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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
Topic Started: Apr 5 2015, 04:14 PM (4,128 Views)
Ivordir

Chapter CLXIII: A New Concept

Finally Arhbaineth sighed, "This is pointless. It would be best for us to shed our cloaks."

Amarthon's eyes glistened, "We cannot.... or the poison will subdue us...."

Arhbaineth rolled her eyes, "Then we need to think realistically. These are hardened men, who've walked the muck of war, countless burning hours of pain, sleepless nights, moaning in the healers' tents, screaming of removed limbs... my Lord-Father took me once, and forced me to watch their agony... and I saw many a brutal sort eye me wrong...."

Auravon smiled, "We know. You forget, we also got our boots caked in mud, rashes and sore limbs, enduring many unpleasant conditions, following our most noble Captain from one mess to the next. We were there when poor Trenardir was caught, likely tortured. I can still hear his screams in my sleep. We were there when poor Dolthor died a horrid death after Maglon. We were there when we caught Aeg and Aegon. And I witnessed Aegon's wrath in the wake of his father's death with many others."

Amarthon nodded, "And we plotted things.... terrible things....... we had intended, I confess it, to poison Ivordir and Daerfalas in their sleep.... but Baralinor shot Thanguron and everything fell in an uproar, and we had no opportunity in Linhir.......... to think, why, it is all becoming clear to me now. This was all my fault, Arhbaineth. For I had whispered fears in Ballithor's ear, warning him of Yucalwe.... there, in those last two years..."

Baralinor turned, for he had entered the chamber as they spoke, "It was not solely you, Amarthon... you must not blame yourself........... and I confess we had the same mission and did not know it. Brastor and I were to lead Ivordir on a wild aurochs chase into the middle of the forests of Ithilien, capture Haradrim if we could, force our Captain to torture the Haradrim, and then Brastor was to finish the task. But my Lord-Father recalled Brastor, leaving the task to me, to become a 'full man.'"

Arhbaineth nodded sorrowfully, "But you have changed.... both of you.... all of you..... it is different now. Now, you shall save the Captain that dark masters hath ordered you to kill."

Amarthon and Baralinor nodded.

Baralinor smiled, his eyes widening jovially, "Leave the sneaking-around to Abrazan and me. We'll distract the guards, and we'll wear the cloaks, to maintain the distraction. We will embarrass them so much, no one will ever hear tale of it. But you, Amarthon, and your brothers, and Sainion, and Arhbaineth, had best attend this ball. I should avoid attending. Make them think that I am your hostage while we strike. And, my dear Amarthon, you shall wear your cloak, triumphantly, to the ball. It is not akin to Ivordir's cloak at all, for no memories stir when one touches it. For the feelings of peace and ravishing beauty, you may thank them for their compliments. Trivialize it. Do not attend tale of Amanuiron. The fair scent? Perfume. Of whom? Arhbaineth. You shall dazzle their eyes and submerge their hearts in a sea of rapture of thy fair appearance, while we rescue our Captain in the meanwhile. As for determining the loyalty of our men, I have sent for the fishermen. They will scout among our remaining ranks, bringing the most loyal of them to a river-side tavern, where they will play their lutes and sing. The traitors will be brought off-guard and drowned in the river. Our surviving ranks will then make for the northern gate. All shall be prepared."

Amarthon nodded, "A bold plan. When do we begin? Nigh the ball in two days?"

Baralinor nodded, "Yes. As admirable as your efforts are, nobility are best left for the nobles. I may be a noble, but my Lord-Father ensured that I was martially trained."

Amarthon sighed, "My Lord-Father attempted the same with me......... but let us ponder other plans. What happens if our marvelously-designed new plan falls awry, as most of our dear Captain's plans have oft?"

Baralinor laughed, "I intend it to. Our secondary plans are as follows. The Silver Fist will likely attempt to either poison or harm you directly during the ball, or at the least, to prevent your departure. Continue practicing your cape skills, but flamboyantly, brightly, brilliantly, yet precisely...... be able to turn a dagger on any one of them within that chamber, swiftly..... it will be your last bargaining token of your esteem.... as for our singers, well... they will not have to worry. But our loyalists shall have to fear those hardened men who captured Ivordir. The ensuing brawl could go either way.... there is nothing we can do to alter this, but to trust in the martial prowess of our men. The scholars should go with you and Lady Melimir and her train to Minas Tirith. As for Malgelir..... I intend to slay that serpent myself. Save him for me, unless he attempts to capture all of you. Alas that we no longer have Ivordir to give us a rousing speech about the threat of the Black Land and all it poses. Pelargir is vastly unprepared for the coming storm.........."
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Ivordir

Chapter CLXIV: How We Have Erred...

Sainion stood, smiling, reflecting as Baralinor spoke. He remembered back to when they had crossed the sea, how Ivordir had neglected to mention the following, in his account. There were the long hours beneath a hot sun, the gulls crying. There was the fear in the fogs of Edhellond. The march was long and painful, Sainion's limbs aching. He longed to sit someplace, but ever one of the guards at his back kept him marching. He had marched to the point of exhaustion, nearly collapsing by the time they reached Amon Lontir. His skin was drenched with sweat. Nor had his Captain mentioned the mosquitos, stinging and biting in the dead of night, blisters and sores rising on his wearied flesh. Nor had his Captain mentioned the grave terror that shook Sainion when the nightly beasts charged into the camp. He had barely recovered from these wounds by the time they reached Tadrent, but he had then decided that self-pity was not aiding him anymore.

