| Welcome to Leaves of Laurelin. We hope you enjoy your visit. You're currently viewing our forum as a guest. This means you are limited to certain areas of the board and there are some features you can't use. If you join our community, you'll be able to access member-only sections, and use many member-only features such as customizing your profile, sending personal messages, and voting in polls. Registration is simple, fast, and completely free. We hope you'll enjoy your time here. Join our community! If you're already a member please log in to your account to access all of our features: |
| 3. Wind-Singers Prologue III: The Embassy; Of strange meetings in Mirkwood | |
|---|---|
| Tweet Topic Started: Sep 21 2014, 11:48 PM (330 Views) | |
| Lerinon | Sep 21 2014, 11:48 PM Post #1 |
|
Fareon and Lerinon awoke and begged at their father's table. Lerinon stammered, "I have read about the mysterious realm of Greenwood the Great!" Auruiron sighed, "But it is known as Mirkwood now, and grave shadows gather their forces there. Something is wrong." Lerinon laughed, "Nothing deterred my brother from marching to the Black Land itself. Nothing shall deter me." Auruiron stammered, "I forbid it!" Lerinon stormed out of the chamber. Auruiron sighed, "Attempt to dissuade..." Fareon sighed, "Nothing will dissuade..." Auruiron threw his hands in the air, "Very well. Both of you are to return in safety. I will assign several Fean..." Fareon clasped his father's shoulder, "A larger party would incite greater danger. I will protect him." Auruiron nodded as a tear fell down his cheek. But he soon resumed his watch for long-lost Maglor. The two packed belongings for a two-month journey. They mounted their horses. They traveled across the Tower Hills and the fields south of the Shire and Bree-land and then through the Lone-Lands and Trollshaws, and they encountered few dangers. They rested with their relatives in Imladris and then continued through the High Pass. They avoided all cavern entrances. They took care to be wary of giants. In time, they passed down into Wilderland and crossed it, and keeping to the Forest Road, they passed through Mirkwood. Their keen eyes allowed them to avoid the spiders. In time, they were surrounded by other Elves, and dutifully bowed to the authority of the King. They were lead through the hidden doors and passed into the cavernous halls where Thranduil held his throne. A guard announced their names, and Lerinon had added a strange statement as to their identity. Thranduil's eyes glared at them skeptically, "So you dare to enter into my Halls.... to claim that you are the lost twins of Doriath." Fareon turned to his brother, his eyes bulging, and then he returned his gaze: "My King, I beg pardon for my brother for his rashness." Thranduil studied their eyes carefully. He saw a blind conviction in Lerinon's eyes. He saw fear in those of Fareon. He slowly smiled, "Rash.... I was once so rash within my youth. What proof, have you, of this claim?" Fareon sighed, "My brother has none. I have attempted to tell him this for centuries..... I beg pardon for him. He is a historian who clearly has lost his mind within his books." Lerinon's voice flared, "You will not gainsay me, my brother!" Fareon quickly covered for him, "Library! This translates into my brother's inherent need for a library. So much has travelling across Wilderland served to accost his mind." King Thranduil smiled, "There is something strange about the twain of you. I will admit it. Come then, be welcome in my Halls with my sovereign leave. My guards will designate your Quarters, and, your dress. We shall dine later in the eve, and we shall admit your brother to our royal Library, if that may quell his rashness." Fareon smiled and bowed, "We thank you, my most illustrious King. Come, my brother." And Fareon whispered in Lerinon's ear as they departed, "And you will not say a word!" Edited by Lerinon, Dec 6 2017, 05:52 PM.
|
![]() |
|
| Inheroth | Sep 22 2014, 08:51 PM Post #2 |
![]()
|
The sun is setting as Inheroth leads his small patrol unit along the Forest River. They tread slowly under the growing light of the stars, speaking softly amongst themselves, though Inheroth does not join in on their conversation. He walks ahead of them, and thinks of his brother, often chiding him for his many bouts of day-dreaming, smiling softly to himself. Perhaps, he thinks, he should spend the evening with Agarwaenor, though he doubts his brother will find amusement in his company. It is likely that Agarwaenor is in the King's library, attending to his many studies, and would not wish to be bothered, but Inheroth decides that he will grace him with his presence nevertheless. After all, it has been many moons since his departure from the Elvenking's Halls, and he has not seen his brother since before his patrol's leave. In the past, they had not often spent so much time away from one another, and Inheroth fears the prospect of their growing apart; after all, they are family, brothers and the last remnants of their blood-kin that remain upon Arda. Resolving not be so much of a nuisance to Agarwaenor he would like, Inheroth brings his patrol to a halt. The conversation falters and dies, and the keen eyes of his companions follow as he points to the stone wall that hides the enchanted doors leading to Thranduil's halls. "Alas, we are home!" is all he says, and after many months away, he could all but feel the relief of his party as they share smiles. Tonight, they will feast and make merry, and seek to forget the troubles and ails of the outside world. He parts ways quickly with the other Elves, clasping each one at the shoulder as they drift away to each find their own comforts within the safety of the halls. Once his farewells are said, he makes his way to the Library in haste, not bothering to rid himself of his weaponry or armour, or speak to any others in his growing excitement. The hour is late when he finally finds himself within the Library, and the room itself is hushed and dimly lit. Softening his steps, Inheroth wanders through the great aisles and pillars that make up the accumulated knowledge of the Wood-Elves and its histories. Though he is no scholar himself, Inheroth takes pride in his land and peoples, and reverently stops to admire the vast array of books and tomes that surround him. He can hear the soft murmur of voices above the gentle pad of his footsteps, but he does not think to wonder at them, believing they belong only to the sages and lore-masters that spend most of their time there. Perhaps his brother is amongst them. |
![]() |
|
| Agarwaenor | Sep 25 2014, 10:26 PM Post #3 |
|
Agarwaenor
|
The deep and drawling voice of Agarwaenor became clearer, echoing over stone and glass through the aisles. It was joined by several others, as it moved nearer to Inheroth. As it seemed almost upon him, it hushed altogether. The empty silence was broken a moment later, with a stern and deep clearing of the throat. Behind him stood a gathering of six elves, scholars and attendants of the Royal Library. "Excuse me, what are you--" began one of Elves, as the others regarded Inheroth with mixed astonishment and annoyance. From the center of the cluster of scholars, came his brother's voice. "I shall attend to this. Continue on." The gathering continued deeper into the depths of the library, hushed whispers shared among it. It left behind a tall pale Elf, silver-haired and silver-eyed, clad in red and gold. He took broad strides towards Inheroth, his face devoid of expression. "Only you, brother-mine, would intrude into the Royal Library of King Thranduil on a mere whim." Agarwaenor inspected the various tomes, scriptures, and texts that adorned the shelves, searching for some imperfection his brother had caused in his perusal. "I do hope you have not been touching these. They are meticulously curated." Failing to spot any evidence of molestation among the tomes, he straightened, and turned to face his older brother. "You have come searching for information, or am I to be blessed with another of your visits?" he asked, his features softening somewhat. Edited by Agarwaenor, Sep 25 2014, 10:27 PM.
