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| 4. Wind-Singers Prologue IV: The Embassy- Revelries; Inheroth and Lerinon speak while Fareon and Agarwaenor are in the Royal Library of Mirkwood | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Oct 7 2014, 06:51 PM (332 Views) | |
| Lerinon | Oct 7 2014, 06:51 PM Post #1 |
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Lerinon and Inheroth departed from the Royal Library.
Edited by Lerinon, Dec 6 2017, 05:51 PM.
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| Inheroth | Oct 8 2014, 01:21 AM Post #2 |
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“I am certain I need not warn you, but,” Inheroth smiled kindly upon Lerinon as he led him hence from the Library, “please keep close. It is easy to stray from the proper path, for there is much to see and wonder at.” And, true to his claim, the Elven King’s Halls seemed to be at the height of their splendor as they made their way through the winding footpaths. “You see,” Inheroth gestured upwards, from whence Ithil’s light slashed through the natural dim, “there are places above in the cavern where the light shines through, and on the fairest of nights we may see even the glow of the stars. It is not the same, of course, as when we are in the forest, and our view completely unobscured, yet we are safe here from many dangers.” His voice lowered as he bid Lerinon to follow. They made their way up a staircase the wound across a pillar shaped to look as a tree, and followed the passage across a limestone bridge. “Unfortunately, my friend, the darkness that has infected these woods does not abate despite our best efforts. It seems that the area of forest that is safe to wander grows smaller with each passing year. It has been hard on us, we who scout the borders and do what we can, but our hearts remain heavy. And yet,” he brought them through an archway and down a series of steps, plunging them into momentary darkness, “my mood has been lifted.” And with a sweeping hand, he brings them to a stop. They are within a room, open and comfortable. The archway they have passed through is made of limestone, yet the opposite wall is the trunk of a great tree, its roots spilling across the floor and into the rock in an intricate design. Seats have been carved alongside the trunk, littered with cushions and pillows, and there is a writing desk beside. In the middle of the room there is a table with several chairs, and along the stone wall several weapons hang; a litany of bows both long and compact, daggers and swords. It is sparse and simple, and lit with several sconces that give off a bright light. The sound of water is strong, yet muffled, as if there were a running stream nearby. Inheroth turned to Lerinon, bowing his head politely. “Please sit, and rest thyself.” Crossing the room, he stopped at the table and lifted decanter of wine to pour them both a glass. “I will take a moment to rid myself of my armour, and join you once more. The weapons may interest you; two of those daggers were my father’s, which he brought forth from Doriath.” With a grin, he disappeared through an aligning doorway, closing it with a curtain. |
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| Lerinon | Oct 8 2014, 08:36 AM Post #3 |
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Lerinon smiled and gazed in awe at all that Inheroth revealed to him. He nodded as Inheroth disappeared behind a curtain. He crossed the floor, gazing at the daggers, examining them carefully. He felt a touch of familiarity as he stroked their hilts. He decided to await Inheroth for the wine. Lerinon prostrated himself on several of the cushions, laying his head back against the pillow, and his robe billowed onto the floor. He looked at the room around him. Then he whipped his cloaks over his head and across his body. They also flowed to the floor. As he hid himself within the fabric, he began to picture his memories of the ancient realm. He longed for it. He began to remember one of the great processions to the throne. He whipped back the cloaks and stood, playfully billowing his cloaks and robes behind him, ceremoniously pacing across the room. He processed up to one of the chairs and sat, arranging the silken trails as they glimmered, swirling at his feet upon the floor. He thought of Inheroth's description of the decreasing of the safety of the forest. He began to wonder, Can this be the foe that we have so fear, reaching toward us yet again from the dark trails, is this the forest where he, himself, has hid? He did not wish to think about it. He thought of his father and hoped that he would see him again. He looked at the wine. He did not want to soil his new cloaks. He stood and processed across the room and nigh the pillows. He ceremoniously turned, unclasping the cloaks, grabbing their folds with both hands, outstretching his arms. He sat himself between two pillows near the center of the nexus of resting places carved nigh the tree. He released the cloaks and stood. The innermost cloak of silken gold remained furled across the pillows and covered the seat before billowing onto the floor. It still had the imprint of his body. Lerinon gathered his golden robe and stood, leaving the cloaks behind as he had draped them. He crossed the chamber and clutched one of the daggers, holding it pointing upward toward the ceiling: "Art this what hath remained, so far and long? How your steel shines and gems gleam in this hilt? To think of what once stood beyond your shine, great halls and caverns vast and huge and wide, and all the Thousand Caves outstretched so far, through Menegroth and thence so far beyond, to Doriath deep and beautiful in might, as the illustrious stars did shine above, thy canopy mysterious and high! Oh, and the realm of Beleriand, beyond this so far, so true, so vast, and, to the great lengths of time and space depart, oh Estolad, Dorthonion, Himring, and Maglor's Gap and Rerir tall, shining, and to the West, Himlad and the great vale, where Gondolin once stood in its great height, and Nevrast and Lake Mithrim's dark shores, and the Sirion Vale outstretched deep and south, past the coasts of the Falas so vast, and to its Mouths, beyond which Balar stood, and through this all, one article remains: you remain, oh dagger, lost... without a name. Oh how great loss that we, in common share so deep within our hearts, and yet one thing remains, in truth, at least: you have thy selfsame twin in company." He sighed and awaited Inheroth. Edited by Lerinon, Jan 18 2015, 10:29 AM.
