Middle-Earth Role Playing Campaign

"Bradlegar," she called inside, "Denny's namesake is arriving! Why don't you come out here so we can both greet him at the gate?"

Out came Bradlegar, and with his wife and youngest son hurried across the courtyard. Two decades of comfortable living had added considerably to his girth, and he was wheezing a bit by the time they arrived at the gate. Araquenval was there, too: he had been walking on the walls when he saw Dennenor riding up the tail from the road and had come down to greet him.

The big Elf came to the gates at an easy walk, unchallenged by the men standing guard. "Greetings!" he called as he crossed into the courtyard. Here he dismounted, and one of the men of the castle took his horse off to stable.

"Greetings, Dennenor!" said Luinár. "Nice to see you could make it! It has been some time since you journeyed here last."

Dennenor smiled. "I have not been away long. Only three years, if I recall correctly. Denny, you have grown!"

"I'm almost as tall as you now!" exclaimed the boy, grinning broadly. He was exaggerating, of course; he was a still a full head shorter than Dennenor. "Can I try swinging your sword around?"

"Not now; later, perhaps. At least this time you should have strength enough to pick it up. Araquenval! It is good to see you again. Our paths have not crossed since you were in Imladris over ten years ago."

"I have been there since," Araquenval replied, "but you were away: cleaning out the Trollshaws, if I recall correctly."

"Keeping the number of Trolls at a tolerable level is always a chore," replied Dennenor. "However, I believe that time I was keeping watch over a migrating band of Periannath. Who else from our flight across Angmar is here?"

"You wouldn't believe it," said Bradlegar. "Rhôn showed up a couple of days ago. I never expected to see him again!"

"Rhôn!" exclaimed Dennenor. "That is a surprise. How is he?"

"He appears well," replied Mîriel, "but the years have not been kind to him. Perhaps living outside in the forest takes its toll. He has the looks of an old man, and walks with difficulty. How about you? How is your hand?"

"It is the same. I may live long, but the finger cut from my hand during the mission to destroy the Shard will never grow back." He looked around the courtyard. "I see Bradlegar, Luinár and Mîriel, and Araquenval here, and you say Rhôn has arrived. But where is Bauglir? Did you not send him an invitation?"

"We considered not sending him one," said Mîriel, "but decided we should. We have not even received a reply."

"Anyway, let's go to the Great Hall," said Luinár. "There is much to talk about, and after the long journey across the courtyard and back I'm sure Bradlegar is going to need another meal. Falista! Time to come in now!" she called to two girls playing by the fountain.

"Do I have to?" one of them called back.

"Yes," Luinár replied firmly. "You and Mirala can play again tomorrow. And Dennenor is here. Do you not want to see him?"

"Sure, but he's going to stay a few days, isn't he?"

"Yes, but I'm not going to argue with you right now! Come along."

Falista continued to protest, but Luinár insisted and Mîriel backed her up. "I guess I'll have to go in," she said to her friend. "When both Mom and Auntie Mîriel say the same thing, it's hopeless to try and change their minds!" Then she joined her mother and the others as they climbed the steps into the main keep.

Bauglir arrived by stealth in the middle of the night, entering the castle by flying over the wall under vocer of darkness. Sneaking up to the door of the keep, he tried it, and discovered it was locked. He prepared and cast a spell to open it, then muttered something under his breath. Obviously the lock had been improved in the time since he left the castle. He was contemplating his options when he was challenged by one of the castle guard. "You there! Who are you?"

Bauglir spun around. How had the guard managed to come up behind him without his hearing him? He sized up his opponent: shorter than he, dressed in chain mail, carrying a sword, still sheathed. "A friend," he said.

"Friend?" snapped the soldier. "What sort of friend sneaks past the guard at the gate during the day, hides out in the castle, then tries to break into the keep by night? Come with me!"

Despite his good armour and brave words, Bauglir sensed the guard was still a youth. His small size indicated as much. Perhaps he could intimidate him. "Nevertheless, a friend I am," he said, officiously. "If you are to take me anywhere, you shall take me to the master of the castle. I shall speak to none other!"

"Keep that up, and you'll be speaking to the jailer!" the guard retorted. "The dungeons in the keep have not been used for many years, but they still have doors and locks! Now, will you come with me, so we can talk to the Captain of the Guard, or shall I have to call the guard to take you down to the dungeon?"

