Beren Camlost
(Interaction with Isys permitted by @Ercassie )
Before they saved
Hattie from her malicious owner near the swift river Erui, it was Nal who woke his roommate; the big man,
Beren Camlost, would have overslept frequenty otherwise. The energetic black hound with the soft dark eyes and bouts of boisterous barking would leave her mattress, or whatever resting place she chose, to get
Nal up then leap on
Beren's bed. She would incessantly prod her other dear rescuer with her paws or lick him in avid persistence until he was awake. She would jump at him when he rose up to stretch;
Hattie forbade
Beren to ready himself for the day until she had a significant amount of pats and kisses.
Hattie insisted
Beren or
Nal play with her before they left their barracks room. She would present her heroic gentlemen with a ball made of Harad tree rubber; they would give it a toss so the dog gamboled across the room trying to catch the rebounding toy with rapturous elation. Needless to say, things were either shattered or knocked down in
Hattie's earnest persuit of mayhem. Neither man was concerned enough to rectify this accordingly.
The men and the hound didn't like being housebound so they Beren and Nal took the Patterdale with them on Ithilien hunts & hikes with Addhor, Narradir, and Aileen. Hattie enjoyed a good romp through the lebethron groves of Beren's farm in Imloth Melui, chasing rabbits and squirrels as well. Huan II, the white wolfhound Lady Airien gave him, considered the smaller dog inferior but suffered her presence. This morning Nal was taking her to Addhor so his father could watch Hattie since he would be gone with Beren on a mysterious scouting mission in Faramir's company. Hopefully on their return, they would discover Addhor in one piece....
Nal had told Beren recently about the assignment. Misfortune had befallen the adventurer recently so he as apt to answer the call; he needed the distraction but also anticipated his time with friends and bonding with his son, Mourgan.
Nal was leaving in a rush simultaneously with Beren who was desperate to find Isys; Beren worried that he was still short on penance making up for his recent foolishness at his friend's winter pub and was eager to make amends.
"Fleeging luck," Beren swore when he crashed into Nal. Beren went down. He collided against a pedastle supporting a marble bust of Denethor II. "He was a son of a warg anyway," Beren remarked, looking at the shattered sculpture and muttered, "Poor Narradir," under his breath. He glanced about, hoping Faramir wasn't in earshot. Despite the depravity or shortcomings of one's father, a son loved his old man. Unless that son was Hatholdir, of course.
"We've got to stop leaving like this, kid," Beren insisted, thrusting a finger at Nal with a mock glower and spoke airily. "Respect your elders. I'm older so I'm the
first out the door. Got it?" He said this with a comically arrogant expression which Nal was probably used to by now. He gripped his forearm for a fleeting moment, rubbed Hattie goodbye, then departed in the opposite direction.
Turning the corner, Beren nearly ran into Isys next. Her mother, Lady Eressild of Lond Col, was kin to Beren's gemstone associates in Lebennin to whom his oversea mining guild sold ores and jewels; Beren had met Isys during the last mission and healed her. They became fast friends and he often visited her coastal estate since. Beren asked her just the other day if she wanted to prepare together for Faramir's mission. He was already dressed for the venture. Beren wore a brown gambeson beneath a cloak as green as his breeches and gauntlets to better conceal himself in the fair aisles of Ithilien. His ancient elvish longsword was sheathed in in Khallador's Northern Dúnedain scabbard, one built of strange black metal bejewelled with flaming gems. A snarling face of a bear formed the upper part of the gold hilt, detailed with roaring features and carnelian eyes. Below the fair Oiolairë handle was a pommel resembling two claws holding a disc displaying a bear's paw print. Due to the inclement weather, Beren had put his sling in the pack slung over his shoulders which housed a bag of stones, bedroll, tinderbox, hithlain rope and other equipment.
"I was hoping you wouldn't change your mind, milady!" He gave her his best charming smile. "About that night at your pub..." He mentioned following a moment's slight hesitation, fearing the worst. An awkward pause, his words trailing off. "Let me make it up to you," insisted Beren, discovering his voice at last after clearing his throat. He gestured grandly to the quarters he shared with Nal. "I'll make you any drink, the beverage of your choice. We don't know what we're going to face out there so we need a bracer."
He led his friend toward the room. "Welcome to our man cave, Isys." Beren swung open the door, leaned against the doorway, and smirked. The place was ridiculously cluttered. "I know it looks like Gondolin after the Fall but I assure you it's the dog's fault," Beren lied smoothly to Isys. He took one of Nal's socks off the back of a chair to toss in a wooden laundry bin across the room. Beren's farmhouse would have been this wrecked were it not for Aileen, his daughter and Mourgan's half-sister, but the tidy lass wasn't here to dole out cleaning responsibilities or mercilessly throw away junk.
Beren slapped Hattie's stuffed rooster chew toy off one of his many storage chests in the room and opened it, revealing another chest inside. Beren called it his
pub cellar and winked at Isys, lifting the lid. Buried in ice cut from the lofty peaks of Mindolluin and delivered to the kitchens of the barracks were several bottles. Each contained some form of liquor, ale, or cider.