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| Inheroth | Oct 8 2014, 10:43 PM Post #4 |
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Once within his private chambers, Inheroth began the slow process of stripping himself of his armor. He began with his gloves, and then his vambraces, unbuckling them as he stretched out his sore fingers. Next, he lifted rid himself of his scaled cuirass and shoulder guards; they fell to the floor in a chiming heap, and he swept them away with a nudge of his booted foot, sighing in relief at the lack of weight upon him. From there, it took him mere moments to rid himself of the rest of it. Deftly he drew loose the binding of his leather jerkin, and wriggled himself free of the light chainmail underneath it. Sitting at the edge of his bed, he unfastened his boots and threw them lightly onto the floor. Freed at last of all but his cotton undershirt and leggings, he took a moment to lie back upon his bedding, humming his contentment as the cushions enveloped him. Closing his eyes, he let his mind drift, though his thoughts were far from idle; he considered, of course, his guest, no doubt awaiting his return. He thought of Agarwaenor, and Faeron, of Doriath and the post he had left in the charge of his second-in-command; he thought of his father, and of King Thranduil, who should surely want to hear of the recent activity at the southern borders. With a frown, Inheroth gingerly hoisted himself up, rolling his shoulders. He would have to contend with all of this and more very quickly, but for now, he would make certain that Lerinon found some reprieve from his own journey, no doubt a long and difficult thing. With another gentle sigh, Inheroth climbed to his feet, heading towards his closet for a robe to make himself more presentable. He chose one of soft tan and forest greens, modest and functional, yet rich in cloth and make. So clad, he took a moment to peer at himself in the mirror that hung across the opposite wall. His long dark hair hung loose upon his shoulders, and with a quick motion he did his best to tame his natural curls into a simple plait. Once this was done, he pulled on a pair of soft suede boots, and, satisfied that he was passably clad, returned to the first chamber where Lerinon awaited him. “My apologies,” he said as he swept into the room. Heading straight towards the untouched glasses of wine, he drew them up and held one towards Lerinon, bidding him to take it with a warm smile. “If it does not trouble you terribly, I would like to hear of your journey hence. It has been so long since I have left Eryn Galen, and we have little connection to the outside world here. Please,” he gestured to one of the more comfortable seats along the vast trunk, and collapsed upon the bench with a contented exhale. Taking a sip of wine (his favored vintage), he smirked against the rim of the glass as he stared at Lerinon with the same open curiosity he had regarded him with earlier in the Library. “And Lindon…I have never set eyes upon it, though I have oft heard tales of its majesty.” |
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| Lerinon | Oct 9 2014, 09:01 AM Post #5 |
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Lerinon smiled, and he sipped the wine slowly and deeply. Then he sat down on the cloaks, and placed the wine on a small table nearby. He smirked, when hearing of Lindon's majesty, "Very well. It is strange that a Prince of the Sindar, such as I, was raised by one of they whom are deemed to be our enemy. Yet it was not always so. Few know or realize the truth: The Dark Lord was ultimately responsible. For Elu Thingol was not the first King to be murdered in the presence of a Silmaril. First, it was Finwe the Great, one of his peers. He was among the three whose eyes gazed first upon the West, the first of all the Eldar. And the Dark Lord murdered him in Formenos. It is true that I hold the Exiles in great loathing for their later deeds. Yet in this, I hold one small sympathy, and revere my adopted Ada: The Feanorians were as me, if I was of greater age, upon hearing of my grandfather's horrid death. As Beren fell upon the Naugrim in great wrath, so did Feanor long to fall upon the Dark Lord, the grave murderer, coward, and thief. Feanor's wrath was hot. And it was in the heat of his wrath, and not of reason, that the horrid Oath was sworn. His seven sons were swept up into it in a wave of fury. Can I truly blame them, or can I blame my Ada for longing to save his brother, and to follow him into Exile? Would I not have done the same for Fareon, even if he had sworn a horrid Oath, because he is my brother? I do not excuse them for what they did to my real father, and for what they attempted to do with Fareon and me," Lerinon took up his glass and sipped more wine, and then returned it to the table, "But this I would thence declare: the Dark Lord had the first fault on his wretched head. And it was grievous that.... one long sentence resulted in such death. A mere phrase of the tongue in anger and in grief. And thus, with both my Adas, I do weep. I, too, would have longed to snatch Maglor away, far away, from Tirion before from Formenos his father came. And it did take Auruiron great courage to be willing to set aside his affirmed words concerning Maglor, to save the lives of my brother and I. This is my preface to Lindon's majesty, because it was majestic, and Gil-galad Elven King and his ilk long sought to escape from the Doom of Feanor. Alas for Celebrimbor, alas for Gil-galad Elven King. Both were held in high esteem. But Celebrimbor, as his grandfather before him, was gravely deceived. And thus the new Dark Lord arose from the Black Land and it all began again, and I fear that it is not yet over. You spoke of a darkness in the forest. There are only two forces I can see in regard to this: either the Dark Lord of the Rings himself has re-emerged, or it is some lesser evil: Guldrambor, perhaps. But it is not a natural force, I gleam, from what little you have said. Only a grave power could range an entire forest from safety. But let us not speak further of such things. I long to revel with you, after all. Lindon was a majestic realm. Its spires and its domes of gold, its walls of marble, its clean streets in powerful cities........ now it is nearly all ruins... save for those who dwell in Mithlond and in the outer regions between Lindon and the Tower Hills........ its banners once blew mightily in the breeze........ it was wonderful....... but the home of my father remains strong, and no ruins are in sight. There, time ceases to exist. There are the walls and the domes and the spires. It is as if nothing was ever lost. There on the cliffs high above the Gulf of Lhun, we dwell. There we have dwelt since the dawn of the Second Age. The presence of the sea does not trouble us, for we took our new Ada's Affirmation, and one will only hear the call of the sea when one is truly called to return unto the West. For good or ill, we are bound to remain, for now. As for the wider lands, there is Arnor that rose from fallen Numenor. There is Gondor, which I have yet to see. I have heard of Edhellond before: it is in Gondor now. I have heard that, although Edhellond is abandoned, a great port of Men stands near at hand, barely 50 leagues away: Dol Amroth, so named after the Lord of Lorien. In any case, as for my own journey, between Lindon and the Misty Mountains are inhabited fields and green hills with smaller forests of oak and pine, and beyond which are the cheerless lands, where the defenses of ancient Arnor once stood strong upon bare hills and grassy plains, and then are the shaws that are feared to be infested with trolls, its rocky passes and hills all dotted with pine, and many forested areas, beyond which the High Moor, and the Vale of Imladris, last vestige of Eregion, stands to this day. Then is the High Pass filled with snow and strange blizzards, feared for goblins hiding in their caves, and giants who thunder at the peaks, and beyond this is Wilderland, the sparsely inhabited wild lands, save by few woodsmen, and then one reaches Mirkwood. We followed the Elven road and did not stray, and so we came unto King Thranduil's Gates. It is strange..... but I would tell you of my father. He was born in Aman long ago, before the Light of the Two Trees, and his skin still dimly glistens to this day, for a great light is within him. He was but of a year of twelve when Maglor he did meet, the son of Feanor of his same age. Auruiron had struggled to play the harp. Maglor came and aided him. And then they knew from that moment: they were now friends. And Auruiron obsessed over his friend, his spirit fluttered when ever they did meet, he loved to play while Maglor sung, and he sung with him, his voice less great, than the renowned minstrel son of Feanor, whose powerful voice stretched far and wide. And Auruiron had come to believe, ignoring all of the rest within his life, that he and Maglor were meant to sing, even until the end of Time. Auruiron once journeyed in the far West, and came upon the Vala's springs, made of her tears that dripped in waterfalls, from her dwelling place upon the Wall, and he fell into the spring, and his cloak became immortal: neither thread nor fiber has been touched or tarnished, stained or muddied, and no blade may cut through it, to this day. He saw these effects and sewed more cloaks. Seven he had sewn. One for Maglor and one for he, and others in the event of loss. Three went to our adopted-uncles, and only one of whom has survived. We have received our cloaks, my brother and I, from the uncles who had bravely fought, yet lost their lives. Ioristion, our third brother, received the next-to-last. The last, I am not certain to who it will go, but it is something that destiny will show. There is one thing that my surviving uncle told me: he saw my brother with an elleth in a vision, way back when he dwelt in Gondolin. And she was wearing the seventh cloak. In any case, back to Aman. When the Dark Lord was released, all of the events that I spoke of in the Library occurred. And the Oath strained my father from Maglor, and my father schemed throughout the First Age to attempt to free him from it. He even fought Maglor after the Kinslaying at Sirion, and yet his life was spared. And they parted from each other in great weeping. And at the end, when last they saw each other nigh our home, Maglor departed, leaving Auruiron weeping in grave tears. Thus it was the Second Age had begun. And my adopted mother, we lost in Eregion, and my father entered into graver sorrow, and he began to focus only on his Affirmation, perched in his tower-seat by his window, plucking his harp as he would watch the shores of the sea. Alas for Ada and all that he has endured. Fortunately, my uncle took charge in raising us, and in ensuring we received our lessons. My brother loves hunting and I love writing. And we were not alone. Many who once followed Maglor in his Gap in the First Age elected to remain, in the hope of finding him yet again. We have not rejected the Pardon of the Valar. We have, instead, essentially, at every rising of the sun, confessed unto the West that we are preparing to return, and will at the appointed time. Thus it is so. My father remains within his solitary chamber, my uncle feeds him, and he otherwise remains confined, but when he heard that I was rashly leaving, it drew him forth, and Fareon promised to keep me safe. So here we are." Lerinon took the glass, and finished his wine. He smiled at Inheroth, "There is an enthusiasm in your eyes... that reminds me of my other brother away at home. Oh how I miss his embraces...... we were very close. He would jest with me, and I with him. When we read the ancient texts in the ruins of the Royal Library of the High-King of the Noldor, I further discerned who I now know I am. But this occurred in darker days. Long before this, oh how I coddled Ioristion as Heir to our House, and oh how he embraced and fawned over me as his Prince... those were mirthful days. Alas, for I would tell you, that Ioristion marched rashly to the War of the Last Alliance....... and when Melimwe, our adopted-uncle, returned with him, he had lost his mind. He vaguely remembered us at all. And we were told that a close friendship with one who perished did break his mind through the perishing. Now he searches vainly throughout old ruins and even through ordinary walls and large rocks, tapping with his staff and uttering ancient phrases, in hopes of finding buried lore or treasure...... for thousands of years! Alas...... my brother and I have kept watch over him, to ensure he does not hurt himself, or fall prey to some wild beast...... my uncle is watching him in our absence........" Lerinon paused and bowed his head. Then Lerinon stood and pulled something from his satchel: a bundle of flowing golden silk. He unfurled it. It billowed vastly onto the floor. It was dazzling to the sight of one's eyes. It gleamed distinctly brighter than the normal cloak that remained behind on his chair. He flung his revealed cloak around his shoulders. His eyes revealed an epiphanic feeling as his expression changed. He smiled, "May I sit beside you? For this is one of the cloaks of which I spoke." Edited by Lerinon, Jan 18 2015, 10:38 AM.
