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| 17. Wind-Singers Volume III.I: The Final Quest; Ivordir and Daerfalas journey into Gondor to face the Enemy and find tidings of Guldrambor | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Apr 5 2015, 04:14 PM (4,110 Views) | |
| Ivordir | Apr 5 2015, 04:14 PM Post #1 |
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((Warning: this thread contains content that would not be suitable for younger audiences- mainly violence and romantic scenes. Read only if you are 18+. )) OOC: Cast of Characters Let it be hither known that the following lists of characters belong solely to their respective writers. Their names, transitions between characters of different writers, etc., are referred to and rendered clearly in the text. Inheroth / Inny: Daerfalas- Ivordir's adolescent friend; both men are now in their early 20's; they are as close as brothers. Member of Ivordir's Company; one of Ivordir's closest Councillors. Gwainoth- A man of poor background; friend of Aegon; member of Ivordir's Company. Aeglos- the Leading Healer of Ivordir's Company. Sarndur- A Mason; member of Ivordir's Company. Rolanir- noble of Dol Amroth; father-figure to Daerfalas. Rolanion- son of Rolanir. Melimir- a Lady of Pelargir; mother of Daerfalas. Raedwyn- pending. Ialon- a servant of Melimir Arancir- Brother to Auravon and Amarthon; son to Malnoron Thalathond- soldier of Ballithor Naitheg- a sellsword soldier, hired by Ballithor Auruiron / Auru: Ivordir- Commander of Ivordir's Company; informally referred to as a "captain"- unofficially due to Gondor's actual hierarchy. Abrazan- Adopted son of Yucalwe Ranyaro- of Southron origins- thought by many to be southern Gondorian when he uses the safer accent; member of Ivordir's Company. Ballithor- Lord of the House of the Silver Swan of Dol Amroth; a minor noble with levels of hidden influence (they named themselves after the standard of their City pretentiously and presumptuously); father to Baralinor; brother to Brastor. Baralinor- son of Ballithor and Heir to his House; member of Ivordir's Company. Brastor- Brother to Ballithor; member of Ivordir's Company. Sainion- Son of Sainon, a minor noble of Dol Amroth; pressed into service by Ballithor; member of Ivordir's Company. Dolthor- Member of Ivordir's Company. Trenardir- Member of Ivordir's Company. Maglon- Member of Ivordir's Company. Suldor- One of the three fishermen survivors of Ivordir and Daerfalas' fated journey to Eriador; member of Ivordir's Company; son to Nenthor. Sulchon- One of the three fishermen survivors of Ivordir and Daerfalas' fated journey to Eriador; member of Ivordir's Company; son to Nenthor. Nenthor- One of the three fishermen survivors of Ivordir and Daerfalas' fated journey to Eriador; member of Ivordir's Company; brother to Nendaer. Preston- Member of Ivordir's Company. Orchalon- Member of Ivordir's Company. Thanguron- Member of Ivordir's Company. Tarion- Member of Ivordir's Company. Aeg- An outlaw of Tarlang. Aegon- Aeg's son; also of Tarlang. Badhron- a noble of Tadrent. Arodon- a noble of Linhir. Arradon- A lord of outlaws from Tarlang. Bruidor- A lord of outlaws from Ethring. Bar-tender (unnamed)- a bar-tender of a tavern in Ethring. Sainon- Father of Sainion; minor noble of Dol Amroth. Glamron- minor noble of Dol Amroth. Echon- minor noble of Dol Amroth. Denethon- lord-father of Malgelir / Malfinseron Malgelir / Malfinseron- son of Denethon of the Silver Fist Haedirn- knight of Osgiliath, brother to Gilorn Gilorn- knight of Osgiliath, brother to Haedirn Saelbainor / Gurthbainor- Servant of Mordor, Umbar, and Guldrambor Himelon- Gondorian Follower of Gurthbainor Rostiel- Gondorian Follower of Gurthbainor; beloved to Himelon Duvaissel- Gondorian Follower of Gurthbainor Borneth- Gondorian Follower of Gurthbainor Celaireth- Gondorian Follower of Gurthbainor Gildis- Gondorian Follower of Gurthbainor Morchon- Gondorian Follower of Gurthbainor Limben- Gondorian Follower of Gurthbainor Tinnedir- Gondorian Follower of Gurthbainor Silvren- Gondorian Follower of Gurthbainor Duon- Gondorian Follower of Gurthbainor Dochon- Gondorian Follower of Gurthbainor Caldor- Gondorian Follower of Gurthbainor Daechir- Gondorian Follower of Gurthbainor Ninniachon / Isenadin- Gondorian Follower of Gurthbainor Ciron- Noble Heir of Tumladen Vale Fingaereth- Noble Daughter of Tumladen Vale Colhel- Noble Daughter of Tumladen Vale Glossel- Noble Daughter of Tumladen Vale Mithon- A Ranger of Ithilien Amarthon / Amathandor- Son of Malnoron, Devoted of Guldrambor; Member of Ivordir's Company Auravon- Son of Malnoron, Devoted of Guldrambor; Member of Ivordir's Company Malnoron- A noble of Pelargir Flashback Characters- Nendaer- Brother to Nenthor; uncle to Suldor and Sulchon; fisherman and Bard. Auruiron- son of Alcarin, among countless other things. Yucalwe Ranyaro- son of Yuale, among countless other things. Amanuiron / Guldrambor- corrupted Maia of Irmo / Lorien. Referred to often as "the foe" or "our foe." Keeper of Horses of Cirith Ungol- ancestor to Ivordir. Keeper of Horses' father- minor noble of early Third-Age Osgiliath; ancestor to Ivordir. Astarseron- Cousin to Auruiron. Almareon- Cousin to Auruiron. Melimwe- Cousin to Auruiron. Fareon- adopted son of Auruiron; Doriathrim. Lerinon- adopted son of Auruiron; Doriathrim. Ioristion- biological son of Auruiron. Faeleth- Wife of Auruiron; perished in Eregion in the Second Age. Rostor / Macil- close, brotherly friend of Auruiron; perished in the Last Alliance. Findekano / Fingon- son of Fingolfin; High King of the Noldor; perished in Nirnaerh Arnoediad. Characters who are utilized by either author: -Outlaws / Brigands -Soldiers of Gondor- of various ranks -Guards- of various ranks -Nobles -Townspeople -Corsairs -Haradrim -Wardens of the Barracks (of any major town or city) Exceptional cases / References to characters who belong to other kinnies: By extension, Nelyafinwe's character Maitimo Nelyafinwe is also referred to- but that only Ivordir and Daerfalas were "told of him"; no details, changes, or any discernible element of plot has emerged beyond this- in respect to Maedhros' wonderful authors (Nelyo and Tolkien). Celendil- Carithawen's character, as with Nelyafinwe, was only referred to- since Yucalwe and Celendil did share an important part of their stories together. This was done out of respect for her wonderful author. Makalaure- Referenced regarding his excellent participation in Auruiron's storyline; nothing was changed or altered. Cellindien / Finlos- Referenced regarding her excellent participation in several roleplays with Rostor / Macil; nothing was changed or altered. Inheroth- Referenced in one or more of the flashbacks for similar reasons as the above; Inny's contributions to the current story are powerful and excellent. Invented Customs for the Sake of Plot: Soldier Provisioning- The Barracks of any major town or city is required to host any force or Host of Gondorian soldiers- provided that their commander, Captain, lord, or authoritative figure, has the seal of approval of a lawful authority. The town or city is required to provide the lawful host or force of Gondorian soldiers with provisions and supplies- provided that their mission is approved. Since Tolkien did not give us an in-depth description of Gondorian laws- this is necessary for the sake of plot. The commander, Captain, lord, or authoritative figure, must present himself and his men to the Warden of the Barracks, with his seal of approval, in order to be accepted and provisioned. Of major and minor nobles: A medieval aristocracy normally consisted of Lords and their Vassals. The Vassals would have less authority than the Lords- but they would, no doubt, handle matters that are local to their regions, and other matters that are beneath the Lord's attention. In our case, within the imagined aspects of Gondor, the Lord would handle larger-scale issues concerning the town or city in question. For example, the -real- authorities of Tadrent or Linhir would care if 4,000 men showed-up; but not necessarily if a band of 30 rangers came seeking rations and beds for the night. The Lord might be aware of it, or made aware of it, but actual interactions depend solely on the circumstances. The King, or in this case, the Steward of Gondor, would hold ultimate authority over the realm. For the sake of plot, this was done in order to avoid the writing trap of declaring "The Master / guy in charge of Tadrent was blah-blah-blah," which is constrictive; its possible to have many minor vassals in a main hub of sorts, not all of whom are named or written about- leaving plenty of room-space for the tales and stories of other talented writers. Of Special Note- Anyone is welcome to join the roleplay at whatever the current point in the story is. Auru acts as Luminary in this case. Main Rules- This is neither a SIM nor a Round-Robin roleplay. It is written like small chapters in a novel- co-written by the writers of the story. The main rule is to write believably and clearly. Sometimes, the storyline is planned-out. Other times, the story's developments are spontaneous- which are the funner and more exciting moments in the plot. Currently, it would appear that Auru has written an over-abundance of characters. Let it be hither-known that Auru is not over-writing Inheroth out of the roleplay. I am proceeding at Inny's comfort-level- she is allowed to participate however much she desires to. If she wants to write more, she can. If not, she is not forced to. The same goes for all potential participants in the story. The story proceeds at whatever level its participants are comfortable with. I always encourage others to write more. By story's end, Inny will likely have a comparably rich list of characters- at her pace and at her pleasure. This isn't a character-creation contest; participants are welcome to contribute however many or few characters as they desire. It should be noted that both Inny and I currently have comparable numbers of -main- characters- or characters who take the scene far more than others. Most of the characters on my list are either flashback-characters, characters mentioned in passing or referenced, or characters who have far less lengthy- but important- roles to play in the story. If anyone has any questions- feel free to PM Auru's Ivordir account- or send a tell in-game to Auru or Inny. IC: Prologue In the beginning of the world, there was a Maia. His name was Amanuiron. Power was his voice. His voice sung of dreams and visions, portents and forecasts, and lofty was his mind in Lord Irmo Lorien's service. But seldom was he free to travel. He longed for friendship, for brotherhood. He sighted a young ellon boy, meditating by the lake of Lorien. And Yucalwe was his name, Yuale's son. They bonded closely as Yucalwe grew, and many arts and tricks did Amanuiron teach. In time, Yucalwe was a powerful adviser and Guardian in the Court of Tirion, though his was a ceremonial role. He kept aloof in the presence of his elven peers. Fingon son of Fingolfin and Maitimo Nelyafinwe befriended Yucalwe, and Melkor was released from Mandos. And Melkor offered Amanuiron the curse of jealousy. Blinded by his greed and grief, Amanuiron took it, becoming one of the Enemy's lesser thralls. But his works were not undone. Auruiron had forged a great jewel prior to Amanuiron's fall, and Amanuiron had augmented it, endowing it with the powers of dreams and visions, which all depended upon the moods and needs of the bearer, his place in time and in history, arising only when they were necessary. But now Amanuiron's heart had changed. In grave malice, he brought envy between the Houses, and Yucalwe's outburst in the Citadel against Auruiron led to his banishment. His father, Yuale, forced him to take his Vow: to restore the family honor. And when the Two Trees fell, Amanuiron revealed his new nature to his friend. Yucalwe fought him, but it was