And there were the flies that annoyed the men as they buzzed. And there were the black flies that tore and bit at their flesh. And there were the gnats, forming clouds, as some men accidentally ate some of them on the march. And there were the sicknesses, the coughing and gagging, especially near the fens north of Tadrent. And the smell of men who had never anointed themselves once with ointment. The men who smelt as if they were competing with the sewerage stench of low tide nigh the sea.

And Sainion had cowered in the corner when the outlaws sacked the town on Tarlang. And Sainion had watched Aegon with a strange curiosity, and had felt compassion for him, for he well understood the pain of loss. And Sainion had watched carefully in Linhir, waiting for that golden opportunity. Then in the woods of Gilrain, Sainion had suffered gravely from a rash that covered vast swaths of his body. Echuidor managed to save him through some ancient and time-honored remedy he had learned. And the crows flew and cawed menacingly as they had crossed the river.

And then, after the mess at Ost Anglebed, the sun beat hard on their backs and necks, and most suffered burns. Sainion's skin burned in agony as they finally reached Pelargir.

The cloak that came upon his shoulders had flushed his senses in vast relief, a miraculous ecstasy that seized the very fiber of his being. And he felt ashamed now that he had tried to take his own life. He gazed on Arhbaineth in humble pride, an ironic twist, for he was very proud and grateful. He was proud to have received the love of such a Lady, a Lady he never thought he had ever deserved, or would deserve. Suddenly, he saw Arhbaineth approaching him, "Love, are you ill?"

Sainion shook his head.

Arhbaineth smiled, "What thoughts now flood your mind?"

"Reflecting on our journey thus far."

"You have suffered gravely..."

"And done nothing for it, used it for noth-"

"That is not true, and you know it.... you saved our Company at many turns, from what I have heard... please.... do not let guilt destroy you..."

Sainion sighed, "You know my heart........"

"And you know mine...."

Amarthon smiled at their exchange, "It is a beautiful thing to witness....... more beautiful even than my cloak... for you are living..."

Baralinor laughed, "You are both right. Listen, Sainion........ you thwarted my Lord-Father at many turns. You are where you belong....... as you helped lead me from the depths of near-despair, let me tell you.......... you have endured much. You had no martial training, or experiences in the wild prior to this. Yet this is naught to be ashamed of....... you have endured. You have the greatness........ for you have survived. Come, now, we will survive what is to come......."

Arhbaineth gasped, gazing downcast at the floor, "No...no.... this cannot be.... why oh why did you have to say that? I have read many books...... many tomes..... this is the part of the story when one of the twain couple is murdered horrifically, while the other is forced to grieve deeply, despairingly, like Nimrodel on the sea-shore when Amroth was drowned beneath the waves......... the only Elven tale many of us know in full, to my current knowledge........ for Dol Amroth's namesake..... oh........ Malgelir would do it.... he would steal me away from my Sainion, or my Sainion away from me......."

Sainion lifted his wife's chin, "Fear not. It is too predictable."

And Arhbaineth mustered a smile.
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Ivordir

Chapter CLXV: The Letter

Baralinor deeply frowned, turning toward Amarthon, "I do not think that we need hearken to such terror. For terror shall not aid our task. Yes, it is true, many have died..... and I have unfortunate tidings from my Lord-Father. I did not conceal this letter. Ivordir is already aware of it, he read it before his capture. It reads:

'I have heard report from Tadrent, my son. Hear the tale of his destruction, for when I had journeyed through Tadrent on the road to Anglebed. I neglected to inform you. For offending a man whom I had hand-picked, I decidedly spoke with some of the other lords of Tadrent, and received approval for Lord Badhron's execution. I forced him by my sword into the dungeon, where we found one Trenardir, barely recognizable, for the bleeding gashes on his back and legs and arms had cut so deep... his eyes were black and mangled... he could not even shed a tear. Then again, nor could I. But I can imagine those screams.... those chilling screams, that I alone among most men could withstand to hear........ can you withstand to ponder it yet, are you a full man? Can you handle the thought of his moaning in agony in long hours, the harsh sound of the cracking whip? Can you bear the sight of blood streaming down his body, staining the dungeon floor, decaying brown? I ran up to him and slit his throat. Before I killed him, pathetic creature as he was, he pointed at the cracks in the walls, muttering 'Collapse,' repeatedly. He was ever a superstitious man, in fact, he attempted to foretell my death once, landing himself in the Company. Well, all of that is for naught now. Then I grabbed the whip, turning toward Lord Badhron. Apparently, not all the nobles of Tadrent were his friends. Some relished the sight of it.

And one more thing. I have instructed my consort of the Silver Fist, and his son, Malgelir, whom I planted, to imprison Ivordir should he deviate from the path I set before him. You may flee to The Silver Fist, if need should arise, but it would prove a sad waste of our plans. I want that noble, Elf-driven Captain, to hear the screams of Haradrim, writhing in their agony, and then you shall draw the knife, proving your man-hood. You shall wrap his head in your cloak and return it to me. I shall mount it on a spike above the city gates, denoting him as an Enemy spy. And I shall dare your 'beloved' Yucalwe to end his cowardice, sail to Gondor himself, that I may do the same to him, and be rid of him, and of all Elven plots and wizards and sorcerers, forever. And I am quite certain. Lord Denethor would agree.'