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| Inheroth | Oct 11 2014, 09:13 PM Post #6 |
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Inheroth listened carefully, utterly enraptured by the tale that unfolded. Lerinon, like Agarwaenor, was a natural story-teller, and the gentle sound of his musical voice urged Inheroth into a lull. He reclined on his bench, holding his glass of wine upon his knee with prudent fingers, head canted slightly to the side as he imagined all that Lerinon spoke of – he thought of Feanor and his ilk, the sons that he had heard of only in legend, of Lindon and Mithlond, and the cliff-side dwelling that Lerinon and his family called home – a shiver of longing passed through him, and he sighed almost inaudibly in his wanderlust, a softly-spoken voice within him that begged for travel, to leave Mirkwood and its darkness behind and behold Arda in all of its histories and glory. And then Lerinon spoke of Auruiron, and of Maglor, and Inheroth could not mask his fascination, could not help but sit up straighter and lean forward. His gaze fell to the floor and he let his eyes drift shut, for this was a new tale, one he had not heard from the Noldorim in Edhellond he had spoken to so many years passed. He remained this way until Lerinon mentioned the cloaks, and suddenly Inheroth seemed to be roused from his reverie; he stared at Lerinon with a searching glance, and knew suddenly that the other Elf was not clad in this cloak, for the one he bore now was but a plain piece of cloth, one he guessed had been offered by Thranduil’s men. Where then was this cloak? Was it too precious, that Lerinon had not borne it during his journey? Inheroth bit into his lower lip to prevent himself from asking; after all, the tale was not yet ended, and his questions, mounting as they were, could wait. In all of the stories he had heard as a youth of the Sons of Feanor, Maglor had always been one whom he’d felt the most sympathy towards. And now here was one sworn to search for him, and looking upon Lerinon Inheroth felt he was gazing into the past; not his own, but perhaps one more magnificent, for this truly was a legend come to life for him. Imagine…! That this Auruiron had once embraced Maglor as a friend and loved him as kin, that Lerinon was his son…it was nearly too much, and Inheroth struggled to contain his laughter, to jump onto his feet and swirl at the mere joy of it. Vaguely he thought of Faeron and Agarwaenor, and wondered what they spoke of. Would his brother feel the same elation at hearing such a splendid tale? Perhaps, though they would show it in their own way, for Inheroth could no longer hide his grin nor conceal his delight. How lucky it was that he had chosen to head straight for the Library in his earnestness to see his brother, for now he had found a friend, and such a friend Lerinon was, so unlike the Silvan elves that made up the majority of Eryn Galen. Yes, there was tragedy in his tale, and Inheroth felt it keenly, but he was filled suddenly with love, and he could not mask it. “Please,” he was all he could say at Lerinon’s request. Scooting to the very side of the bench, he reached over to pat a now empty space in which the other Elf could sit. “Join me.” The cloak seemed to radiate its own light, and his chambers no longer seemed shadowed, as though they were no longer underground. The very stars seemed to illuminate the air around them, and permeate every shadow in every corner. It was a beautiful cloak, and Inheroth longed to reach out and touch it, his fingers itched at the very notion of brushing along the silk, but he could not bring himself to impose in such a matter. Instead he sat patiently, his hands folded around his glass of wine which he held now in his lap. “There is much I would ask of you,” he admitted with a blush, color blooming high upon his cheeks, “but I shall refrain for the moment.” |
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| Lerinon | Oct 11 2014, 09:40 PM Post #7 |
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Lerinon smiled. "My dear Inheroth... there is something I would show you." He quickly took the wine from the small table, and placed it on another small table that stood near an ottoman next to where he intended to sit. Then he returned to stand in front of Inheroth. He lifted the golden folds of the cloak as he stretched forth his arms aloft, and the cloak glimmered and gleamed in magnificent streams and glittering, gleaming waterfalls, reminiscent of the beauty of Dior himself.... He swept beside Inheroth with mirth within his eyes. Lerinon gazed into Inheroth's eyes, sensing his desire. "Do not be afraid, for I seek not to violate our tradition customs, and yet, I feel a strange attraction to perform the following. Bear with me, that you may understand. I embrace you, my new and noble friend." He turned and embraced Inheroth, and as he did so, his right arm flickered the cloak upward, and around his body, "This was my custom with my brother, who lost his mind. Come, and hear my fair words, let your heart be stilled at the touch of the blessed cloak." He whipped the cloak over their faces, "Touch it..... feel it...... take a fold and rub it against your face... bury your head within it....." Lerinon did so, "And feel the tears of the Vala hidden within...... of pity............ we feel each other through it........ it makes us stronger...... breathe through it, yes.... cover your eyes with it, and gaze into its darkness.......... picture the royal, noble halls, the magnificence of Dior Elven-King, the Silmaril gleaming brightly..... and our kindred cheering....... gaze carefully, and you may yet see it......... you are feeling the power of the West. I feel your longing, your deepest desire....." Touching the fabric, he felt only an impression of Inheroth's life, a small and brief sequence of vague images passing within his mind, and nothing more... for the Grace of the Vala would not allow one who touched the cloak to read the spirit of another as if a book, but to acquire only a small impression... an impression that could accomplish great wonders.... and nothing further beyond this impression would be revealed... he continued: "...your fear of the darkness...... your awe and wonder........ your saddened father and mother.... your fear of the sea....... a beautiful Haven upon strange shores...... your brother's stern countenance...... yes, breathe through the folds....... gaze deeply within their glimmering solitude....... our safest hall....... and you may yet see the Star of Earendil blazing upon the starry sky....... you may yet see the Light of the Trees glistening, golden, upon Ezellohar........" And all the while, Lerinon embraced tighter, and yet gentler....... resting in his understanding...... and Lerinon smiled, "A strange custom developed among certain Noldorim...... fear it not, for it is a sign of grave respect....." Lerinon leaned over, gently kissing Inheroth on the cheek, and all the while remaining in his deep embrace, "Let us rest well in mirth..... that we may see the Evenstar......... hidden deep within folds of gold....... you are my brother, too...... there is a strange feeling of it, I cannot explain........ yet something leads me forth to this conclusion.......that we were sung to meet this day. My friend....... fear me not....... let us rest, and ease.... this thought......." Edited by Lerinon, Oct 25 2014, 07:51 AM.
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| Inheroth | Oct 14 2014, 08:44 PM Post #8 |
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Inheroth bowed his head, and took a deep breath. Gold descended about him, and his eyes closed; he hummed a gentle tone, even as he lifted his gaze to match Lerinon’s. It was not that felt no apprehension, for he was not used to being in such close proximity with any other Elf save his brother, but as Lerinon began to speak he felt himself calming. With a shudder, he forced his fanciful limbs to relax, and his hands went limp in his lap; he went utterly still. The glass he was holding fell to the floor, and yet he did not stir even as it shattered against the flagstones. It was as if a great music started within his mind – a low beat that matched the rhythm of his heart, and grew stronger and louder with each passing moment. For what else could describe the voice but musical in quality? He felt the brush of the cloak against his cheek, and it immediately produced another shiver within him, for he could feel its power, though it was a gentle thing, and protective most of all. This must be, he thought in his haze, what it was like, to be under the Girdle of Melian, to see the light of Aman with one's own eyes, to hear the beautiful notes and scales of some grand music... And then the light faded, and Inheroth found himself within a memory of his own, one he had not visited upon in many long years. In it, he saw himself at the harbor of Edhellond, he could feel the tears that had run freely, for the white sails upon the horizon were disappearing, and he would not see them again...this memory faded, and in its place came another - Mirkwood! In the Halls of the King he saw himself kneeling beside Celephinion, and at the throne was Oropher in all his glory, his long silver hair a mantle as beautiful as the stars themselves, and Inheroth felt love...that too dimmed, and he could see a great battlefield, and felt the briefest flash of despair... And then all was gone, and Inheroth found himself bathed in light. For there was Earendil, magnificence incarnate! Two trees, indescribable, pushing themselves up mightily from the earth, branches swaying within the heavens; he wished to reach up and brush his fingers against their leaves and marvel at their splendor, and when he felt himself to hold his hands aloft, he found the cloak within his grasp, and he let out a laugh. The embrace around his shoulders tightened, and he could feel a kiss upon his cheek. Then, very quietly, the voice rose again, and he listened with all of his being - and, as though he was being roused from a dream, he woke, his eyes slowly blinking and his fingers finally finding purchase at the crook of Lerinon's arms. Sighing once again, he breathed in slowly through his nose, and once more they were within his rooms, and the cloak was but a warm and lovely thing. "Thank you," he whispered, and his eyes filled with tears though they did not spill. "I had imagined...but not like this, I..." at a loss for words, he shook his head, and chuckled as he did so. "What you have shared is a...I cannot describe it, nay, not in so many words...but I think I love your family, and Auruiron! My heart sings when I think of him. Varda's spring, I cannot..." helplessly he straightened somewhat, grinned at Lerinon tremulously, and looked down to his feet, where the broken shards of glass lay. "Oh, I am sorry," he said softly, "I hope I have not stained your robes." |
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| Lerinon | Oct 16 2014, 08:13 AM Post #9 |
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Lerinon smiled, "You have not stained them." He withdrew the cloak from their faces, draping it behind their heads, billowing around their bodies. "It is of the Spring of Nienna. The Vala of Pity. I thank you...... I think I love your family, too......... and I also saw......... a beautiful Sindarin King...... he reminded me of King Thranduil, and yet he was different....... his hair was long and silver, like a mantle, and it shined as brightly as the stars......... I.... I saw the battle........ I think I know what it was..... the same that slew my second brother's mind............ oh even despite this, my heart is singing............................ oh I know this must all feel strange.............. it feels strange, for all my father's efforts to silence my voice...... that somehow it all came forth with restful ease........ I think I know who the King was..... Oropher....... and the Battle must have been Dagorlad.......... which stretched even into what are now marshes of death....... but there are other things that you have seen..........." He touched Inheroth's hand as the memories of Doriath suddenly entered into recollection in both of their minds........ Dior in all his glory, and Nimloth, and the Throne-Room..... the processions, the Silmaril, its bathing Light......... and then the horrors of the Kinslaying, the seizing, the abandonment, and the soft song of Auruiron's voice, his cloak rustling in the brush, his swift stride......... all of it entered into recollection......... Lerinon embraced Inheroth wholeheartedly once again, "We have both known grief......... but we live onward...... our memories are shared........ I feel as if I have lived what you have lived......... this power in the cloak only occurs once....... between the same persons.......... come with me, Inheroth....... fear not the sea........ come that we may rest and revel in a great..... I could nearly call it a palace......... where my father dwells and where my brothers and I have dwelt........" |
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| Inheroth | Oct 16 2014, 11:54 PM Post #10 |
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With a careful movement of his foot Inheroth swept the glass shards to the side, where they would not pester either Elf. His boots would be stained, but it was of little consequence, for he could always have another pair tailored for him. After all, he would be greatly saddened to injure his new friend, whose hand he grasped tightly between both of his own. With a gentle rumble that resonated deep within his chest, he shut his eyes once more and let the puissance of Lerinon’s words draw him into quiescence. Yes, he nodded silently; it was Oropher whom he had seen in his vision, Oropher whom he had grown to love from the very moment of their meeting. For though the Sinda King had resembled his father but superficially, there was something about his presence that reminded Inheroth of Thinfiligon, so much so that his heart ached as he gazed upon him. Yet he had been kinder, and wiser, and the Silvan Elves had followed their benign King without question into war. Thus it was that when the King of Eryn Galen fell in the Battle of Dagorland, Inheroth had mourned the loss most terribly – it was though he has been robbed of a father yet again, and he felt it as keenly now as he had upon the plains of Gorgoroth. All at once a numbing sense of discontent threatened to seize him, and he squeezed Lerinon’s hand as though preparing to brace against it. Memories of the Dagorlad faded slowly, and it was with great relief to Inheroth that the vision of Doriath was once more conjured. His mind stilled, and with an air of detachment he watched as the history of his father’s realm passed in the briefest of flashes, stirring only when he realized that he was peeking into Lerinon’s past. Though his limbs are trapped within torpor, he returns the embrace with as much fervor he can yet muster. For these memories are sacred things, kept secret for so long. Perhaps Auruiron had been right to conceal their lineage, though it must have pained him, and shocked his children once the truth became known. They had been safe in their bower, and loved most poignantly. Once more Inheroth forced himself from reverie. Understanding came to him slowly, and when it did he pulled away and stared into Lerinon’s face with something like surprise. “You wish…for us to join you?” he asked, his brow creasing. “To leave Mirkwood, and journey to the sea?” It seemed his heart stuttered then, and his throat constricted in a sudden, nameless anxiety. Letting go of Lerinon’s hands, he tightened his fingers upon the cloak, as if the cloth could grant him purchase. “I…I do not know,” he admitted then, as indecision reared within him. “Long have I wished for…for something more. It is indescribable, this desire…yet this has remained my home, and I have sworn myself into Thranduil’s service. You have seen it, mellon-nin…fear has rendered this forest uninhabitable, and the land is shrouded and besieged by something we cannot understand. Yes, I would join you in Lindon in time, I would speak with thine family, for they feel as my own already. But…I cannot go now,” he finished, his voice trailing off. Unsure if he has offended Lerinon, or made an embarrassment of himself, he swept the cloak from his arms and climbed to his feet, turning away. Idle fingers sought another glass, and he poured himself another helping of wine from the table, his mouth tightening with a strange grief. Edited by Inheroth, Oct 17 2014, 12:02 AM.
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| Lerinon | Oct 17 2014, 12:25 AM Post #11 |
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A strange gleam appeared in Lerinon's eyes, "Then we must journey south and seek to understand this evil first............. besides, I am certain your King would grant you leave to seek for tidings from further realms.............. even so, I am in no hurry to begin a journey that lately ended this morning...........for now, rest is good..........fear not, I shall not withhold you from your charge.... yet destiny has a strange method of its labors....... I believe that you are meant to come with me, I cannot explain why...... so let us seek out these perils together....... for I do not wish to return home without you......... as for your oath of service, we shall think of something with which to justify your leave, should it be so, as I am so inclined to thus believe....... but nay. I do not wish to leave now, so soon........." He stood, his feet not touching the broken glass. His cloak trained behind him in golden plumes. His eyes were piercing and his face ravishingly in its nobility........ and he was beautiful. He lifted the folds of his cloak with his arms outstretched and it glimmered beside him as if golden wings. He did so as his second brother was oft inclined. And he seemed in that moment to truly be King Dior's son, his beautiful face and long raven streams of silky hair dazzling to behold, "You have not offended me..... be calm, and sit once more, if you may......... tell me of yourself, if you will............. I am curious to learn of your family........... and bring those two cloaks of gold and deep green that I laid aside on the central chair..... I feel a cold draft about my feet, for some odd reason..... perhaps the limestone." He took the train of the cloak and waved it upward, inviting Inheroth to become wrapped in its soothing folds once more. He smiled warmly, "Our revelry is not yet done." He looked to the side of their resting place, and he noticed a well-crafted ottoman of wood. He lifted it and shifted it beneath his legs, entering into a reclining position. He whipped the right-folds of his cloak over his legs as it billowed to the floor. He gazed across and saw another on the other side, "Let us not think further of strange fates...... let us bathe our spirits in restful thoughts......." Edited by Lerinon, Oct 17 2014, 08:08 PM.
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| Inheroth | Oct 25 2014, 02:53 AM Post #12 |
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Inheroth turned to peer at Lerinon over his shoulder uncertainly, though he allowed himself some reassurance. His debt to Mirkwood was not yet paid, for though the oath he had made was unspoken, he had promised himself that he would not forsake this realm until the darkness had abated. With a small smile, Inheroth nodded, and felt himself calming. A sip of wine aided him in this endeavor, and he took a step towards Lerinon. “I am glad for your understanding,” he said as went to the chair and held the borrowed cloaks aloft, draping them carefully over his arm. There was indeed a chill in the air, though it was not uncomfortable. It seemed to emanate from the walls itself, the natural temperateness of an underground cavern, protected from all of the elements, utterly still. As he advanced towards Lerinon, he bowed his head almost in instinct, for it seemed that he was suddenly within the presence of the son of a King. If he had any further doubts of Lerinon’s claims, they were further dissipated upon the sight of him standing proud and tall; he seemed to shimmer with an inner light, and his ebony mantle glittered even in the dim light. Inheroth sucked in a breath, and laughed softly, wondering at his sudden shyness. He was not one to be easily lost for words, yet now he could think of nothing to say. Instead, he could merely follow Lerinon’s suggestion, and he sat on the edge of the bench, scooting close to the other elf and gathering the delicate gold cloth about him in a comfortable arrangement. They sat close, his knees resting against Lerinon’s legs, and he set about the task of further encasing them within the green and gold garment until they were cocooned within. Breathing in deeply, Inheroth drank of his wine, and drummed his fingers against his thigh. “Restful thoughts,” he said, voice soft, barely rising above the gentle, bubbling hum of the underground stream beneath their feet. “Yes. Please, are you warm enough? These caverns are often cold, for we cannot light great fires unless we are within a large enough space. These braziers are all we are allowed for warmth in these smaller chambers; else the smoke would blind us and fill our breath, or bring harm to the roots of these mighty trees, which we cannot allow.” He smiled, and lifted his glass of wine in a silent toast. “How now! You wish to hear of my family? Well then, I shall try to stick to tales of revelry, and speak only of my happiest of memories. “You know, of course, that mine father was of Doriath, and that he loved your grandfather Thingol and his son Dior well. After the invasion of Menegroth and its fall, he fled Eastward, and found himself in Lindon (which I would learn more of, from you if possible…he did not speak of his time there often I’m afraid). Yet he later learned of a harbor further along the coast that faced directly to the Bay of Belfalas. He went, and met an Elf upon the Sea there; her beauty enraptured him, for she had hair long and dark as midnight waters, and sang in a voice as musical as the waves rolling upon the surf. From the land of Lindórinand she hailed, and she was one of the Nandor who had wandered West. At first, they spoke but halting words together, but because they were both of Telerin descent, they soon learned the tongues of one another, and proclaimed their love. Alphanaer, he named her; our Mother and Father. And though they do not remain in Arda, it seems I feel their presence at times. They watch us from afar, whether they are in Valinor or dwell within the Halls of Mandos. “Agarwaenor and I went East, after that. We crossed the mountains now known as Dor-En-Ernil, and spent some time in Pelargir, where we first met the Men that would inhabit Gondor. We followed the Anduin north, and tarried within Lothlorien. Perhaps we hoped to find the remnants of my Mother’s people there, but it did not hold us. So we went North still, until we found the realm of Eryn Galen. Such loveliness we beheld! The Elven King’s Halls….why, they were the very picture of Menegroth, and Oropher our King sat high upon his throne…we did not think twice but to follow him, and pledge our allegiance …” Inheroth paused, and took another deep mouthful of wine. “Thus we are here… all has since passed…yes, I will journey with you homeward, and meet thine family, for I feel a kinship already…but I must return ere the darkness recedes. I must be a part of it. I must complete what my father could not. I will ask King Thranduil for a leave. I will go with you, even if my brother should not. Is this a happy recollection? It is the tale I have to tell.” |
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| Lerinon | Oct 29 2014, 07:41 AM Post #13 |
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Lerinon smiled as Inheroth layered and wrapped them in the cloaks, and rested against him. The first layer was his own, from Aman long ago. The second and third were the gifts of the King. He felt his body warming, and it was nearly perfect. He felt the warmth of his body and smiled. He reached for his wine and drank it slowly and deeply, the warmth of the ambrosial liquid sailing down his throat. Then it was perfect. He set it back on the table. It still held half a glass. He continued to outstretch his arm around Inheroth's left-shoulder and his head. He did not mind the slight strain. When they were cocooned within, he closed his eyes and listened intently to Inheroth's tale. He listened intently as he spoke of what had become the realm of Gondor. His eyes beamed when Inheroth decided to visit Lindon, "Very well. Certainly, you may come for a time. Our King may be curious to hear of the Elven lands beyond the Sea. And I will show you Mithlond, and the ruins of Lindon. And I thank you for your tale as well. You are beautiful, Inheroth, and your home is beautiful....... I feel as safe here as I do at home in my father's halls......." Lerinon stretched and relaxed his arms in the shining fabric. He smiled when he felt the touch of Inheroth's legs. The darkness was still on his mind, and he would arrange a detour into southern Mirkwood... but he did not address this now. He shoved it out of his mind and became at ease. And even in his heart, he still held that deceptive and agonizing vision: Amanuiron in all his glory. His long mane of golden hair. His majestic plumes of his cloak of many colors. His shimmering embrace of Yucalwe........ and then that horrid, tragic feeling, as his smile turned into a scowl, his living skin turned pale, his hair fell as his head became bald, and his majestic cloak transfigured into rags and robes of black...... and then how his face became enveloped in a shadow, and his form a vision of horror. But that was the tale Auruiron had told him. He shoved it from his mind to think of Oropher..... and then his vision of Oropher reminded him of Amanuiron, and he longed for his mind to become still. He turned and looked at Inheroth, "It is strange....... this destiny that brought us here....." He leaned over and kissed Inheroth on the forehead, lightly stroking his hair, feeling the sweet calming feeling from the cloak... "You are a brother to me now." |
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| Inheroth | Nov 6 2014, 11:37 PM Post #14 |
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It was with less hesitance now that Inheroth returned Lerinon's embraces, as though he was growing accustomed to the closeness of another being and the simple affections of one named family. So unlike this was his dealings with the Silvan Elves of the realm, that he felt something stir within him, a great, unnamable excitement that quickened his very bones, and he could not contain his smiles, his chuckles as those fingers drifted against his face, butterfly-soft. "But yes, gwador-nin," he said, his light grey eyes gleaming in the gentle light. "Before we depart, I would learn more of the land I am to visit. Tell me your King. Cirdan, is he not? And was he not kindred with Elwe, and friend to the Noldor, though he himself was of the Sindar? I have heard of him, such tales!...though I know not which of them is true...they say he has a great white beard, and that his eyes glitter like the stars themselves..." Inheroth shook his head in wordless apology. "Forgive me my questions, we hear so little in this land, our borders are ever closed. I have none of Agarwaenor's talents for seeking out the truth of things, or of news from the outside world. All I know is what I have heard, and tongues can waggle with the strangest of stories that can be at times be but fanciful fictions..." Suddenly it came to him that Lerinon's expression fluttered, and changed, as malleable as the flickering torchlight. Was he imagining the expression of woe and tragedy upon his brother's countenance? Turning, he reached up and held Lerinon's face with careful, almost reverent fingers, and stroked his cheeks, even as his own bloomed with color at both the wine coursing through him and his ever-changing moods. "Your mind wanders," he said softly, "and I think you dwell now on the past, as I have just done. What is it that you see? Surely you think of thine family. Has it to do at all with what we have spoken of? Ah, but there is much to cover - it seems blasphemous to me now that our kins have shut themselves away from one another. What strength we would have if we but united under one banner. Could not all manner of darkness be defeated in this way? Yet we let old grudges keep our hearts closed; we refuse to let our histories be lessons to warn us of our futures. If my word can be of use to your King, than he shall have it. If my company can soothe any of your ills, you shall have it. No longer, I think, must we walk any of our paths alone. To do so is folly, and my King too must come to see this. There seems to be much to do...yet we have time." Laughing, Inheroth ducked his head away, the crimson of his cheeks deepening. "And here, it seems, I would fill what would be a most comfortable silence with my prattling. I am not often moved to speak so much, my words are clumsy things. We are prone to silence, we woodland sentinels; we move quickly and quietly upon the lower bowers of the forest canopies; even the gentlest rustling of a leaf can alert an enemy to our presence. So we learn not to trade words, but gestures to convey our plans, our courses of action, even our moods. There are some of us that even use the language of birds, though not all possess this talent. Perhaps you inspire this in me; I have a great need to communicate with you, to learn your mind." |
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| Lerinon | Nov 11 2014, 07:18 AM Post #15 |
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Lerinon's eyes glared with the mention of the title "King" in relation to Cirdan of the Havens, but he smirked and rested himself. He closed his eyes as he felt Inheroth's soft, gentle stroking of his cheek, and warmly smiled. "Gwador-nin.... Lord Cirdan is not our King. We had a King, and he was very brave. It is a Lay that we solemnly sing.... of Gil-galad Elven King... of his sword, and shield, and spear.... he stood against the Enemy... and from the far south and east, he ne'r returned... but Mithlond remains. The old realm is far diminished... few now dwell in Forlindon, for it was once the eastern side of Maglor's Gap, and the Isle of Himling was once Himring, Maedhros' fortress.... and my father once dwelt on the foothills that have since sloped downward toward the Sea, the foothills of Rerir, the mount where Caranthir dwelt....... but Estolad is long since gone. Eastern Ossiriand remains.... but it is long abandoned. Cirdan rules over us, but not as King.... he was a Lord of the Falas in the past, and yes he is kindred with Elwe, and yes, he does possess a beard..... and the Falas was an ally to the Noldor originally, although my father endured diplomatic troubles with Lamaen, one of Cirdan's chief counselors..... but that is a tale for another time. .....Forlond and Harlond are solemn places.... and the few who do dwell nigh Lindon are in Mithlond... steady streams of Eldar have passed that way, never to return... my father's Affirmation protects us from the Call of the Sea, and so we dwell in safety nigh the Gulf of Lhun, opposite Mithlond.... but the old Capital in Lindon is long since abandoned.... the majority of the surviving Noldor dwell in Imladris, far from the Sea... yet not all is lost. Over a hundred of us remain near my father's house... they once served Maglor, and did not find it in their hearts to abandon the hope, that he would return....... Oh Inheroth, what I could tell you, from my father's stories...... Maglor..... his hair was long and golden-brown, he glimmered in the Light of the Two Trees, his robes were fair in train and well-attired, his harp of silver gleamed more beautifully than any spider's web..... and his voice... his enrapturing voice... it could be heard across the realm, his powerful song.... Auruiron clothed him in a cloak of molten gold, not unlike this one in which we are so wrapped, and he was beautiful...... his smiling face... his beaming eyes..... "Do not call me a Prince!" He declared unto my father, who in turn promised this, formalities of court aside....... Prince....... I did not make this promise..... and yet,...." Lerinon's voice became agitated, but controlled: "...to think that one so fair, could fall so far....... was my birth father not beautiful? Did his eyes not beam as well? Was he not also robed in majesty? Was his voice not fair? Was his hair not long and gleaming? Oh, that Maglor's hair did turn raven-black after Mandos' curse, beautiful only when the sun made it....... slightly gleam........ that is my Auruiron's precious hope....... a tiny gleam, the bands of light so narrow......... precious when set against the darkness..... suffocated, by the darkness that consumes it......." He calmed himself, "...and yet, maybe there is hope for him....... if my brother fell, and slew my kindred, would I not still long to love my brother...? Would I not desire.... to restore him to the light as well? Forgive me........ it is a fair and harsh matter......... harsh and yet beautiful to ponder........ you are correct, we should strive to learn from history, the old Feanorian days are now long past........ but I am stretched between two loves.... two fathers..... one murdered, the other.... striving to save his murderer....... who is more still than a murderer....... who also was once so fair.... so just......." Lerinon stroked Inheroth's now-rosy cheek, gently..... "I am glad to know you, Inheroth...... if you believe that you can persuade our King to the effect you most desire...... I would be honored to have your company....... your tracking skills will be of great value........" Lerinon smiled warmly, "My brother and I utilize a clever strategy, so as to avoid foes. I hid myself, and speak in ancient tongues, driving our foes mad with my voice...... while my brother executes them in their confusion. No Yrch has escaped this strategy.... they are dumb-witted, fortunately for us........... yes, I even speak in Quenya...... even in Maglor's tongue..... and Tengwar, and Sindarin..... and Exilic-Noldorin...... I have yet to learn the tongues of the Wood-elven Realm, the Nandor, and the Avari........ mysterious as they are....... yes, I am glad to know you..... ...... I have an idea....... your brother seems wise, but stern to me as well...... he is my brother now, if he will accept this...... why do we not seek audience with our King first...... if he grants approval, it would catch your brother off-guard, and force his agreement..........?" |
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| Inheroth | Nov 15 2014, 03:47 AM Post #16 |
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Inheroth withdrew his hands from where they rested and folded them neatly upon his lap as he listened with careful consideration to Lerinon's corrections and explanations. Though he was faintly embarrassed by both his lack of knowledge of one as renowned as Cirdan, and his his misuse of the title of King, this feeling soon faded; for Lerinon in all his wisdom was not condescending, nor cruel, and he seemed but amused as he offered his teachings, his voice as stirring as before. Indeed, he made a marvelous tutor, and Inheroth harkened back to his days in Edhellond when he would sit enraptured at the knee of one of the Noldor folk from Eregion. Their tales too had caused great surges of feeling within him; his heart would pound in his excitement as images of the Old Days were evoked. Such as it was now, that he could not bring himself to interrupt Lerinon, despite his questions, his protestations. Instead, he closed his eyes and rested his cheek against Lerinon's shoulder, and let his imagination conjure what it would; he thought of Gil-Galad, whose name he knew well; he imagined the lands East of the Great Sea that now lay beneath its mighty waters, histories lost in but the words of Elves who could remember these names; Maglor's Gap, Himring, Rerir. These words meant little to him, but he could understand their importance despite this. And of course he thought of Cirdan, whom he is glad to have rightly guessed as their bearded Lord (and such a sight that must be, imagine, a bearded Elf! Why, Inheroth could think of but a few individuals with beards he had seen in the past, those merchants from Lake-Town that came up the river, or from long ago, the Numenorians that wandered the coast of Belfalas and founded Pelargir). Yet it was Mithlond and the House of Auruiron he yearned to hear of most. To think that this was a House that searched and waited unto this day for Maglor, son of Feanor...why, it was as though every tale he had ever heard on the subject had cumulated into one great arc; Inheroth could not help but tremble in his wants and desires to learn, to know, to see with his very own eyes! He had heard the songs of the minstrels from Imladris. Though their visits were few and far in between, Lord Elrond had sent envoys into the Greenwood in the past, and Inheroth had listened to their songs keenly, had begged for leave for his patrols for just moments in their company. They had not served half as well as Lerinon did now, Lerinon the descendant, Lerinon with his cloak of gold, Inheroth had only to look down at the cloth that entangled them to imagine Maglor with his shining hair, hold the silken tresses between his fingers. Even the dark of his hair could not quell Maglor's beauty...of this he was so sure, that he could not hide his smile, wistful as it was. And yes, twas a tale of loss and tragedy, of oaths made and fates turned to darkness, yet was there not hope to be borne? Was there not always? Auruiron, he thought, was not wrong to find light amongst shadow; did not the past prove that goodness would prevail? The love of one's kindred would serve them well. Family was everything, be it by blood or not. At the touch of Lerinon's fingers against his cheek, Inheroth roused himself into the present and blinked his owlish eyes. His heart swelled at the sight of Lerinon's face peering closely into his own, and he felt a great pride wash over him - not for his own accomplishments, but for Lerinon, and indeed the rest of his kin, for his brother and his adoptive Father, so strong in the face of fate and the adversity of past wrongs. "I will teach you what I know," he said, his own smile humble and tremulous. "The tongues of the Úmanyar are not so complex, though they are fair, and would be easy for you to learn; of this I have little doubt. With a voice such as yours, you could wield the words of any people, and command it well. I have heard of such devices used against the enemy, though I have not seen them utilized often; I should like to see you and your brother in battle, what a sight it must be." He sighed contentedly. "You are correct in your assessment of Agarwaenor, but let me assure you that though he is stern of mind and heart, he is capable of adventure. A story like yours would inspire him to move forth, for surely he would seek the truth of it, and he delights in knowledge as I do. I promise you he will agree to such a quest. Nay, with my very word he would follow us, though I think he would need his reassurances. Perhaps you are right." It occurred to Inheroth rather suddenly that the hour was late. All seemed still within the Elven King's halls, and the sound of voices and footsteps had faded along with the gloaming hour, where the stars were their dimmest against the light of the rising sun. The caves served to protect them from the treacherous open air, yet the Elves of Mirkwood heeded the shifting of Anor across the sky, and quieted as night ascended into day. Shifting towards Lerinon, Inheroth grinned, and took the other Elf's hands within his own, grasping them close. "Gwador, we have shared much, and I feel well rested from my travels, as I hope you do as well. Would you join me then, as I lead us through my home? If we do journey to Lindon soon, I would first have you lay your eyes upon the Woodland Realm and come to know it in all its splendor. We need not go far, but I am eager to show you the underground streams, which I love best, and the great stalagmites that they form. We can join Faeron and Agarwaenor after, if it pleases you. Unless, of course, you would rather tarry here a while longer...I would not mind either way, the choice is yours." |
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| Lerinon | Nov 18 2014, 09:22 PM Post #17 |
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Lerinon smiled as he listened to Inheroth's words. He shifted inside himself when Inheroth spoke of movement, "Perhaps soon, for I would dearly enjoy to see these things. But first, my heart is quivering. This is an intriguing movement of events. I would settle myself within them further, first. For, there is something I would show you." He grabbed the tri-fold of their cocoon of silken fabric and drew its warm folds above their heads. It was dark inside. The cloaks' interior appeared to give way unto an empty space that was limitless in size and scope. He brushed the fabric across his cheeks and in front of his nose, "This was my other brother's method. And there is a tale that I would tell of him," he whispered. "Long centuries ago, in the city of Gondolin, there lived a young Elf with hair of copper hue. He was not Maedhros, but his House was similar in hair to the House of Mahtan. It is said it may have even branched outward from it. He grew his hair out long. He was beautiful. He fell in love with an elleth, but their love was severed when the city fell, and he thought her dead. In anguish and in wrath, he bent every fiber of his being toward Eregion, and its rise to greatness: a new Gondolin. But Eregion was destroyed when the Shadow arose from the East. Macil, as he was called then, fell into a deeper anguish. His sisters could not relinquish his pain. Finally, he rallied the surviving youth of Eregion into an order of the sword, and they marched alongside Gil-galad Elven King in the War of the Last Alliance. My brother was born in Sirion. He has inherited the blond hair of my father. It is long and gorgeous. He wears a cloak similar to my own. In Eregion, he befriended Macil. And he aided in keeping Macil's hopes intact, danging on a mere thread as they were. He marched with him to the war. But when Ioristion returned home, Macil was not with him, and nor was my brother. For he had lost a great portion of his sanity. He began seeking out normal and base rocks for treasure where there clearly is none. In this respect, he never returned. Yet, he slowly regained some measure of sanity across the passing years. Even still, he forgets the horrors of the war and romanticizes everything, and still searches for treasure in unlikely places. He has also grown far more flamboyant than he used to be. And whenever he is questioned, or the war is mentioned, he transforms his cloak into his own personal cave, as I just did. He hides himself beneath his folds. Oh would that there were a cure for this madness...... alas. He is Heir to Auruiron's House. Ioristion learned something else from Macil......." Lerinon withdrew the cloaks from their faces, and stood aloft. He watched his feet, and walked away from the broken glass unhindered. Then, he began to dance. He twirled and spun, the golden folds of his cloak radiating outward in shining domes that flapped and flickered as he began to spin faster and faster, as if surrounded by the petals of a rose of gold. Then he leaped back beside Inheroth, his feet carefully avoiding the glass, and clung to him, "Such was Macil's charm over my brother, who has since inherited his flamboyancy. Now, you may lead me through your Realm. I needed exercise. I feel that I can walk again, for it is hard to desire to conclude such revelry." Lerinon stood again, gathering the cloaks and draping them across his shoulders and down his back, folding their rear across his arm, "I am ready. Lead on." Edited by Lerinon, Nov 18 2014, 09:23 PM.
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| Inheroth | Jan 9 2015, 10:10 PM Post #18 |
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"The Elves of Mirkwood do not dance often," Inheroth laughed as he reached out to brush the tips of his fingers against the cloth of gold as it spun aloft. "Did all of the Elves of Gondolin and Eregion move so? I should have liked to seen it; the Noldor with their music and their songs, their fashions and crafts." The sight of Lerinon twirling to and fro mesmerized him, and he sunk into a deep reverie, thinking of this flamboyant Macil, and the golden-haired brother whom had adopted his styles. This brother reminded him vaguely of Inheroth's own, always on some seemingly mad quest for lost treasures and keepsakes of Kingdoms long since past. Yet it occurred to him suddenly that he would never meet some of these Elves in Lerinon's tales, lost to Time, swept under the waters that washed over Beleriand and the fires of the enemies that had destroyed them. Quickly he sombered, and his smile became wistful, and he rose to offer an arm for Lerinon to take. "Yes, let's go. Come." He schooled his features so that his countenance appeared more merry, and his voice warmed and softened at the fond touch of his new brother; here, he could forget War and shadow, and simply delight in the calm and soothing company of one of his Father's people. "These Halls are mesmerizing at any hour, but I find them most enchanting when there are fewer about. They echo, you see. Sound is never lost. Where there is one underground river, it sounds like many, melt-waters borne from high in Ered Mirthrin. I will show you." Thus he led Lerinon back into the immense cavern of ribboned tunnels and high stone archways cut from the very rock of the caves. Beside the odd guard or two, the stone walkways were free of passerbys, for which Inheroth was immensely grateful. At such an hour, he preferred their lonesome, quiet company, and he squeezed Lerinon's arm in a sudden surge of affection for the dark-haired Sinda. "When I said that we do not dance...I did not speak wholly truth, for though we are most militant in our culture, there is a love for finer things amongst us. Jewels, for one, and wine, though we procure neither through wain or barge, and prefer to trade by river. Yet I digress. There are times when we travel forth from our caves to dance under the stars, which the Avar seem to love above all things. You may think it a strange custom, yet the Silvan Elves have done it since they called this place their home, ere the darkness spread. So I think they continue this custom to spite it; they should not change, despite our hardships. They go out with lamps infused with wards to keep the spiders at bay, in the greatest of their fineries and silks and crowns of firs and spring leaves. There they feast, and sing, and make merry. I admit I found it strange, when first I joined them. There is no reason for this celebration, yet to revel and take joy in life and the beauty of things." Inheroth patted Lerinon's arm as he ushered them through winding crossways, the soft lights of the hanging lamps warming the very air around them and cutting through the permeating cool of their subterranean surroundings. "We are almost upon our destination," he said, rather shy suddenly and pausing in his step. "I fear you shall not find it as beautiful as your father's halls upon the sea, yet it has always been a treasured space of mine, where I come to clear my thoughts of all ills." For now they came upon a precipitous set of stairs, from whence they could see a great and opulent fountain from where all of the cave's small rivulets joined. The base of the fountain was round, and full of shimmering water as dark as the night sky; from there was raised an immense statue of an Elf in armor, a bow upon his back and a sword being thrust up towards the roof of the cavern. Jewels glittered from the sword's stone pommel and hilt, and the Elf gazed upwards, countenance grave and full of majesty. "That is King Oropher," Inheroth said in hushed tones, easing Lerinon down the stairs. "King Thranduil had it commissioned in his memory, and I think it suits him well. The resemblance is most striking." Suited around the fountain and facing it were several benches of stone, damp to the touch and dusted with deep green moss, sprung forth from the mists in the air. Inheroth gestured to one in a silent invitation for Lerinon to sit, if he so wished. "I feel that we may speak of many things for many Ages, and still have more to learn," he said, beaming at the other Elf. "So you have two brothers, Faeron by blood and the blonde of Sirion, whom you've yet to name. Shall I meet him too, when we go to Lindon? I'm certain he and Agarwaenor would find much to speak of." Edited by Inheroth, Jan 9 2015, 10:10 PM.
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| Lerinon | Jan 18 2015, 11:03 AM Post #19 |
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Lerinon had just begin to admire the statue of Oropher, admiring Inheroth's tales, and his eyes transfixed by the fountain. "Your Realm is very beautiful. It is a pity that I lost everything in Doriath. Why... I should have dwelt for ages in these halls..." Suddenly, several guards came out of hiding, and Thranduil himself approached them: "So it is true. And to think, that you would dare, to make such an absurd claim. Not even Maedhros son of Feanor could find them. That you would dare... to enter into -my- realm, and feign yourself a lord..." "My King, it is not true," Lerinon begged. "Speak only when -I- command it!" Thranduil scoffed. "I have kept close watch over you since you even entered. I wanted to test the validity of your brother's claims, but I suspected that they concealed a deeper truth. You truly believe you are Elurin, the lost son of Dior, sired by our adversaries, and now have you dared to him hither, and to do what? To seize my crown and take my throne and render me a dotard! I think not. I hope you have enjoyed your stay. You will be staying for quite a long time. I can wait forever. I will grant unto you a portion of my Kingdom, to rule over all alone, with your brother." Before Inheroth could say anything, the guards led Lerinon away and brought him into the dungeons, and locked him in a cell not unlike the same into which that Thorin Oakenshield and his Naugrim had been thrust. Lerinon was weeping. There he sat, in royal garb, alone. He heard a voice in the shadows, "Brother... what have we done..." Fareon peered out from the shadows at the rear of the cell, "We spoke too openly in the Library. I revealed my cloak to Agarwaenor, and we were about to share experiences, when... and you were foolish most of all. Alas, what will Ada think...... that we, his sons, have failed him....... lost and bereft in this prison. I was right to be wary!" "My brother..." Lerinon now wept in earnest. They held each other close as the darkness enclosed around them. Edited by Lerinon, Jan 18 2015, 02:44 PM.
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12:43 AM Jul 11