The Mead Company had been formed, each companion with unique qualities that would prove useful along the way towards the Misty Mountains. With her worth now proven, she drew the attention of the Northmen...
Tyrgrim slowly reaches out a hand to stroke a lock from the side of her face.
Vallen falls still as the hair is pushed aside and she turns her head to see his expression.'Why did you do that?' Her voice was soft and not overbearing in her questioning.
Tyrgrim does not speak straight away, instead taking the lock loosely between two fingers and stretching it out very lightly, then let it slip between his fingers and fall back. 'What reason would I need?'
Tyrgrim speaks in a very low voice, little more than a deep mumble.
Vallen | She falls silent, not quite knowing what to say to his minimal retort. Her chest rises and falls easily as she relaxes, her mind taking in the dark surroundings and the unexpected occurrence in this very moment. She turns her face away and closes her eyes.
Tyrgrim lets her do so, and lies there as he was, leaning on his elbow, merely watching her for a moment.
Vallen briefly wonders behind closed eyelids if the Man planned on sleeping next to her without a bedroll. She forces herself to think of something else. The next thought brings her hand to feel her bare scalp.
Tyrgrim catches the motion, and after a moment says softly merely; "Vallen."
Vallen silently awaits his words without changing her current position.
Tyrgrim soon chuckles softly again, that deep, low sound, and his voice is just as soft when he says, 'Do not pretend to sleep.'
'I am asleep.' Vallen murmurs.'This is a dream.'
Tyrgrim would then reach out, and though a little awkward from this angle, try to gently put his left hand under her chin to turn her face towards him again.
Vallen allows her head to be turned without any resistance for she fully believed in the dream theory at this point and in her dream, she barely ever had any control. She blinks at him and then narrows her eyes. 'Am I not beautiful... even with the mark of Bjorn's blade upon my head?'
Tyrgrim has his smile fade slightly, and he looks at the shaved part again. He moves his hand from her chin, letting his fingertips just barely touch her skin, the lightest touch, as he trace them to the side of her head where the paint marks are.
Vallen parts her lips at the gentle touch, his fingers causing a small tickle in their wake. Her eyes stay on his.
Tyrgrim traces the marks with his fingers, looking at them as he speaks.'It is not bad. I can get used to it. It makes you look fierce but no less beautiful because of it.'
Alfknutr says, 'Your hair. I never did get a chance to admire it fully.'
Vallen lifts a hand to remove her hood. The left side of her head, from a few inches above the ear to all the way down her neck was shaved, though not to the skin as before. It had grown some and now was kept short. The rest of her hair curled over the right side of her face. 'Tyrgrim believes it makes me look fierce. Though I think he liked it better before...'
Alfknutr shoots a bittersweet smile whilst he continues to admire her hair, and how it changes her face. 'You are disarmingly beautiful, Vallen. I see this plainly. And now you bear the markings of our kin. You will have drawn the eye of many of my cousin-kin after this.'
For a long time, her horse had been her only company... as a wanderer, she was comfortable with her own silence - the nightly noises were not frightening and she remained focused, always focused. She would not stray from her true desire: to see the Mountains and the lands along the way. There was much to keep her entertained - a playful side to the Hofding brute and a telling story weaved by their Shepherd.
Tyrgrim without a further word rams the butt of his spear into the ground, removes his shield from his back and leans it agains the spear, and strides to the side.
Vallen follows him with confusion in her eyes and she just stands there. 'What are you doing?'
Tyrgrim was looking for suitable lengths of wood among fallen branches and small trees. He cut or broke off two which seemed fairly suitable, about four feet long, each, and gets rid of loose bark and twigs as he walks up to Vallen with a grin, throwing one to her.
'What do you want me to do with this? Smack you with it?' She exclaims.
Tyrgrim grins and twirls his own stick. 'You may try.'
Vallen catches it easily and inspects it for a moment. She then looks to him with determination etched all over her face.
Tyrgrim without warning lunges in, at the same time taking it in a two-handed grip and sending a swift strike for her head. He would likely stop before hitting though.
Vallen brushes her cloak back with her hand and side steps, the branch missing her nose by barely an inch. She comes back with an abrupt swing aimed for the back of the knees. 'Tyrgrim!'
Tyrgrim grins and swiftly bounds out of reach of the low swing, but not clearing it by much. He chuckles and waves his stick casually in front of him, almost like a serpent swaying it's head. 'I realised I know nothing of how you fight.'