too late. Yucalwe aided Maitimo throughout the long years of the First Age, through blood and exile, pain and grief, facing death itself. And Yucalwe was forced to depart Beleriand in exile following the Third Kinslaying. He pursued Maglor along the coast, desiring to bring him to justice, in the vain hope that his Vow might yet be fulfilled. He lost the trail, and followed the Anduin. He dwelt with the folk of Lorien for a time, and then beyond its borders, ere Galadriel and Celeborn arrived, becoming the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood. Yucalwe led a contingent of Eregion youthful Noldor with fiery hearts. He preserved their lives in the interior ranks, until they became the front lines. And the Dark Lord of Mordor struck, and many perished, and Yucalwe exiled himself yet again, in pain and grief. With the mysterious Elf Mistaro, he recovered along the shores of Rhun, in a small dwelling nigh Dorwinion, and then he made his way back west, seeking the lands now drowned beneath the sea. He found Celendil in Enedwaith and aided her, his path taking him to Emyn Arnen, where Amanuiron, now Guldrambor, began to mark his return. Guldrambor had thought he had tricked Findekano's spirit into being bound to a powerful Staff, artifact of Aman, that was left beneath the ruins of a vault nigh Khazad-dum in Eregion. Findekano, in truth, remained of his own free will, in agreement with Mandos: his fea would have a role to play in the battles to come. And so it was that Guldrambor sent his spies to harry Gondor, believing that Sauron was long defeated, and that he, himself, would become the third Dark Lord. He feigned fealty toward the men of the South, and gained many loyalists and spies, while some took on his guise. Even some among the Gondorians, disillusioned from Castamir's downfall, would serve him. And Yucalwe became an inspiration for two noble Houses whose destinies became intertwined. One that fell out of favor, its heir became a horseman, who tended the stables at the fortress of Cirith Ungol. Yucalwe came with several companions, in pursuit of Guldrambor. He exchanged an old, weathered Sigil of Finwe, that had survived the centuries. Or, at least, so the story is told. None among them truly know whether or not it is what they believe it now to be. The Sigil became an inspiration, a rallying cry, that restored the House to its height. And it became a House of scholars on the sixth level of Minas Tirith. Ioristor, father of Ivordir, inherited the Sigil. In time, he gave it to Ivordir when their journey began. But Yucalwe, for all his efforts, did not find Guldrambor, and he failed to defeat his agents, one of whom poisoned Finduilas, wife of Denethor II, mother of Boromir and Faramir. Yucalwe had dwelt nigh Edhellond and Dol Amroth in a cave-system near the old harbor. There he dwelt in comfort, watching over Celendil. And he befriended the Silver Swan, one of the Prince's finest noble Houses. The Head of Household was ever a commander of a contingent of 400 men. But only the blood-kin of the Silver Swan knew the truth, the hidden circle, who met with Yucalwe regularly. And Yucalwe's adopted son served as his emissary in the city. Abrazan was found bereft on the shores of Saraj to the south of Umbar. Abrazan was raised by Yucalwe, and became his voice in the city of Dol Amroth. He studied at the Library of Saphadzir. He was learned in his wisdom. And he was strong, knew how to cook and fish, for Yucalwe had taught him well. In time, Ivordir, whereupon he inherited the Sigil, sailed in a fishing boat with Daerfalas. It was hard sailing in December. It was winter, and the waters of the sea were frigid cold, and the men dressed in furs to keep warm, but the chill air of the sea dampened their souls. A harsh storm came, and their ship blew far off coast. The men nearly-starved, forced themselves to eat raw-fish. They lit fires in casks of iron to spread warmth without burning the ship. The vessel ran aground on Harlindon, as if guided by fate. But most of the men had drowned. Only Ivordir and Daerfalas and three others barely survived. Their wounds were grave, and the ruins of the vessel burned. But the Eldar of Auruiron found them, healed them, fed and richly clothed them. And they took a Vow not to reveal to others in Gondor what had happened to them, save for those alone who knew already: Ioristor and the Silver Swan, and Daerfalas' benefactor and his kindred. But no one else could know. And they were carried and tended to across the fields of winter snow, on a cart. And the Eldar toiled with the cart, but managed to drive it, while Melimwe stabilized the victims with the burning of fair herbs, that caused them to forget the cold. But the men remained unconscious, till at last, they reached Minas Noldorion. And months later, they found the Golden Bough of Laurelin. And the ore of Ered Luin had sat in the mountains deep since the marring of the World. The ore was rich, of the First Age of Arda. And Yucalwe bonded with Ivordir and Daerfalas, in awe of the Sigil. He did not ask for its return. Yucalwe was long since forced to abandon Gondor, finding his way with Abrazan to the north, on a rough road. Yucalwe had suffered gravely, including his mind, from the powers inflicted upon him by his foe. Now Guldrambor's spies in the north were dead. And he was, no doubt, forced to withdraw by the new and unexpected rise of Sauron. He was hiding. They needed to find him. They needed to find him so they might yet defeat him. They needed to fight him before the Age would end, before the Eldar would cross the Sea. The time of advent was past. And Auruiron called his banners. And his Host crossed Eriador in secret, scattered, to reach the refuge of Laurelin, of the Leaves beneath the Golden Bough. From there, they would march east. But they needed agents in the south. War was at hand. Searching for Guldrambor would avail them naught if Sauron cast a Second Darkness across the breadth of the Earth. He, clearly, was the greater foe. And so they needed to join those forces that would be unaware of their power. The Elves would press into Mirkwood, avoiding the realm of Galadriel, lest she attempt to dissuade their Quest. And then they would journey south along the river, seeking allies from amongst the Avari of Dorwinion. And the men would be sent south, all whom were willing: the three fishermen, Abrazan, Ivordir, and Daerfalas. They were cast forth in a well-constructed ship, built in the style of Gondor, with a plenitude of provisions. They lost some, including prized armor, when a storm thrashed their ship again. And they had set sail on October 1st, to avoid the winter. Osse preserved them, granting passage, knowing that their Quest was to defeat a fallen Maia. Their vessel was guided gently into the harbor of Dol Amroth. It was late November, TA 3018. And so it was that the next journey of their Quest began. Edited by Ivordir, Mar 28 2016, 07:19 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 5 2015, 04:22 PM Post #2 |
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Chapter I: Regaining their Bearings Ivordir passed alone in the House of the Silver Swan. Daerfalas was with his benefactor, Rolanir. Ivordir would return for supper, but not now. The time had come to reopen relations. Ivordir could scarcely believe it: he, the representative of House Yualon, and ancient Noldorin House that had seen life throughout countless lives of Men. He passed into the great hall of the House. Servants were rushing to and fro, some with pots and pans, and kettles, others on other business, carrying missives and letters. The door-warden saw Ivordir approach, "Halt, in the name of the Silver Swan! What is your business here?" "I have come on business of my own accord, business that is not for your ears to hear, by necessity, lest grave tragedy strike us." "It is my business to know who -you- are before I may admit you to the presence of my liege." "Your liege-" Baralinor, heir of the House, appeared: "Ivordir! Ivordir of the Study, is that you?" "My friend!" They embraced each other closely. He whispered in the heir's ear, "It is known." The heir's eyes grew wide, "Quick! We must seek my father. He may enter, with my leave." The door-warden bowed in respect, and stood aside. They passed into a great hall laden with red carpets, and fine blue tapestries depicting silver swans hung between the great windows that overlooked the hall. There at the end of the small hall was a small table with several chairs, where business was discussed. There was a reflecting pool, rectangular and large, in the middle of the room, flanked by ornate columns, richly-carved, depicting sailors toiling at sea. They sat at the table, while Baralinor whispered in a servant's ear. The servant hastily vanished from the chamber. The air was cool and silent. Ivordir could hear his own breath. Edited by Ivordir, Apr 5 2015, 04:24 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 5 2015, 04:33 PM Post #3 |
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Chapter II: The Aged Commander of the Prince Ballithor came in haste, flanked by his nephews, and his brother, Brastor. "So you have come at last." Ivordir instinctively stood, clasping Ballithor's strong hand, both feeling the firm tension in their arms. "Please, sit. I am eager to hear your tale." And so Ivordir sat and told him everything, of what he had learned from Yucalwe, Ballithor nodding at the parts he knew, of the treacherous sea voyage, of their safe haven, and of the Leaves, and of their Quest. He told him of Auruiron's beautiful, ravishing tresses of golden hair, his majestic countenance, his youthful face despite the heavy age upon his eyes, the majesty of his harpistry, the majesty that crowned Yucalwe's brow, his stern, yet warm countenance, his piercing eyes. And he spoke even of the Leaves and of their glory, their ancient fellowship, cast from the days of Arnor. And he spoke of Imladris and its beauty. And he spoke of his new weapons and how they were forged. And he spoke of the myth of Amanuiron and its inherent reality. He spoke of what befell Yucalwe since his departure from Dol Amroth. He spoke of the long leagues at sea, Abrazan's courage, and their capture, the nightmarish plots of Guldrambor's spy, the disaster at Forochel and Tinnudir in Nenuial, of the Dunedain, and of Himring, and what transpired there. He even spoke of Maitimo's ghost- and that of Findekano. And all who listened gazed upon Ivordir with awe and wonder, marveled, and rendered speechless, as many of the old myths and tales that had learned as children became real, incarnate in reality. It hit them that they could no longer be regarded as myths, but as fact. As the world in which they lived. And they did not envy the Eldar, for to envy them would be to plunge into Ar-Pharazon's abyss, and to become no better than Castamir and the Umbarrim. Gratitude glimmered within their eyes. Gratitude that they, too, mortal Men of short life-spans, could partake within the mystery, the awe, the ecstasy. The glory that once crowned Finwe may yet be theirs. Then, at long last, Ivordir finished speaking. "You tell a strange tale. Many have told strange tales in my House. And I have come to believe them." Ballithor's face was gaunt, yet sturdy, thin, yet with a wide jaw. His skin was not yet wrinkled, save for long lines that framed his cheeks, separating them from his nose. He smiled faintly, "Forgive me, Ivordir. I knew that you were voyaging with those fishermen, but I did not know that all would plunge into motion quite so soon. I thought you were dead." "I didn't," Baralinor added, "For the record." Ballithor laughed, "My son is ever a dreamer. But I am a practical man. I do know one thing: I believe your tale. And if I hadn't caught Yucalwe skulking around those cliffs decades ago, I wouldn't have. You are a fortunate young man, Ivordir. A very fortunate young man. Save for one little snag: you do realize that you lost your post?" Ivordir sighed sadly, "A part of me has always known." Their conversation abruptly ended when Ballithor was suddenly summoned to the Court of the Prince. Ivordir began to walk to the House of Rolanir, and as he walked, he recalled his memories of when their journey began. Edited by Ivordir, Apr 15 2015, 07:30 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 9 2015, 09:13 AM Post #4 |