|
![]() |
|
| Lerinon | Sep 26 2014, 02:36 PM Post #4 |
|
A Wood-Elven guard led Fareon and Lerinon to their chambers. The walls were of vaulted stone, of a rich obsidian, and there within the chamber were several chests, and tables of silver, and two beds with fine linen. Lerinon smirked, "Our brother would have loved this." Lerinon lifted the lid of the chest, and Fareon began to laugh as he pulled forth robes of a shimmering silver, and gold, and cloaks of silk of a rich crimson, and gold, and orange, and others of deep and golden green. Lerinon giggled, "Oh woe that Ioristion is not with us..." Fareon smiled, "Which would you prefer...." Lerinon dawned a robe of gold and the cloak as well, and whisked the green cloak on top of it all. Fareon took the silver robe with the cloak of crimson. Then Fareon said, "Now, I do not want to hear any of this 'Prince Elurin' business. Confiscate it! We are at the behest of a most generous host, but I sense that he is also strong. Think it through, brother. If our claim is true, then you are Dior's son, and the heir to the line that stretched through Oropher. You are then challenging his Throne. And challengers to thrones could be thrown into cells and left to rot. Keep quiet your thoughts......" Lerinon kissed him on the cheek and sighed, "Very well, my brother. Come, we will be late." They continued into the great feasting hall and dined, and Fareon told tales of their rich springs in Lindon. They dined in roasted boar and fine Dorwinion wine. The twins drank sparingly, for they could see its strong effects upon the other revelers. Some of the Elves even appeared to fall asleep. Lerinon became more quiet and sullen, but he laughed at his brother's jests. When Thranduil concluded the eve, they all bowed as he departed, and then a guard came to lead them to the Royal Library. They entered the library as their cloaks swept the steps behind them, and they soon found themselves amidst the gigantic pillars and great aisles. The guard led the way, "So does our great majesty grant you leave to search for knowledge to your heart's content. And now, I take my leave. See to it that all remains within its proper order. Our King would be most displeased if it were not so." The guard departed, his words loud enough that the two brothers who stood directly in front of them would have heard it all. Fareon whispered to his brother, "I will handle this." Fareon strode forward and bowed, "I beg pardon for that interruption, especially if it has disturbed great study. Fear not. For we have ourselves treated texts throughout the centuries at the behest of our father in Lindon. So long as we understand the organization of this Library, our hands shall leave these texts in as pristine a condition in which they were before our coming here." |
![]() |
|
| Inheroth | Oct 1 2014, 12:03 AM Post #5 |
![]()
|
There was a soft light emanating from several lamps hanging low within the hall, suspended by chains that swung slowly to and fro. They were enough to both illuminate his brother’s face, and throw shadows against it. Inheroth inspected Agarwaenor with a searching gaze, but found his expression inscrutable as ever. It was disappointing, really, that even after centuries spent together they might remain a mystery to one another, but such is the way of siblings, their mother oft said. Even so, Inheroth could not help but smile, shaking his head as he turned away. “Of course I know not to move anything,” he said, voice hushed, as though he was unwilling to break the all-encompassing silence of the Library. The light continued to change as a breeze trickled through the hall and caused the lamps to swing with more momentum; though the Elves had long since claimed these caverns and carved into the stone to forge their home, they could not conquer the slight damp and draftiness that came with living under-earth. “Indeed, I have a question,” Inheroth continued, as he reached up to carefully drag a finger across the binding of a particularly dusty looking tome. “How do you keep these books so well maintained? Why, they should be positively ruined in these conditions. Is it a magic of some sort that I am not familiar with? Or perhaps you spend most of your hours within dusting them, and keeping them safe from the elements. I can hardly imagine you doing such a task.” In a sudden flurry of movement, Inheroth turned once more to face his brother, a wide grin now splitting his amiable features. “Of course I am merely here to pester you, brother-mine. What other use should I have of a Library?” His tone was light and teasing, and he punctuated it by striding forward and throwing his arms around Agarwaenor in a warm embrace; however one-sinded it might be. “I have missed you terribly, you know. The Elves of my company are swift and deadly with all manner of weapon, but none of them carry your wit, or your capacity for sarcasm.” In his excitement, Inheroth failed to hear the footsteps of the other approaching Elves. He parted from Agarwaenor, all but radiating contentment. Critically, he looked his brother up and down, and was about to comment on the manner of Agarwaenor’s imposing attire, when the Guard’s voice rose above the natural din of the hall. Pausing, Inheroth turned to gaze down the aisle, where he saw two Elves clad in rich clothing. Their faces and manner suggested that they were kin, though Inheroth did not recognize them beyond that. It was surprising then that one stepped forward and almost immediately began speaking. Inheroth took a step back from Agarwaenor, and faced them with open curiosity. “From Lindon, you say?” he spoke almost immediately in reply. “Hail and well met. You are of no disturbance to us; all whom our King welcomes, we welcome too, and we would be glad to introduce you to this collection.” Quickly, he glanced at his brother, to gauge Agarwaenor’s reaction to his swift introduction and subsequent invitation. |
![]() |
|
| Agarwaenor | Oct 1 2014, 12:27 AM Post #6 |
|
Agarwaenor
|