I fear that now, his influence has grown...... we cannot allow ourselves or any of our Company to enter into the mind of our Steward. This plan of his will not occur. I would sooner die than to force him to torture our foes to death sadistically."

Amarthon began to cry, "It is all my fault..."

Baralinor seized his shoulders, "No. Never believe that, for a single moment's instance. As I said earlier, there are other matters.............. if anything, it was his experience with Yucalwe in the cavern that did it...."

Arhbaineth sighed, "Listen to me.......... he told me it was his gravest regret.............."

Baralinor smiled, "I believe him. Even Elves can err, unintentionally............. and ultimately, my Lord-Father was responsible for his own choices, as I was for mine....."

Amarthon bowed gravely, "Let us have a moment of silence for brave Trenardir, who died a horrid death......."

And they remained silent for what seemed an eternity.
Edited by Ivordir, Oct 1 2015, 10:55 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CLXVI: Amarthon's Beauty Awakening

Amarthon deeply sighed after their moment of silence for poor Trenardir. Then, a certain idea mounted within his soul. He grabbed Arhbaineth's dagger, piercing his thumb carefully, avoiding a deeper wound. He barely scrapped the surface, but the tiny hole was clean, blood flowing upward into a bubble that seemed a bright ruby, light reflecting on its surface as if a star. Then he took his cloak, covering it. He removed the cloak. And the tiny wound continued to bleed. He motioned for Ivordir's golden cloak. The same occurred.

Amarthon nodded, applying pressure to this thumb, pressing tightly against the wound, "I..... do not know what drove me to do this, but my heart is content that I have done so. We now know that the Graces of the West are unpredictable. That mine and Sainion's wounds were healed are truly miraculous facets, brighter than gems. But while we can trust in the grace that guides us, we cannot trust that these cloaks will replace healers. Nor can we trust that they will save our lives at every turn. We must trust, I believe, in the goodness that we long to serve, and this alone is most beautiful of all."

The cloak appeared to glow even brighter in the sunlight.

Baralinor smiled, "Remove the pressure. Let me place Yucalwe's cloak upon it."

Amarthon nodded, and the effects were the same. Nothing had changed.

Auravon's face fell pale. Amarthon gazed at him intently, "What is the matter?"

Auravon muttered, "......you could die......... there, at the ball.................."

Amarthon closed his eyes, "As could you.......... a thought that deeply grieves me.............yet, I do not believe that fear will save us from our foes, or spare our skin from their knives and swords....."

Auravon shed small, gentle tears, "Truly.... fear has ruled me....... ever since you were lost........"

Sainion nodded, "Then it must be chased away from you. I believe it is time for another dance, my love. One last dance, before the ball. One final glance, before we fall."

Arhbaineth gazed at him confused, "'...before we fall?'"

Sainion confessed, "I fear for you, my love....."

Baralinor shook his head, "If only I could recall your speech against despair verbatum...."

Sainion smiled, "We must dance our fears and cares away...."

They suddenly turned. Amarthon's jovial smile was bright, and he had extended his cloak, outstretching his arms, in all its beauty. He seemed at this moment as if he was one of the tall Numenorean Kings of old, yet his clean-shaven face spoke to the majesty of the majority of the Eldar. He had shaved recently, as did his brothers, as did Ivordir, Sainion, and few others, to emulate the Eldar, from sight or by word of mouth. And his eyes were glowing with peace. Auravon fell to his knees before Amarthon, kissing the hem of the cloak. But Amarthon knelt down, enveloping him in a deep embrace, "I believe we shall not die........ though death shall take us in the end. Death, the Gift, we thought was Doom. But it shall come only when our lives have sailed their course, wherever the Mariner destined us to sail, the One Who made the Sea and Skies and Clouds. Come now, rest in me, and I in you, may the shadows of terror and despair be cast away."

Even Baralinor's heart felt warm and glad. Sainion's smile grew. Arhbaineth rested her around around Sainion's shoulder.

And Auravon buried his nose and cheeks deep within the folds of Amarthon's cloak. The folds were soft, cool and smooth, gentle, of the scent of roses. It was overwhelmingly beautiful, as Auravon and Amarthon both reveled in their shared ecstasy, the cloak binding them together. Then they deeply kissed each other on their cheeks and rose, the cloak billowing around their shoulders.

Amarthon laughed, "I would that there were two more cloaks... for my beloved brothers...."

Auravon smiled deeply, "Only one can wear the cloak........."

Amarthon nodded, "Which is why I have kept you both close.... for you have taken the poison...."

Auravon nodded grimly, "We are most grateful...."

Amarthon smiled, "Touching it protects you........."

Auravon grasped the hem, and suddenly began to pull, "I do not believe it shall do this again.........."

It struck Sainion, "Why, it is a mirror image of what happened to us......"

It dawned on Arhbaineth, "The cloaks must match........... seven unto seven. The seven cloaks of the Spring of Pity, the seven cloaks of Lorien's Waters........... twain Houses, set against each other, in discordant woe............. to be reconciled............................. yes, I did not hearken idly to Auruiron and Yucalwe's words, of the conflicts between their Houses...... and our Captain is the key, and hither are we, attempting to...."