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Chapter III: Ivordir's Memories "Cast the anchor!" Ivordir shouted to Daerfalas. "We're not going to make it!" An old fisherman yelled. "Don't lose hope! As a Guardian of the White Tree, I command-" The waves thrashed across the deck, washing several overboard. The rocks nigh Harlindon loomed nearby. They had sailed out of the treacherous fog and into the tempest of wind and rain. And the winter-air was frigid cold, the water chilled to the point of numbness, if it touched your fingers. Their voyage now seemed ill-fated. They had blown off-course from Dol Amroth. They had starved for weeks, eating only raw fish. Ivordir's chest was now gaunt and boney, as were many of the men. And their meager water flasks were rationed. They had barely enough to survive. But they were very thirsty. The waters of the sea surged everywhere. And they could drink none of it. One of the old fishermen had the sigil of a bird hanging 'round his neck. His face was old and weathered. His eyes gleamed subtly in the starlight before the storm. And wisdom was in those eyes, framing his face. He taught Ivordir something he had never learned to do at home: to endure harsh conditions. Even the long treks into Ithilien and the long hours standing still on-guard seemed pleasant compared to this. "The sea can be a vicious witch," the old man had claimed, "To those who don't know her. The wife of Ulmo, so the myth tells. We sail upon her hair. If Earendil could brave it, so can we." Ivordir had balked at this, "How do you know such stories, or weave tales as this? You are a poor, old fisherman. What learned father taught you this?" The old man merely smiled, "Tell me, youngn'. Do you balk at the art of storytellin'? You think only rich folk know how to do this? Why! The heights of our grand city have closed yer mind! Ha!" The old man laughed, "We've passed the tales down, generation by generation, mongst' our kin, yes we, a harbor of poor fishermen. We too have men who know how to play and sing a song, a lay or two. We came from the original Faithful, so our tale told. Faithful to the Valar and the One Who made 'em." And the old man remembered back to the harbor before their voyage. The tavern was full and lively, many drinks round to be had. But he and several guys had decided to go sit by the docks and sing. And the Moon was arisin.' And the stars were ashinin.' And the pale light glimmered on the water, the gentle, long lines of surf interfolding in their small waves. And the lights of Dol Amroth glimmered far above. And the old man took out his lyre, and began to sing, his strings glittering in the moonlight: ~As I sing, Remembering the olden days so fair, When Elves did walk so beautif'lly, I'm told, With starlight in their shining, silvered hair, And dark as night, as bright as sun-lite gold, And when the Servants sang, Singin' the world to be, Their churning waters rang, The song became the sea, They sang of immortal, pow'rful Elves, And of we mortal Men who were to be, Of oak and tree and sparrow in their song, Of wind and surf and waves of the great sea, And when the Servants sang, Singin' the world to be, Their churning waters rang, The song became the sea, The dark one came and all the world was marred, The haughty ones, then from the West, did march, With blood upon their hands once fair, now scarred, Their fairest lips now left bereft and parched, And when the Servants sang, Singin' the world to be, Their churning waters rang, The song became the sea, So then the Elven-King did send them forth, Sailin' men who n'er would then return, To the safety of the old elven port, Trapped, by Osse's hand, they would learn, And when the Servants sang, Singin' the world to be, Their churning waters rang, The song became the sea, Earendil was a lost, brave mariner, Who sought the West, sick of all the horrid woe, His wife became a swan and followed him, The gulls had sang wherever they would go, And when the Servants sang, Singin' the world to be, Their churning waters rang, The song became the sea, And the Servants answered their fervent prayers And a Host surged forth from the West so fair And the dark one was final'ly driven back And the sacred Jewels, from his crown, they'd tear, And when the Servants sang, Singin' the world to be, Their churning waters rang, The song became the sea, And the blood-stained ones became washed clean, There for the last two, hope may yet be, Though one fell into flames, the other seldom seen, Singin' his song on the shores of the sea, And when the Servants sang, Singin' the world to be, Their churning waters rang The song became the sea. Now I've sung~ And his friends had all applauded and drank their mead with fervor. The old man smiled, remembering his song. He had sung the song again on their ship the night before, their vessel still lost in the fog. Ivordir shook his head, "I still don't understand. Many Gondorians -don't- know this tale. I've walked through city streets in many places, heard nothing about the Valar, not even in their songs." And the old man laughed again, "Of course you didn't hear it out there! Those men are merchants! They into makin' coin. And the singers sing what they're paid to sing. But we who have known the sea, we know the need to make ourselves learn the old tales. If their true, I surely don't want old Ulmo or that trickster Osse drownin' us!" Ivordir had laughed, not understanding the severity of his words, "I agree." Then he understood: The old man did not know his father's tales as much as he had told. To the old man, the Elves were naught but characters, mythic remnants of a distant past. If he believed in 'em, he believed in the images of them within his mind. He sang the words, but did not know their significance. He wondered if he should tell him. He wondered if he should speak of the wanderer who came to his ancestor. Then, he wondered where those lyrics came from, and how did the old man know something that he, Ivordir, son of the greatest lorists, should have known? He pondered the lyrics over and over in his mind and what they signified. All those who were learned in Gondorian lore knew was that someone with bloodstained hands had marched on the Enemy from the West. They did not know the circumstances. And then the horrifying thought finally struck him: Did Elves really slay Elves, and if so, why were they, the 'Faithful' Men of Numenor, ever faithful to them? Right before his eyes, Ivordir watched with horror as the old man vanished beneath the waves. He could barely tell in the darkness: the man's face had seemed to smile. He thought he heard a song rising nigh the sea. Then their was a great crash and the sounds of cracking, tumbling timber. He looked up and saw the vast canvas of the mast falling toward them. All went black. Edited by Ivordir, Jun 2 2015, 09:52 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 9 2015, 10:54 AM Post #5 |
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Chapter IV: Harlindon He awoke to find himself in a magnificent chamber, more beautiful than anything he had ever seen, even in Gondor nigh where dwelt the Kings. The room seemed as if it belonged to the Kings of old, yet even more gorgeous. He felt something slick and warm around his body. He looked down. He was clad in robes of silk, and wrapped tightly in a magnificent cloak of silken gold. He felt an ecstasy within his mind, a sudden arousal that surged throughout his soul. He felt as if he was lying on the lap of the One Himself. The doors softly opened. In stepped a being who caused great shock. Ivordir's eyes were fixed on him. He had a long mane of golden hair, and he was clad in robes of silver. He approached, "Do not be frightened." Ivordir did not reply. He could not. The being approached him, "Are you mending well?" A thought struck Ivordir. He remembered the falling mast. Memories of the past few days entered into him: of the old man and his songs, and of the shipwreck, and of how he thought his death had come in a flash of a moment. And there, before his eyes, was one who had come forth from the song of the old map's lips. There he stood, "as bright as sun-lite gold." The Elf approached and slowly drew back his cloak, exposing Ivordir's chest. There were great scars, beneath bandages that had traces of old, dried blood. Finally, Ivordir managed to utter, "W...what has happened to me? Am I dead? Is this the Realm beyond our World?" The Elf laughed politely, "Nay, you are not dead. But you were close to death." "And what of my ship and crew?" "We found a tanned-skin companion of yours, equally wounded. He appears to be of your age as well. He is across the chamber." Ivordir looked to his left. There was Daerfalas indeed, resting, and he appeared to be asleep. He turned to the Elf, "And the others?" The Elf pointed across the chamber, where Ivordir saw three older men, richly-clad and sleeping. "...and the old man who sang?" "Old man?" "There was a man with a very wrinkled face on our boat. Is he...?" The Elf nodded gravely, sadly, striking a tear in his eye, "Alas, yes... we could not save him. We found an old man lying on the shore, a smile on his face. His eyes were shut." "Osse took him!" "Do not speak ill of the Maiar." Ivordir shut his mouth and breathed a heavy sigh. He also knew that several other fishermen did not make it, and one of them, a noble who had joined them from Dol Amroth. He would never see his sons or daughters. And it struck him how all of this was his own fault, for having journeyed north in search of Elves. Now, he had found him, and it had cost him mortal blood. "I do not deserve this fair treatment. I sailed those men north, hoping to find you. I believed.... I believed......" The Elf nodded, and suddenly Ivordir stared down: there was the Sigil, lying in the Elf's hand. The Elf smiled, "You may call me 'Melimwe.' Or Melim, for short, as other Men have called me on rare occasions of our meetings. Do not blame yourself. I believe there is a Power greater than either of us that has brought you to our shores. I believe that you were meant to come here. Whence came you by this Sigil?" Ivordir nearly stuttered in disbelief. He had not considered the Sigil when he awoke. "We do not know its age or origin. But our ancestor was an Elf wanderer who exchanged it for three horses, in a Pass high above the land of..." "Do not speak that name here. You are fortunate, man of Gondor. For he who hath told us this tale of how he hath exchanged such a Sigil long ago, is with us in this House." Ivordir's mouth nearly dropped to the floor. Melimwe gently touched his face, framing his cheek, "Do not agitate yourself further. Lie down and rest. There will be time for greater things later." Ivordir did as he was bid. Weary from the excitement and the shock, he fell asleep. Melimwe gently closed the door. |
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| Ivordir | Apr 9 2015, 11:13 AM Post #6 |