It was an art Agarwaenor had mastered over three thousand years. His face was like a sculpture, hewn from stone, unmoving, and cold. It was a rare thing to inspire some movement of his brow, some twitching of his eye, any sign of a smile. He had faced ancient terrors and remained in command of himself. He had traded words with beings renown throughout the ages, and hidden his amazement. He had found himself at the very edge of a great precipice, from which none return, and retained the expression of one performing some mundane errand. Agarwaenor possessed patience that was as endless as the stream of time. Except when it came to his brother. For an instant, there was some tight scowl upon his face, before it vanished. The scholarly Elf wrapped his robes tightly around himself, his golden mantle rattling musically. He strode forward several paces, to stand before the twins. He bowed at the waist, a stiff gesture that seemed to be performed as quickly as possible. "Greetings. I am Agarwaenor, scholar and herald to the throne of Taur nu Fuin. The Library is yours to use, and I shall be your guide. Whatever knowledge you seek, I shall show you to it." Agarwaenor straightened briskly, his silver hair fallen neatly about his shoulders. His eyes fixed themselves upon the brothers, studying them acutely. His eyes darted between them, reading them like ancient texts to be decoded and deciphered. "However, I entreat you to keep in mind that you are here on the generosity of our King Thranduil, and that good will is not to be abused. You will treat these halls as if they were your father's," he added, folding his arms behind his back. |
![]() |
|
| Inheroth | Oct 1 2014, 12:30 AM Post #7 |
![]()
|
Inheroth makes an effort to stifle his laughter; as ever, his brother's mood is a predictable thing. |
![]() |
|
| Lerinon | Oct 1 2014, 10:51 PM Post #8 |
|
Lerinon studied the Elf strangely. He admired his robes and golden mantle. He smirked at Inheroth. Fareon bowed in return, "We thank you. Now, to begin our search, what lore of you have of..." Lerinon abruptly spoke, "Doriath." Fareon sighed, "My brother is most obsessed of late with that subject." Lerinon smirked, "As should every lord of..." Fareon cut him off, "There are lords a plenty in the history of elvendom. Now to our task. Would you be so kind as to direct us to any lore on the realm of Doriath?" Fareon stood tall, his streams of raven-hair flowing down his back and through his cloak. He took the cloak and gently folded it over his arm. He nudged his brother, who did the same. The green and gold formed a bulky mess on Lerinon's arm. Fareon sighed, "There is something I should warn you of. My brother will not harm any text. He has faculties as such to treat texts carefully. However, he is eccentric. He has quite a vivid imagination. It is true that we are Doriathrim of origin. We know not who our true parents were, or their history. We were naught but children when a certain disaster occurred, one which I will not mention here in grave detail. We were raised by a Noldorin father ever since. My brother has read other versions of the histories and they carried his mind away with their words. His late-obsession is with.... I should not say it. It is too absurd and ridiculous." Lerinon suddenly stood proud and tall, "You would insult Elurin in his presence?" Fareon sighed, "Do you not see what I mean? Yes, while it is true, we have strange memories of great lights and beautiful kings and queens sitting in high majesty in underground realms as marvelous as here in Greenwood, of screaming elves and clashes of swords, of being man-handled and thrashed alone in a dark, dense forest by Elves, and utterly abandoned, until our Ada apparently found us and renamed us." Lerinon's eyes seemed to gloat. Fareon paused, "What am I saying.... I am merely fueling it...... it is absurd. We are not!" Lerinon's eyes gleamed ghastly, "But we..." Fareon quickly covered his brother's mouth, "Your eccentricity is going to get us tossed into the dark cells. Refrain from this madness. Our great King Thranduil was willing to most graciously bestow upon us the benefit of the doubt, that you are in need of a Library with which to entertain your thoughts, without this rubbish disrupting a whole society! Enough of this foolishness, my brother. Enough of this eccentricity. Put thy crazed mind in a book and let us forget this." His eyes turned to Agarwaenor, "You are an Elf of sense. Of reason. I can tell by studying your face. You and I both know that my brother is off-kilter. He is not off-kilter in a way that would harm anything, provided that I keep him on a short leash. This, I suppose, is what my brother and I have received, in return for being raised by the Noldor. Eccentric nonsense. I maintain that I am not Elured. I am Fareon son of Auruiron of Lindon." He turned, "And you, my brother, are Lerinon, of the same origin. I will hear this nonsense no further. Perhaps we should seek for lore of a subject other than Doriath. I am curious to read of the histories of the Greenwood." Lerinon did not cease, "I insist to read on Doriath first." Fareon sighed, "Oh would but the Stars of Elbereth relieve me of this nonsense....... for once and for all, the lost twins of Dior were abandoned and left to starve, and for all we know, we were the children of farriers or stable-elves or guards or what have you, who happened to also be dragged into the wilderness to starve by the same forces............" Lerinon would not relent, "Oh, I suppose the servants of Celegorm merely singled-out every pair of twins in the Thousand Caves. Our Ada knew the ones who dragged us thence.... he trailed them........" Fareon sighed, "Maintain this nonsense, and I will leave you to the dark cells, and bear the ill tidings to our Ada." Lerinon's eyes gleamed, "You would not dare." Fareon covered his own eyes in shame, "Forgive me....... I had not an inkling that this would turn out to be so embarrassing........ Lerinon, return to our chambers." Lerinon stared at him with beaming eyes, "You will not command Prince Elurin." Fareon was incensed, "Then Prince Elured commands you to return to our chambers, if that will satisfy your madness." And Fareon, at that moment, seemed as stern and powerful as Elu Thingol himself. Then Fareon spoke fatefully, "Actually, I have thought of a better punishment. We will gaze upon their histories of Doriath, and upon examining the texts carefully, we shall endeavor to disprove your madness, and to prove that, once and for all, you are not Elurin, and I am not Elured, and this could not have possibly revealed itself to be proven so. And with that," he turned, "We await direction at your pleasure, most esteemed scholar and herald, Agarwaenor, as well as yours," he nodded to Inheroth, and bowed to them both, nudging his brother to do the same. Edited by Lerinon, Oct 1 2014, 10:53 PM.
