Thirst had been quenched. Aranuir made a large dent in the platter of food. He could sense their continuing curiosity. No doubt it was many a year between contact outside their own lands. Cenulf set his tankard down and leaned towards Aranuir, across the table.
“We are a settled people, yet you roam the land as if there was still a kingdom, a realm to which you were bound.”
“Those of us feel the duty. We have been raised in Rivendell as boys, taught the ways of Elves and Men, the tales of the Ages and skills to survive the wild or battle. We patrol and wander, taking care that this Watchful Peace we enjoy is not at risk. Someone must see if the orcs have returned to the mountains or the trolls to the Ettenmoors.
“To what end. You cannot summon an army in the face of peril. Only Gondor is so armed and they are fortnights away.”
“The Enemy will strike at the strongest point, seeking to crush it, then make swift work of what is left. Gondor is that point. We are fortunate they serve as a shield.”
“We know little of the goings on outside our lands, Aranuir. Elves do not find us of interest. Of dwarves we have no commerce, an old enmity remains from the days of Fram. The Anduin separates us from the woodmen of the forest some now call Mirkwood.
The old man spoke.
“There is one who visits, but half the life of a man may pass ‘ere he is seen again. Gandalf is his name, grey cloak, pointy hat. Tells us of what he has seen. Like you he wanders. A wizard he is but what magic he works we have not seen.”
Aranuir nodded.
“We have met. He went to Dol Guldur with my father and grandfather. A few years ago we shared news of our travels at the Prancing Pony in Bree the last town of men west of the Misty Mountains. You are well served by his visits”
“Indeed we are” Cenulf replied. “Wizard he may be, but his best magic are seeds of new grains to plant or ways to grow things that feed our growing realm. He has spoken of the Dunedain, goings on in Gondor, and of hobbits who dwell in the Shire, west of Bree. We have not seen hobbits.”
“Nor is it likely you will. They are content with their lands, farms and good lives and see no purpose in travel.”
Ananuir was interrupted by men talking as they emerged from the great hall to the patio where he sat. One walked forward, leaving others behind. He was bandaged around the head and arm and bore a slight limp as he approached the table.
“Father, this outsider saved my life. He is from…”
“Across the Misty Mountains, Wulfric. Yes we have so learned.” Cenulf interrupted. “Come, sit with us, tell us of your encounter with the wolf and your time with Aranuir.”
A servant brought Wulfric a tankard of cool ale. Wulfric took a seat and told his tale.
“I was two days ride south of here. High upon the mountainside I saw a flat rocky area above the trees. It backed up to an arc of jumbled stones and large boulders. It also provided a wolf with an ambush. The beast leapt from above, tore my face open and sunk its teeth in my forearm.”
“The speed of its attack knocked me from my horse. It too was splayed on the ground, but quickly got to its feet for a killing lunge. I drew my sword and slashed its belly open as it leapt towards me with its jaws open to finish me. But its body still hurled into me, crashing me flat on a rock again. Then all was black until I saw the face of Aranuir.”
Cenulf glanced at Aranuir.
“The wolf was gutted when I found them. In its death throes it had crawled a few paces away. Wulfric was on his back with a fierce bump on the head and lacerations from the wolf’s attack. He would have bled out had I not chanced on his camp.”
“We are in your debt. Please, stay with us as my guest. Just for a few days. We will resupply you, tend to your horse. We would know more of your travels and the ways of men outside our remote realm here in the north.”
Aranuir was grateful as well. The journey had taxed him and he was feeling his age. It would be his last of such distance. He would use the time to learn more of the Eotheod and set plans so others could visit.”
“I accept. We have much more to learn from each other, Cenulf. The world will not always be at peace and our descendants must not be strangers to each other when that day comes.”
Wulfric too was pleased. In his secret heart he longed for adventure beyond his childhood borders. Tales of kingdoms old and new lit the flame of his curiosity. And before him was a living descendant of kings. He had more questions than blades of grass on the high meadows.