But even as Bauglir was about to respond, they heard the bolt being thrown back on the door. There was a pause, then it opened. Luinár poked her head out.

"I heard the sounds of conversation from my room in the keep," she said, "so I came down to see what was going on. Bauglir, is this guard giving you trouble?"

"Trouble?" sputtered Bauglir. "This pompous fool seems to think he owns the place! Why, if I was still running this castle, he would be on reduced rations for a week and assigned to stable duty!"

"He was trying to break into the keep," the guard protested. "But it is obvious you know this man. Who is he?"

Luinár smiled. "I should introduce you. Harry, this is Bauglir, who came out of Angmar with us. He helped us take this castle when its former owner and his goons tried to steal our treasure. Bauglir, this is Hari-Rhôn, my eldest son."

Then a peal of laugher came out of the darkness, and Bauglir realized he had thoroughly embarrassed himself in front of both Luinár and Mîriel.

He was still Bauglir: the sea green robe was still in perfect shape and completely unblemished. His hair was lighter now, but it was obvious he still cared for it carefully. Neither had he grown a beard.

He eyed Harry across the table. With his helmet off, there was no doubt he was Bradlegar's son: his red hair was thick and curly like his father's, and the lad's round face and short stature completed the picture of an oversized Hobbit.

"He's eighteen now," said Luinár. "After Bradlegar and I had Miriam, our first child, we decided she should have a brother or sister to play with."

Bradlegar jumped in. "When he came out with red hair and looking like a Hobbit, I wanted to call him Roan, because of the colour of his hair, and because I wanted to honour the name of Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn. But Luinár wouldn't hear of it. 'I don't want to get him confused with Rhôn,' she said. 'Let's call him Hari-Rhôn, or Harry for short.' She said it in such a way that I wasn't about to argue with her!"

"And how is Rhôn?" asked Bauglir. "Have you heard from him?"

"He arrived a couple of days ago," said Mîriel. She had been in the courtyard hiding in the shadows throughout Bauglir's little stand-off with Harry, and was a little miffed when Luinár had stolen her thunder by introducing them. But now she laughed. "Scared Luinár's daughters and Denny something fierce, he did! He's an old man now; it took him over three months to make the journey from his woods to here."

"We introduced him to Harry," added Luinár. "Strangely the two of them hit it off right away. I've spent the last two days with them out in the courtyard with Trollfist, bashing everything in sight!"

"That's one neat piece of steel!" exclaimed Harry. "I mean, the old guy is as ugly as a toad with warts, but he sure knows how swing a weapon!"

"Rhôn always was a sight for sore eyes!" said Bauglir. "It seemed to me he spent most of our trek lying about unconscious in the middle of battle."

"Which was unfortunately for the better of our foes," said Mîriel. "Any creature he struck with Trollfist usually didn't get a chance to take another swing at him. Including Trolls!" Harry's eyes widened at his aunt's description of the great mace's performance.

"But what about you, Bauglir?" asked Luinár. "What have you been doing the last twenty years? Pillaging up and down the coast?"

The nobleman looked at her fiercely. "It is not pillaging," he said. "More like redistributing the wealth!"

Mîriel laughed. "Some redistribution! From their pockets to yours!"

"Better in mine than theirs," he replied, and a rare smile crossed his face. "I toughed it out here for five years until Bradlegar and Luinár came back from the Angmar expedition and talked about having kids. When Luinár was carrying their first child I decided it was time for me to pack up and leave."

"Pack up you did," said Mîriel. "You managed to convince some good men to go with you."

"And they were richly rewarded for their decision. Within a few years they had enough gold to settle down comfortably wherever they chose."

"Are you still at it?" asked Luinár.

Bauglir shrugged a little. "Well, I had a bit of setback a year or so ago. I had built myself up into a nice little castle on an island off the coast. Then I went on an excursion to gain some more gold, and when I came back my men would not let me back into my castle! So I decided I should be somewhere else for a time, and took the gold that I had hidden away and departed."

"So how did you get our letter?" asked Luinár. "I am certain you did, otherwise you would not have appeared at just the right time."

Bauglir smiled again. "There are ways messages can reach me. I may be wanted by authorities from Tolfalas to Forochel, but I also have friends: people made wealthy by association with me, so to speak. They saw to it your letter made it to me, still sealed."