|
![]() |
|
| Inheroth | Oct 2 2014, 12:16 AM Post #9 |
![]()
|
It was with perfect amusement that Inheroth regarded the twins, his eyes sparkling with mirth and the laughter he could barely contain at their rather heated exchange. In truth, they were more alike than their proclivities suggested, for both seemed quick to temper and argument, and even Inheroth had to marvel at their bravery for their voices, which carried high above the usual silence of the hall. Of course, such a new occurrence was a delight to him, and the mention of Doriath and the lost twins of Dior were but the proverbial icing on the cake; Inheroth was utterly intrigued, and made no effort to mask his wide-eyed stare as he looked them up and down. Indeed, it could have been easy to believe these two to be whom Lurinen suggested. They were fair of face, and the finery of their borrowed cloth seemed to give them an air of majesty. At the moment, Inheroth could not bring himself to care who they were. The promise of their company gave him great joy, and he laughed as their conversation ended, with a sweeping bow that he returned with a great flourish, rushing to speak before Agarwaenor could interrupt. “Well then! Fareon, perhaps-Elured, and Lerinon, perchance-Elurin,” he said, taking a step forward. “If you are looking for information on Doriath, you have come to the right place. For there is perhaps no greater collection of knowledge upon all of Arda, save perhaps in Imladris…though,” he paused, tapping a finger against his lower lip thoughtfully, “I would not say this too emphatically in the wrong company; our esteemed King, after all, is a jealous sort when it comes to collections of the finest sorts. That aside, Agarwaenor and I,” he turned, sweeping his arm towards his stony-faced brother in a grand gesture, “are descendants of the Elves of Doriath ourselves. My own knowledge has grown sparse over the years, but I am certain Agarwaenor would be most happy to assist you in your endeavors. There is, after all, nothing foolish about the seeking of knowledge.” Looking plainly to Lerinon at this, he approached the twins with a friendly smile. “Please do not apologize for your brother, Fareon son of Auruiron,” he continued somberly as he offered an arm to the dark-haired Elf. “My name is Inheroth, and I am a Captain of the border guard, returned only recently from patrol. Please excuse my armour. I fear I rushed to see my brother, who will perhaps now lead us on our way? We have all promised to treat the Library with utmost care and consideration. And besides, I wish to know our new company better. Please, tell me of yourselves. I have always wished to see Lindon.” Glancing towards Agarwaenor, Inheroth chuckled softly as he reached up with his free hand to unbind his hair, shaking it loose. |
![]() |
|
| Agarwaenor | Oct 5 2014, 01:10 AM Post #10 |
|
Agarwaenor
|
Agarwaenor watched the twins bicker and argue, his expression gradually hardening as the bizarre exchange took place. His arms folded over his chest, a slim finger tapping against his upper arm, counting down the moments to when the brothers ceased their heated discussion. Elurin and Elured? The thought was preposterous. It seemed almost blasphemous to him. No doubt these two were paupers, seeking to claim princely titles, he thought. As his elder brother spoke, he found himself cataloging tomes and scriptures in his mind. The Library was well known to him, a second home. There was no text he could not summon at will, no corridor he did not know every step of. The various studies on Doriath were thorough enough, and even a couple of them had been penned by his hand. "Please, follow me," he said at last, as Inheroth gestured to him. As he turned, his crimson robes twisted and trailed behind him. He set off at a steady pace, taking slow but long strides down the stone halls. He led his brother and the twins through a maze of recorded knowledge, as deep and intricate as history itself. "Do try to keep up, it is all too easy to become lost in this place," he warned, his gentle and deep voice echoing throughout the vast stone catacombs and caverns that housed the library. The four would pass through vast expanses of written knowledge. The lights of the lanterns above them twisted through shadows, casting silhouettes of their surroundings. In time, they came to a pillar, hollowed and shelved, containing many books, both wizened and new, and intricately bound. With a broad sweeping gesture that caused his mantle to rattle musically, he motioned to several volumes. "Here you will find works on the lineages of Doriath, and here you will find accounts of Doriathrim history. These tomes here contain the great ballads, poems, and epics that survived through Doriath's refugees. They can be as enlightening as any historical record. However, I think this text will be of greatest use to you," he said, pulling a dark blue tome from the shelf. It was adorned with golden leafing, depicting a pair of flowers intertwined. "This is a collection of all that is known of the children of Beren and Luthien, and their children's children, and so forth. If there is any evidence of your..." he said, pausing to give the brothers a wary glance, "... lineage, it will be here." He placed the record on a plinth, and opening it, turned to a page two thirds through. "The accumulated tales and accounts of Dior, son of Luthien, daughter of Eru Thingol. This particular passage may interest you," he announced flatly, before reading, "Nelyafinwë, also called Maedhros, sought the heirs of Thingol in vain." He stepped aside, inviting the brothers to read for themselves. "Though perhaps your accounts might correct this glaring error in our archives," he added, with some hint of challenge in his voice. |
![]() |
|
| Lerinon | Oct 5 2014, 01:05 PM Post #11 |
|
Lerinon did not take long to reply, "Nelyafinwë would not have found us, because there is a tale with which I will weave for you. Attend well, to this history. A history unwritten. It was kept secret, for reasons you shall find. The Lord of Imladris is wise, but he does not know all things. Nor the Lord and Lady of Lorien. Nor..." Fareon sighed, "I think we comprehend the point, my rash twin." Lerinon continued, "In the years of the Trees, there were several Houses of ceremonial Guardians. They held a sense of order and dignity at Court in the Citadel of Tirion. The High-King Finwe there reigned in majesty. And of these Houses, there were two of great renown: The Ainon Cundan, which is now called the Amath Naru, and the Yualon. Now Yuale was a strong and stern Noldo of high esteem, his House was small, he had only a wife and a son, Yucalwe. But his wife longed for the sea and preferred to dwell in Alqualonde. And so Yucalwe saw his mother sparingly, and was principally raised by his haughty father. Fingon, son of Fingolfin, attempted to befriend Yucalwe, but Yucalwe was approached by another: Amanuiron, who revealed that he was a Maia. But what he did not know was this: Amanuiron had fallen under the influence of Melkor, and it was his principle duty to disrupt the order of the lesser-nobles at Court. Amanuiron did this with skill and cunning. He sowed vanity, pride, and envy in the heart of Yucalwe, who outburst before the mighty Throne of the King himself, resulted in the exile of his House from Court. And Yuale made his son take a Vow, to restore the honor of his House, with grave consequences should he fail, and little instruction as to how to see it fulfilled. Yuale later fell in the.... terror that occurred later at Alqualonde. But Alcarin of the Ainon Cundan, our adopted grandfather, was equally haughty, and did not yield a foot to the Yualon in his influence, thus creating a grave enmity between the twain Houses of the Guardians of Finwe. And when