Notes - work has been brutal. I worked 14 of the last 16 days, mostly 10+ hour days. I'm prepping for my Part 121 recurrent checkride which is a ton of study and a ton of flying. It's probably close to studying for the bar exam. Circling approaches to land suck. What's the protected area? What does MDA guarantee you within the protected area? (at least 300 feet obstacle clearance) What's your procedure if you lose sight of the runway? Anyhow, back to some writing. I owe a bunch of people responses for possible art collaboration. I haven't forgotten.

Let's look back at Dagar and some Rhudauran culture. Plus, introducing a character from Thieves of Tharbad.

Rhudaur, The Town of Thuin Boid, Nórui 21th, 1407

Dagar's ride in the carriage had entertained a few stops along the way. He simply had to sample the ales and lagers of Bree and a few days' visit turned into two weeks of drinking and singing with the Heathertoe brothers and Jolly Jo Sandheaver, the most prominent hobbit in the region. All the time, he tried to put his sick mother out of his mind as if not thinking about her would make her better. It wasn't until late in Norui would he arrive in Thuin Boid, his father's buhr or town.

The carriage rolled over the hot dirt road towards the buhr, the stone beacon tower to the right of the gate growing larger by the hour. Dagar could see the ten-foot-tall mound more clearly now with the wooden palisade that surrounded the top. He could easily see the armed guards of the Vulseggi atop the tower, eyeing his carriage as it approached. A thick wooden gate blocked the road into the buhr where colorful banners flew in the wind. Dagar wrote down a description of the banners, blue and white with the symbol of a rearing horse. "The banners of House Melossë!" he said in a voice full of youthful excitement.

The carriage came to a stop just outside of the Horse Gate and a guard came up to the window. He had a steel conical helm under which a mop of blond hair flowed down over his chainmail armor. He gave Dagar a big, friendly smile. "Good afternoon, sir. Your business here in Thuin Boid?"

Dagar was pleasantly surprised by the warm greeting. "Good day sir. I am Dagar, son of Culberth. I'm here to see him and my mother."

The guard looked back at the wooden gate. "Open up!" he called to another guard. He looked back at Dagar. "Welcome home to our buhr. My name is Romni. Culberth is a good man. Your mother is very sick, but she will be glad to see you. If you need anything, please let us know. Your father's tavern is straight ahead and to the right." He extended his gloved hand through the window and Dagar shook it. The carriage rolled forward, and the young man's heart began pounding. This was it. He was home. Now it was time to make up for his past and prove himself to his father.

Word of his arrival had already reached the tavern and Nasen and three stable hands were outside, waiting for him. Nasen opened the carriage door and pulled the steps down. He was balding, middle-aged man dressed in a dark brown velvet robe with simple silver embroidery. He was stocky and clean-shaven with a bit of a pot belly. "Welcome home, Master Dagar. Your father is waiting inside. Your mother has been asking about you."

"Thank you, my good Nasen," he blurted out and then ran into the tavern, searching for his father. He laid eyes on a middle-aged man with a round face with warm, friendly features, ringed with a neatly trimmed beard and dark brown hair worn short. Relief, but also fear rushed into his heart. He hadn't seen his father in three years since he screwed up the accounting for the final time due to his carousing lifestyle and was banished to Tharbad to redeem himself. The thought of seeing his father was welcome and terrifying at the same time. "Hello Father," he said, his voice quaking.

Culberth wore his typical blue flannel shirt with a leather apron over it, common of the working men of Thuin Boid. He walked up to his son and opened his arms. "Your mother is waiting for you. She is the one who convinced me to bring you home, but it is good to have you back." He said it like he meant it and Dagar tried to stifle the hot, moist feeling in his eyes. Culberth motioned his son towards the back. "She's in the bedroom. You remember the way."

Dagar looked to his father to follow, but he did not. The young man knew that it meant he could spend some time alone with her. He had always been closer to his mother. He knew that she had coddled him as he grew up. She always took some of Culberth's hard earned money and splurged it on Dagar, buying him expensive trinkets from far off lands like Gondor or even Harad. Dagar treasured these things as his mother read to him of exotic kingdoms and royal entourages. Though she was merely a Dorwinidan serving girl in the tavern, she always dreamed of visiting the courts of kings and princes and experiencing the cultures of Middle Earth. It was something that she shared with her son, and she could deny him nothing.