"To ward-away fear," Sainion muttered. "Let it be. Let grow this ecstasy. It is our Captain's greatest hope of rescue........... these powers, how can we, mortals, ever hope to fathom them? And few in Gondor have ever encountered such things......... unlikely, improbable, many would balk at it...... yet hither are we.............. drawn within this rich, vast history, so deep....... it had become scattered fragmented, lost as myths and legends, hidden away on dusty book-shelves, in the minds of old librarians...........and now, leaping off the page, before our very eyes..................."

Baralinor nodded, "All of Gondor is caught in the midst of this. For the Enemy is the same of legend....... and all of us must face that same foe. All of us are part of it, in the end. One day, I suspect that even we, and our deeds, shall be regarded as myths and legends......... but some shall remember. Some shall take up the Song."

And Amarthon smiled as he saw Auravon cradling twain cloaks of the same fabric, texture, and length....

Baralinor deeply smiled, "Auravon, let me take one of them to your sleeping brother. I shall drape it upon him gently as he sleeps."

Auravon nodded, his eyes blazing in shock, awe, and ecstasy, glowing brightly. And as Baralinor left the room, Amarthon gently cloaked Auravon in his new cloak, as it glimmered brightly across his shoulders, flowing gently and beautifully down his back, gathering in vast pools of beauty on the marble floor, all the while shining in the sunlight. Auravon stood and they embraced, their cloaks binding them. And Auravon laughed and released the embrace, and he spun and danced throughout the room, the refulgent cloak sailing and glimmering behind him, gathering in vast plumes of ecstatic beauty, billowing and flowing and twirling to and fro, as Amarthon joined him, while Arhbaineth and Sainion watched silently, their hearts quivering and throbbing in an ecstasy of mirth. The clouds of terror had vanished. Only the sunlight remained.

They suddenly collided with Sainion and Arhbaineth, who fell carefully. They all laughed as they sat on the floor. And Sainion rested his head on Arhbaineth's chest, as she smoothed their cloak around them.

And as they gazed in certain awe, Amarthon appeared as if he was more than human. But his mind was rooted, his spirit fixed in place, where he belonged. And as he rose, Auravon smoothed his cloak behind Amarthon, while Auravon knelt on the floor himself, his own cloak streaming behind him, as if they were part of the same stream of silken gold and crimson-lining beauty, spreading across the floor as if vast eagle's wings, waiting to soar on Manwe's winds. And Amarthon declared, "Our Captain shall not remain their captive for long......."
Edited by Ivordir, Jul 19 2015, 06:33 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CLXVII: Auravon's Innocence

Auravon's heart soared with courage. Amarthon turned around, bidding Auravon to stand.

Then Amarthon knelt below Auravon, plunging his brother into shock. Then Amarthon kissed Auravon's cloak, "You are beautiful....... you are now a Prince as me....."

Auravon shook his head, "I am Second-Born.... I can never be...."

"You can, my beloved brother..... you are my equal..... you have ever been my equal........ I let you faun over me only because it gave you pleasure......"

Arhbaineth smiled, for she had understood it differently. Now she saw her error, feeling sorrow for her judgments. Amarthon is a good young man after all.....

Auravon smiled and laughed playfully, twirling his new cloak around in circles as the others laughed. Auravon swirled beside Sainion, enveloping him in the cloak, whispering close to his cheek, "You are my brother too."

Sainion laughed and smiled, "Yes, you are....."

Auravon spun into Arhbaineth, who playfully laughed as he did the same to her, "And you... my sister..."

Arhbaineth smiled, pressing her face into the cloak, ".......you are very beautiful......"

And then he spun and danced in the center of the ballroom, all the while spinning, plumes of gold and crimson shining, rivers and gorges shifting, mountains rising and tumbling into streams, waves roaring, surging, as he whipped the fabric around, his heart soaring in an ecstasy, all temptations of fear and terror vanishing far away, even the fear of dying.

Amarthon suddenly clutched his chest. A black ooze came up from his throat. He coughed and gagged. He collapsed onto the floor, gasping, reaching. Auravon had crashed to the floor, reaching for him. Arhbaineth and Sainion dove down to aid him. He ceased to move or breathe.

Auravon thrashed his head against Amarthon's chest, listening. His heart still continued to beat. But a horrid voice came up from his lips: "I am the Power that cannot die. I am the Master who cannot falter. I am the Dream that never ends. Thy Nightmare, without beginning. I am thy Shadow of Despair, here then my voice and thus beware. Toward Guldrambor's Power, thou shalt stare."

The ooze receded into Amarthon's mouth, vanishing down his throat. They all gazed at him in horror. He grasped Auravon's left hand, "We have been tricked........... his power is trying to lord over me....................help me...................please..................."

Sainion's eyes blazed, "Only love can conquer hate."
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Ivordir

Chapter CLXVIII: Beloved Love

Arhbaineth nodded, "You both are still wearing our Captains' cloaks as well. Let me have them."

Sainion aided Amarthon in removing the cloaks from beneath Amarthon's back, as Arhbaineth assisted Auravon. Then she and Auravon draped the cloaks on the hard, cold floor. Then they lifted Amarthon onto them. They removed Amarthon's upper tunic for better exposure to air, exposing only his chest. Then they unclasped Amarthon's cloak from his neck, and streamed it all around his body. Arhbaineth and Sainion knelt beside them.