the Trees fell, Amanuiron revealed his true nature to Yucalwe: Guldrambor, he became known, a grave shadow and malice upon our House. His power is in deception and in hiding. He was so clever and aloof, none of the historians accounted for him. Granted, the Dark Lord had many allies, and one could not account for them all. We have heard of the Dark Lord of Mordor and the Queen of the Vampires and the seven Nameless Fears and the Lord of the Dragons because they were the most well-known and infamous of them all. But Guldrambor craved not fear from fame, but from his mystery, his cunning, as he lured his victims into dark and lonely places, slowly devouring their minds, until they willingly destroyed their own lives in their madness. Such is his power. We came to know of him because of how Fingon and Yucalwe both survived an attack of his on their way to Himring. But Fingon did not wish to mention him at all, save in hidden councils, and did not wish to grant their foe the glory of being mentioned in a well-reputed history as open knowledge. Yucalwe was tasked with hunting and defeating him. He did not succeed in his task. And he reported that Guldrambor had sworn a terrible oath: to hunt the last Guardians of Finwe and to defeat them all, in the name of his fell master. He may yet lurk somewhere in Arda till this day. Alcarin also fell in the First Kinslaying. But Auruiron took to heart, and led his House into exile, for he was one of Maglor's closest friends. They often practiced their harpistry together. They sang, though Maglor's voice was the greater by far. And Auruiron, believing himself to be under the protection of the Vala of Pity, took an Affirmation: to save Maglor from his foolishly-sworn Oath. He risked the Doom of Mandos out of love for his friend whom he had come to love as if a brother. So did he lead the House across the Ice and they eventually settled in the Gap of Maglor. But the Oath was far too powerful for even Auruiron to overcome. After the Battle of Tears Unnumbered, Auruiron shuddered at the thought of what would befall Doriath, attempting to dissuade and delay such action, but it was of no use. And he watched the Sons of Feanor and their servants closely. During the battle, he trailed Celegorm's servants when he saw that they were abducting children, and as at Alqualonde before, he did not slay a single Elf. He defended himself when he needed to, but announced himself as an ally to the defenders of Doriath. When he saw the servants of Celegorm abandon -us- in the wilderness, he hid from them as they departed, and rescued us. He brought us in secret, with aid of those of his Household with whom he had agreed to rendezvous, south along the River Sirion, and in time, we came to its mouths, and fashioned a small row-boat and made our way to the Isle of Balar. He gave us our new names: Fareon and Lerinon, and we have remained so every since. And to all the rest of Elvendom, even on Balar, and even in Sirion: we were merely Noldor. We sighted Elwing, our sister, but Auruiron covered my mouth, and my uncle, Fareon's, and she did not see us...................... and we never saw her again.......... but when we later learned her fate, we did not begrudge our father for his choice........ we might have perished in Sirion. It all happened so quickly. Our youthful minds were assailed and shattered, our deepest memories hidden from our minds, and our thoughts scattered to the winds of the Vala. And Auruiron fell in-love with Faeleth, and they wed, raising us as their sons, along with our younger brother and heir to the House that remains in Lindon. I will preserve my tale of him for another time. But there, in a desolate region of fields and hills, on cliffs high above the Gulf of Lhun, we dwell to this day in a great mansion with a high tower, loving and being loved by our adopted kin. Even so, Nelyafinwë would not have found us, because Auruiron saved us and kept us hidden from him and from the rest of the Sons of Feanor. I rest my case." Fareon's eyes glanced at the text Agarwaenor was holding, his eyes growing larger, as he began to realize the validity of Lerinon's claim, "I will admit there is a striking resemblance. But still, what proof have we?" Lerinon's eyes gleamed, "Our scattered memories. Walls of great and deep stone, with crystalline light, and thousands of caverns." Fareon laughed, "Proof that we were born in Doriath, at least, go on." Lerinon smiled, "A ray of beaming Light in a small chamber, a Light that blinded our eyes within our memory." Fareon's face became solemn, "I remember that, I can picture it. And the room was small, it was private, it was not the Great Throne-room." Lerinon smirked, "And only those of the King's Household would have had the authority to gaze upon the Silmaril on the Nauglamir in such private quarters." Fareon's face flushed, "That is true. I also remember an elleth of fair silver-hair and a smiling face, cradling us." Lerinon bowed, "And I remember an Elf with magnificent long, raven hair, the Nauglamir on his brow, whose face was beautiful, and I remember hearing a crowd chanting, "All hail Dior, King of Doriath!" Fareon bowed, "His face was very close to ours. And we were looking out at the crowd, rather than standing within the throng. Why am I remembering more and more, when in our childhood, such memories were scattered and fragmentary? Can it be, that this text, is drawing deeper realms of memory from our minds? How is it, that I am picturing these things all the more now?" Lerinon smiled, "Look around us. The last vestige of our civilization, re-founded by King Oropher and defended by King Thranduil. We are nearer to our original place of birth than we ever will be. But forgive me, Agarwaenor, it is near blasphemy for us to speak of such things within these royal halls, I know it. I know that most in Elvendom would not accept such a claim, for only Master Elrond's accounts and knowledge are deemed as rational and truthful. But you know full well, we Quendi cannot lie, And despite all things and griefs, but I will know, Even if my twin deigns to doubt it so, And even if all of Elvendom would turn, And laugh and jeer and point and call me mad. I will remember that beautiful King And point to him within my mind, and say, 'Ada.' You are my father and my King. And I will remember that pretty Queen, And say, 'Nene.' You are my mother true. And I will point to those great Thousand Caves, And say, 'This realm was mine upon that day.' Historians moved on, and it all may be lost, But I will keep it close in memory, And hold so dear that we, in it, are there, We twain, we contented twain, we brothers, And all this day who share their hearts with me Shall be my great kin, be they stern of mind, My voice shall, in truth, calm their spirits deep, And skeptical historians who sleep Shall think their minds deprived they did not learn! And see their wisdom weak when any seek Those words that came to you upon this day!" His voice was strong, but he was not so loud as to disturb any others in that section of the Royal Library. |
![]() |
|
| Inheroth | Oct 6 2014, 01:12 AM Post #12 |
![]()
|