Dagar rushed into the bedroom and was greeted with a sickly smell and the stifling heat of summer in spite of the open windows and a breeze. When he laid eyes on her, he could tell that she had aged. Some of her hair was now silver and she was gaunt and her eyes sunken. Still, she brightened the moment that she saw him, a big smile lighting up her face as she lay in her bed.

"My son. My son Dagar. Is this a dream?" She coughed and then stretched out her thin arms to embrace him. He leaned down and wrapped his arms around her, shaking with joy and sorrow.

"I'm here mother. I'm here. I won't leave you again."

Maeve pushed him back slightly and looked into his eyes. "Let me look at you. It is you. I have waited so long for this. Your father has been so kind to let you come home. He has been reading to me the books that I read to you. Remember the one on the Kingdom of Arnor?"

He nodded his head and wiped his nose. "Yes mother. I love that one. I loved hearing about Elendil the Tall and Isildur and Anarion. And the ones about far Harad and even the far south. I still dream about The Court of Ardor and the great elves." He looked over to the bookshelf where his worn-out books still sat. One about lost Númenor lay on the nightstand next to the bed with a bookmark. A chair was pushed up against the wall next to it where his father would sit to read. Dagar touched the book and then blew his nose into his handkerchief. He remembered these book well and the dreams that his mother gave him about lost kingdoms and great lords.

She touched his cheek. "This is all I have ever wanted. We can be a family again."

Dagar fought to keep his feelings down, but he erupted into tears. "What can I do, mother? What can I do? How can I heal you?" His whole body shook with regret. Why couldn't he have made her proud? Why did he stray from his father's wishes? All of the carousing seemed so empty now.

She shook her head. "No, Dagar, no. It's too expensive. We've spent so much already. I want you to help your father. Autumn will be here soon along with the Tregtagan. He will need to move the wheat and corn before then."

He took a deep breath. "Yes, the Troll Days. I remember…when the trolls teach their young to hunt. So, we have a couple of months to move the supplies to the watch towers."

Another voice came from the door. "Yes, it is soon time for the caravan to depart." It was Culberth with Nasen by his side. "We have four months to hire the guards, outfit the wagons, make the trip to the Tirthon and return before the trolls make their way down the hills and the snows begin to fall."

Dagar remembered his days growing up, listening to his father and Nasen plan the caravans, called waenhosh in Northron. Those times were full of rough looking mercenaries, called airund-shegan in Northron, who were loaded with weapons along with the debt slaves or wealli who shouldered the hardest burdens of the trip. He could envision his father counting the tall stacks of gold and silver coins and then giving some to his mother for groceries and trinkets for their son. While Thuin Boid was considered a backwater in the Kingdom of Arnor, it was still the capitol of the Dor-onen-Egladil, known as the Angle. It was also Dagar's whole world as a child, and he lacked for nothing.

Nasen nodded. "I've begun looking for suitable airund-shegan to staff the guard. I've offered the usual one silver a day with bonuses at completion. We can also use three of the wealli, Nig, Cisgid and Old Pad for the trip as well."

Dagar's eyes opened at the mention of Old Pad. "Old Pad? Why, I haven't seen him in a few years since I left. I would love to have him on this waenhosh."

Maeva touched his hand. "Old Pad has been waiting for you. He was like a second father to you."

Dagar turned back to his father. "I would like to use my share to help purchase herbs for mother. Arlan leaf is nine silvers a piece and I know it's been tight leading up to the waenhosh."

Culberth smiled. "You have my support. I can see that you've grown and don't only think of yourself first. The Arlan leaf goes quickly, and we need all that we can get. Dagar," he said gently with a twinkle in his eye, "you and Nasen will lead this waenhosh. I think that this will be a good test for you to take over soon."

"What?" asked Dagar, stunned. "But I thought that Nasen…"

Culberth put his hand on his son's shoulder. "You are my son. Nasen will receive a significant raise and will continue as your assistant. He has done such a wonderful job over the years. And we will see to it that your mother gets the herbs that she needs and that she recovers fully."