Amarthon began to convulse and gag again. Auravon held him down as the liquid oozed out of the corners of his mouth. The liquid kept oozing, pouring down his cheeks. Auravon quickly pressed the cloak to Amarthon's mouth, as he began to calm. The liquid was burning when it touched the cloak. Amarthon began to gag it onto the floor, throwing the cloak away from his chest, kicking it so that it did not touch him.

"Stay away from it" Arhbaineth warned, "For touching it would bring even more beneath his control."

They stayed away from the ooze as they aided Amarthon. Amarthon's eyes went black. His appearance began to change before their eyes. His hair was long and coldly blond, his eyes were piercing, his face was grimacing menacingly.

And Sainion uttered, "You love Yucalwe. You love him still. I accuse thee!"

The mirage of Amanuiron began to laugh menacingly, "But I came not to harm thee, but to instruct thee. Why do you confuse your beloved King, toward whom you should bow and worship?"

Sainion stared for a moment, "But we do. See how we tend to our good Liege?"

The mirage laughed, "You think you are clever. You think you are wise. Prove it to me."

Sainion bowed and kissed the mirage's feet.

Amanuiron smiled grimly, "Very well. But knoweth this. Treachery shalt be mete with treachery, and doom with doom. If he betrays me, then he shall surely die. If you continue to serve Yucalwe, you shall surely die."

Sainion stared at him in mockery, "But we shall not die."

Amanuiron laughed, "But you shall."

Sainion did not move a muscle, "We shall not."

Amanuiron frowned, "Shalt I draw a dagger?"

Sainion smirked, "I am immortal. Thou art the source of mine immortality."

Amanuiron smiled, "We shall see....."

Auravon turned to him, "None are more devoted to my beloved King than me....."

"I have foreseen it."

Arhbaineth's tone was stern and roaring, "But you are not Amanuiron. You are the poison, carrying a vision of his horrid will. A clone, a phantom, a mere shadow of his consciousness.... a wraith. And he who dwells beyond the sea of Rhun shall never know of this. His attempt to ensure our loyalty hath failed."

Amanuiron's visage became dark and horrid, shadows rising. Sainion grabbed his own cloak, "And by Yucalwe, and Lorien the Great, I cast thee out of him."

And Sainion cast the cloak atop the figure, covering him completely as he screamed, the vile liquid oozing onto the floor beside him. Auravon grabbed Amarthon's cloak, tossing it on the figure as well. Then the black and red cloak absorbed the burning ooze.

Amarthon opened his wearied eyes, "The nightmare was terrible...."

Auravon nodded, crawling next to him on the now-clean floor, embracing his chest, kissing his cheek deeply, his warm lips plunging into Amarthon's pale, colder skin, warming it, as Amarthon smiled and did the same. Auravon sobbed, "......I thought you would have died......"

Amarthon whipped the cloak atop them both, as Auravon then buried his face in the cool fabric of the cloak. Amarthon smiled, ".........now I know there is a reason for which I live...... and it is not to be a King......."

They felt warm figures climb beside them. Arhbaineth warmly entered beneath the cloak, as did Sainion, as they kissed Amarthon on the cheeks.

Arhbaineth warmly smiled, "We will never let him harm you....."

Sainion smiled, "We will protect you, beloved brother......"

Amarthon shed tears of -joy-, all the while smiling. They kissed his tears as they flowed warmly, gently down his cheeks, ignoring their salty taste. And they beheld the glory of the sunlight, sparkling through the fibers of the cloak, in an orange haze of beauty, crimson overlapping with gold, the sunlight piercing the pores as if a million stars. And they embraced him deep and close. Amarthon deeply smiled, "And I will protect you...." They all buried their faces in the warm smooth silk, and kissed the cloak. They felt as if they would never die.
Edited by Ivordir, Jul 21 2015, 12:00 AM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CLXIX: Gravitas

And so it was that the cloaks gave them mirth and bliss, whilst storms gathered far beyond the ballroom windows. Ivordir languished in the dungeon, his stomach felt parched, his skin pale and cold. He quivered as his back ached against the cell-wall, You are my only hope...

Trenardir was dead. And Badhron's head dripped bloody from a spike atop the Gates of Tadrent, his old head still expressing his sorrow, longing for mercy. Ballithor remembered how he had coldly stared at the head, and strode away with callous satisfaction.

He recalled how he had stuck to the roads and slept in noble houses, moving far faster than Ivordir's Company ever traveled. He had beheld the sandy plains of lower Ernil, and the forests of the Ringlo Vale. He never frequented the tavern, safe once. Ballithor marched into the tavern.

The bar-tender sat there, fear mounting in his soul, for Ballithor's gaze alone made him feel cold and vulnerable, and he reported all he could. And Ballithor spake, "I suppose you had quite the time... watching those men and mine slay each other... I believe, according to my brother, Brastor, that something is owed to you....... come, give me an ale."