'How I handle a large branch is not the same...-' Vallen jabs her stick out towards his stomach mid-sentence. Her arm is forceful and it would likely hurt if it made impact, but she had a feeling that it wouldn't. '-... as a sword!'
Tyrgrim had his stick swaying in front of him, but he doesn't even bother moving it to deflect the thrust, but rather takes a swift step diagonally forward to his right while twisting his torso some, making the thrust pass by, and in the same motion swing his own stick for her head again. Obviously he would not intend to actually hit, and if it did connect, it would be very mild. 'Branch, sword, axe... it is all much alike.'
Vallen lifts her left hand to prevent the branch from hitting her head, leaving a pain that would have been felt had her fingers any feeling left in them. She spins around completely and aims her next hit for his back, her swing hard.
Tyrgrim grins at the exchange and turns swiftly to his right, now sending a hard strike with his stick towards hers, which was on it's way towards his back before he turned.
Their sticks meet and the force of them both sent the pair dancing in a circle. She tries to force his stick downward, and if successful, she would bring her boot down upon the end of it.
Tyrgrim ever grins, feral joy in his eyes, and he puts some pressure against her stick for a moment as she tries to push his down, then simply twists his right side back and lets his stick pull away, come around in a small circle and now coming from above again towards her head.
Vallen is quick to lift her stick from the ground, her left hand taking a hold of it now as she lifts it above her head to block the blow. She breathes a little heavier now and has forgotten her thoughts of the cold.
Tyrgrim stops his downward swing without the sticks connecting, and instead it suddenly turns into a lightning-fast thrust to her chest.
Vallen is too slow to react to the unexpected move and she closes her eyes to brace for the impact.
Tyrgrim holds back his thrust enough for it to merely be a slightly uncomfortable prod. Maybe enough to leave a tiny bruising. He freezes there and looks at her grinning. His breathing is faster as well, but does not seem overly strained.
Vallen parts her lips to allow an exhale to pass through, the impact not bearing as much force as she expected. She opens her eyes to find the Man grinning and she narrows her eyes.
Tamruben says, 'How about a tale then Elf-knot? Can you spin one to soften the cold frost's bite?' He puffs his pipe lightly forming a series of thick smoke rings into the night air.
Alfknutr pauses and a slight smile forms as his eyes dart back and forth in thought. '...Why not? Yes. I shall tell you a story then.'
Alfknutr says, 'It is the story of a young man named Delling, son of Delheim.' He props his boot upon the log and leans his elbow upon his thigh again. He smiles into the flames with wistful eyes. 'I knew him very well, once upon a time.'
Skjalddis drew her sword from the fire. The steel of Nothung's blade had suffered no soot on its glimmer. Affectionately she held the blood-thirsty weapon, while listening to Alfknutr.
Alfknutr says, 'Lanky...boisterous...perhaps even handsome, I do not know. But he was always in trouble, as I knew him. He tied his hair into a pony tail, and learned the trade of his father. He lived on the banks of the Langflood, you see.'
Tamruben keeps his gaze towards Alfknutr, but glances at the cave entrance ever so often, puffing on his pipe lightly, twin streams of smoke escaping for each end of his lips.
Alfknutr says, 'There came a time when all young men grow weary of their fathers. I remember when it happened to me. So it was that young Delling left the village and followed the Langflood north with his river-wise hands. After much hardship and toil he came upon a magnificent hold.'
Alfknutr raises one of his free hands to imagine it. 'Imagine an entire town, of wood and slate; of great beams and high towers, floating above a vast sheet of glass.'
Alfknutr says, 'Supported on stilts like...a row of spiders standing on ice. Delling came by this view, and the barge-men he met named it Esgaroth. Have you ever been, companions?'
Skjalddis looked at Alfknutr and she nodded as sign that she knew Esgaroth.
Tamruben shakes his head slowly.
Alfknutr smiles slightly at Tamruben and props his chin upon his hand where his elbow still stays on his thigh. 'It is loud and noisy, and full of ships. There is a small tavern thither, if I recall. The Dragon's Drink, if I recall. It faces out west towards the bones of Smaug The Terrible, whose vestiges still peer out above the waters of the Long Lake.'
Alfknutr says, 'Well, anyway.'
