your way, nutrition and endurance for a long ride. They should last about 40 days.” He has already taught Gil-Gandel a song to help relieve weariness.
Gil-Gandel sets out, riding at night and taking a berry a day for himself and Cúran. He rests but 6 hours a day and travels and average of 136 miles each day. He rides through Tharbad in the afternoon of the second day. The roughly 1000 miles trip takes but 8 days leaving 24 Goldenberries. He arrives later than most but before Ghân. He passes through Rohan and onto to Minas Tirith with no problems.
I will pause on my way through Rohan, though, and visit Eomer’s mound. The poem is under construction and will have to wait until I am not so tired before I can finish it.
While in the White City, Thoroncir will inquire as to the health of Riglo, our former companion, hoping he’s fully recovered; and as to the disposition of the brigands we captured on our way to Rivendell. Tried, convicted and executed (at least the more culpable ones), I presume?
When Gil-Gandel reaches Edoras, he inquires after Deor and is directed to him. The lad he spoke to admires Cúran of course. It seems to Gil-Gandel that Deor must be the only Rohirrim to not love and know horses from birth.
Deor leads him to the Barrowfield where the Simbelmynëalways blooms. Somehow and in some way word has been passed and King Elfwine and his mother Lothiriel and much of the household of Meduseld has quietly arrived.
There are nine white mounds to the west, the ninth is so thick with Simbelmynë that it appears to be snow covered. These are the mounds of Eorl the Young, Brego, Aldor, Frea, Freawine, Goldwine, Deor, Gram and Helm Hammerhand. The first is the largest mound, Felaróf the first Mearas having been buried with Eorl.
There are eight white mounds to the east. Frealaf, Brytta, Walda, Folca, Folcwine, Fengel, Thengel, and Theoden. The last mound has bright reddish-purple flower on it mixed with the white of the Simbelmynë. Gil-Gandel does not recognize it but is told it appears to be a close relative of Athelas and perhaps Galadriel herself planted it.
Finally there is a new row with a single mound. Already in white, here lies King Éomer Eadig. The Simbelmynë on his mound is in the clear shape of a white horse and is set against the green of the grass. It matches his emblem of old. Gil-Gandel begins a song to rival that of Gléowine’s last song, his song for King Theoden’s funeral.
Thoroncir finds that brigands were indeed tried and 8 executed. The 8 executed including all of the evil ones. Of the remaining 5, 4 are working off their debt to the King building roads and the last is paroled and working in Osgiliath. He was the most cooperative and had not injured anyone having just joined. Riglo is not only fine but back out on another special mission for the King. He is exploring and scouting Nurnand especially the southern range of mountains near Khand.
Sorry I’ve been quiet lately, all. I just closed and struck my show, so it’s been intense. I’m catching up as fast as I can…
As to the brigands and Riglo, this news is most satisfactory to the newly-appointed captain of Sea-Knights. He will also pay his respects and offer his condolences to Rohan’s ambassador or envoy in Minas Tirith, if there is one, on the passing of the great King Éomer, a loyal and true friend of Gondor and its King.
He will meet with Gil-Gandel, Ghan and the others over drinks at the Elf Stone Inn (his treat). Despite his promotion, he offers to remain third-in-command of the party, with those two continuing in their leadership roles if they and the rest of the party wishes.
He also writes a letter to his parents in Linhir with an update.
It is not that far, Thoroncir has plenty of time for a quick visit and back before Ghân or Gil-Gandel even show up.
Then off he goes, for a trip down to the seaport of Linhir. He welcomes the chance to see his crusty father Adanaer, his doting mother Brienne and his rowdy siblings after more than half a year.
Adanaer: Sindarin for “man of the sea”
Brienne: From a favorite female character in George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire series
Siblings: Haven’t decided yet how many or of what sexes…