The bar-tender did as he obeyed, motioning to his wife to pour the glass. Ballithor took it, drank, then spat it on the floor, "It tastes of swill! I have deigned thee unworthy of my service, and I owe you nothing." He gazed at the bar-tender with an expression the bar-tender never could discern. For it seemed to the bar-tender that he gazed into lifeless eyes. He heard the drawing of a blade, and he felt cold steel pierce his throat, pain swiftly flowing with his blood, the world plunging into a daze worse than drunkenness, accelerating and slowing and accelerating and slowing and then, he fell on the floor, face-down, hiding his lifeless eyes. The wife would have screamed, but Brastor had withdrawn his knife from the bar-tender's neck. He had tossed the dagger.

Ballithor sat unmoved. He poured out the rest of the ale on the bar-tender's bloody head. Then he stood and left the tavern and Ethring far behind them. Ballithor stood reflecting on all of this as he prepared to depart from Ost Anglebed, on the long road back to Dol Amroth.
Edited by Ivordir, Oct 1 2015, 10:58 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CLXX: The Dance of Dreams

Amarthon's eyes still glittered with tears beneath the cloak in the ballroom of the House of Melimir. Then his eyes widened, "Auravon! You also drank the poison! But he might not yet..."

Auravon's eyes widened in turn, "I must.... I must...... hide from him, hide you from him......."

Before Amarthon could speak, Auravon was embracing him strongly, holding his head against his chest, "My King....." Then he was kissing Amarthon's bare shoulder, burying his face.

Amarthon nodded, "I do not know if this will work...... I know you are desperate, as am I to save you...... as much as I am loathe to say this..... we have to draw the poison out of you...."
Amarthon warmly returned the embrace, warmly kissing him on his warm cheek, "You are my brother....... I long to protect you too....."

Auravon girded himself, "Then let us draw it forth, once and for all. And then we will save Arancir."

Amarthon nodded. Sainion and Arhbaineth helped them up. Then they watched, their hearts pounding in an ecstasy, as living beauty flowed behind the twain brothers as they marched solemnly to the center of the room.

Amarthon and Auravon twirled and spun their cloaks, their arms aloft, spreading it in great domes as they spun, the cloaks flapping and gliding in their haste. Crimson bloomed beneath golden beauty, basking in the sunlight, shifting as they glimmered brightly. As Auravon suddenly clutched at his throat, Amarthon drove him down to the floor, covering his mouth with his cloak as he gagged.
Edited by Ivordir, Aug 2 2015, 10:55 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CLXXI: The Power of Irmo

And Amarthon enveloped Auravon in his cloak, burying them both in the silken folds, as Amarthon clenched his teeth as the bile burned on the fabric. His skin did not physically burn, but he felt as if his arm was aflame.

As Auravon gagged and convulsed, his mind fell lax, as he beheld a vision within the folds of the cloak. There within his mind, from the vapors of the bile rising, Amanuiron arose, as Amarthon and the ballroom outside the cloak disappeared. His vision was no longer hindered by the cloak. And he found himself on a vast, field, marred by fire, as the plains arose to meet a mountain as tall as any he had even seen. It was a mount of slag, beneath which stood gates that made even the horrors of the Morannon into Mordor pale in comparison. And there stood Amanuiron before him in all his beauty,

"Come to me, brother of thy beloved King. For there is something I would show thee..."

Auravon attempted to resist, with every ounce of energy in his soul, "Nay! You are Guldrambor, a liar, who tried to slay us!"

"Treachery unto treachery. But I am a merciful Lord. Come unto me, that I may show thee, how vile Yucalwe hath deceived thee."

"It is you who are the deceiver!" Auravon sought for a sword, but he had none."

"I do not wish to fight. Come unto my great beauty. You know you cannot resist...... come, let me show thee Yucalwe, and the West, the truth that you may discern..."

"Nay..."

Amanuiron approached him, "Come to me."

"You are not even Amanuiron! You are a phantom conjured by the bile!"

"And how knowest thou this?"

Amanuiron approached, his cloak streaming vastly behind him on the charred earth, molten gold and crimson pluming across the dusty dirt, the burned soil. He held his arms aloft as Auravon cried and wished to turn, but found he could not flee. His legs were trapped. And then his face was subdued, his body enveloped in the silken folds, his face pressed into a sea of blood-red silk. And as he panicked, he found himself relaxing against his will, and then he beheld a scene. He found himself standing in a verdant garden, on the shores of a vast, still lake. The air felt ethereal, the vision clouded in a strange haze. Then the place where he was standing became clearer. And there sat two young boys. One of whom was clearly one of the Eldar sat beside young Amanuiron.

Yucalwe smiled, "What will you reveal to me today?"

Amanuiron laughed, "The greatest beauty you have yet to behold.... I have a gift for you...."

Amanuiron revealed the cloak in all its vastness, bringing it up from beneath their stone bench. Yucalwe swooned as Amanuiron draped the cloak around him. The cloak could have fit thirty young Yucalwes beneath its folds.

Yucalwe's heart burst in song, "It is... beautiful! Even King Finwe himself would be hard-pressed to find such... majesty!"

Amanuiron smirked, "You are my Prince... my beloved Prince..."

The vision became cloudy as Auravon then beheld the most beautiful city he had ever seen, Tirion upon Tuna. Even Minas Tirith paled in comparison to its beauty. Auravon felt in love with it all at once. He envisioned a young adult Yucalwe, who turned on Amanuiron, tossing the cloak at him, "I shall now serve my true Prince, Findekano, now.... and Maitimo Nelyafinwe, with whom I am now close..... your possessiveness of me hath caused unto me to fear thee......... how long have you spoken with Melkor, who grows in influence o'er us all?"