A young lady appeared on the stairs leading to the second floor of the keep. She was very much Harry's sister: short and round of face, with long brown hair that ran in curls to her shoulders. "Who is our newest guest?" she asked. "Another one of the group who came with you out of Angmar?"

"Perceptive, as always," said Luinár. "Yes, he is the last member of our band. Bauglir, this is my daughter Miriam."

Miriam's face lit up in recognition. "Bauglir!" she exclaimed. "The creep!"

There was a brief pause, then everyone burst out laughing. All save Bauglir, who went red. "Takes after her aunt, I see," he said. "Just what tall tales have you been telling her?"

"Nothing too tall!" said Bradlegar. "The truth was usually enough!"

The castle was not much changed since Bauglir had departed it all those years ago. The same flag Dennenor had designed twenty-five years before still flew over it. Not the original flag, of course: that one now hung in the Great Hall, away from wind and rain. The one that flew from the keep now was replaced every year, and throughout the area it was welcomed by people who saw it on the road: it meant rest for the weary traveller, a sanctuary in a troubled land.

It was still a flag of war. Not that the castle itself had been besieged since the adventurers had taken it, for Mîriel had been careful to appease King Broga and his son who came after him. Under her diligent stewardship the entire area began to thrive. Cattle and wool Imlach once had sold for his own profit were now putting coins into the pockets of their owners. With cash came the ability for them to purchase goods. And soon trade caravans made it a point take the route that came by the castle, for brigands were held at bay for miles around and fair tolls were collected on the roads.

The dark flag meant now that people were being prepared for battle, to fight for the preservation of the peace and order for which the castle stood. Luinár turned the castle into a school for rangers and warriors. Men, Elves, and even the occasional Dwarf would appear at the gates, having travelled great distances for the chance to learn from her. In the years that Luinár taught, and they were many, the people who trained there gained a reputation for bravery, ability, and strength. Strong warriors and keen rangers were her legacy. So many did she teach that there were few places between the Towers of the Greycrag and the sea that did not count among their number one or two of her students.

The adventurers stayed together for a week at the castle, visiting one another, going over the tales of Sparkling Caverns, the tower on the River Angsiril, Fael-Linnis and Nan Fastataurë, the battle with Corlagon, and the fight for Caer Annwn. An entire evening they spent reminiscing on their adventures from the mission to destroy the Shard. It had been tough and fraught with many perils, but in the end the fifteen brave men and women managed both to destroy the shard and make it out of Angmar with their lives.

Bradlegar's daughter Miriam flirted with Bauglir, but always under the watchful eye of her mother, lest the mage try something untoward. Not that she herself would have allowed him to do anything. "You're too old for me," she told him. "I'm going to marry a rich lord with a proper castle, and give him such sons and daughters as to make him the envy of all the other lords around!"

Bradlegar's and Luinár's daughter Falista preferred the company of her friends --daughters of the other men and women of the castle--and did not readily mix with the friends of her parents. But twelve year old Denny followed Dennenor everywhere he went. The Elf tolerated him with patience and showed him how to handle a sword. Denny showed off a couple of spells his mother had taught him, and quizzed Dennenor on why he did not know any. The Elf replied simply that his skills were in handling a sword and bow, and magic was something that eluded him altogether.

Five days in all Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn spent with the son Bradlegar had named for him. Although Harry wanted more to mash things with Trollfist than listen to solid instruction, Rhôn seemed determined to show him as much as he could of wood lore and plants. The two disappeared from the castle one morning and were gone until the following afternoon. When they returned, Harry went with Mîriel around the castle, and identified for her every plant they came across. Luinár smiled at the sight her oldest boy, known more for his rough and tumble ways, wandering about the grounds in chain mail with his aunt and smelling flowers.

Tonight the moon was full, and everyone had gathered around a large fire built around in the courtyard. Bradlegar and Araquenval had brought out instruments and were singing songs they had written about their adventures. Luinár sat beside Bradlegar, and on the other side was Falista. Beside her were Dennenor and his inseparable companion Denny. On the other side Miriam was teasing Bauglir again, while Mîriel kept a close eye on them.

Harry was quiet tonight, for his friend Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn was not feeling well. He had slept most of the day in a quiet corner of the courtyard, and only with Harry's assistance had made his way over to the fire. Now he was in his usual posture, sitting stone still on his haunches, staring into the fire. About him people were talking about their plans.