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Chapter V: An Urgent Summons Ivordir awoke from his memories and returned to the House of Rolanir. Two weeks had passed, and it was the final days of January. Ivordir dwelt in the House of Rolanir with Daerfalas. He even befriended Rolanion. Even still, he was assured of Daerfalas' silence concerning their venture. For all of Rolanion's probing questions, Ivordir did not break a vow he had made in the north. He spoke of the ship-wreck and of receiving aid, of a long recovery, and little more. Ivordir was summoned to the Silver Swan yet again. Baralinor came to him in the great hall, "My father demands your presence in his map-room, up above. Come, I will show you the way." Ivordir smiled, "Very well." He stood and followed Baralinor up the flight of stairs that led above the hall, entering into a chamber at the top. There were maps strewn across a candle-lit table. The walls were lined with messy bookshelves, bindings of saffron, ruby, alabaster. The room was lit by a chandelier. Ballithor looked up at Ivordir, "Yes, come in." He snapped his fingers. A nearby servant brought him more ink. Ballithor wrote silently. Ivordir could hear the scratching sounds of the quill on parchment. After it was signed, the servant brought him the Seal of his House, with wax, and an envelope. He folded and placed the letter within, and stamped his seal. He whispered in the servant's ear. The servant took the sealed letter, hastily departing from their chamber. The lines in Ballithor's face seemed to tighten, "Your position will be reinstated, in time. For now, you must attend to more urgent matters. I am currently plotting the route that you might take." "The route?" "If you are to fulfill this task, you will need a precise plan of how to approach it." "I am sorry... I do not." "I am going to make you Captain of 30 men." "That title is reserved to the Steward's sons." "I know. I meant it colloquially. You will fulfill the -role- of a Captain. It is the duties that matter, not the title." Ivordir nodded. "And where am I to lead these 30 men?" "To Guldrambor, of course. To find him, and destroy him." "Not even Yucalwe could..." "Nor could we. But our duty to Gondor demands his destruction." "So you are sending us to our certain deaths..." "No......." He drew Ivordir in closer, "Now, listen carefully. You are not to assault Guldrambor without necessary aid. For now, you are to find his location, and keep track of him. Gondor is poised for an invasion out of Mordor, but the Enemy has not struck us yet. There is still a chance and an opportunity. Once you know his location, if you can find him, you must then alert me. Do not engage him directly. The Elves will destroy him after the war, I would hope. But for now, we cannot have him attacking us blindly in the dark, or aiding the Dark Lord." Ivordir nodded, "Forgive me, I..." "Misunderstood? Understandable. Much has happened to you." Ballithor smiled patiently. "Now, you are to lead 30 men through the forests of Belfalas, below Lamedon. You will bear my Sigil, which will grant you and your men lodgings and provisions in the towns. Lontir. Tadrent. Calembel. Ethring. Do you follow me?" Ivordir nodded. "Then, you will lead these men through Dor-en-Ernil. You will march straight to Ost Anglebed through the northern forests nigh the Gilrain." Ivordir nodded sullenly. Ballithor's eyes flashed as he continued, "You will then continue to Pelargir. Make good time. Do not linger. Take what you need from there, and then proceed across the river into Ithilien. They have boats in Pelargir and the land falls to the level of the river not far to its northeast. Then, you will press north into Emyn Arnen. If you have time, get herbs from Lossarnach as you journey along the river. You may need them. There are many poisonous plants in Ithilien of late, so I've been told. Then, scout Emyn Arnen, since its the last known location of Guldrambor. If the Haradrim have marched into Ithilien, you may need to capture a few of them, interrogating them if you can." "Forgive me, my Lord Ballithor, but this plan.... it feels as if we are seeking a needle in a haystack, or a solitary pearl in a vast desert. How can we search everything? How can we....?" "Listen, have you no sense of place! The ones with the gaunt faces, they come from inland. They have myths and tales as we do. If they believe there is a darkness out there in their desert, we may have Guldrambor caught in our net before he even knows it! If a corsair fears a spot near the coast, we may have him there! They all know their lore, and their places that are to be feared. The more well-nourished ones are from the coastal-lands. Do you understand?" Ivordir nodded, "And what do we do with them after we have interrogated them?" "Kill them. They are enemies of Gondor. They deserve no less. Or else they will betray you, and you will get killed." Ivordir sighed sadly. He wished he was back north in Auruiron's House, freed from pain, fear, and death. "And how do we interrogate them?" Ballithor's eyes gleamed coldly, "By any means necessary." Edited by Ivordir, Aug 10 2015, 07:43 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 9 2015, 01:04 PM Post #7 |
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Chapter VI: Ranyaro of the Three Horses Ivordir's memories wandered again as he walked toward the House of Rolanir, where he would dine with Daerfalas, Rolanir, and his son for supper. His mind flashed back to Harlindon, to when he had regained his senses, after Melimwe had left him to rest in the healing chamber. Ivordir awoke to see an Elf with gleaming eyes approach him. Black was his mane of flowing hair, dark and beautiful, and his countenance was stern and gentle. With a gentle wave of his hand, he sat down at the foot of Ivordir's bed, probing his eyes, as if searching for some stray memory in his mind. The realm of Mordor was black. The Tower of Cirith Ungol rose tall and dark. It was raining at nightfall. Yucalwe Ranyaro was drenched from head to foot. His dark cloak flowed down his back with the cold, swift rain. His hand arose, bearing the Sigil. The stable-master gazed into his eyes, not knowing what to say. Neither of them said anything. Ranyaro pointed at the horses, raising his other hand, revealing three of his fingers. The keeper of horses nodded and bowed, staring at the Sigil in awe, cradling it in his hands. He stuck it in his pocket and quickly opened the stable-doors. He led them out one by one. Ranyaro whispered to them softly in words the keeper of horses could not understand. He seemed to calm the horses. The keeper of horses then believed that this cause was just, and that the horses were in safe hands. Ranyaro leaped upon the back of the darkest horse, his cloak and mane of hair streaming wet behind him in the raining torrents. With a smile, and a gesture of friendship, he turned away, striding into the night, his hands clasping the reins of all three steeds. They passed slowly down and across the threshold, and into the shadows of Mordor beyond the Gates of Cirith Ungol. And the Keeper of Horses was of an old House of Numenor that had fallen out of favor. He was its Heir, now exiled by his father. Exiled to Cirith Ungol's meagre garrison under pain of death. Risking death, he abandoned his post. With supplies of his own, he road north, struggling off the land. Then he reached the Morannon, and crossed through the hills of slag beyond it. He turned south, where survival turned easier in Ithilien. He was scraped and bruised by the brush. He cleansed his wounds with herbs. He crossed a great field, Cormallen, and followed the river to Osgiliath, which was then the Capital of Gondor. He turned toward his father's House, passing through its doors. His father was a gaunt, old man, with a dark countenance in his eyes. That was until he saw the Sigil, gleaming in the battered left hand of his son. He smiled grimly, "Where came you by this, that you have risked incurring my wrath? Tell me why I should not have you beheaded in the courtyard, my son." And the former keeper of horses of Cirith Ungol told him everything. Then, suddenly, when his father realized what had happened, he dismissed his servants, and warmly embraced his son, plunging him into shock and disbelief. "I believe you, my son. Our House has been graced. The grace of this strange Elf has erased your disgrace. You are my son. You are my Heir once more. The Powers have graced us with this boon. Now, I know that you will not further disappoint me. Go, and rest in peace." And his son cried, joyfully, and relieved. And his seed brought forth a long and noble lineage of scholars, for he longed then to learn of the Eldar, and as much of the ancient lore and myth as he could, keeping the Sigil a secret under pain of death, passing the knowledge branch by branch down the family line, till at least it came to Ioristor, and then to his son, Ivordir. But Ranyaro only remembered the eyes of that keeper of horses. He did not know the rest. And he saw the same eyes peering at him from the bed in the House of Auruiron, the eyes inherited by Ivordir. "It is astonishing, brave child. Astounding. Tell me, how came you by this Sigil?" And Ivordir told him the story, everything he had learned from his father, and his father's father, and the entire lineage, while all throughout, Yucalwe Ranyaro had only lived one life. And Ranyaro deeply smiled, "It was a dire night. I was trailing a grave foe, and found myself in grievous need, along with my two companions, also Elves as I am. You have told me the tale of your life and lineage. Now, I owe it to you, to tell you mine, slowly, grasping it day by day." And Ivordir and Daerfalas listened eagerly, day after day, as Yucalwe told him everything: of his true identity, of Amanuiron, of the rivalry with Auruiron, of Amanuiron's Fall, of the battles and glories of the First Age, and his service to Maitimo Nelyafinwe and Findekano Fingon Fingolfinion. And he told them of the Kinslayings and his betrayal, and of Doriath, and of the Mouths of Sirion. He told them of his long years abroad, his trailing of Makalaure, his journey up the Anduin, his time with the Nandorin Avari. He told them of the Last Alliance, of Rostor and Ioristion and all his soldiers, of the Dark Lord, of the unknown tragedy long since eclipsed by the deaths of Gil-galad and Elendil. He spoke of Mistaro, of his time in Rhun, and of his journey west. He spoke of Celendil, of his search for her, and of how he had come to know the Silver Swan, which astonished Ivordir, given that men of this same lineage had trained him in Dol Amroth. He learned of Yucalwe's dwelling place nigh Edhellond, his long years of watchfulness, the forays of the Silver Swan against Amanuiron, who was now Guldrambor. He learned of how Guldrambor had swayed Gondorian history, of Castamir and his sons and how several of their subjects were loyal to Guldrambor as well. He learned of Finduilas' death. When he learned who Celendil was, he was astounded, for he had thought he had seen a strange woman in Minas Tirith on the seventh level in his youth. Yucalwe confirmed everything that Ivordir had seen and could not explain. He learned of how Yucalwe Ranyaro had found and rescued Abrazan, adopting him as his son. Ivordir watched as the Hand of Eru moved their lives, in awe and wonder, and how their choices affected the fulfillment of that Will. And as Yucalwe Ranyaro spoke, a song awoke in Ivordir's soul, a song that ravished his heart, a song that must be sung. And he saw how Yucalwe's eyes glowed and glimmered with an inner light, how the dim light of the candles reflected on his long tresses of raven hair, turning the crimson of his cloak into a flaming red flickering with orange. When the tales were told, they had spent a month in the House of Auruiron. They had come to know Auruiron as well, deeply and profoundly. And they met many others, more still, beneath the Golden Bough. They met Makalaure, Cellindien Finlos, Inheroth, and many others. They learned knowledge that they were bound by sacred Vow to keep secret- save from the Silver Swan and Ioristor himself. Daefalas was permitted to tell Rolanir and his son, and Daerfalas' own mother, but no others. The secret would ultimately be kept. This was why these records would only one day be found. Ioristor had buried them in a secret, supernatural chest, hidden in the vaults at the heart of Mindolluin, in the mountains that one day became the Alps, thousands of years later. The text would be accessible, through the grace of Iluvatar, to the minds of those who came from that line. All of Auruiron's Chronicles have been preserved, learned by those whose knowledge came genetically, passed down from the Heirs of Ivordir. For Yucalwe and Auruiron both decided that Ivordir and Daerfalas should be both be deemed an Heir to both their Houses, forever ending the feud that Guldrambor had begun in Aman. But only Daerfalas knows if he had accepted that offer. Ivordir did accept it. And he embraced both Elves as revered forefathers, living, breathing in the flesh. And Auruiron and Yucalwe finally embraced each other, kissing each other on the cheek, becoming brothers. The three sailors elected to remain in Minas Noldorion. They loved the sea and were fearful of the thought of losing their lives in Eriador. They did not learn any of this, for the Elves spoke only to Ivordir and Daerfalas alone. The sailors were well-fed and tended to, and only learned that these were Elves of the Havens, where Cirdan rules. But then Ivordir, who did not know how the records would one day survive, ceased his reminiscing. Light poured brightly from the windows of the House of Rolanir. Edited by Ivordir, Apr 9 2015, 06:48 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 11 2015, 03:06 PM Post #8 |