Alfknutr says, 'Delling came by this ramshackle ale-house for work. That is where I saw him grow up. He opened the doors, bold as can be, and announced, "Ho cousins on stilts! I am come from the south in our realm of Northmen, and I will match any man to work as long and as hard as I!"'
Alfknutr says, 'You can imagine the jeers.'
Alfknutr says, 'As it was the first job he was given was to aid the barge-men. Once a week, the Aelf-wicce send their wines and empty barrels back along the river from Mirkwood. It's the Men's duty to lash them together, or to separate them. It depended on the agreed custom.'
Skjalddis leaned with her hands on the pommel of Nothung, her head ontop of it. The blade stung into the snow and her long legs slightly over cross. Such she listened.
Alfknutr says, 'And there Delling spent many days learning about the workings of barrel-barges, and the ropes that bound them. I watched him well. There came a time when Delling was bold enough to take the journey down the river to Mirkwood itself...' He smiles wistfully.
Alfknutr says, 'They laughed at him, but a fey mood had taken him. He said, "I will learn the secrets of Elvish Rope-making!". Even I laughed at him...' He scratches his bearded chin and wanders his eyes over the fire whilst he continues calmly, his voice rhythmic and well-practiced in the spinning of stories.
Alfknutr says, 'No man knows what became of him for several weeks; but on the sixth, when the summer season was nigh, the Men-folk turned their gaze thither to the West. And there, bold and bright, stood Delling upon a raft of barrels. At his hip hung a coil of rope the like of which few men had seen.'
Alfknutr says, 'I no longer laughed at him for I was flushed with the same sense of triumph. Delling and I are one and the same; but from then on they called him The Elf-Knot. His work with words and ropes began and has never faltered all these years later.' He looks up at his companions with a lazy smile.
Vallen tilts her head to the side as she re-examines him in this new light and she murmurs his name, his true name. 'Delling.'
She would call him by his true name from then on, and only in private, as though it were only for her to utter. With his guiding hands, he would lead the Company through the Mountains... but it would not be easy. The wind was strong, the snow wet and very cold. The ground threatened to break apart at any moment and indeed the Shepherd fell... landing in a drift and temporarily losing his senses. He would wake cradled by a warm fire and the hands of those who swore to protect him.
Fridbjorn says, 'He is delirium..'
Threland says, 'Say..say..count to ten!'
Skjalddis descended her head down to the side of his again, holding him close and yet giving him space to breath.
Skjalddis says, 'Shut it you all.'
Alfknutr says, 'V...'
Skjalddis growled.
Alfknutr says, 'Va....where...'
Threland says, 'C'mon Knot! Drake ain't tha ugly, nay she ain't!'
Threland says, 'Vargrs he says..'
Fridbjorn says, 'Vargar.'
Arukhor says, 'Varg..what?'
Fridbjorn says, 'Wargs.'
Skjalddis whispered into Alfknutr's ear: »You fell. You live. You are safe. Rest.«
Alfknutr opens his eyes and they behold nothing.
Arukhor says, 'Where?'
Threarn says, 'Knutr,what can you see?'
Alfknutr says, '...I see mundburg...'
Threland glances at Arukhor with a sarcastic smirk, saying naught to himthough, before looking back at Alfknutr.
Threarn says, 'Minas Tirith? What lies in Minas Tirith, my friend?'
Skjalddis raised her head up, looking now into the face of the man.
Vallen leans forward slightly as she hears his words, her interest drawn much like the others.
Redwick says, 'Mundburg!'
Fridbjorn says, 'The Gods are showing him something.. silence!'
Redwick says, 'Speak, Knot, speak.'
Alfknutr wavers his eyes as his surroundings come crashing into reality. The smell of their surroundings hits him like a rock, and he finally hears the crackling of the flames. 'Vallen.'
Something would grow from that night, a bud that would meet hardship and survive through nourishment.
'Would you grant me a wish, Delling?'
Alfknutr drops his gaze and looks over to her, the useage of his right name has more of a pull than he realised. 'Ask, and I will do what I can.'
'I want to see it... pillars amongst the Long Lake, Esgaroth.'
'I want you to show me.'
Alfknutr steers his eyes to the East at that and muses. 'I will show you. If you'd let me, I would show you it all Vallen. I would take you to the Gates of Morning, if it were possible.'
'I remember when I first saw you...' Vallen recollects aloud for him to share in the memory.