"Would you like a hurricane before you go insane?" Beren asked Isys in a singsong voice. A hurricane was a drink, one he and Narradir enjoyed concoting, including the silly jingle he just sang. Beren made the beverage for Eressild when he dined at Lond Col. It was richly sweet, contrived of rum - light and dark - with Belfalas citrus fruits and Lebennin passionfruit, tart pomegranate syrup and garnished with a slice of Isilherven orange.
Isys turned down her mother's drink to request a Seaweed Scotch Cocktail instead. "You're the only woman I know who's obsessed with seaweed," Beren commented with an amused shake of his head. His grin widened. "In fact, that's the only reason I ordered this delectable treasure from a distiller chum of mine in Pelargir..." Beren removed a bottle of greenish Anduin Dry Gin, seaweed-infused, from the chest. "I would recommend something hot, considering the fact it's the Helcaraxë out there, but if Hobbits can eat ice cream in the winter than Isys of Lond Col can have a scotch on the rocks on a cold day, I reckon." Beren asked her to get a couple of cups, honey syrup, and a shaker of salt out of his Ithilien oak sideboard he bought from Addhor. He took a mixing glass from a compartment in the chest then filled it with some small cunks of ice. He poured the gin inside with an ounce of white Port and the syrup Isys handed him; he added a teaspoon of single malt Anfalas whisky and a pinch of the salt. Beren presented Isys the stirred brew, smiling like a hero who just received his medal then made the same cocktail for himself, limiting himself to just one.
Now fortified for the troubles of their scouting day, Beren led Isys out and accompanied her to the Mess Hall to pack rations for their journey. Beren worked one pump while Isys used the other, filling their wineskins with fresh water from a natural spring then they came to the Little Mess, a smaller room outside the feasting hall. It was reserved for special meals of soldiers either returning from a quest or beginning one. Beren packed hard cheese, dried meats and oven-baked kale chips. "Pretty sure we can't get a three-course meal wherever we're going, milady," Beren answered through snorting laughter when Isys told him what she wanted to eat. He smiled fondly at his friend. She was a bit absent-minded but Beren liked her quirky personality. "They have no oysters for travelling but there's dried strips of clam and salmon." He passed these to her to put in a knapsack. "Oh, look. It's gorp. The bakers liked my idea. They stocked our pantries with it." Beren showed Isys wrapped bars consisting of oats, fruit, raisins, and nuts combined with honey or Harad chocolate. "Good ole raisins and peanuts!" Beren exclaimed, sounding like a lumberjack hick straight out of the Chetwood. He prided himself for devising the healthy treat and its clever acronym. "I made gorp to snack on hikes or at camp. It weighs lightly and it's easy to store. Gorp is nutritious and improves your stamina." Beren took a cursory glance around the Little Mess; when he was sure they needed nothing else, he walked out with Isys and took his green mask out of the pocket of his cloak.
"To the Great Gate, not the stables." Beren had been certain Isys wouldn't be pleased about this. "Listen to me, it's not the best decision to take a horse on a reconnaissance mission," he advised her, pulling the hood of his cloak over his unruly dark hair. "We can't have you dismounting every time we need to study tracks and steeds sully the very signs we try to ascertain." He genuinely knew what he was talking about, seasoned scout that he was, and hoped Isys would trust him. It was dark and silent as a tomb in the White City. Dense roiling clouds mantled the heavens, pouring torrents of sleet. As they navigated the slippery cobbled streets, Beren's strong hand launched out to grasp Isys' sleeve to catch her from falling. "I wish we were on your sunny beach at Lond Col, building castles in the sand," Beren confided whimsically to Isys through chattering teeth, chilled by the icy rain pelting his bearded face. Beren beamed in spite of the deluge, noticing a crowd of Rangers forming outside the Great Gate which Gimli and his Erebor Dwarves built of steel and
mithril. "You mind stumbling again, Isys?" joked Beren. "It's time for the Great Adventurer and Savior of Damels to prove his quality..." When Isys faltered on the slicked stone of the wide court once more, Beren lunged to seize hold of her sleeve again but tripped over his own tooled boots. For the second time this morning, he collapsed. Flailing his muscular arms cartoonishly, Beren skidded across the stony ground and a whirling limb swatted Isys. They both plummeted in a heap before the Rangers assembled against the high wall near the towers and bastions of indomitable stone guarding the new Great Gate. Beren mumbled a laughing apology to Isys, helping her to stand rightly this time, then limped toward their awaiting comrades.
"Good morning, son!" Beren cheerfully hailed Mourgan. "You see how nimble your father is? I Learned a thing or two from my graceful Elf friends, I hope it shows." Beren's grin was hidden behind his mask. Although Nal, too, wore a scarf Beren knew his smile mirrored his own. "Laugh it up, kid. I'd like to see you beat me when it's not raining oliphaunts and I don't have a woman to escort. Stuff it, buddy." He said, "Good day," to Arnyn and Dunulf then saluted Faramir. "Freezing but willing and able, sir." Beren shook Kamion's hand. "Glad to share another thrilling day with one of the finest swordsmen in Gondor." Kamion it was who taught Beren how to wield a blade. Not for the first time Beren was struck by how familiar his vivid cobalt eyes were. Beren could have sworn he had seen those odd bluish orbs in the face of another soul...but again said nothing.