“It does seem strange, does it not, for a Mortal to be entrusted with an urgent message for a wandering Elf?” Delbreth asked. Above his pleasant smile, his quick eyes searched Cutch’s face.
“There is a family connection. Otherwise, your inference would have merit”, Cutch answered mildly. “Is there something about that which troubles you and your Southron friends?”
The two regarded each other silently for a long moment.
“Ah! Bedwyr”, Delbreth answered, “the guard from the Hall of Crafts who was following you. Yes, you have the right of him… he is indeed happy to have honest work… for a change. As for myself, I make it my business, for the sake of Herne and with residents even like him, to keep abreast of happenings in and around town.”
Cutch examined the man’s fine attire. “It seems to pay very well.”
Delbreth’s eyes grew hard over a steely grin. “Recovering precious property and rescuing beloved folk does earn generous gratitude. Surely a tracker like yourself realizes that?”
Another silent minute passed as each man quietly assessed the other. Neither was able to detect any hint of ill intent in the other.
“She was indeed interested in Gaervarad”, Delbreth finally spoke as he turned toward the wall of bookshelves and scroll bins. “And that is of particular note to me as my ancestors were …”. He broke off, seeming confused for a moment.
“Ah... here it is. Your Elf must have mis-filed it when she was done.” He withdrew an aged scroll case and motioned for Cutch to follow him to a nearby table. Cutch frowned, disbelieving the notion that his scholarly wife would ever mis-file a document.
“Your ancestors…?”, Cutch pressed.
Delbreth carefully removed the scroll from its case and began to unroll it. “We were among the first of the hillmen in these parts to swear allegiance to the Dunedain at the Oathstone…. what’s this?” A fresh sheet of parchment had been rolled up with the scroll. “It appears your Elf also forgot some notes.” Cutch knew better than that. His wife’s memory was infallible, sometimes irritatingly so. Perhaps she was leaving a trail?
After handing the fresh parchment to Cutch, Delbreth removed four small, flat stones from a dish on the table and used them to hold the down corners of the old scroll. On it, a diagram of the Gaervarad fortress was intricately drawn from both the side-view and top-view perspectives. A likeness of the Ambossar, a large reddish brown and black-veined sphere of stone, adorned the lower right quarter of the scroll, and beneath it were two lines of text. The first was the Oath translated into Common Tongue, below it the Oath in its original Sindarin as it was to be recited. Cutch could decipher the second line with effort, save for a strange pair of words that completely lacked the musical nature of the Elven language.
Cutch examined the fresh scroll. The first line, in his wife’s hand, was word for word identical to the first line on the old scroll. The second line appeared to be a charcoal rubbing she’d made of the Oath Plaque, and it matched the second line on the old scroll. She had circled the odd words in the rubbing. A third line was also in her hand in Sindarin, with the odd words replaced with the Elven tongue he could recognize. In that line, she had underlined the Sindarin words "in dûr dhûn" which seemed to correspond to the odd words "lugbúrzûk ghîshum" circled on the rubbing. The equivalent words in the first line of Common Tongue were “in dark days”.
“May I keep this?” Cutch asked, holding up the fresh scroll.
“May I see it?” Delbreth asked. Cutch handed it to him, and after examining it carefully said, “Well, since it isn’t really ours and I can’t translate it, yes, you may keep it on two conditions.”
“What conditions?” Cutch asked, a bit suspiciously.
“Tell me your name, and when you get it translated promise to send me word what it means.” He waited for Cutch to ponder.
“I am Cutch Crane. You have my word. I understand she headed toward Bree from here?”
As he handed back the new scroll, Delbreth said, “That’s right. Safe travels, Mr. Crane.”
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