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Chapter VII: The Prince of the Sun As Ivordir waited for the Door-Warden of House Rolanir, he continued his reflection. He recalled the majestic moment when he was first summoned to the Court of Auruiron. It was beyond his father's descriptions of the ancient Kings. There was a marble, golden hall of majesty, lined by pillars, a carpet of crimson leading to a lofty throne. And there, with long plumes and tresses of silken gold billowing down the throne-steps, sat an Elf crowned with the sun. His mane of golden hair was long and beautiful, not as long as the legends of the Lady of the Golden Wood, but in lofty length, gleaming in the light of the morning sun that poured through the windows behind the throne. His smile was welcoming, "Come hither, Men of Gondor." The fishermen could scarcely believe their eyes. One bowed kindly, "Thank ye, your Grace. We are honored in your presence. Thank ye for saving our lives... but I'm confused. Why?" Auruiron nodded, "I have heard of your mortal histories, especially those of the north, the plains you have seen from your windows stretching to the eastern hills. The realm of Arnor long ago. It is strange for me... to have lived long before its creation, to have lived here throughout its long years, and to still be alive, whereas the Kingdoms are now but ruins of stone dotting the wilderness. I remember when once I journeyed through it long ago. It was beautiful........" "But yer beauty is timeless!" "No, your beauty is. The sparkle in your eyes is more precious than all the jewels hidden beneath the earth. Remember that your mortality is a gift from Above." "Nay! I would that....... I mean.........well....." "No, you do not." Auruiron stood, "Per chance the years have made me sorrowful. If I had died long ago, I would be resting in the West. You, too, have an immortal spirit, though ours part separate ways at death. I remain bound in the Circles of the World till the end of time. But you, you shall move beyond. I may yet move beyond, when the world hath ended." The words struck the old fisherman's heart like a rip-chord. He bowed, sobbing. But Auruiron knelt before him, lifting his chin, drying his tears with his cloak, "It is not the end. Be at peace. Rest well within this house." The man still sobbed, "I have done nothin' to deserve this." Auruiron smiled, "Yet even still, you shall receive. For you are loved." The man shook his head, "Why?" Auruiron nodded solemnly, "Because we of the Eldar were made by love. And love shall set us free. All of us, including you." And they embraced, deeply. Ivordir gazed onward in awe alongside Daerfalas. He could not believe his eyes. Even the Kings of Gondor would not have afforded such treatment to a commoner. He changed. Something within him changed. He no longer regarded his companion in a haughty, dim, shadow that appeared as light. His heart beamed. He, too, wished to hug the fisherman. And so he approached and knelt beside him, and when Auruiron at last withdrew from his embrace, Ivordir restored it to the man, whose heart was overwhelmed. "My lord, I..." "Hush," Ivordir gently replied, "We may be marred from Numenor's Fall. But this Elf has shown me something. Let the old years of haughty bigotry be gone, forever...." The man laughed, "Now of only we can convince that Steward on his heights!" And many in the hall laughed, though most knew not who Denethor was. But then Ivordir let forth a beaming smile, "His son does." "Boromir? He's a brave Captain, but oh, he's haughty." Ivordir shook his head, "While I respect Boromir, I meant his brother." The man thought about it for a moment, and then began nodding excessively in agreement, "Aye... Faramir's a good lad. He cares for we 'common folk.'" Ivordir smiled, "You're no longer 'common' in my eyes." "Here, here!" The younger fisherman yelled from behind Daerfalas. The Feanorians deeply smiled, for they did not expect Auruiron to treat such guests in so glorious a fashion. Long had Auruiron withdrawn in grief and solitude. They were gladdened. They began to believe that the bedraggled Elf whom Auruiron had brought home along the sea-shore was in fact Makalaure. They had wished it was so, sincerely, and some even began to recognize him, regarding him from a distance. Now, they knew. Yet still, Auruiron was not wholly changed. A shadow was still detectable on his brow. Something was still amiss. At least he treated the men well. Ivordir smiled deeply, "I should like to know all of your names now, my fellow fishermen. I never asked, we never spoke about it on the ship." They all laughed with mirth and -joy- within their eyes. And he learned their names. The older fisherman whom Auruiron embraced was Nenthor. And the even older fisherman, sundered from them by death, was Nendaer, who had sung the songs and vanished beneath the waves of the sea. The younger fisherman who had shouted from the rear was Súldor. And his brother, the third survivor, was Súlchon. They shared the same root-name, for they were twins, brothers of the wind. Nendaer was the Water's Lover, assumed into the sea upon his death. And Nenthor was his brother. And then he learned the names of all who perished on the ship: Níthor, Nengel, Nenor, Nemir, Hithfaer, Gwaeren, Alagostor, Alasgossion, Dinalagos, Hweston, Mithon, Tinudor, Himel, Aearothor, Aearion, Toldor, Gaeron, and Gaearion. They were all bound to the sea, to islands, waves, mists, winds, and coastal mountains, and the gleaming stars of night. And for the sea, cradled within the strands of Uinen's hair, they died. And even Auruiron shed gentle tears when he learned their names. Ivordir looked up, arousing himself from his memories. He was still waiting for the Door-Ward of the House of Rolanir in Dol Amroth. No one had yet appeared. Edited by Ivordir, Apr 11 2015, 03:10 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 12 2015, 12:30 AM Post #9 |
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Chapter VIII: The Feast of Noldorion Ivordir sat down on a nearby bench, awaiting the arrival of the Door-Warden. Apparently there were many things occurring within the House of Rolanir. But Ivordir retreated into his memories once more, basking in his revelry of the northern lands, the beauty of Minas Noldorion, the House of the Amath Naru, of Auruiron. Apparently, not long before their arrival, they had mourned the loss of two of their kindred: Astarseron the Proud and Almareon Annunon the Fair. They were his cousins. And they had fallen to Yucalwe himself, for Yucalwe had been entrapped beneath the influence of Guldrambor's bile. It was a sad time of mourning. It then seemed to the Feanorians that this was what had humbled Auruiron. It was not the fear of death rent anew, but the sorrow of deep and grievous loss. He had not felt such sorrow since the death of Faeleth, his noble, beautiful wife, with her long golden tresses of hair in the manner of the Vanyar. She had fallen to Orcs in Eregion during its Fall. But Ivordir only learned all of this from Ioristion, Auruiron's son. They befriended each other. Ioristion found it amusing that Ivordir's father was so similar in name. Ioristion, by now, had begun his recovery from his madness. Cellindien Finlos was there as well. For they had not yet finished their Hunt for the artifacts of Eriador. Equally beautiful were Auruiron's twin adopted sons: Fareon and Lerinon. And he listened eagerly to their account of who they might yet be. Ivordir heard their tales and bowed deeply. He reached out and touched the cloak, but no memories came into his mind, nor into they. And Melimwe bowed, "It must not work for Elves and Men together. One's fea must be of the Eldar to receive this grace." But Ivordir felt other ecstasies and powers emanating from the cloak. These were enough to satisfy him. Ivordir's heart fluttered at the thought that these twain -may- be the uncles of he who founded all of Numenor, all the Numenorean race, and all of Gondor and Arnor thence to follow. It struck the chords of his heart, the marrow of his bones. And he recalled the arrival of many courtly lords. So came Melimwe the Strong and Ioristion the Odd, Fareon of the Bow, Lerinon of the Tongue, and many others. There entered many former-Feanorians, richly-dressed, with their wives and sons. And in the great hall was set a feasting table, lined with many meats and herbs, and chalices filled to the brim with finest wine. And they all ate and drank to their hearts' content. And Auruiron brought forth his harp, and Melimwe his lyre, and Fareon his drum, and they began to play many songs, and sing many ancient hymns and tunes. They avoided songs of Aman in the presence of Men, in remembrance of how Numenor fell. And they avoided hymns of that nature as well. But they sang of the glorious figures in the joint-histories of the Eldar and of Numenor, Gondor, and Arnor. And all were pleased and satisfied. And they sang of Gil-galad Elven-King, and Elendil the Tall, and Isildur, and all their hosts. And Ioristion bravely sang of Rostor and the Eregion Host, of Yucalwe's leadership, and of their downfall. And Ivordir's heart was moved as he listened, for he remembered Yucalwe's words. Yucalwe Ranyaro was not there, for he was not well. He was ill at ease. He would journey across Eriador with the Spirit of Nelyafinwe shortly thereafter, on his own road. After the singing of tales, they returned to their guest-chamber, and one by one, the Men fell asleep, dazed and swooning in awe of the Eldarin glory. And on the next day, Yucalwe entered into the chamber. He was downcast, with a shadow on his brow. His eyes were filled with sorrow, "Forgive me, I will..." "No..... come to me...." Ivordir smiled. Yucalwe bowed low, "Do you not believe that it was nothing more than a simple exchange in a time of haste, that made thou so-called glorious lineage?" The words stung Ivordir to the core, "I believe that the Elf whom my forefather, Keeper of Horses, met, would not have spoken to him in such an angered tone." Yucalwe marched up to him, and then sat down on his bedside, "Forgive me..... I....." "What? I thought you were perfect.... all of you Eldarim....." "We were, long ago in the West. Before the Shadow came. While we are inclined toward goodness, the Dark One marred the unfolding of our deeds......." "Ranyaro............." "I......I............. I fear my mind is slipping. My foe was grievous in how he wounded..... it is no excuse." "I do not believe that you are pitying yourself, Ranyaro. That same foe would've destroyed my mind." Yucalwe Ranyaro smiled, "Ivordir.............. you remind me of my son in so many ways." "Have I met Abrazan?" "You may have seen him nigh the Library in Dol Amroth." "I have seen many valiant men of dark complexion. I hope to meet him more..... truly...." Yucalwe laughed, "I will." Then his expression grew serious, yet tempered, "What do you love the most?" Ivordir bowed low, "Honor..... loyalty...... my House.... my father, my brother..... our lineage......... our Sigil......... our city, our land, our Kingdom........................................ and you, who made it all happen for us................. even if you did not intend for it to be so............. it is so...................... you have outlived my entire lineage and more so, I understand that you would look down............" Yucalwe shook his head, "I do not look down on you, or your lineage.................................................................... I love you too................." Ivordir suddenly stood, came over, and sat beside him, and embraced him. Yucalwe was stunned, but then, as if propelled by a great Power, embraced him deeply in return. Yucalwe kissed him affectionately on his cheek, and Ivordir did in turn, in a deep bond of familial love. "My beloved forefather......" Yucalwe greatly smiled, "My beloved son............... you will do great things. I can feel it................" And Ivordir's eyes gleamed as he remembered. Edited by Ivordir, Oct 4 2015, 06:12 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 12 2015, 12:54 AM Post #10 |
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Chapter IX: The Long Journey And Ivordir recalled in his mind how vast Eriador was. How truly vast. How strange it seemed. How he wished to visit Bree, but could not, for he wished to remain with his Elven guides, who would not enter. How they had crossed the vast Tower Hills, the fields of the Shire and of Bree-land, how they crossed the Brandywine in secret, how they ultimately reached the Lonely Lands beyond the lands of Bree, how they crossed that vast, sparse realm of cheerlessness, how he had stood proudly on Weathertop's ruins where Gil-galad stood. And he recalled how they crossed the Last Bridge, how they found the strange path, with its epiphanic feeling, and how they came at least beneath the Golden Bough. And he recalled his many days of mirth there, with folk of many backgrounds, in a strange place, with the same, strange, yet hopeful calling. He recalled his time with a newly-recovered Yucalwe, how Yucalwe taught him further fighting techniques, and how the swords and halberds were forged, by Ered Luin First-Age steel and iron and bronze, in the hands of one of Aman's first sword-smiths. He recalled how he felt when he first clutched his weapon, and held tight the Sigil against his breast, and how the Sigil was newly re-forged, fresh in a new cast-mold, and that it no longer mattered how old it was, but only that it had been re-cast, by he who first bestowed it on his old and storied lineage. And he recalled how he bonded with Abrazan. Yes, Abrazan, who was currently with Daerfalas in the House of Rolanir. He wondered if Ballithor knew of Abrazan. Then Ivordir, sitting there on the bench in Dol Amroth, cast his head in shame, remembering that yes, Abrazan did know Ballithor, and yes, he was deprived by Ivordir's unwarranted haste. I will beg forgiveness..... and given Ballithor's cold suggestions of cruelty, I fear........ it was best my brother Abrazan was not there. We, the three brothers, children of the Sigil. I will not tell him what Ballithor told me to do with captives...........................I hate it.................. why did we come back south to this terrible world of Men.............................. Fearing his thoughts, he returned into his memories. He recalled how beautiful Yucalwe was, how closely they embraced, how the cloaks were sewn, how the Men were clad in crimson red beneath their Gondorian black, how their armor was reforged, and how additional artifacts were brought. He remembered how their fisher-companions remained, aiding the Elves in the rebuilding of their ship. He recalled how proud they were when Ivordir returned to see it on the coasts. He remembered how they made their sad, miserable leave-taking. How the fishermen cried. How Ivordir wept even worse. How Auruiron and Yucalwe embraced him. How they had planned it all the night before, when Yucalwe revealed everything to them in the map-room, the dim flames of the candles flickering on their faces in the darkness, dimly revealing the vague tracings of their road ahead, dimly reflecting on the glimmering bookshelves, and all the while reflecting dimly on the rich bindings of many tomes: "Listen, all of you. You must not engage he whom we shall keep silent. You must find him, if you can, but do not assail him, for he will poison you, beguile your thoughts, ensnare, and destroy you, one by one. He could be anywhere. The Dark Lord of Mordor is moving. His forces, from what I have been told, are gathering. Our foe will attempt to make himself aloof, to remain out of the Dark Lord's way, lest his wrath be incurred. For our foe was ever a coward, base, crawling, a snake. He hides in the brush. He does not charge into the open field of battle. He could be in some lonely waste of the Lands of Brown, of Dagorlad, Emyn Muil even, and certainly Rhun, or Khand, or Far Harad, and perchance even Umbar. But we know that he is not on Tolfalas, where the Silver Swan and I last faced him. We know that he is not up the Harnen anymore, for the Dark Lord must have cast his gaze toward the southern Ephel Duath. He cannot have fled far. I suspect Umbar, if not Far Harad. If he has escaped north, we will know it. I need you to inform the Silver Swan, Ivordir. Find Ballithor. You told me that he once trained you. Rely my orders. A small scouting force, even with the Dark Lord himself poised to march, must still seek-out our foe. Our foe, feigned or not, will be a threat to Gondor if we survive the tides of this approaching shadow. He may be a threat to all, if he is not defeated. Yet, the Dark Lord himself must be dealt with. Do not allow the search to compromise your duties to Gondor, toward the defense of us all. I cannot journey south. I must seek our foe eastward, and aid against the Enemy, in any strokes that he may strike upon the northern lands and Elvish and Dwarven realms. We, in a movement of our Eldar, will proceed in the northern and north-eastern fronts. I must rely on the diligence of Gondor to contend with the south." Ivordir knelt before Yucalwe, "It will be my honor, my beloved forefather." And Yucalwe kissed him deeply on the cheek and forehead, "I know that you will not fail us. Wear the cloaks as a sign of our favor." Ivordir bowed, "For the Sigil-Bearer!" And all the Men raised their swords, Yucalwe raising his own, in gallant assent. Then Ivordir embraced Auruiron, who bade them calm seas and safer tides, and all of the Elves sang a glorious, ancient hymn in Quenya, as the Gondorian ship sailed away in the light of the rising sun. And Ivordir recalled their toil, their storm at sea, how helplessly he watched the golden armor that Auruiron had given him... how it fell beneath the waves, slowly fading into the ether of a watery abyss, to its final resting place. But no one died this time, and their ship sailed into calm waters, and they still wore their Gondorian regalia proudly. And then, at long last, they reached Dol Amroth. And the surviving fishermen vowed, on their sacred honor, not to tell anyone what they had seen. Nor would they ever, in love for their deepest, sweetest memories. He looked up to see Baralinor sitting beside him. Edited by Ivordir, Aug 10 2015, 07:46 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 14 2015, 03:31 PM Post #11 |
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Chapter X: To Reality Baralinor closed his eyes, "Your tales... they have inspired me... forgive my father of his uncouth remarks and plots..." Ivordir covered his own face with his hands, rubbing down, framing his cheeks, "He commands us to torture our captives.... are we truly Men of Gondor?" Baralinor shook his head, "You have learned of a Gondor that does not exist. Perched high above the White City, raised among lorists. I remember when I first saw you. Could barely lift a shield, let alone a halberd." "I was weaker, then, in those days. I only stood ceremonially by the White Tree." "Tell me what you have noticed of the Tree." "It stands proud, remaining strong throughout the ages." "Is it also not withered, dead, without blossoms?" "I know it will bloom again one day." "I hope you are right, Ivordir, my brother.... it is a fool's hope." "Baralinor, your father has made you cynical." "Obviously... why do you sit here alone in the dark?" "I await entry to my other brother's benefactor." "So now you have another brother. And yet another, and elvish fathers. How many more brothers and fathers could you possibly long to possess?" "Enough to fill an army." At this, Baralinor fell silent in the wake of Ivordir's words. He wondered, intently, why Ivordir had all of these wonderful experiences, while he, himself, was bereft. Aside from Yucalwe's appearance, which he scarcely remembered now. It was a deepening dream toward which he would never sleep. A dream from which he perceived that Ivordir would never awake. Ivordir deeply sighed, "I cannot torture men..." Baralinor's eyes blazed, "You -will- obey my father in all things. You may be the son of Ioristor, but my father holds power among our men in Dol Amroth. You will obey him, he holds authority, and possesses great influence in the Court of the Prince. Yucalwe chose -him- too." Ivordir closed his eyes, "He named -me- Captain." Baralinor shook his head, "He can -un-name- you." Ivordir laughed, "But you will not tell him of our conversation." Baralinor grimaced angrily, "But I will." Ivordir stared him down, "Then go. Tell him. Tell him that I will not lower the honor of Gondorian Men. Tell him that I will not pollute the heirs of Elros. Tell him that I will not destroy all of that which we hold dear." Baralinor sighed, "Guldrambor will not hesitate to have you tortured, if you are captured by him." "So that is what it takes? To lower ourselves to the level of our Enemy, whom we are bound by Vow, to defeat?" He muttered, "You and your honor, Ivordir. Where have you been? My Gondor is a Gondor of constant tension, not your unified Numenor. It is where Queen Beruthiel, black and beautiful, was cast into a ship at sea with her blind cats, to sail away from Pelargir to Umbar. My Gondor is a land of Kin-Strife, where inferior Kings wed northern hags. But Castamir... he did not usurp. He strove to save your precious Numenor. Unjustly routed!" Ivordir nearly slammed his fist on the bench, "Keep this up, and I'll have you in chains for treason. Castamir the Usurper was a grave plague upon the Men of Gondor." Baralinor laughed, "And here we are, as I predicted, at each others' throats over old, dusty tomes, old men, and their books." "Do not refer to -my- father so abstractly. He is not yet terribly old." "But he will be. An old man hobbling through his bookshelves. Meanwhile, we men, on the front-lines, fight to defend these old men hobbling through their bookshelves." "What does that make Denethor, our Steward, my dear Baralinor?" "Careful, or I'll have you in chains for treason." Just then, the doors to the House of Rolanir opened. Ivordir sighed, "We will discuss this later. I must be going." Without a word, Ivordir stood and strode through the doors, leaving Baralinor sulking on the bench. Edited by Ivordir, Apr 14 2015, 03:33 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 15 2015, 07:45 PM Post #12 |
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Chapter XI: In the House of Rolanir "Daerfalas......... I trust all is well with you?" Daerfalas looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps, and appeared relieved at the sight of Ivordir. He sent the door-warden off with a gesture. "I am, thank you. Have you any news?" He seemed anxious, suddenly. Ivordir nodded gravely, "I do. But let us not speak of it now, other than to say, I am to command 30 men of the Silver Swan. They will aid us in our task." He hesitated to speak further, but ceased to speak. The horror of Ballithor's words rang in his soul. He feigned a smile painfully. Daerfalas frowned. "Very well," he replied, though he wished to hear whatever it was Ivordir was holding back. There was a time and place for such things, and in such an open hall, words would wait. "I left Abrazan in the courtyard, but we will sup soon with Rolanir. We will gather shortly." Ivordir bowed, "Very well." Within the dining hall Rolanir called upon the closest of his kin. A great table laden with food and drink was before them. At the head of the table Rolanir was sat. At his right was Rolarion, his son and heir. At his left was Daerfalas, and Ivordir, and opposite Abrazan. Servants walked to and fro, but beside that, they were alone. The mood was light, and Rolanir laughed often. Abrazan deeply smiled, "I am deeply honored for us to be your guests." He bowed to Rolanir. Abrazan remembered all of the matters of diplomacy that Yucalwe had taught him. Rolanir seemed glad at the introduction. "You are all most welcome. Now eat! Too thin are my guests." A trio of musicians appeared and begun to play, and while Rolanir busied himself in conversation with his son, Daerfalas looked pointedly to Ivordir at his side. "He'll be full up with wine soon enough, and then we may speak." Ivordir nodded, "Very well." Dinner was not a long affair. Rolanir, aged as he was, soon succumbed to fatigue. He stood, and Daerfalas rose, and bid his companions to do the same. "Now then, friends and family," Rolanir gestured imperiously. "While I am glad to see you whole and sound, I must make my farewell. Please, my house is yours. I will see you in the morn!" Thus disbanded, Rolanir left their company. The musicians trickled out, and Rolarion bowed. "Goodnight friends!" He bade, before following his father. Daerfalas watched them go, and then tugged softly upon Ivordir's arm. "We can go into the courtyard, none will hear us there." Ivordir and Abrazan followed Daerfalas out into the courtyard. As they prepared to speak, they gazed onward over the balcony nigh the courtyard, to see the light of torches passing on the waters in the night. They heard the shouts of men, catching a glimpse of black sails swaying swiftly in the breeze, in the moonlight. It was now early-January. They had heard reports of a small fleet seen just off the horizon, to the northwest in eastern Anfalas. But now the rumors had come true. And they were here. Ivordir yelled quickly, "No time for idle chatter! To the Silver Swan at once!" Without protest, Daerfalas followed Ivordir. Edited by Ivordir, Jun 2 2015, 09:53 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 15 2015, 07:46 PM Post #13 |
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Chapter XII: The Battle of Dol Amroth They made their way to the House of the Silver Swan. Through the winding streets, the sounds of battle rising from the wharf below. Men in armor were running to and fro, including in the courtyard. Ballithor stormed in front of his manse, "You're late. Borrow armor from the barracks. Arm yourselves and follow me." They did as Ballithor bade and came out in the armor of the Silver Swan. They fastened each others' armor in haste, but they were well-trained. Then they followed Ballithor, Brastor, and Baralinor, with several guards toward the entrance toward the Wharf-Stairs. They stood tall, watching as the Amrothian fleet struggled to sail out of port. It was too late. Corsairs were running rampant on the docks. Ballithor commanded: "Now is the time to prove yourself, my Captain. Here are your thirty men. Survive, you may yet -prove- yourself -worthy- of my command." Ivordir did not pause, "Now then. We need a strategy." Ballithor's eyes gleamed, "Try reclaiming the harbor before they seize all the piers." The corsairs poured across the docks. Fierce men, eyes in moonlight gleaming. Many bearded. Most scowling. They drew their scimitars. Many Swan-Knights were repelling their assault. Further guards strove to hold the Wharf. Daerfalas drew his own blade from his hip, one of Ered Luin, made strong once more. He glanced at Ivordir, awaiting further orders. They fought carefully. Ivordir bade them form a phalanx. They held the line, but the Corsairs began their own retaliation. Several men fell. They continued to hold the line. Ivordir looked across, noticing that the other piers were being taken. "Retreat now! Back toward the stairs!" They began their retreat slowly, but more men died. They sped their retreat, some men holding their shields strong while the others turned and ran. Some were shot dead in the rear. Ivordir, Daerfalas, and the survivors reached the stairs. It was then that several Haradrim revealed their presence, among them three champions. Abrazan's eyes blazed, "I know those men!" They retreated up the stairs. Ballithor arrived with reinforcements and they poured down the stairs. Abrazan fought the champions. He fought them toe to toe in anger, his knife and mace singing, parrying their blows. The other knights aided him, the champions fell one by one in a bloody stand-off. Abrazan was wounded. He did not notice. Daerfalas rushed to Abrazan's side, and pressed his hand to his wound. "Follow Ivordir!" he called. Edited by Ivordir, Jun 2 2015, 10:20 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 15 2015, 07:48 PM Post #14 |
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Chapter XIII: A Stubborn Retreat Abrazan was forced back into the rear-guard. Corsairs were pouring up the stairs. Brastor emerged, fire in his eyes. His sword was ready. Ballithor and the rear-guard retreated into the walkways beyond the Wharf-Gate. Ivordir and the others retreated under orders. But Brastor heard nothing. He stood on the stairs alone. He swung his blade and the stairs were reddened. He had the higher ground; the corsairs were kicked and stabbed. One scratched Brastor with his knife, but Brastor ceased him, kicking him down. More climbed. Brastor was wounded in the knee. He fought on. Ivordir turned around to see him. He began to move back into the fray. Brastor shouted, "I hold alone!" Ivordir shouted, "It is not worth your death!" They fought back the corsairs together, waiting for others to rejoin the fray. The corsair hosts were thinning. Ballithor re-launched the counter-assault. Now the corsairs were all trapped in the narrow passage of the stairs. And the phalanx slowly pressed down the narrow stairs. Several corsairs near the bottom retreated, seeking their ships. Several made it to their boats and cast away. Some few surrendered. The rest were slain. With several horn-calls, the sea-gate was raised, the harbor secured. And all the gates of Dol Amroth were locked. They would count the bodies of at least 200 corsair men. Twenty three out of thirty of Ivordir's new men survived the assault. And Dol Amroth had at least several thousand strong. Abrazan's wound was kept hidden by its bearer. Abrazan insisted that he was fine and healthy. Ivordir did not forget this mystery. Edited by Ivordir, Aug 10 2015, 07:46 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 15 2015, 07:48 PM Post #15 |
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Chapter XIV: The Diversion It was later revealed that Ivordir had been assigned only a minor role. And it was Prince Imrahil who had organized the defense, ordering the other defenders to retreat. "This was only a skirmish," the Prince would later say, "Not a Battle of Dol Amroth. These men were small in number. It was nothing more than a small incursion. How were we tricked in this way?" Ballithor and the other nobles had no answer. Even their fleet had survived, mostly intact. And several riders rode to warn the rest of Belfalas. Ballithor summoned the three to his tower-chamber. His tone was stern and deep, "You did well. Those who have fallen will be replaced. There will be time for weeping later. You will be responsible for their lives and deaths. You will march at dawn. You must beat the corsair-fleet on-foot if you are to have any hope of fulfilling our task. As for some of the corsair prisoners, leave them to me. Listen carefully. Remember our previous words together." Before Ivordir could protest, Ballithor waved him away with the others. Ivordir sighed, "Let us return to Rolanir and see how he fares." Baralinor watched them warily as they marched out of the doors of the House of the Silver Swan. He turned to his father, "I do not trust him." Ballithor sighed, "I may not. But Ranyaro chose him. Can't gainsay an immortal Elf. Now, let us return to our business." Edited by Ivordir, Jun 2 2015, 09:10 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 15 2015, 07:49 PM Post #16 |
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Chapter XV: The End of a Skirmish At the gates of the House of Rolanir, Ivordir thought he heard the sounds of mourning. Daerfalas was wary, and he pushed through the gathering crowd fiercely. There was blood upon his face from the skirmish, and he was dreadful to behold. "Make way!" he commanded, and upon reaching the Hall in which Rolanir recieved his guests, he stopped. For all their efforts two healers had managed to bring Rolarion into his father's House, yet it was for naught. Rolarion had already drawn his last breath; he was upon the floor, and being covered with a shroud already. Daerfalas could not help but stare. He had not seen his brother amongst the fighters. If he had, he would have done more to protect them. Yet how? Ivordir bowed his head sadly, not speaking a single word, only feeling his brother's grief. Daerfalas could not have left Ivordir's side. The pain was too deep. He turned away, and shielded his ears from Rolanir's cries of grief. He walked away, still brandishing his weapon, though he held it low. Seeking Ivordir. Putting his sword into his hilt, he breathed hard, and looked upon his friend, his gaze watery and distant. "We have lost too much, despite what Ballithor said." Ivordir nodded sadly, "I know..........." They stayed and mourned gravely for Rolanion's loss. Even Abrazan was moved to tears at such a wake. And Ivordir wept also for the men who were under -his- command, men he would never know, not even their names. He thought of the old fisherman. He wished he was alive to sing for 'em. And Ivordir spoke sadly to Rolanir, "Forgive me, deeply my lord........ Daerfalas and I have been deployed to depart at dawn. We have no choice...... and how wretched it is, that we are forced away at this time................" Rolanir grasped Ivordir at the shoulder, and his smile was mournful. "Do not apologize; you do great service to our city, to Gondor. Yet I would ask this of you - watch over Daerfalas. The son I have left to me. And care for your own fate." Ivordir bowed, "I shall do this, my lord. It shall be done." |
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| Ivordir | Apr 15 2015, 07:50 PM Post #17 |