The vision appeared to end, but they found themselves once more on the plains of Ard-Galen, and Yucalwe and the city were gone. Auravon found himself still shrouded in Amanuiron's cloak.

Amanuiron smiled, "Turn Amarthon back unto our cause....... do not fail me...."

Auravon pushed Amanuiron away, "I learned the truth. You have shown me far too much. For Melkor was Morgoth, the terror of all our nightmares, from our myths and legends, now brought unto reality in the present. You served Morgoth, the Cruel! You are Guldrambor, a servant of wickedness. You would have us kill the Elf-lord, and then what? Would you kill us too? I believe you would.... our eyes are open. We refuse you."

Amanuiron's grin became sinister, his eyes fiery red, as he spouted, "Then thou shalt perish hither, in thy loneliness....... thou hath made an err too wrong...... behold....."

Amanuiron spread his wings aloft, as Auravon felt the ravishing temptations, as he stared into that beauty. Part of him longed to trust it. But he felt sick, knowing the truth. Gold and crimson flashed, then vanished into wings of shadow, his eyes became fiery, and molten was his tongue, as his robes became shadow, a greater form of man, a whip of many thongs rising from his left, and a molten sword from his right, as Auravon quailed in his terror at the Balrog that now approached him. Guldrambor raised his whip, but suddenly, he felt his own cloak around him. He felt Amarthon's hands clutching him closely. He felt empowered. He gazed at the Terror approaching him, "Oh Powers of the West, I plead......... I beg of you...... save us....." And from within the vision, out of the western skies, came a great, piercing Light, that blinded Guldrambor. Auravon continued, "I am unworthy of thy aid..... for I have greatly sinned against You, oh West......... for serving the darkness blindly........ I wish I had never served the Shadow." His words came out of his mouth in reality, despite the liquid trailing down his lips, as Amarthon cried, "Yes! So do I also wish!" And in the vision, the Light grew brighter, as a shrill, chilling cry, wailed and then vanished, as the dream melted away into the Light.

Auravon opened his eyes. The bile was gone. And there he gazed into Amarthon's shining eyes, "Guldrambor feigns power...... he is powerless..... all he has are illusions...... what have we to fear? He is naught compared to the Shadow of the East, naught compared to all he had claimed to serve..... and yet, I pity him........."

Amarthon's heart sung joyfully, his eyes glistening as he deeply kissed Auravon on his forehead and on his cheeks, "Beloved brother! I believe the bile is gone."

Auravon turned, "Look!" Amarthon's belt on the floor had naught but empty phials. Baralinor was standing there, a smile on his face, "I saw the bile vanish as I draped the cloak on Arancir. He is still sleeping soundly. I noticed a trail of it pouring out of his sleeping mouth, but then, it was gone..... this is all confusing. What has happened?"

Auravon told them what he had experienced in the dream. Baralinor embraced him deeply, "Now we know the West has not abandoned us......... but what are we to do now?"

Arhbaineth muttered, "I know what you mean..... and this has all caused my heart to sing....... but the thought of Ivordir and Daerfalas rotting in those cells....."

Sainion nodded, "We will rescue them. The question is how to do it....... directly."

Baralinor smiled, "We will execute our current plan. Do you mean.... directly as in precisely, as what we should be doing, action by action?"

Sainion nodded, "And Auravon..... it would be best to speak none of this to any outside our circle. Many would laugh and mock you, and chase you away, if they knew you believed that you had seen the West of myth...."

Auravon nodded, "We are free now..... thank the Valar... we are free to do what is right......."
Edited by Ivordir, Aug 2 2015, 10:55 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CLXXII: Enveloped

Baralinor nodded, "I retract my previous concept of Amarthon displaying his beauty........ because it would risk even worse dangers........"

Amarthon nodded, "But then again.... many of the nobility of Gondor are so well-dressed.......you know how mercantile trade with several Southron places has continued, even despite Umbar and the enmity of most of the Haradrim tribes..... still, south of Umbar, are more still with whom we have traded for silks and such........"

Baralinor laughed, "Of course! But few in attendance will be so well-dressed that even the old Kings in their tombs of Rath Dinen would rise in envy."

Auravon smirked playfully, "Suppose we were to embarrass them so powerfully, that they would force themselves to take oaths to not tell a soul what really happened?"

Baralinor smiled, "And how would we do this?"

Amarthon stood tall, fanning his cloak, "We need to know precisely who will be in attendance, and what their weaknesses will be........ then we shall prepare a proper plan. Have Lady Melimir's spies reported?"

Baralinor took out a parchment, "They found and copied-down the guest-list. The porter who held control over the list was drunk and asleep."

Sainion seized the list, "Ah ha........."

Arhbaineth glanced down at it, skimming it, "I know most of these names........."

A sudden thought struck Amarthon's mind, he spoke it aloud: "Everyone come and gather beneath my cloak, and kiss its folds."