Alfknutr raises a thumb to his bearded chin. He scrapes the tip over the bristles and smiles fondly. 'I remember you too. So out of place at the bar.'
'Out of place! I had a drink in my hand, did I not?' Vallen laughs a little and turns to face him.
Alfknutr widens his smile into a warm grin and turns also, playfully raising his eyebrows. 'Oh come now. A beautiful face with no man at her arm? I thought to myself you either intimidated every man in there, or there was something unhinged about you.'
Alfknutr says, 'The behaviour of patrons is very telling. They're like birds that fly from trees when a noise moves them.' He continues to smile teasingly.
'Neither! You remember poorly, Delling. I can think back rather well... you were speaking with a Man about taking a job as an escort... though he wished for your sword more. I remember the look on your face when he described the amount of orcs he wanted you to kill. What made you speak to me?'
Alfknutr slides his teeth across his lip with thought, scouring his mind. He then slowly approaches, and patrols around her, as if trying to place himself in the memory.
Vallen follows his movement with her eyes until he stood from her view. She returns her gaze to the dark mountains ahead.
Alfknutr says, 'Your hands told me stories as they clutched your drink. I wanted to know to whom they belonged.' He adds a little playfully.
Vallen raises her brow. 'Have you a fascination with hands?'
Alfknutr says, 'Fascination? No. Only what use they've been put to. Your face was a distraction, for many eyes lingered on it as I looked around. Perhaps you did not notice. Faces can be groomed and shaped to appear as you wish, with effort.'
Alfknutr says, 'But your hands...' He looks away towards the same view...I don't know. Perhaps I simply wished company at a lonely bar. I got more than I bargained for.'
'I long to be there now... to hear Barliman's mugs clammering atop the bar and the soft voices of strangers learning each other's names.' Vallen speaks lowly.
Alfknutr tilts his head back and scratches his bearded chin with his fingers.
'The warmth of the hearth.' She adds.
Alfknutr says quietly, 'What if I fail to bring them all back to the hearth of Bree...' He looks down at her, his eyes betraying a vulnerable moment of anxiety.
'You cannot fight against the path already set before each of us. It is not your duty... though I know you believe it to be.' Vallen looks over to him and reaches to hold his arm. 'When you fell from the cliff...'
Alfknutr looks away, though he listens carefully.
Vallen continues, 'There was not a single companion who did not risk their life for yours. They are all so fond of you... and each knows that you would sacrifice for them.'
Alfknutr says, 'I don't remember it much. I remember the rope...and the cold.'
'It is something I will never forget.' She whispers.
Alfknutr says, 'I am sorry, Vallen...' He gives her a sad smile in apology.
Vallen says, 'I do not blame you for what was out of our hands... much like you should not blame yourself if one of us does not return to Bree.'
Alfknutr says, 'I...' He purses his lips and dips his head with grim thought. 'Do that thing you do...'
'I do many things!' Vallen teases before smiling over at him.
Alfknutr washes away his dourness as he beholds the smile. 'That one is my favourite.'
Vallen says, 'Have I different ones?'
Alfknutr says, 'Mhm.'
Alfknutr lingers a smile beneath his beard. 'Do I?' He quirks his brow at her.
'You do... one for when you tease with your words... one for admiring... there is that one you give when you laugh...' Vallen smiles to herself, wishing she could hear the laugh now. She continues. 'One for consoling... one given when you are free of your worries... one for when you desire something...' Vallen looks away as she speaks the last one.
Alfknutr leans forward slightly to regard her sidelong with evident amusement. His face seems primed to offer a few of the described.
Vallen says, 'A smile for greeting strangers... and a smile for greeting friends. You have many.' She finishes her list with a small sigh, eyes taking in the snowflakes as they melt onto her tunic.
Alfknutr inhales deeply and approaches her gently, his rough hands raised to affectionately grasp her covered shoulders. 'Vallen.'
Vallen lifts a hand to grasp his as it lowered onto her shoulder.
Alfknutr stares over her shoulder and eyes the harsh snows afar. 'I'm going to need you before the end.'
'You have me... my words, my hands, my skill... my mind. I trust in you... we all do.'
They would aid each other on the journey and the Companions would find their prize, but not after outwitting a pair of Giants. Each would return safely and in one piece. To this day, Alfknutr can be found at the Pony's hearth, ready to regale to any passing stranger seeking a good tale.