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Chapter XVI: Hail to the Captain They spent the night in relative safety, but awoke before dawn, gathered their gear and provisions. Then they hastened to the Swan Knights. Ballithor had gathered the thirty men in advance. The weapon-take had begun. Servants passed to and fro. And further men gathered their provisions. Ballithor sighed, "You really are not used to this, are you Ivordir? I took the liberty of contending with certain... practicalities. But take note. Don't let your men starve in the forests on the long road east." Ivordir bowed, "They will not starve." Ballithor led them up to a high balcony, overlooking the Keep below. And all 30 men gathered, armed, and prepared in their garb. Ballithor bade for silence, Daerfalas glared at Ballithor. "Men of Gondor. Soldiers and Knights of Dol Amroth. Knights of the Silver Swan. You are hereby commanded to obey Ivordir's commands. He is Ivordir, son of Ioristor, of a noble lineage upon the sixth level of Minas Tirith. The House of the Sigil-Bearer. You know our quest. You are bound by vow to speak to no one of its true nature. Not even if the King himself returned." Ballithor raised his sword, a ceremonial gesture conferring command. The men below all raised their swords, affirming their charge. Daerfalas conceded, and rose his own weapon. He would follow Ivordir, always. Abrazan likewise raised his sword. Ballithor shouted, "Captain Ivordir!" The men affirmed and shouted it in return. Daerfalas rose his voice. "Captain Ivordir!" And instead of responding with a speech, Ivordir merely held the Sigil aloft, while many gazed upon it in wonder and admiration. For they had heard the story. Ivordir had told it to Ballithor, and he to the men. Edited by Ivordir, Aug 10 2015, 07:47 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 15 2015, 08:01 PM Post #18 |
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Chapter XVII: Without a Title Then, Ballithor suddenly spoke, "You will regard Ivordir as your Captain. But he is Captain only among your knowledge." The men quieted down. Ballithor's eyes gave that sinister flash from a turn of his head, "You all understand that only the Steward himself has the authority to bestow that title. And I do not bestow it. But, you must regard him as -your- Captain, if you are to fulfill your task and survive this journey. If there are any here who do not understand, or wish not to follow such a man, then you may back out now." Some men began to move, but stopped. Others twitched in place, but held their ground. More stood haphazardly. And a few, including some of the youngest soldiers, stood valiantly. Of these men, some appeared older, not yet wrinkled. Of an older, but hale age. Others were in their prime, but still older than Ivordir. Several had beards, some longer, some short. And several were clean-shaven, no doubt of minor noble houses, given the sigils they wore on their chains. They were the sons of vassals, scholars and healers, cooks and laborers, masons and soldiers, merchants and sailors, and many shared trades in between. And among them were the three fishermen, who volunteered to serve as replacements for some of the men lost in the skirmish at the wharf. Ballithor had accepted their aid reluctantly, till he learned that they had journeyed north with Ivordir and survived. And among them were Brastor and Baralinor, who reluctantly assented to Ivordir's command. Ballithor knew he risked much in sending the heir to his House. But he knew he needed those men, and Prince Imrahil would not approve of the mission if he came to know of it. My son can compensate for his mistakes. Darn you, Yucalwe Ranyaro! For the vow we took for you, I must risk the future of my House. Then he realized that he should not cuss at ancient, immortal and angelic beings, no matter the cost. He felt the cold air from the sea-winds blowing through the drafts in the Keep. He felt his own haunted, cold breath. After several hours, the men prepared to travel away on foot. They gathered their heavy packs of gear, they dressed as if the Ithilien Dunedain, keeping the sigils of their houses, and a very small portion of finer clothes in bags. They would use the bags as pillows till they reached a better city. And they took several spiral staircases down the interior of the Keep. Several boats awaited them in a hidden harbor in caverns at the foot of the rocky pinnacle, atop which stood the Keep. As they crossed the sound, past the lofty sea-gates to the harbor, Ivordir looked at the faces of some of his new soldiers, especially some of the young ones. He saw their youthful faces and wondered why Ballithor had sent them, or how their noble fathers, however minor, allowed this to take place. It will be a mystery for later, he thought. The old, ruined harbor of Edhellond, with its ruined, abandoned spires, slowly arose in the morning mist. Then they docked, setting foot on the weathered stone quays, of all the Elves who had now since passed away. They marched through the ruined squares and forums, the old towers, all overgrown with the tendrils of nature's reclamation: moss and weeds and flowers, ivory hanging and choking the stones. It took them a day of rowing, and they camped in the ruins at nightfall, and Abrazan led Ivordir, Daerfalas, and the three fishermen to old Yucalwe's cave. It was long-abandoned and sad for Abrazan. They walked through the old cavern chambers, as Abrazan explained what it all once was, in olden days, when they fished and sang and wrote together, in a time of peace and -joy- that seemed to last forever. They had set-out from Dol Amroth on December 15th. And the weather was most unnatural, for the Shadow of the East gravely interfered with winter storms and winds, for the heat of Orodruin poured across Gondor from the blackened Land of Mordor, Realm of Shadows. The powers of Barad-dur, smoke and smog, had changed the climate. Edited by Ivordir, Oct 1 2015, 10:14 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 17 2015, 09:05 AM Post #19 |
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Chapter XVIII: Extortion of the Lord At dawn, they gathered. It was the 10th of January. Ivordir turned to the foremost younger heirs, "And who are you? Why did our liege send you with us?" The heir shook his head, "I am Sainion. My father is Lord Saindir. My Captain, must I..." Ivordir did not bat an eye, "Go on..." Sainion's head fell downcast, "I am my father's punishment." Ivordir suddenly spoke aloud to all of them, "I would have us learn precisely who our liege is. I would have us then determine what we shall do." Brastor lifted his hood, "Do you won't, you tricky...!" Ivordir cut him off, "And as I had intended, Ballithor's loyalists have revealed themselves." Brastor shook his head, "My leg may have some time to heal, but I can take it on the road. Are you not also loyal to your -liege-?" Ivordir smugly smiled, "I am loyal to the one who sent me." The thought of Yucalwe Ranyaro shut Brastor's mouth. His leg was wounded, but not severely. He patched it up and bound it with kingsfoil weed-herbs. It still hurt him now and then. But he didn't talk about it. Not to anyone. Brastor nodded and kept silent. "But if your loyalty is to the elf, then why should we follow you, Captain?" Baralinor revealed himself. Ivordir sighed, "Because, my dear Baralinor, I am a loyal man of Gondor. Tell me, who of the line of Elros would dare such treachery of his kin, if he truly sought to maintain the purity of his bloodline?" "Not you, Rohirric half-breed!" "That was a rumor. Not a fact." "Rumors tend to veil glimpses of the truth." "Silence!" Abrazan intervened. "We are losing time as it is. The Scourge is sailing 'round Belfalas. We have to beat him, if we are to fulfill our task. He has strong winds and swift sails. They'll take Linhir unawares, if its attacked at nightfall! And they are likely wreaking havoc on the coast. Think about it. They afforded to waste 200 good men on us, so their ships could pass without a trace. They came this far northwest for plunder, no doubt. Their fell Master will likely be displeased with their incompetence. But -we- have to keep moving." Ivordir slowly began to clap his hands, others followed. Ivordir smirked, "Thank you, Abrazan. You are correct. Do you not agree, Baralinor? This is, after all, your father's will." Baralinor nodded begrudgingly. "But we do have one matter of business left to attend to. Sainion, why are you here?" Sainion bowed, "I would prefer not to say in public, sir." Ivordir placed a warm hand on his shoulder, "But your Captain commands you. No harm will come to you. Speak." Sainion sighed, "Yes, my Captain. My noble father, Saindir, is a lesser noble than many in Dol Amroth. One of hundreds. We are but vassals, my Captain. Our liege, Ballithor, is far higher in rank than we. We dwell in the Scholar's District. My father ran afoul of some of Lord Ballithor's hidden plans. For his eavesdropping, our entire estate was threatened. He told him that he would send him a message that his House would never forget. He drafted me." "Extortion!" Ivordir shouted. "Yucalwe Ranyaro......... my noble Sigil-Bearer........... what would you have done............... ah, yes. I know. Baralinor, Brastor, beware. Your father may hold power over me on the chain of command. But I am Ranyaro's chosen. I answer primarily to him. Remember that Ranyaro fought in the mythic wars of the First Age of this world. Remember how many Easterlings he slew in defense of his Prince. Remember that he is not beyond causing harm to mortal Men. Remember this. Why, I would not be surprised if he trailed us south in secret, and is stalking us right now, awaiting his most excellent moment to reveal himself." The thought chilled both Baralinor and Brastor to the bone. Baralinor muttered, "You've made your point, Captain. And you are right. Very well. Lead on, for now..." Ivordir clasped Sainion's shoulder even further, "And you stay close to me. I will keep you safe. You can be my herald." Sainion deeply bowed and smiled, "It would be my greatest honor, my Captain." They passed through the ruins of ancient buildings, forums, markets, and plazas. The old memory of the Noldor and the Nandor rising in the mists. Edited by Ivordir, Jun 2 2015, 09:14 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 20 2015, 09:07 PM Post #20 |
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Chapter XIX: In the Ruins of the Eldar They climbed the nearby stairs to the old lighthouse overlooking the harbor. The fog was low and the sun crept high above the mists. They seemed as if on an isle, surrounded by the damp shroud. Ivordir turned to the others, "We have a choice of several directions." Daerfalas stood by Ivordir, looking out towards the harbour which they could not see. The air was thick about them, and their company silenced themselves, until they could only hear the cry of the gulls, and Ivordir's voice. Daerfalas turned, and looked towards him. Ivordir sighed, the ghostly towers of Dol Amroth rising behind them through a layer of the mist. "To the northeast, there are the foot-hills of the Tarlang. To the southeast, of Dor-en-Ernil. Each has its own perils. From Tarlang, there is less tree-cover. There are several fields that charge to its base. Dor-en-Ernil is thickly-wooded, but it is a longer detour." The men nodded as they heard his words. Clasping his hands, Daerfalas listened closely with a studious frown. An older man with a short, grizzled beard approached, bowing before Ivordir, "Captain. There are a few of 'em outlaws in the Tarlang foot-hills. My kin lived yonder by them parts, till we fled to Amroth. It's crawlin' with 'em." Ivordir regarded him strangely, for he reminded him of the singer-fishermen: "And how may I address you, good friend?" "Name's Dolthor, sir." Daerfalas lifted his chin, his eyes narrowing. He could see the truth in the old man's words, and noted his name accordingly. Ivordir nodded, "Thank ye. We will need to preserve lives. Facing bands of outlaws wouldn't help our mission." Brastor muttered to himself, "Bands of outlaw curs. I ain't afraid of them." Ivordir overheard him, "Yes, my lord Brastor. But, it would cost us unnecessary time either way. Only, Dor-en-Ernil is not as wild as Tarlang. There will be less dangers." Brastor curtly nodded. Ivordir sighed, "Does anyone else wish to speak?" |
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12:43 AM Jul 11