Nasen paused for a moment and a cloud seemed to pass over his face, but then he smiled and nodded. "The past few years have been good, and I would love to help Dagar grow into the position."

Dagar felt warm inside over the words. This was something he longed to hear. Only in his dreams did his father treat him like this and now, it seemed to be a reality. "My good father, good Nasen, I am blessed by the Valar for your support. I won't let you and mother down." He reached down and took her hand. "I won't let you down, mother. I will be sure to secure the healing herbs that you need and then it will be I who reads to you."

Culberth stood silent for a moment and then put his head down. "My family…together once more. I have prayed for this," he said, looking up. "And my prayers were answered. Maeve, you convinced me to bring him home. You don't know how much that means to me." He then looked at Nasen and Dagar. "Come, the tavern opens soon. There will be more than enough mercenaries to interview. You and Nasen will handle that. I'll be here with your mother. Old Pad should be cooking about now for the incoming crowd."

Nasen gestured for Dagar to go to the main hall, a large dining room with a vaulted ceiling and a central fireplace. The Northron wealli, Nig, was already stoking the fire as Cisgid lit the braziers around the room. The two blond boys were hardy and strong from manual labor, muscles rippling under linen shirts. Dagar could smell Old Pad's cooking, and his mouth watered. The aroma was like roasted pork ribs in gravy with meat pies along with cherry cobbler for dessert. This is what home smelled like. A serving girl unlocked the door, and a line of rough warriors marched in as if towards war.

Dagar felt very uncomfortable around these types, feeling much more at home in the company of the refined bards of the Nightsinger's Guild in Tharbad. He spied a big man with reddish brown hair, a deep tan and a thick, bushy beard. A long bearded axe was at his hip and he wore wolf furs over his chainmail hauberk. Truly a rugged character.

The man sat down and raised his hand. "I need some ale here! And a slab of that pork rib!" Serving girls were already in motion like a hive of bees, carrying pitchers, mugs and platters. This man looked like he knew how to fight and Dagar and Nasen sat down across from him. The young man tried his best to push down his anxiety.

"My good mercenary, I am Dagar and this is Nasen. May we know your name, good sir?"

"I ain't no 'sir'. And if you're looking for company for the night, they have your type at the Yellow Dawn next door," the man said in a thick Rhudauran accent.

"Oh, no no no, good s…I mean mister. My father is looking to hire experienced guards to escort a waenhosh that will depart here soon. You look like someone who can handle themselves."

"Hrrrrrr. Why didn't you just say so? Fine…I just finished one job so I'm free. What are the rates?" A serving girl put down a mug of ale and a platter of pork ribs and the mercenary downed the drink in one, long gulp. He then used the back of his sleeve to wipe the froth from his beard.

Dagar pulled out a silver coin from his pocket and held it up. "One silver a day and a bonus upon the return of the waenhosh to Thuin Boid."

The mercenary took the coin and bit down on it. "You never know. One…employer gave me wooden coins that were painted silver, mixed in with real coins. I took the difference out of his skin. I know you wouldn't do that to me."

Dagar's breath caught in his throat. "Oh no, good si…mister. We would never do that to you."

The man nodded. "Make it two a day and you have a deal. I got a couple of friends who can hire on too."

Nasen nodded and Dagar extended his hand. "Welcome aboard. Ummm, may we get your name?"

"Mercatur…and my friends are Gamrid from the north and Jaabran from Harad. They'll be here shortly." He cut into the pork ribs and swirled the meat in the gravy.

"Harad? That's a long way!" exclaimed Dagar in excitement. He practically squealed, for which he felt immediately embarrassed.

"You don't say…"

Dagar then pointed at the furs around Mercatur's shoulders. "And those wolf skins? Did you kill them yourself?"

Mercatur grinned broadly through his thick beard. "Warg skins…twice as big as a wolf and three times as mean and yeah, it was all me."

"Oh…"

Two other men came in and sat down. One, a tall, broad-shouldered Northron with braided blond hair and the other, dark skinned, lean and stocky with his head wrapped in some cloth. Mercatur looked at them and put his hands over his meal. "Don't touch and you're welcome. I just landed us our next job."

Dagar smiled and bit his lower lip in excitement. This was going far better than he had anticipated.