"I'm going to go to Imladris and see Uncle Dennenor's home some day!" Denny excitedly told his sister and mother. "It sounds like a wonderful place, with all the Elves, and the wonderful singing, and all the magic! I could learn a lot there!"

"What about you, Bauglir?" Miriam teased Bauglir. "Are you going to sail and get your castle and harem back? Or are you going to try to find Númenór and raise it from the bottom of the sea?"

"Perhaps I will simply fly here in the middle of the night and carry you off to be my bride in a mountain stronghold," rejoined Bauglir.

"Take her as your bride and you get me as your mother-in-law!" said Luinár, putting just a hint of threat into her humour. "And I would get Mîriel to stand in for me when I'm not around to do the job!"

"That will have to wait until another day," said Bauglir. "Tomorrow I am leaving. It is not wise for me to stay in one place very long, especially one so well associated with my name."

"What about you, Araquenval?" asked Dennenor. "What great quest have you lined up next?"

"I am not sure," the Elf replied. "I have heard tell of some mysterious lands far east of the Sea of Rhûn, where the Elves once lived. I think I will go there to see if the tale are true, and perhaps meet others of my kind: people we have not had contact with for perhaps two ages under the sun. However, I may be able to have some fun before doing that. Bauglir, how about we go and storm another castle together?"

Bauglir raised his eyebrows. "The castle I lost was but a stage in my life," he said, "and I did not lose any of the gold I had acquired up to then. By all accounts I am a very wealthy man. Perhaps I will simply build myself a castle somewhere."

There was a silence, then Harry asked, "What about you, Rhôn? When are you going to go home?"

"Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn not going home," the old Wose replied. "Has seen much life, built many Pûkel-men, said good-bye to wildmen in woods. Come to say good-bye to friends at stone house."

"Good-bye?" asked Mîriel. "Why?"

"Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn old, tired; not feel well. Time to say good-bye to friends. And say good-bye to new friend, boy of little man and warrior woman."

"You're not leaving us now, are you?" gasped Harry. "I've just begun to learn so much! You could teach me more!"

"Thought about that," said Rhôn. "Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn planted seed in you. Mother of boy knows much, and sister of mother knows much; make seed grow."

Like everyone else, Luinár heard Rhôn's conversation with Harry. After everyone had retired to their beds for the night, she sat down at a desk and by candlelight started a long letter to two friends she had not seen for many years. She worked at it for the next day and a half. When it was done, she sealed it carefully, then gave it to Rhôn.

From the window on the top floor of the keep, Luinár watched her son enter through the gates of the castle. Trollfist was in his hand, but he held it listlessly, just high enough so it did not scrape along the ground. Slowly he made his way across the courtyard and climbed the stairs to the keep.

His parents and his aunt Mîriel were in the Great Hall. Hari-Rhôn carefully placed the mace on the table, then sat down heavily on a chair. His face was grim: Luinár suspected he was holding back tears.

"How did it go?" she asked gently.

"I was ... most ..." He stared fixedly at the wall, struggling to find words. "... strange. Strange and sad. I just walked beside him as he went out of the castle. It took a long time for us to make it down the trail. He was breathing hard all the way. And before we came to the road, he turned off the trail and went toward the woods.

"At the edge of the woods he gave his mace to me. He said he would not need it where he was going. He didn't say he even wanted it back. Then he told me he was going, and said I should return to the castle now."

"What did he do after that?"

"He turned around and walked into the woods. I didn't dare follow him. So I sat down just inside the trees to watch. He didn't go very far. I saw him sit down and look around. Then he reached into one of the bags he carried with him and pulled something out. He stared at it for a while. I must have looked away or something, because when I looked at him next he was gone."

"Just like that?" asked Mîriel.

"Just gone. I didn't hear any rustling of leaves or branches. He just disappeared. Where'd he go to, Mom? What happened to him? When those woodmen die, do their bodies just sink into the ground or something?"

"I do not think he's not dead," said Luinár. "Far from it: he is probably more alive now than he has been for a long time."

And although she did not say it, she thought to herself that in Nan Fastataurë Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn would probably outlive them all.

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Based on events played to December 11, 1998. Accesses since December 11, 1998: