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5. Wind-Singers Prologue V: The Embassy- Escape from Mirkwood; Fareon and Lerinon begin in their cell, pondering their long fate...
Topic Started: Jan 18 2015, 11:16 AM (607 Views)
Lerinon
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Fareon turned to Lerinon and smiled, "I will aid Inheroth in the repairs. This is not your province. Rest, for now, until we are done."

As Fareon aided with the repairs, Lerinon lay his head upon a rock. It jabbed at his back. The wind whistled softly through the shrouded trees. He dare not reveal his bundles. He hid them beneath his back and began to dream. He dreamed of time long past, of glory, of Doriath and its realm. Dior's hair, as if woven of raven silk, streaming down his back, gleaming in the light of the Silmaril. The Light, brighter than all other lights, divine. He wanted to embrace him. He wanted to kiss him, perceived as he was as Lerinon's father. He wanted many things to be that no longer were. And so he slept in the mirth of his dream. He awoke at dawn, feeling the jab within his back. The bundle. Where was it? The cloak of gold within. He reached down and felt it. It had slid to the ground. Lerinon sighed with relief, and checked it. The gifts and the cloak remained. He tied it up and re-fashioned it to his back. He climbed the rock and saw the completed barge, his gwadors weary from their labor. He saw the men. They also were worn and weary.

But Lerinon turned, seeking to scout the terrain. He climbed up a large rise that overlooked a remarkable view. There to the northeast was Erebor, the Lonely Mountain, and to the east, a long, gleaming lake, with a settlement built upon it: Esgaroth, the Lake-Town. The river flowed around the rise and gently across only a few further leagues toward the lake. He sighed wearily, for they could not travel there. He had heard legends of the dragons of the north, of the Withered Heath, and the Grey Mountains and the Iron Hills. The Grey Mountains were dimly visible far to the north, beyond the forest, to his elvish sight. He wanted to penetrate it. He wanted to see. He looked toward Erebor, his gaze passing far ahead, beyond the ruins of Dale, and before the great gates. His gaze passed through a main hall, and beyond, to a hoard of riches. And there, a gigantic mass lurked beneath a high mount of gold. Lerinon's concentrated was strained and he could not gaze for long. He blinked, nearly dizzy from his attempt at far-sight. He turned toward the south and saw the River Running jutting, straining his eyes, through vast and barren lands. He vaguely saw the beginnings of the lush vales of Dorwinion. But then his sight failed him. He closed his eyes for nearly an hour. He turned toward the east and made one last attempt. His gaze passed beyond the known lands of Arda. His gaze caught glimpses of ancient and forsaken realms, of nomadic tribesmen tending their flocks, of civilizations tall and mighty, ruined or not, he could not tell, and of jagged mountains, remnants of the war between Morgoth and the Ainur long ago, and of the Two Lamps. He wondered if he saw Utumno, but his sight failed him yet again. He did not see as far as he thought he did. He was sorrowful that they could not explore those lands. He rested his eyes for another hour. Then he returned toward the others at the bargemen encampment.
Edited by Lerinon, Feb 16 2015, 11:08 AM.
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Inheroth
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As the night passed on the cool air plunged into a deep chill. A breeze came from the highest slopes of the Ered Mithrin, dry and bitterly cold. The Men had long escaped from the waters, and were grouped around the largest of fires, huddled within their furs for warmth, shivering despite it. Inheroth felt it little, but he looked with some concern towards them. During the early hours of the night the bargemen had been talkative, responding to his inquiries with mounting curiosity and finally, enthusiasm, though they never completely abandoned the hooded suspicion with which they had initially regarded the Elves. One, a Man who called himself Aldrick, spoke of his wife and children; another, Singar, asked Inheroth a few sparse questions, probing but politely so. The other Men listened with rapt attention as Inheroth described his past skirmishes with spiders, his exploits into bow making; he knew little of barges, he admitted, and the Men helped with the repairs when they could. Yet finally, weariness overcame them, and they retreated back to the shore, and grew silent. Fareon and Inheroth alone remained. He spoke to Fareon in hushed Sindarin, unwilling to break the permeating quiet, and every so often looked upwards to where Lerinon reclined amongst the rocks. He was glad to see his gwador resting, for of the three of them Lerinon seemed to feel the burden of their escape from Mirkwood most emphatically. His new brother was certainly a creature of passions and emotions. Inheroth smiled as he splashed about in the water, steering the barge carefully deeper into the river. This excited him. Their hardships would no doubt be many on this journey, yet they would prevail, of this he held no uncertainties.

With dawn, he began to feel the first stirrings of fatigue; stubbornly he ignored them, for their work was nearly finished. The wood itself was repaired, and hewn together with strong rope. Lacking proper tools, his work was far from perfect, yet with Fareon's help it was a passable job. The Men could continue their journey unhindered, and set the final repairs once they reached Esgaroth once more. Finished with the barge, Inheroth dived deeper into the waters and began pulling the last barrels of wine ashore. By the time this was done, there could be no denying his exhaustion. Under his soaked clothing his limbs were heavy, and his movements lacked its usual grace. Still, he gamely twisted his hair to rid it of excess water, and smiled at the Men, who looked ready for sleep rather than continued travel.

"Your barge shall serve you, for the time being. However, I suggest you continue your repairs once you return home." Inheroth had little energy to extrapolate from there, but the bargemen seemed to understand, and Aldrick, by far the friendliest of their company, stepped forward and bowed stiffly.

"Thank you, Wood-Elf," he said, formal, yet with a tired smile that spoke of his relief. "And to your companions. Without you, we would have gone without our coin for the week. Take these as a token of our thanks, and esteem."

True to their word, they were given packs of food; dried fish and fruits, nuts, harvested sea weeds layered with salt and spices. Bandages and crude healing salves, a spare flask filled with wine, a map, and a dagger, which Inheroth held close to his eye; the metal was not brittle, and would serve them well. But it was the spare clothing that Inheroth was most grateful for. His robes, especially now that they were wet, had grown to be a hindrance. He rid himself of them at once, ignoring the strange, blinking stares this earned him; perhaps the bargemen wondered how he resisted the cold in little more than an undershirt, thin tunic, and leggings, yet he was too glad to be rid of his robes to care. He would let himself dry before putting on these new firs, and allowed Fareon to conclude their farewells as he approached Lerinon to sit by him. He felt immensely worn, and could barely keep his hands from trembling. Perhaps it would have been wise to eat, yet he had little in the way of an appetite. The sun indicated mid-morning. They would have to move soon. In daylight they would be easier to track. Inheroth supposed they could continue following the Forest River, follow the lake's shore south, continue on with the River Running, and then make for the Old Forest Road. "We should go," he said softly to Lerinon, his eyes on the Eastern horizon, bright despite his fatigue. "If these Men are found, and questioned, they will speak of three Elves making their way Eastward. Tarrying would not be wise."
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Lerinon
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Lerinon stood dazed. He wished he was sleeping. For years he had dreamed of Doriath. For years had he dreamed of Greenwood. Now he wished he was dreaming, that he would awaken from his long slumber, to find his familiar halls surrounding him. But the air was cold and the ground was rough. He trod the twigs of the fir trees that loomed overhead. He nodded to Inheroth sadly. He wished they were pressing west, not east. Their journey had not yet truly begun. But then he hatched an idea. His father's oath. The charge that was given. He remembered the Wood-Elves speaking of Dorwinion wine. He could make a long report to his father. The road would be longer, true, and prove more treacherous, but it would work in the end if they did it right. And then he would never have to worry himself of departing from his fair realm soon. Fareon will despise me for this idea.

But Fareon had already guessed it. After the tiring night of work, he strained his eyes upon the height as well, and saw the vast directions.

Lerinon turned toward Inheroth, "We follow the river and forget the forest road."

Fareon turned, "Gwador, are you mad?"

Lerinon scoffed, "We will behold what the Eldar have never beheld since the days of Cuivienen. We will seek lost Daeron, who vanished into the east. And as soon as we cross the wastes of Khand, we shall swoop down into..."

"The Haradwaith desert, with no provisions to survive for such a journey!"

Lerinon quieted down. Fareon stammered, "I hope to fulfill our father's Affirmation as well. But not this time. This is not the way."

Lerinon's eyes gleamed, "What of the Anduin then?"

Fareon sighed, "The realm of Gondor will not invite our presence. Times have changed for its people, or so I have heard. At best, we could attempt to foray our way toward the sea, and keep to the shoreline, avoiding the civilized parts of Gondor. But the road would prove treacherous. And even still, there is the crossing of the river. To avoid this crossing, we would need to traverse through leagues along the southern borders of Mirkwood, through the wastes of the Brownlands, and then through the horrid Dagorlad, or worse, the Emyn Muil and the Wetwang, until we came into Ithilien, still held by Gondor, and then south across the Poros, into Harondor, the dreaded landscape. And when would we decide that Maglor could not be found? When? Others have searched for him, to no avail. I fear he dr..."

Lerinon cut him off, "Never utter those words in this world."

Fareon sighed, "Let us follow Inheroth's route for now."

They made their way further along the River Running, and followed the borders of the Long Lake, till the River began its course again south, toward Dorwinion. And they made their way along its banks, their newly-gained provisions on their backs, pausing for small meals and rest at intervals, as they moved through the rugged terrain of the lands astride the river, rolling, rocky hills dotted with fir trees and smaller forests. Then the time had come to turn west. They crossed through the forests with care, and in time, they reached the borders of Mirkwood, the Old Forest Road before them.
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Inheroth
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Along their path they continued unhindered. Perhaps the Men of the Lake thought not to take notice of them. Even the sound of the trees seemed subdued as they crossed into Mirkwood. Woodland animals chattered little, and the sun rose and set in an unyielding pace. The road was silent, open to the three Elves. Upon that trail Inheroth led them, swift and true in his footing, gaze ever watchful, though it seemed to serve his company little. With each passing day they became wearier, their pace slowed. The air around them seemed to suffocate, the canopies of the trees crawling closer and closer, until finally it became unbearable. There was a sickness within the wood that Inheroth found familiar, yet no less disheartening. He could not explain it to his brothers, though perhaps they knew by sight alone what damage had been wrought. Finally, after many nights of traveling in desperation, he brought them to a halt. They stood beneath the westernmost shadow of the Mountains.

"Emyn Duir," Inheroth whispered. The land upon which they trod was eternally dark. He urged them forward at a crawling pace, his dagger held tightly in his fist, eyes darting between shadows, heart fluttering as quickly as a bird's. West. It called to him, and he struggled to harken. Protect them. Twins of Doriath. A promise. Under the shadow of Emyn-nu-Fuin they walked, careful in their footsteps. Once or twice they evaded Thranduil's guard, crouching behind layered fern. Spiders they came across more often, which they quickly dispatched, burying them under the dying layer of twig and branch.

"We should rest," he suggested suddenly, once they passed the Mountain's shadow. The seeping puissance of the Southern Wood seemed to lessen. "Here." The trees seemed kinder, and bent to them, offering aid with their enormous limbs, a great creaking that seemed to echo. Quickly Inheroth led them up, and they were hoisted towards the midnight sky, as though an offering to Varda.

Inheroth shook. "Rest, my brothers. Rest." He fell silent. They were more than halfway across Eryn Galen.


When they woke, the sun was risen.


Inheroth nosed Lerinon's cheek. "We are nearly there," he whispered. They were wrapped within the bowers of the trees.
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Lerinon
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As they passed through the shadows, Fareon's memories were disturbed. They were one. Doriath and Mirkwood. The shadows dimmed. Rough hands grasped their young bodies. And they were tossed and abandoned in the shadows. The sounds of the creatures of the night.

Lerinon's heart pulsed with fear, remembering all the more. As he gazed at Inheroth, he thought he saw his father. The saving figure in the shadows of the night. Their savior. Their friend. Their protector. He missed his father. He wished to hear his soft and fair voice. Oh Auruiron...

But he kept his mouth shut. His lips tightened in the darkness. He followed Inheroth closely. He felt safe with both his brothers. But the shadows, his eyes could not pierce.

Something of a dark tower jutted deep in the south from a high place. It was a fortress. His gaze could not penetrate it. Fear entered into his heart. He did not see the tower. But he knew: something far worse than Guldrambor was at work in these woods. They must continue.

He sighed with relief when they saw the night sky again and had left the shadowed part of the forest. They were halfway through. The Emyn-nu-Fuin still loomed far to the north. The forest was huge. They dared not stray from the path, where enchanted streams of shadow would lure the victim into its poisons. They had fought several spiders, but now they were far from their webbed territory. And old elven ruins dotted the road here and there.

The road wound and twisted to and fro amongst the trees, but their elven sight did not stray from the path. Dwarves might have. Their rations ran lower. The furs had kept them warm. Their food-supply greatly decreased. Water was rationed. The brothers felt the pains of hunger and thirst.

Finally, they saw light peering through the eaves of the trees. The road reached its departure. There the plains before the land of Beorn streamed. There the lands of safety. Fareon sighed with relief. But they were still low on rations, thirsty, and hungry, and the fresh, clean, gleaming waters of the Anduin were still far off. And they knew naught of Beorn, nor how he would react to Elves. Fareon wondered if they could hunt. He could skin and cook a creature such as an elk or bear. They rested at the eaves of the forest.

Lerinon sighed, "We have come far, Gwador. Very far. But I fear for our supplies... what shall we do?"
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Inheroth
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It seemed they had successfully passed through perhaps the most dangerous portion of their journey. Once they crossed the line of trees they would be free of Thranduil's territory and claims. The Anduin was close, so close Inheroth could smell the rapid waters and even hear them if he listened closely enough. Weak and in need of nourishment, they were still descendants of the mightiest of the Sindar; their reserves were not yet spoiled, and they had strength enough to go on, though it pained their stomachs and parched their throats. "We should continue," Inheroth said. His voice was soft and sapped of its strength and enthusiasm, yet it did not waver as he pointed westward. "Brothers. I know you are tired. I want nothing more but to rest myself. Consider this, for a moment. If we gather our strength, we should make the River by nightfall. There we can truly tend to ourselves, but of yet we are not safe. It is said that a Skin-changer dwells near the ford, but what threat can he truly find us. diminished as we are? I shall not be calmed until we put distance between us and this wood. So come. We shall travel thither."

Yet before either of the twins could reply, he dashed off, into the midst of trees. High and low he seemed to search, crouching close to the ground, and peering up into the greatest heights of the forest awnings. A call came from him suddenly, a piercing, musical trill not unlike that of a bird. He repeated these notes for several minutes, and stopped in a patch of sunlight, face tilted upwards, going utterly still. For within the brush a small wren appeared, hopping from twig and birch until it came to settle close. Inheroth looked down at it, and smiled. The wren tittered something that sounded like a laugh, and Inheroth responded in kind. Lowering himself to his knees, he began to speak in a melodious language. It was one his mother had taught him, long ago, and though his accents were rough about the edges and the wren seemed to tease him for it, its small chest puffed in acute understanding. With a flourish, it took to flight and disappeared. Inheroth rose, dusted himself off, and returned to the side of his brothers.

"Apologies," he said, his face flushed and eyes bright. "If all should go well, we should find company by the Ford."

The distance between Mirkwood and their destination was not a short one, but they pushed ever forward. As the day's light dimmed and gave way unto the gentle blanket of night, they were all but spent. The roar of the Great River had increased, and finally, in the midst of the late watches, they arrived at its banks. Once there had been a bridge connecting one shoreline to the other, yet it was now made a ruin of time and neglect. Inheroth could not recall ever seeing such a beautiful sight. Breathing hard, he came to a halt, and stared into the waters. Every muscle within his body seemed to shiver in exhaustion, yet he could not find it within himself to approach the river without first tending to the twins. At once he was at their side, grasping their hands and leading them forward until the tips of their boots touched the lapping river's edge. "We are here," he whispered, and he wished for nothing more than a deep drink from the water, to throw himself into it and rid himself of the dust and grime of their hard journey. Yet he would see them cared for first. "Tonight we will camp here, and tomorrow, Agarwaenor will join our company, if the stars shine upon us kindly."
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Lerinon
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Lerinon sighed with relief. It was a long day, hunger bursting in his stomach, thirst clawing at his dry lips. When they reached the river, he bowed down and drank from it, deeply, the cool flowing waters of the Anduin filling him.

Fareon, however, listened to Inheroth. Oh no... The thought of Agarwaenor approaching caused him fear.

"Are you mad? After all of this dodging and hiding from your kin, through spider's web, thicket and shadowed fen, you would have us trust our former jailor? Who gloated at our imprisonment? True, he allowed us to escape, but I fancy it was because of you, Gwador. He holds no love in his heart for us. Only for you. Send your wren. Let Thranduil come with all his legions, led by your wren and Agarwaenor! Let them bind and gag us, carrying us back to our dark cells. I do not trust him."

Lerinon was too filled with water to overhear. But then he stopped drinking, and understood, "We must cross this river at once. We must reach the safety of Elrond Halfelven! He will not allow our arrest." He was still famished. Fareon felt his own stomach grumble. Lerinon stood and moved to a dryer spot nigh the river. He longed for rest. Fareon then stooped and drank.

Then he pulled Agarwaenor's daggers from their sheaths, remembering his words. The thought struck him. In their haste, he had given Agarwaenor a reason to pursue them. He shuddered at the thought. But then his eyes darted on the blades. They were from Eregion. How they came to Mirkwood, he did not know. But his father was a Noldo. And Agarwaenor was not. But Fareon was not a thief. He thought of leaving the daggers behind for Agarwaenor to find.

But then were the provisions. Another day or two of starvation was better than an eternity in a cell. There would be berries and other edibles on the other side of the Anduin.

Then Fareon paused to hear any protests on part of Inheroth.
Edited by Lerinon, Feb 26 2015, 09:42 PM.
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Inheroth
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"Peace, brothers, please!" Inheroth sank beside Fareon, and placed a hand upon his shoulder in a comforting gesture. He looked between the twins imploringly. "Agarwaenor would do no such thing. Nay," he shook his head, "I do not ask for you to trust in him, for even I cannot know the very secrets of his heart. Yet trust in me! I would not bring you so far only to gamble our fates on a mere whim. Think I would escape the chains of supplication if Thranduil's soldiers apprehended us? I would merely suffer by your side, and all the worse! To know that it was by my own fault that you were locked away. No."

The sight of the blades brought terror into his heart, for within the moment he believed Fareon drew them in defense. "Please," he repeated, reaching forward and lowering the daggers with the palms of his hand. Their sharpness, undiminished, cut lightly into his flesh, but he did not flinch, and regarded the twins with renewed purpose. "This was ever the plan," he explained carefully. "Before we departed from Thranduil's halls, I told Agarwaenor to meet us here, but only if he could escape suspicion, and leave under the promise that he would not be followed! I thought we would be further south by now. That is why I sent the wren. Already my brother should be close. If he is not, then there is no danger. If he is already set out, the path will be shown to him. Yet I swear to you, we are under no threat! Disapprove as he might of our venture, he would not betray me. Never. Nor could I you, Fareon, Lerinon, nor could you to one another! I pray you both, listen to me. Let us pause here. We cannot last on our road as we are now, without aid. Please."
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Lerinon
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Fareon sighed, "Very well. I hope that you are correct." He looked around for several sticks near a copse of trees. He took them, carving interlocking sections with his knife. Then he twisted the tallest one into the earth, interlinking them in the frame of a large tent. Then he unfurled and spread his golden cloak over it, forming the canvas. The others assisted him. The ground was dry and grassy inside. He took the furs, making a floor and resting place. Then they wearily sat down and began to rest.
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Agarwaenor
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Agarwaenor
The sun rose and sat twice upon Mirkwood. The daylight filtered through the canopy of branches. From time to time it would catch the brief form of an Elf. Agarwaenor cut a nimble swathe through the forest, guided by the chirping of wrens. His crimson form blurred through the woods like a gale, and tore out of the trees into the rolling hills. His feet moved as swiftly as any steed, propelling both he and the bric a brac underfoot through the air.

Soon, the sun exploded into view, as he came to the ford, and spied in a secluded and well hidden spot a camp tent. He slowed his pace to a stride, as his wren-guide diverted and took off for its own familiar territory. He cast it a last glance and whispered a grateful word of thanks.

Agarwaenor stepped into the camp, and announced himself clearly.

"I am summoned, brother. I am summoned, Doriathrim. Come out from your shelters and greet me. Bring me food and wine, for though my feet are swift the road is tiring."

He drew closer to the tent, and opened the flap.
Edited by Agarwaenor, Feb 27 2015, 05:14 PM.
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Within the depths of his healing sleep he dreamt of shapeless visions. He saw Edhellond again, which forever haunted him; he thought of his mother, walking down the pier with a dark veil covering her face. She was beckoning to him, and he followed her onto the surf. They walked silently through the sand, and left no discernible footprints. Then she was gone. In her place was the outline of an Elf, golden and fair and faceless. Still that form beckoned to him, and Inheroth followed. He felt light, at peace and full of joy, as though the last vestiges of weariness had bled from him. The sea became a river, and he followed the bright figure across it. The waves pulled at him, yet he ignored it, ignored its song and gentle sway. It was warm, these waters, and he wanted to laugh, yet suddenly he could not move. He was sinking. The light became overwhelming. It spread across the very edges of his vision, and he tried to cover his face, shield his eyes away from it, stop, he whispered, and it continued, it burned, he tried to call for help though he had no voice -

"Brother..."

He sat up, his heart racing. Within the tent, it was temperate, and the furs were comfortable. Lerinon and Fareon were pressed at his side, asleep still, though they were starting to stir. It was day, mid-morning at least. Neither of them had spoken. The Anduin was alive and singing.

"Agarwaenor," Inheroth breathed, unbelieving. There, hovering above, was the silver-haired son of Thinfiligon, frowning down at them. He was clad in his crimson traveling clothes. Awed by the very strangeness of this sight, Inheroth tucked his hair behind his ears and blinked up blearily at his brother. It was day, yes, and he had slept the entirety night away. Nothing short of a dragon's roar would have woken him, he realized with a sudden chill, and he paled. The thought terrified him. He was supposed to be protecting the sons of Doriath, and if they had been attacked during the night, he would have failed them utterly. He stood, and remembered his exhaustion. The strength of his limbs was not yet replenished, and he wavered. "You are here." He could not bring himself to doubt his brother by blood. He could not look over his shoulder in hope that he would not find Thranduil's army behind it. Instead. Instead he would take Agarwaenor by the shoulders and embrace him fiercely, bury his face into his neck and let out a shaky sigh. "Elbereth, I knew you would come." He held on, even as the twins began to rise, too relieved to let go.
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Fareon quickly stretched, moving his long hair aside. He feared it was his final moment of relaxation in freedom. He turned to see the elf. Fareon quickly stood, "And now I shall have caught you in thy..." And he swiftly reached for the cloak, pulling it down and off the sticks, ruining the tent. As the cloak unveiled their surroundings, he was embarrassed to see the empty plains and the river near at hand. Fareon shouted, "Thranduil, King of Mirkwood, I know you are lurking near at hand, come out! And make thy presence known."

This was followed by an awkward silence. Lerinon rubbed his eyes, "Agarwaenor... forgive my brother's words. As you can imagine, this fear and distrust has been on his mind. Yet think nothing of it. It is only natural. Of course we should have trusted Inheroth. I did. My brother promised my father that he would return me to him in safety. I fear this quest hangs heavily upon his heart, altering his perceptions, his ability to trust. You know of this bond. This closeness. I see it hither, before my eyes. I trust you. In fact,"

Lerinon walked near them, taking the daggers from Eregion: "These are rightfully yours. You have found them, after all." He held the daggers outward, their hilts facing Agarwaenor, for when his embrace with Inheroth concluded. Fareon bowed his head, "Forgive me.... you are truly a keeper of your word...." And he began to fold his cloak of gold, to return it to its pack.
Edited by Fareon, Feb 28 2015, 11:24 PM.
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Agarwaenor
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Agarwaenor
Returned Inheroth's embrace. "Of course I have come. Have you ever known me to break my word?" As Inheroth released him, he looked to Lerinon, who spoke to him.

Agarwaenor scrutinized the youthful, and yet older, Elf. His face was stern and hard, and yet held no malice or suspicion. His eyes were mirrors, reflecting the world perfectly in the grey curvature of his irises. They were objective and passive.

"I imagine you have been given much reason to distrust others," he said to Lerinon, placing a hand on the Elf's shoulder. "And I imagine I must be a difficult person to trust. I am not like many of my kin. I desire no ornaments, no jewels or riches. I have no love for music or dancing. I take no wife and I desire no children. What I do desire is knowledge, and the safety of my brother."

He took the daggers, and they were swiftly placed into twin scabbards that hung from the herald's belt. He turned to Fareon, gazing at him critically as he approached Inheroth.

"I am also defined by my duty. My king, Thranduil, wishes me to spy you. That is what I shall do. Yet until I have merit to believe you are of some threat, you may see me as an ally on your endeavor."

He stopped before his brother, and folded his arms across his chest.

"What is to be our plan, brother?"
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Inheroth
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Inheroth shook his head, regretful, though not yet crestfallen. The sight of his brother had brought him much joy, that he could not despair at the hardships they had encountered on their journey, nor vex himself over the particulars of their departure hence. "We have little in the way of plans. Our provisions are all but gone, and we are weary. If we follow the river West, we will have to cross the High Pass, and it is wrought with dangers, so I've heard. And already we are greatly weakened. What can be done? Your wisdom would be greatly appreciated."

A thought occurred to him.

"Come with us," he said immediately. "Fareon was right. If it is truly your greatest desire, this search for knowledge, how can you refuse? My brother, Mirkwood can offer nothing more to you. We came here once, young, and full of hope, searching for the last remnants of our Father's people. It has been our home for many years. But our thirsts have been quenched. What more can you learn from Thranduil, from a land besieged, that refuses to acknowledge the realms beyond? Agarwaenor, over the rise of those mountains is Imladris. The Lord Elrond is said to know all. Would you waste the chance to speak to him, even once? This is how you may aid us. Come with me brother. We may have a family once more!"

He moved, to stand beside the twins. In the light of the sun they gleamed. Inheroth rose his chin proudly. "My allegiance is ever true, brother-mine. I have made my decision to go west. Wilt thou come with me? There is no reason for us to be parted, ever. 'Tis what Thinfiligon and Alphanaer would have wanted."
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Lerinon
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Lerinon gazed, his eyes beaming brightly, at Inheroth's words. He slipped his cloak of molten gold out of his worn sack, dawning it upon his shoulders, and then Lerinon outstretched it across Inheroth's shoulders, standing at his side, bound beside him, the cloak encircling them both.

Lerinon laughed, "I cannot promise that we would gain admittance to the chambers of Master Elrond, but I can promise that you shall meet living artifacts of history, my father among them."

He gazed at Agarwaenor, "You will learn things you could not have hoped to learn, not even in the majestic halls of Thranduil. For Greenwood is far away from the lands now beneath the living seas. Yet of that remnant, we remain, on the borders of old Ossirand, the land of seven rivers before Gondor gained its name. Why, I would reveal the ancient city of Gil-galad Elven King, and the ruins of northern Lindon, some dating back to the days when Caranthir the Dark dwelt there, nigh Rerir. And my father dwelt once on the western foot-hills of Rerir, where the Gap widened. There now waves crash upon the shores, where once was Maglor's Gap, its green, flowing hills and fields, and fair rivers darting amidst small stones, and from a great height arose Himring. Himling, it is called now, a flat, green isle, that once was a tall plateau, upon which stood the spires of the citadel and fortress city of Maedhros. But we dwell now facing Forlindon, the Sea not far, yet far enough away to be a hindrance. We fear not its call, for we are bound by vow to remain, until our duty is fulfilled. However, I must reveal certain rules. You are not to reveal my father or our realm to Thranduil Elven-King. Spy as you may, yet speak only the necessary elements of the truth: that the twins lived nigh Mithlond, the Grey Havens, under Cirdan's jurisdiction, and that they were no threat to Thranduil's realm. And you may report of all of the ruins and wonders that you may see, as to your liking. But not Minas Noldorion. We have dwelt long beneath the sight of History's Gaze, and only in our own Chronicles shall we remain. None in Mirkwood Dark, Imladris fair, or Golden Wood may know, save those who know already, into whose trust the ripples of the Song hath commanded. You and your brother are among them. But tale of our true destiny, our dwelling place, all, must be kept hid even from the ears of Lord Cirdan, Master Elrond, the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood, and from all the lofty lords of Men. For we are voiceless, Dispossessed, save in the writing of our own pens. Take unto me this vow, if you would come, or not: King Thranduil shall not know the name of Minas Noldorion, and nor the secrets of any who dwell there still."

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Agarwaenor
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Agarwaenor
Agarwaenor fixed Lerinon with a cold and steady gaze, and spoke.

"I make only the oath to act as my spirit dictates. That is my bargain. However, whether or not you accept it is entirely unimportant. I am here because I intend to look after my brother, and to see what knowledge is to be gained in doing so. I might remind you also, Lerinon, that 'twas not I who let your secret slip to Thranduil's ears. You have no grounds to doubt my trustworthiness."

He took a step closer, and his expression softened somewhat.

"Know that I mean you no harm, and know that I have protected you twice now from Mirkwood's wrath. There is no need for demands."

He placed his hand on the Doriath Elf's shoulder.

"As long as you hold my brother's allegiance, you have my cooperation."
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Inheroth
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Agarwaenor was too wise, then, to blindly pledge any oath. He was not impulsive, as Inheroth was; his passions and emotions simmered, but did not boil over. Ever did he maintain his composure. For that, Inheroth admired him greatly, though he worried that it would bring discord amongst their company. For the rest of the day they sorted their belongings. Agarwaenor soothed their hunger with much needed provisions - small cakes not unlike lembas in look and make, and wine that tasted of the oak they were aged in, warming their tongues and their bellies. After consuming them, Inheroth scanned the bank of the river with a careful gaze, slipped off his boots, and tread into the water. There was fish aplenty in the Anduin, and after a few hours of toil he had managed to catch enough to feed his brothers further. They would need to be well fed if they were to continue their journey west through the Cirith Forn en Andrath. He knew rumors of orcs and goblins in the Pass, and though they had enough weapons now for each Elf to carry, they would be at a great disadvantage if starved. He risked a small fire to cook them over. If Thranduil's men had indeed chosen to pursue them and had noticed the smoke, they would stop at the edge of the wood. If the Bear shifter chose to note their presence, well. They were of little threat as they were.

As they ate, the sun began to disappear. Inheroth felt renewed in vigor and hope. He looked upon his brothers with a smile, and stirred. "We should continue soon," he said, rising, and stomping out the fire. "Under the shroud of night we may cover more ground. Once we reach the High Pass, we would be wise to travel during the day, to lessen our chance of any orc encounters. This may be inevitable, but we are strong. I have seen the way you fight," he looks to the twins, his gaze full of pride. "And my brother, though a scholar, is a formidable warrior. So now I say, we will reach Imladris! There we will find respite. Ready yourselves, my brothers, our road is nearly ended, for now."

They set out after having gathered their possessions. Together they navigated across the river, jumping across the ruined bridge, every crumbling rock and foundation a footstep to set them further west. The land at the foot of the mountains was low and barren of trees, yet they remained mostly hidden by the high grasses. Ithil was waning, and the night was dark. Still, the outline of the Misty Mountains was stark against the sky, white capped and shining as they were. They seemed impervious to any gaze, mightier than anything in sight, and the air, once mild, grew colder as they approached them. The road crept upward, and they followed. Only once did Inheroth pause and look back. Mirkwood was a sprawl of dark green in the horizon, barely discernible. His former home was gone from view. It saddened him, to think he would not see those halls again. It also filled him with purpose. He had done this once before, leaving Edhellond with naught but his father's bow and twin swords. It would be done again, and this time, his family was whole once more. He continued on.
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Lerinon
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Lerinon had smiled when Agarwaenor placed his hand on his shoulder. Lerinon had then reacted in an embrace. He embraced Agarwaenor warmly, not pausing to feel whether he felt shock or indignation, or whether he had returned it warmly. It did not matter. He had smiled, "Then no vow will I require of you, for I believe you, and I was wrong to believe otherwise. Forgive me, Gwador-nin. For though we have not known each other long, Inheroth and I are as if brothers, through the experiences that we have shared together through my cloak. Let us cast aside all suspicions of each other now. Whether or not I am Elurin of Doriath, it matters not to this moment. I am here, whether son of Auruiron or Dior, both or none."

And Fareon had nearly shed a tear, grateful for his brother's sudden change of heart. These were memories passing through Lerinon's mind as they climbed. He had followed Inheroth's guidance along the way. They had reached the Fords and the Beornings came forth from hiding, questioning them little, demanding only their lofty fee. Lerinon did not carry money, but the toll was not of currency, for the Beornings seldom engaged in a mercantile trade. They rather engaged in bartering.

But the Elves had precious little to barter. They had lost their horses at Thranduil's Halls and all they had were the rich garb in their packs that Thranduil had given them before their confinement. They had their own garb as well, and the furs within which they had disguised themselves. And so it was that Fareon begged the Beornings, who had to be content with Fareon and Lerinon's furs in order to be grant their passage. They reclothed themselves in their richer garb, and the Beornings had little interest in such things. They would only take it to barter with other Elves or Dwarves on the long road, but Lerinon was loathe to part with anything. Fareon had flashed his arrows and the Beornings revealed their axes, and, with neither party desiring bloodshed, the barter was made, and the Elves had pressed forward out of sight.

They had passed the lofty Carrock, looming tall, and then they were on the upward path. The High Pass wound steadily upward, as snow began to fall, covering the path before them. The Lake-Men furs were a boon in the vast, icy wastes, beneath the mountain crags that stared down along their path as if they were frowning, forbidding their passage. Great gusts of wind filled the air as their faces endured the harsh cold of a blinding blizzard. The wind hissed and howled. Thunder struck in the distance. And barely visible in the winds were several ruins of tall stone, gigantic block upon gigantic block. And the ground began to rumble as they ran, darting for the path, the ground shaking with the thuds of massive boots, and the path sunk into a dim forested vale. They saw hints of great boulders being tossed in the mist. The stone-giants were creatures of legend, even to the Doriathrim, who had never seen the War of Wrath or Melkor's legions. The Elves made their way steadily downward, the path winding around to the east, and down, and then west again, and up, following a line of tall cliffs. There were some gaps or small caves in the cliffs, but Fareon had heard the rumors of goblins when they were last in Imladris, and did not trust them. Only a stubborn Dwarf or company would be unwise enough to choose one of these caves. They continued up the hill and the snow had turned to rain. Thunder stuck again and Fareon feared the giants were returning. He strengthened his heart and girded himself as they pressed on. The snow came at them again in full fury as they left the path.

Fareon had tracked part of their way alongside Inheroth, and he warned of the scent of goblins on the night air. They were preparing an attack. So they turned upward where the air became cold as they trudged through more snow, seemingly up a mountain peak. If they could reach a place where the sun would rise, the goblins would flee from them in terror. He heard the sound of grinding metal. He only had nineteen arrows in his quiver. He would be lucky to shoot three of them in the snows. He heard hissed voices and the air smelt rank and foul. Lerinon began to chant in Quenya, an old verse his father had taught him: "Ancalima Calimmacil va Cano, Rostcalimo Aure va Alco!" / "Shining Sword of the Bright Commander, Fiery Sword of the Brillaint Sun!" Several goblins trembled in their fear. He told the two Wood-elven brothers not to fear. "Formidable warriors you may be, but we caused this journey, and we will be the first to shed our blood for you."

Without pausing for a response, his eyes pierced wretched spheres, hovering in the darkness, and his arm wretched, the arrow flying in the shadows, the sound of a pierced throat cutting through the shadows. At this, the air was silent. His eyes attempted to pierce the shadows. Fareon sighed, "They appear to have..." Suddenly, thudded boots smashed the snowy ground, and Fareon drew his swords. They all fought now, the sudden rush of the foe causing great woe. Lerinon was scratched by a scimitar. He grabbed it, jabbing his hand, scanning it for poison. There was no poison. He felt the hot blood on his finger-tips, contrasted to the biting winds. He winced at the sight of his own blood. He began to chant wildly in Quenya as the Yrch suddenly began to howl, for his words burned the marrow of their minds. They feared the elven lords of old from their tales of horror and disdain. Morgoth's forces had been stronger-willed than these, who were more of a match for Dwarves and mortal Men than for those few still raised by the Eldar. Fareon shot until his bereft quiver slipped lightly on his back. Lerinon quickly wrapped his wounded hand in his cloak of gold, that had fallen out of his sack. Fareon sighed with relief as he turned west. The Sun was rising as the plains and hills of Eriador stretched far below on the horizon. But Lerinon fell limp, the cold penetrating his skin, and he suddenly kissed Fareon on the lips, while Fareon filled his lungs with warm air, gently guiding his brother to the ground, as Lerinon's limps slowly regained their strength. Even still, his hand was wounded, and his brother was not adept at sighting poison. And he gazed at the bloody gash in Lerinon's hand and saw it. It was his writing hand. And a small, slick stream of black oozed from the wound. Lerinon became even more cold and limp. Fareon wrapped him in his cloak entirely, especially nigh the wound. The grace of Aman might withhold the poison. The poison was lethal and would have killed him.

They rested through dawn, Fareon wrapping his own golden cloak around them all, sorry he had left the sticks behind by the Anduin. They hid in their surprising warmth, for the graces of the Valar do not wane. When the sun had risen fully, they climbed back down, Fareon reclaiming his arrows from the slain Yrch. Their blades were foul and his own face was scratched. He had not paused to see if the wound was poisoned, but his face felt fine and he suspected a worse reaction would have occurred. Strength flowed through his limbs, for he was stronger-willed than his brother, and had not lost his fur in a snow-drift as Lerinon had while they fled the goblins. They ascended the winding mountain path, taking care not to fall in the abyss to their left, and the path wound steadily down, as they crossed icy plains, and through narrow vales, until at least they came to Cirith Imladris. Their steps were slow and time was urgent, Lerinon leaning on Fareon's shoulder, his steps weak, his mouth rasping, his body wretched and gagging at times on the long, slow way down the mountain pass. But Cirith Imladris was a relief.

With relief mounting in their hearts, they descended the straight path, down the steep inclines, and passed Imdolen, and then down the final stretch. Imladris beamed before them. The sun was beginning to set. And Fareon greeted the guardians warmly. They were granted entry in haste, some guards running to find a healer, while others aided Lerinon, and Fareon led them to the doors of the house of his sister-in-law, Rostoriel, wife to his third brother: Ioristion, the birth-son of Auruiron. She was not expecting company. She gasped when she saw her brothers-in-law burst into the entry hall, tracking mud, but this did not appall her. It was Lerinon's pale and sickly face. She had not seen him since she tried to dissuade him from his mad quest to find Thranduil's Halls. And she did not take the time to note the other arrivals. She motioned to take Lerinon and lay him in the resting place of their life-chamber. But Ioristion was not here. He was with his father for a time. He would spend months in Falathlorn or Imladris, Melimwe taking him either way. Melimwe did not mind, and Rostoriel felt lonely ever, with or without her mad husband. But he was kind and gentle, even in his madness, and still found ways to charm her heart. Then Rostoriel made places for the other guests, avoiding conversation until all was ready. The healer arrived with several draughts. He had obtained them from Master Elrond's stores with the permission of one of Elrond's wisest healers. Then the healer felt Lerinon's pulse and administered the draughts, while Rostoriel prepared a boiling pot in their fireplace, where athelas leaves were crushed, filling the room with a pleasant scent. Lerinon seemed to stabilize. His breathing became slow and deep. He fell unconscious, but the healer sighed with relief. He required no reward for the trouble. He was glad to had saved an elven life on the precipice of death.

And after the healer left with the guards, they sat around Lerinon in silence, on comfortable cushions. Rostoriel sighed with relief, "I warned you, Fareon, did I not?"

"We both did," Fareon sighed.

Rostoriel smiled, her rust-colored hair flaming in streams behind her. She stroked it behind her neck and turned to the Gwadorim, "You are welcome beneath our roof. Do you hail from the eastern realm?"
Edited by Lerinon, Apr 26 2016, 12:15 PM.
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Agarwaenor
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Agarwaenor
Agarwaenor nodded to the healer, but made no move to elaborate. Pleasant conversation was his brother's forte. His was quiet contemplation.

The Sinda took a position by Lerinon's bed, facing the window. Outside, the vast valley stretched on, flanked by waterfalls and towering trees. The still evening air was filled with birdsong, and above the rustling of leaves drifted the distant song of a lyre. Though he did not share it, Agarwaenor took great solace in quiet moments. It was in these moments he could retreat into his own mind, and tour the libraries of memory.

He was not entirely alone in his thoughts, however. Beyond all the sounds of Imladris, the faint breath and heartbeat of Lerinon pulsed in his ears. He could almost hear the Elf's thoughts as they drifted through his mind. Thoughts of home, of family, of a matter to be resolved. They were too faint to read, and yet they left echoes for Agarwaenor to pick apart, to analyze, to put together a picture of what the ill-stricken Elf felt.

What he felt reassured him. Lerinon was as formidable in his spirit as he was old.

Edited by Agarwaenor, Mar 13 2015, 04:21 PM.
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Inheroth
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Inheroth's first night in Imladris was not what he had imagined it to be, once and long ago. Upon beholding the beauty of the valley, he could not savor the sight, nor feel the tranquility permeating the air. Instead, a great anxiety had taken hold of him, for he feared their arrival was too late. Lerinon's face was a pale expanse, his feet dragging when his brother urged them forward past the gates. Inheroth could scarce hear the greetings between Fareon and the gate wardens, the sound of his heart quailing and his blood rushing far too loud within his own ears. He did not even feel his wounds, the greatest of which a large bruise blooming upon his left cheekbone where a goblin had smashed a mace against it. It would mend on its own, in time, but the same could not be said for Lerinon, who was immediately ushered away from him. He feared this departure, and would have argued against being parted from his brother-in-name if not for the gentle reassurances of the pages that led Inheroth and Agarwaenor to their temporary abodes. Their rooms were large and comfortable, open-aired in a manner that Thranduil's halls had never been, yet Inheroth had not the heart to linger within them, and he and his brother were shown to the healing chambers hence. Those halls were thick with the scent of athelas, and quiet. They were shown to a bench by an arched window. Agarwaenor stood, as was his wont, even as Inheroth sank down against the pillows, feeling some small measure of comfort. He placed his trembling hands within his lap and watched. The healer moved quickly, seemed to be a master in the practice of his arts. The Elf whom Fareon had called sister lingered close. Inheroth took a moment to stare at her. She was a presence to be noted. It was not often he had seen an Elf with hair the color of flame, like the last lingering light of a sunset. She carried herself in a dignified manner, the Lady of her House, he thought, and it was easier to watch her move about assuredly than to look at Lerinon, so still where he lay. Yet finally, the tension about them dissipated, the healer nodded, and Inheroth let loose a tremulous sigh, feeling the strain in his muscles ease away. Standing, he made his way to where Lerinon slept, and peered into his face, cautiously hopeful that he would see the early signs of recovery in his face. His brother was asleep, the furrow in his brow caused by the pain of poison eased. Though he was still far too white for an Elf of such levity and grace, Inheroth was comforted.

Agarwaenor had answered Rostoriel, though Inheroth turned to her and elaborated further, his voice soft. The healing halls seemed a place for whispers, and he was weary once more, and began to feel the aches and pains of their battle the day before now that the adrenaline within him had run its course. "We do my lady," he said respectfully. "I am Inheroth, and this is my brother Agarwaenor." He gestured towards his silver-haired brother. "Thank you for your very gracious welcome. I had feared the very worst. It is not uncommon for the blades of goblins to be poisoned, but Lerinon is full of strength to have made it so far. Perhaps it was the hope of reaching you in time that kept his spirit at bay." With a shudder he peeled the hair that clung to his face away, and tucked it behind his ears. He did not care overly much that they all appeared very taxed by their journey. The clothing the bargemen had gifted him was torn in many places, and his plaited hair was a mess, the bruise on his face a dark purple contrast against his fair skin. "We are...we once served King Thranduil, yet now I think my purpose lies in the company of Fareon and Lerinon. They came to the Woodland Realm and were promised to be treated as guests, yet," he shakes his head, "old fears and jealousies imprisoned them. Agarwaenor and I aided in their escape. The road was unkind to us, and this has been the greatest of our trials. And though you have known them far longer than I, gwador I would name them both now, and my gratitude towards you is boundless!" Inheroth stepped towards her, his eyes shining with unshod tears. "Thank you." With a slight bow, he turned, and faced Lerinon once more. His heart was filled with gladness immeasurable. This Elf which had sung with such power in his voice would live still, they would share more together, tales and songs and secrets. Inheroth felt faint, yet his love kept him close to Lerinon's side. Looking upwards, he smiled to Fareon as well, a wordless token of his esteem.
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