Some day in the end of Iavas

Loa 134 o Yen 21, Nelandran o Endor <TA 3014>

Carrock

As the sky starts to show signs of the incipent moonrise, a great winged form flies out of the south, from the direction of the Mirkwood. The eagle is far above ground, at such a height that it can see for miles, even in the gray false dawn. It's flight is zig-zagging, ranging from the river to the borders of the forest and back, like it's searching for something. A long figure breaks the even symmetry of the top of the stone that juts up from the river. Darker it is against the grey stone, but for a moment there is a brighter glow of light--a spark, it seems, which briefly comes to life, then disappears as quickly as it came.

Radagast makes a brief motion with his staff and the end begins to glow, illuminating the darkness slightly.

Radagast makes a quick motion with his staff, and the dim glow from its tip extinguishes.

The eagle changes his course almost at once, angling in on the Carrock, and the flash of light. The bird grows large, drawing near, and, after a slow pass overhead, circles around and comes in for a landing, stooping his wings powerfully to brake on the small area, and not knock it's occupant off. Rocking back and forth for a moment, claws clicking on the rock, the northern eagle peers at you, with both large, black eyes.

Clutching his gnarled staff, Radagast stands amidst the great rock, gazing at the sky. Upon seeing the large bird descend, he strightens up, the hood blowing from his head to settle on his back. He speaks, after the fashion of eagles, slowly, "Greetings, friend, I see your smaller cousins spoke the truth. Not a week ago, a finch brought word that one of your folk need of me. Of course, she explained in fine detail the particular path of the message from her many cousins, to a lark, who heard it from a uncle of his. If there was a reason for me to be here, I am sure a jay somewhere in the lower Anduin knows, but I do not."

Belegrama lets out a short, soft cry, which sounds remarkably like a chuckle. "Radagast, I presume? I know a reason for you to be here, but I doubt any jay, or even that lark's uncle know it. They were a great help in tracking you down, though. Mithrandir thought you were to the south of here, closer to the woods."

Radagast nods his bared head, almost bobbing it, saying, "Yes--Radagast I am to the men who know me enough to give me a name. The finch was excited, as I said--I believe with each passing of such a call the frenzy grows among their kind. But find me they did, and here I am." Hee rests his hands loosely on the staff, pausing before continuing, "I have not seen Mithrandir in many passings of the moon. It is not unusual, then, from his to have though me there, though my travels have been long since. But that is of no matter." He pauses, "What is, then, the matter for which I am needed?"

Tied to one of Belegrama's legs is a small leather bag. It's secured by what seems to be a man's belt, of all things. Now, the eagle raises that leg for a moment, before settling back down to perching on both feet and continuing. "He bade me to bring you this bag, which holds some samples of diseased bark from the trees in Fangorn, and a letter that explains more of the matter. A plague is on the woods there, and the tree herders are, Mithrandir said, 'worried'."

Looking first to the bag, then the bird, Radagast brushes the hair back from his face. "May I?" he asks respectfully even as he approaches and leans towards the burdened leg.

Belegrama nods. "Of course. It does no good stuck to my leg." The eagle balances on one foot again, presenting the other leg so that you can get at it easier.

Radagast removes the belt, setting it aside, then takes the bag, weighing it in his hand and examining it from the outside, "You say worried, eh? Little seems to worry Mithrandir, so this must be of import." Without examining the letter, he continues, "I supposed he would like me to travel down that way--why send the bark, then, I wonder." He opens the bag, sniffing at it gingerly, then closing it.

The sun rises over the wood of Mirkwood to the east, casting the first rays of morning light on the Anduin Valley.

Belegrama unfolds his wings a few inches, and then holds them tight against his body once more, in a shrug. "It is said not to meddle in the affairs of wizards... though I suppose bringing you the letter and bark might be taken as meddling in your affairs, even if at Mithrandir's request. But I don't know his intentions or desires about the matter, just that he wanted the bag delivered."

Radagast snorts, "I thank you, then, for you have done what was asked of you. Give your Lord my greetings--it is long since I ascended to his eyrie, and I will commend you to him and to Mithrandir, who, no doubt, I will see ere this matter is deal with." Looking to the ground, he says, "I must, at the least, restore his belt."

Belegrama's wings come open again, in preperation for flight, but he pauses. "The belt belongs to a young man travelling with Mithrandir, not to the grey one himself. But he should know how to return it to it's owner, none-the-less. Farewell, then."

Radagast shades his eyes against the rising sun and says, "Aye, Farewell, wherever your fare, until your eyrie receives you at journey's end."

As he throws himself off the Carrock, wings beating furiously, Belegrama calls back "May the wind under your wings bear you where the sun sails and the moon walks." The eagle rises up as he gains purchase on the air, and he flies off, towards the rising sun, in search of the first updrafts of warm air that it brings along with it.

Radagast clutches the bag and his staff and watches the eagle ascend before turning his back to the sun and his steps carry him to the bridge, heavy with moisture from the river yet to be warmed away.

Belegrama wings their way up into the sky.

Belegrama

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Radagast
The figure before you is that of an tall man whose build is hidden by voluminous brown robes which hang from his shoulders and cover his feet. His face is young, yet not so--it has the vibrancy of youth but closer inspection shows careworn lines around the eyes. The eyes themselves are dark and deep, betraying a certain nobility in the face of one so simple. He is, otherwise, non-descript--long hair, once brown but now greyed, hangs past his shoulders and his similarly hued beard spills down his chest. His waist is girded with a belt of doubled rope which is knotted in the front. He leans upon a gnarled brown staff.

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