It seemed to Inheroth that there was a power behind the tale Lerinon wove, so that he shut his eyes and listened with the concentration of a hunter focusing upon his prey. He knew his histories as well as any educated Elf would, yet this was a strange account. Of the Noldor his father would not often speak, and little did he dwell upon them in his thoughts. Of the opposing houses he knew not, nor of Guldrambor (whose name evoked a shudder of repulsion). Nor did he know the names Yucalwe or Auruiron, though he smiled upon learning of the latter; there was an air of fate about it that he could not fathom. As Lerinon’s voice lulled him, he began to recall moments of his own childhood – being sat upon Thinfiligon’s knee, harkening to every droning word as his father shared his history with an air of dispassion. Even so, Inheroth had clung to each word, and begged for more stories and recollections. He desperately wanted to learn the lore of his people, and could not understand why Thinfiligon would hesitate to share it. Doriath was a realm of his imaginings, and he often found similarities between its descriptions and Oropher’s halls; perhaps, then, that was why he was so eager to call Mirkwood home. He could picture it clearly - Auruiron tracking Celegorm’s men through the forest as Menegroth burned, its king dead at his throne beside his wife – stumbling upon the two children left to starve within the wilderness, helpless and frightened – Auruiron, avowed, bringing them to safety and rearing them as his own. An odd tale, true, but one he could detect no lie in. Lerinon might have been earnest, but he was no deceiver, and Fareon, the skeptic, could not be called a liar even if he endeavored to tell a mistruth. As their tale came to an end, and their voices gave way to silence, Inheroth roused himself from his reverie with blinking eyes, stirring himself as from a dream. Faintly, he began to remember more, could all but hear Thinfiligon as he spoke bitterly of the lost twin sons of Dior that he had failed to save. If only he knew, then, that they had been found! That they were here, now, and that his own two sons would meet them so many long years later! Inheroth shivered, and looked upon Lerinon and Fareon with open wonder. For it was true – he was no scholar, no historian like his brother, but he could see it in their faces, a likeness that he could not comprehend, yet understood still. Sons of Doriath they most certainly were, and he was suddenly sure that they were whom Lerinon claimed them to be. Why else then could they recall the light of a Silmaril, the star-lit caves? Why else would Auruiron care for them, and claim them as his own, and then seek hide the truth from them? No doubt, therefore, lingered within his mind. It was then that he smiled upon them, a gesture of true joy and admiration. And yet he was at a loss for words of his own. He could but stare, his arms slack at his side, eyes alit with something more than just the low hanging lamps and the dim light that shone above them all. It was the sound of footsteps that finally stirred him, a passing guard that looked on their party for but a moment before passing on, no doubt thinking they were nothing more but the regular scholars that frequented the Royal Library. Inheroth took a step forward, and bowed to them in all sincerity. “Hail, sons of Doriath!” he said, voice warm yet hushed, for he did not wish to alert any other passerby and make known their conversation. “I can detect no falsehood with your claims, though I’ve not heard a more incredible story! How I wish now I could speak with this Auruiron…” He calmed, and clasped his hands together; for his thoughts kept returning to this particular Elf, and he could not hide this fact even if he would try. |
![]() |
|
| Agarwaenor | Oct 6 2014, 04:00 PM Post #13 |
|
Agarwaenor
|
There was a dim scratching as Lerinon spoke, the sound of Agarwaenor's quill laying down intricate paragraphs in Sindarin script, recording Lerinon's tale. He wrote upon a roll of parchment, bound around his wrist underneath his robe, like a bracelet or mail armour. Every word spoken by the Doriathrim Elf hung in the air but for an instant before it was replicated upon the half-Sindar half-Nandor's arm. As the text curled around his arm, he wrote without seeing, though his penmanship remained perfect, even while writing backwards. When the tale drew to a close, he tucked his quill into his headdress, an ornate wreath of golden thorns, and untangled the parchment from his wrist. Unfurling it, the text aligned perfectly in straight lines, as if it were written upon a flat surface. The ink was a dark crimson, like freshly spilled blood, and shone with a golden light under the candelabras. The historian studied it for a moment, his eyes darting through the text as swiftly as his hand had written it. Then the scroll was re-furled, and vanished into his satchel. "The validity of your claims will be investigated," he said, returning his icy gaze to the brothers, "by myself and my colleagues. It does raise some questions, and I trust you will answer them when the time comes. I shall seek out Auruiron, for surely he will possess many answers." It was in that moment that Agarwaenor found himself gazing deeply into the eyes of the twins. There was a strangeness to them, some reflection of a long extinct glory, a blinding white light that hid itself behind their curious and eternally youthful eyes. Agarwaenor's doubts remained, but there was now an unmistakable truth that their eyes revealed. They had indeed gazed upon the light of the Silmaril. Heirs of Dior or not, they were certainly ancient refugees of Doriath, and of some great importance. Still, Agarwaenor remained stoic in his appearance, and spoke without revelry or reverence in his voice. "There are a great many more tomes for you to scour. I suggest you make use of your time in the library, for few are permitted here for long." Edited by Agarwaenor, Oct 6 2014, 04:01 PM.
|
![]() |
|
| Lerinon | Oct 6 2014, 09:13 PM Post #14 |
|
Fareon shrugged his shoulders, "Perhaps that would be best. I will continue reading while I may. Agarwaenor, there is one thing I would beg: discuss not this matter with any colleagues, as respectable and wise as they may be. For my brother is rash, and this -potential- truth is, nevertheless, dangerous to part to other ears who should not hear. I do not wish for our wise King Thranduil or for the Lord of Imladris or for any of the Wise to trouble themselves with such matters," he hushed his voice to a whisper, "There are shadows stirring in the East that would mean to do us harm if they perceived us as the long-lost twain... trust me. The smaller the circle of knowledge, the better it will be. Study the matter yourself, if you wish to. It matters not to me as to whether or not I am such an heir. I am content with who I am and where I have lived. Even so, I would not have all of this realm conversing on whether or not I am long-lost Elured. I would prefer that name to remain in your most revered scroll-work. Alas, if only I had contained my brother's dangerous and fiery enthusiasm....... it is not safe for him to travel with such dangers. My father entrusted me to, if he would not be detained, to at least keep him safe from harm. At least we passed here from Eriador without great difficulty, but even so....." Lerinon rolled his eyes, "Fine brother, remain and read. Inheroth, I wish now to place these delicate arguments aside. I long to rest and to revel, for I can tell you wonderful stories of history... but not here. For these, I must first have wine, and recline. I follow at your will, wherever you wish to take me." Fareon smiled, "And you know... we could take both of you to see Auruiron, if you so wish. But there is time to speak of this potential matter later. For now, I will respectfully observe these texts, and study what I may, while I may." ((OOC- Whatever you want to do is up to you. If Agar wants to stay in the Library, I can divide my posts from this point forward to sever the brothers into two different places -------------- with dashes --------- or if Agar wants to go with Inny, then excellent also; if Inny wants to stay in the Library, that is good also- you can refuse Ler's desire there, you know, *smirks*. I'm willing to do whatever both of you want to do; Inny- if you wanted to, you could control at this point where Lerinon goes)). Edited by Lerinon, Oct 6 2014, 09:15 PM.
