Morning had dawned clear in Falathlorn, the sunlight peeking over the heights and through the trees which screened Torn-en-Aduial on the banks of the Lhûn. At the mansion of Torech Besruth, members of House Bar-en-Acharn gathered in the Grand Hall, some only just arriving, their mounts grazing freely outside.
Lady Seregrían moved around the scullery, offering plates of warm food and drink to her household. Emlinor had arrived the previous night, as had Kortheod, who now stood chatting with Applecider. The four were sharing a “standing breakfast”, nearly ready to set out on the journey they had discussed days ago.
“Do we wait for someone else to arrive?” Kortheod asked.
Seregrían replied, “I truly wish for anyone who would ride with us, to be able to. Now Applecider, you’ve just come from the Shire? What news comes with you?”
“Oh well, 'but that - sorry ter skitter,” Applecider said. “I went back to Brockenborings an’ fetched Lance, an’ made some more Elf Toast, an’ roasted a Green-hood Duney-Bounder with the righteous ire of Hobbit Wrath, an’ now we gots a map and an inside line ter th’ Duney-Bounders an’ a guide fer the Wildwood … what you been up to, Miss Sergie?”
“I’ve been, well, researching,” Seregrían said, “I have unanswered questions still regarding our destinations.”
“Sooo, nuffin’s changed, I see,”Applecider said with a grin, “Thet thar be philosophical.”
“Did you mention a map?” Seregrían said. “If you possess one, then it’s all the better for us. Come to the table and show me!” She led the company to the great map table to one side of the Salon.
“Aye, I still en’t sure I feel sorry few evisceratin’ Mister Sir Halros,” Applecider said as she fumbled for the map, “just about 80% sure – all the same, I do hope he dinnae get into trouble.”
“There shall be trouble in plenty for all,” Seregrían said ruefully. She and the others watched as Applecider laid out her map on the table. It was crude, drawn in seeming haste – but the landmarks appeared plain to anyone familiar with the land.
“It all be in code, as yeh see, but here be th’ spot where Lance an’ I’ll rendevouz with ‘im again.”
“Ah, the Wildwood,” Seregrían said, “so many old towers and strong places, most in ruins...”
“An” here be three different spots ter avoid -- thar be screechy Gobbos an’ Wolfs,” Applecider went on.
“Hmm... Wildwood lives to its name,” Kortheod said.
“Indeed it does…” Seregrían said.
“An’ here,” Applecider said, “be th’ spot wherein ‘e last had contact with Master Cutch.”
Seregrían traced her hand across the map, looking up at times at the huge map of Eriador on the wall. “How long ago was that last contact?”
“What, since last he saw the big lad? Figger near nuff ter 11 days,” Applecider replied.
“Eleven days,” Seregrían muttered, “and Sûlpadron has been gone without word for six. I say we have waited long enough, maybe too long.”
Kortheod frowned, “I agree. The eagle should have returned by now, news or no.”
“Aye, he were barely back in th’ Shire nine hours afore I found ‘im - Mister Sir Halros, that is,” Applecider said. “He gots a message drop-off point near th’ Brandywine. Mister Halros gots a kestrel, Miss Sergie, but ‘e en’t trained ter recognize Master Cutch. Oh, an’ last thing: ‘e says thar be a fair plethora of grumpy Big Folks about, but thar ‘ppears ter be in-fighting amongst ‘em.”
“So,” Seregrían said, “the Rangers are involved, the Shire is involved - and WE are about to be involved. Emlinor, Kortheod - Cider, dear, thank you all for being here.”
Kortheod nodded, “So, we got rations, we got weapons. And as for ‘big folk’, we will chase them on their way.”
Seregrían asked, “Are our mounts ready?” Applecider nodded, as did Kortheod and Emlinor. “Then this is the hour that we live up to our name - let us bring Revenge!”
~~~~~
The Household set out within the hour, five mounts riding out from Falathlorn: Seregrían at the head, along with Applecider, Emlinor, Kortheod, and a woman, Plusheila, who accompanied Kortheod as a page. Plusheila said little to anyone but Kortheod and Applecider; the woman was overawed to be in the company of Elves, especially in the presence of the Lady of Bar-en-Acharn.
The journey from Falathlorn to Bree-town usually took four days by horse at an easy pace; but Seregrían counseled the need for haste, given what few tidings they had. While all had horses, Applecider’s faithful pony could not keep such a pace, so progress was not as they wished. The company rode on nonetheless, with few pauses, and so made good time through the lands of the Shire.
Their first day’s halt was at Waymeet, where they camped in the open air near the trader’s stop, camping on their own apart from the others. They set no watch, being in the relative safety of the Shire; but Applecider awoke in the late watches to see Seregrían sitting alone by a fading campfire, seemingly lost in thought and wreathed in smoke; only then she realized the Elf-woman had a pipe…
The next day saw the Household riding through the Took-lands, bound for the heights above Woodhall. The weather was holding fair, with few clouds and a light breeze from the south. Seregrían and Applecider rode together, the others following in train.
“It is for one of the Elf-camps above Woodhall we are headed for,” Seregrían said. “The Wandering Companies frequent these hills; perhaps one may be present, and we can get news.”
“I met some Elfs here’bouts once,” Applecider said, “One of ‘em had ter have basic gardening principles explained ter him. I tell yeh, yeh gots ter get outta the library more often ....”
“Says the one who doesn’t darken one,” Seregrían smirked.
Applecider blinked. “I reads all the time, Miss Sergie!”
"In a pub, always," Kortheod chuckled.
“Naw, thar jus’ be th’ best of em, Mister Sir Kor!” Applecider said.
“Bottle labels don’t count, dear...” Seregrían quipped, and all laughed.
Towards late afternoon, the company arrived at one of the abandoned campsites above Woodhall. Through the trees, the heights of the Yale could just be seen. Not far off came the sound of the waters of the Stock-brook plunging from the heights down into the Marish. Applecider glanced longingly towards Bamfurlong and thought of mushroom omlettes.
“We may as well rest here,” Seregrían said, “someone get a fire going.” As Applecider busied herself with tinder, Kortheod nodded to Plusheila who disappeared into the trees to gather firewood. Emlinor was busy setting the mounts to rest on a long tether.
“I broughts a brand-new batch of Elf Toast,” Applecider said. “Tain’t a fancy supper, but it be filling. I been introducing Lance ter th’ stuff. He likes it with jam.”
Seregrían smiled, “Once we have a fire to warm us, I’m sure it will do nicely.”
"Anyone wants some mead to warm up?" Kortheod offered a flask as he sat by the fire. “How long do you intend for us to remain, m’lady?” he asked.
“I ask the same,” Emlinor called. “The horses can go on more, but Cider’s pony is flagging.”
“We may as well camp here tonight,” Seregrían said . “Applecider, did you not say you had words about Lancogard? Could he not join us?”
“Lance were on the Bounds so I left ‘im a notice,” Applecider said. “Said I’d be touching base with ye, so’s we’d have communication. But he’s ter join me at the Woodsedge.”
“A pity,” Seregrían said, “I wanted to show him what I had been practicing…”