|
![]() |
|
| Agarwaenor | Oct 7 2014, 11:18 PM Post #15 |
|
Agarwaenor
|
((I'll remain in the library, then perhaps we can reunite the four at a later time.)) Agarwaenor nodded, with some rattling of his headdress. He took several strides towards his elder brother, and spoke firmly. "Keep a vigilant eye upon our Doriathrim guest, and be sure that no further will you speak of these matters. I know how you enjoy your revelries, brother. Do not let your tongue wag so freely." He turned towards Lerinon, and bowed stiffly, arms spread open like a swan in flight. "And I entreat you, supposed Lord, to extend the same courtesy. Your brother is correct in his concerns. Be well, and enjoy the hospitality of our King." The red-clad Elf straightened, and turned towards Fareon. He gestured with a broad sweep of his arm to a long and winding staircase that entwined itself around a pillar, rising up and into the roof of the caverns. Where it met the ceiling, dim lights glowed around. "My study is above us, as well as an archive of more... restricted content," he announced. "It will grant us further knowledge, as well as some degree of privacy. None will intrude upon our research there." |
![]() |
|
| Fareon | Oct 12 2014, 06:25 PM Post #16 |
|
"I revere you, Agarwaenor." When the others left, Fareon studied Agarwaenor's eyes, "It is strange........ I feel something..... strange, when I gaze into your eyes..... no matter. I will leave such oddities to my brother. Lead on, I will follow your strict instruction." Fareon nodded for Agarwaenor to lead him into his study. |
![]() |
|
| Agarwaenor | Oct 13 2014, 11:07 PM Post #17 |
|
Agarwaenor
|
Agarwaenor gave a curt nod, and began the long climb. He seemed to take slow patient strides, and yet he glided up the stairs at a swift pace. He clasped his hand behind his back as he ascended, Crimson and gold robes flowing silently behind. Towards the top of the stairs, the height of thei climb became apparent, the library shrinking below. Then, after the ceiling swallowed them up, they were bathed in warm orange light, the flickering illumination of dozens of candles. The study was small, and spartan, but what it lacked in furniture it made up for in countless tomes and artifacts, wrested from the grip of history. A large desk stood amid the clutter, piled high with parchments and journals. On the wall above hung an elaborate golden headdress and a long flowing silver veil, intricately shaped to resemble branches, spotted with wrens in flight. On each side hung a compass and a set of scales. "The refugees of Doriath left their mark upon what lands they came upon after the flooding of Beleriand. Here you will find what I have found and learned of those marks." |
![]() |
|
| Fareon | Oct 14 2014, 11:28 AM Post #18 |
|
Fareon bowed and followed, admiring the train of Agarwaenor's robes and golden mantle as he ascended. When they reached the top, Fareon listened intently, and bowed and nodded. He carefully studied the weathered titles of the texts. One caught his eye in particular, The Doriathrim Dispersion. He gently took the text, noting its exactitude and position between the other texts, and began to read. Step by step, he trailed them. Sirion. Balar. Ossiriand. Lindon. Edhellond. Lorien. The Vales of the Anduin. Greenwood. He traced their steps, To think of all that we have missed... He was a remarkably hasty reader, and yet his eyes did not gloss-over a single word. He understood. He placed the text gently back where he had found it, "Your research is excellent." His eyes glanced across the shelf, and another caught his eye: On the Fall of Doriath. He gently removed the text and slowly read, but his pace swiftly quickened as he read the accounts of how the Feanorians caught them by surprise, of how the guards were murdered, and then the difficulty of the main force to determine the nature and size of their foe. He read a detailed account of Dior's death, and as he read it, there were tears growing in his eyes as he struggle to maintain his continence and competence, and he fought back the tears, but they began to grow anew and flourish in fresh waters as he read of Nimloth's end, and he read ever more intently, as the servants of Celegorm snatched the twins, and then he saw his second father in his mind. He saw the sweat on Auruiron's horrified face, his moment of choice: Makalaure charging with his brothers, and the servants leading the twins away to die. Somehow, Fareon's skepticism was gradually assailed in greater ways, until finally even in his heart: he admitted the potential of his brother's claim. He shut the book gently and returned it to its shelf- exactly where he had found it. He turned to Agarwaenor, "Somehow...... forgive me.... there is a part of me that does not doubt my brother's claims, even as absurd as they appear. But I believe in reason over emotion and ridiculous fallacies. Yet, even still, I wonder........ I wonder what you would see........ for you, I have a tale to weave. In the Uttermost West, the ancient Noldor crafted many things of wonder, and of powers that are beyond our ken. The Seven Stones of Numenor were of these ilk, and as were also many other precious objects, many of which are drowned beneath the waves or lost forever, and some few that may yet remain in the custody of the Noldor in their own Dispersion. They settled in Lindon, Eregion, and later Imladris, as well as Lorien, and Edhellond. And not all among the Noldor participated in the fell and terrible deeds of the Feanorians. And the Feanorians themselves, for all of their failure, did manage to, at the least, prevent Doriath's Fall from occurring far sooner, through their Siege with which they held the North against the Enemy. In any case, I have powers of the West within my custody, as well as my brother, and several in our household. Auruiron once journeyed to the absolute West of Aman, to the Wall wherein dwells the revered Vala Nienna, of Pity. And from her tears as waterfalls came springs in glens and glades near the base of the wall. Auruiron fell into it by pure accident. When his golden cloak became caught on several branches, it neither tore, nor ripped. Auruiron rubbed it in the mud and dirt. It left no stain. It was completely clean. Auruiron thrust a sharp tool into it, and it would not penetrate it. In awe, Auruiron managed to sew six additional cloaks, and he bathed them in the same glade. The effects remained. But to the rest of the Noldor, such oddities and wondrous things were normal. The Feanorian Lamps, the majestic orbs and jewels, and other objects of great mysterious powers, they were ever at their command. And the thought of war was not upon their minds. Indeed, their armor would have been impenetrable if it all had been washed in the spring of the Vala's tears. And yet, I believe that the Vala would have longed for nothing to do with such a thing, for pity does not know of sides in wars. Throughout the First Age, the cloaks were preserved and kept safe. And they have a mysterious power to them. If two individuals touch the cloak at the same time, they will perceive several dream-like images in their minds, from the life of the interlocutor, and will feel powerful feelings from that person for a brief time. I cannot think of a greater way in which for you to ascertain such claims, than for you to see my memories within your mind. It is the ultimate study." Fareon opened his satchel and slowly drew forth the cloak, and he kept it orderly, and draped it on his arm. First, he took a candle, "You will see that my tale regarding this cloak and its properties is true. Watch carefully." He touched the cloak with the flame of the candle. It did not burn. He saw a dagger laying on the table along with the parchments, "Let me borrow this." He took the dagger and stabbed it into his cloak as it draped on his arm. It did not penetrate. He put the dagger precisely where he had found it, "As you can see, it is impenetrable. The Powers of the West are, as I have stated, beyond our ken. I am uncertain as to precisely how such fibers can prove to be so strong, and yet so light in weight. Now, even if you do not believe me, come and satisfy your curiosity." Fareon's face became as cold and rational as that of Agarwaenor, "I am as reasonable as you. For a true scholar longs to discern the unknown and to discover greater knowledge without fear, and wrapped tightly in the mantle of reason. Fear not the unknown. My mind is prepared. Touch the cloak." Edited by Fareon, Oct 14 2014, 11:32 AM.
|
![]() |
|
| Agarwaenor | Oct 14 2014, 08:36 PM Post #19 |
|
Agarwaenor
|
The Red Elf observed the cloak carefully, with cold calculating eyes, appraising its fortitude. He had heard of the Noldor's penchant for enchantments, though he wondered at how he had not heard news of this powerful pool. He stepped forward, a pale hand peeking from under his sleeve. It hovered just above the cloak, and the ancient scholar spoke. "Only twice have I glimpsed into the mind of another, through some enchantment or another. I will see for myself what secrets you contain. This is perhaps known to you, though I will warn you of it regardless; the opening of one's mind is not an unrequited path. As I look into you, you may find yourself observing my own spirit." The hand lowered, almost touching the fine cloak. "Be prepared." The hand clasped onto Fareon's wrist tightly, and Agarwaenor's eyes closed firmly. Images, like ghosts, appeared in wisp form in his mind's eye. A father, tall and glorious to behold, with sadness about him. A bright light, as piercing and as radiant as the morning sun. The sounds of a great many voices, raised in urgency and panic. The clatter of blades, and the coppery scent of blood. Then, it seemed as though the din of noise faded, and there was the soft song of starlings, and the gentle whisper of trees rustling in the midsummer breeze. There was a dim light, flickering behind branches and leaves, and then silence. The vision faded, and the wisps dispersed into utter darkness. There was a distant sound, of water dripping in a vast empty space, echoing like drums against the silence. Then, a shard of light, piercing the blackness, and the frantic cries of Elven voices. Another voice, in a voice as deep and enveloping as the darkness, rose above the others. "Celephinion, stay close!" Then, slowly rising above the shouts, a wretched howl, as shrill as a child's wail, and as inhuman as a wolf's baying. It shook the cavern walls, before a pair of bright orange eyes filled the vision, and there was a cacophony of screams. Agarwaenor furrowed his brow, and drove his mind to probe deeper. His grip upon the Elf's wrist tightened, his knuckles whitening. His own memories had begun to bleed through, memories that he had no intention of sharing. Slowly, the darkness and din retreated, and once more he was in a woodland glade. Several figures stood in a crescent, bows raised, arrows knocked, strings pulled. He could hear the creaking of the bows, and then... Light, blue and gold, stinging his eyes. He could smell the scent of flowing water, and the gentle groaning of towering trees. "Celephinion. Caladufaer. To me." Agarwaenor turned. The face before him was familiar, though he had not seen it in a thousand years or more. It was stern, and sharp, and glistened crimson in the midmorning light. He watched as his brother crouched before the dying Elf, taking his hand in his. "You must press on. Oropher's kingdom lies beyond the river's bend." "We must find something to make into a stretcher," his brother said. "No, there is no time. What hunts us is but wounded. You cannot tarry." "We might stem the flow of blood, and carry you upon our--" his brother began. "Leave him," he heard a voice say. It was his own, yet he hardly recognized it. And then the archers were around him again, bows drawn, and there was the sound of twin breaths, shallow and fearful. An arrow took flight, and cut through the still air. An archer fell, mortally wounded, and the others turned their bows towards the origin of the projectile. Then came again the sounds of blades clashing, and the vision faded. Agarwaenor opened his eyes, once more looking upon his study, and the Doriathrim Elf. He gazed at the Elf for a while, processing what he had seen, before turning abruptly to go to his desk, and select a bottle of dark red wine from the clutter. He pulled the cork from the bottle, and poured a fraction into a small pair of twin crystal and gold goblets. He did not speak. Edited by Agarwaenor, Oct 14 2014, 08:37 PM.
|
![]() |
|
| Fareon | Oct 22 2014, 08:32 AM Post #20 |
|
Fareon closed his eyes, experiencing all that Agarwaenor saw as their memories began to meld together. Fareon clenched his heart when they were done. While Agarwaenor silently poured the wine, Fareon began to speak: "It will not occur again. The passage of such memories occurs only once between the two same persons. As for the spring of Nienna's tears, Feanor and his seven sons alone explored the breadth of Aman, and little is recorded of all its reaches. The historians of the Noldor did not wish to remember the West, for many were swept into the vain vision of a Noldorin-dominated Arda, to see the wide world. As such, the only record of western Aman was writ by Auruiron, who has remained aloof and refused to share most of his experiences with our kindred in Imladris, and the few who remain on the borders of a now-ruined Lindon...... I do not know why my brother and I have felt so compelled as to reveal these details to..........it is strange. It is almost as if I feel...... that I -must- tell you, for some mysterious reason........ pray, do not tell your colleagues...... it is best that the histories remain as they are writ, I do not wish to disrupt the flow of recorded knowledge.......... whatever I once was, it no longer exists. The halls, the realm, the forests...... they are all gone. And why would I wish to believe that my grandparents were mortal, and I could not see them ever again, because they have passed beyond where our kindred may find rest? My brother is rash....... he suffers from delusions of grandeur..... and does not consider the consequences........ better that I am Fareon Auruirion than Elured Diorion....... for Auruiron lives, his home is my home, this life is real........" But suddenly, footsteps were heard on the stairway. Guards of the King appeared, "Fareon Elured son of Dior, you are, by order of our King, arrested." He was stunned. Before Agarwaenor could speak, they led him away. Shock enveloped Fareon's heart, Now you have done it... He was lead before Thranduil's throne. The King scoffed, "I knew you were attempting to conceal knowledge from me........... I will not allow you, or my brother, to take this throne of which belongs to the Heir of Oropher alone...... take him out of my sight." Fareon bowed, and said nothing as he was led away into a dark and small cell in the dungeons. He retreated into the corner at its rear and closed his eyes. Edited by Fareon, Jan 23 2015, 07:46 PM.
|
![]() |
|
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
| « Previous Topic · Wind-Singers · Next Topic » |








12:43 AM Jul 11