They do so. Arhbaineth stared into refulgent red, enveloped, kissing it tenderly. Sainion muttered, "It does not make sense to me, but I will try..." He stood beside his wife, kissing it warmly. And then Baralinor felt at ease, as he kissed it gently. And then Auravon's heart beamed, as he kissed it fully. And then Amarthon's mind soared, as he kissed it deeply. There was a sudden shiver in the folds, followed by a deep warmth, an ecstasy that surged around them. They felt unified, as if one being. The cloak turned deep red into soaring, bright, sunlit orange, as the sun came back from behind the clouds, its rays piercing the cloak. And as they stood there, staring into the glittering folds that seemed infinitely outstretched, they felt emboldened.

Amarthon smiled, "I do believe..... that we are not meant to plan this in advance...."

Baralinor nodded, "It flies in the face of our reason... but our reason has not saved us..."

Sainion felt compelled, "Every time we attempted to plan for something, we failed... and we lost lives..."

Arhbaineth echoed her husband, "I yield......"

Auravon's eyes beamed, "This cloak.... our three cloaks..... came from the West so long ago....... from the Powers....... uncorrupted.... what have we to fear? Let us wear them to the ball, letting our Doom fall where it may."

Arhbaineth sighed, "I fear it may turn bloody, if what I fear comes to pass...."

Auravon spoke resiliently, "Then let us not fear it........ what shall be shall be....... but for now, I am glad to know all of you.... glad to be standing hither, woven with your lives...............interwoven in the fabric that unites us all....................."

They all embraced each other.
Edited by Ivordir, Aug 2 2015, 10:56 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CLXXIII: Courage Unfurled

And they emerged from the warm brilliance of the cloak, and held it, as Amarthon processed before them, the cloak shining pale gold in changing streams, rivers, and lakes of light, bowing down into deep vales, rising tall to meet Amarthon's shoulders. Then they released it, the cloak trailing behind him valiantly as a banner blowing in the morning breeze, their toughened, tender hearts rising to meet their fates before them.

And in the deep darkness of their cell, Ivordir felt a silent surge of hope within his heart.

Deep in the East, Amanuiron fell weak on the cold, hard uneven floor of his cavern. He had felt a Power surge from the West against his own, and his heart quailed with fear. But then he gazed south and thought of darkened skies, The Dark Lord shalt strike aground t them... all of them... then shalt I roam free... His deep shadows flowed through the darkness. Then his fairer form emerged from the shadows. He stood at the setting sun in the west, tears streaming down his cheeks.

A war began to surge within him.

I shalt destroy them all!
Nay... nay... we have fallen...
Never! I shalt lord o'er the West, I shalt sit on Irmo's Throne...
No... I love him...
I hate him! He betrayed me....
Nay... he did....he did not... I betrayed him... I betrayed them all...
They would have tossed me in the Door of Night! Sauron was wise to flee...
It may be his undoing...
Silence! Strike down that love, it shalt undo thee!
...Or it might save me...
I am the Power for which thou hast longed so deep... serve me and we shalt corrupt the West...
I love him....... I love them both...
They have no love for thee.... only I can protect thee from the Staff of Fingon...
I gave them the Staff... the Cloak... the Jewel...
Destroy them before they can destroy thee....
Who art thou?
Thou art Melkor's greatest Servant.
Who art thou?
Thou art Sauron's hidden secret...
Who art thou?
The Valar shalt toss thee away... only I can save thee from them...
Who art thou?
Sung to death and doom, forever, whilst the One amuses Himself with his precious Theme! And I shalt destroy that Theme... lest it destroy thee...
I was once this beautiful.... now I am deformed and depraved....
Thy darkness art beautiful....
Darkness, wrinkles, can be beautiful... when the shine shines on darker skin, illuminating beauty... a light that shines in a fair elderly eye..... glistening.... I have not even these........
Thou art ne'r alone. For I art beside thee..............


His cloak gently streamed behind him as his right-eye wept while his left-eye stared outward, coldly. The light still shined on the cloak, flowing as a banner, as it set. It still shined dimly in the light of the moon and stranger stars.
Edited by Ivordir, Aug 2 2015, 10:56 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CLXXIV: Rest and Restlessness

That night, in the moonlight, pale gold streamed softly on the cold floor. His heart was racing. He had awakened drenched with sweat, his breath heaving. He had dreamed a disturbing dream.

He paced to and fro in the midnight gloom of the ballroom. Shadows shifted, when ere the moon vanished behind a cloud. The shadows frightened him. He tried to remember. Hours earlier, he had left that room with courage in his heart. Yet now he had admitted to himself that he was a base-born coward. He did not want to attend the ball. Yet he knew if it turned bloody, he would rather defend his brothers.

A voice trailed behind him in the darkness, "What is wrong, my brother?"

Amarthon rubbed his eyes, marching across the room.

Auravon shook his head, "...I could not sleep..."

Amarthon smirked, "That much is evident. Why not?"

"Disturbing dreams- and...."

"I do not blame you for being frightened. For I am as well.... it would be foolish to be otherwise. It is not fear as much as caution....."

Auravon sighed sadly, "I am sorry that my absence woke you, my King......"

Amarthon laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, "I am not a King.... there is no need to call me that anymore..."

Auravon closed his eyes, "But you will ever be -my- King, even if all the world regarded you as the lowest man on Arda."

Amarthon smiled, "Those should be my words, for you......" He gently bowed.

Auravon gazed at him stunned. He had never received such gratitude before this moment. He mustered-up a smile with gladness evident in his eyes. His features perked-up, his cheeks forming the orbs they formed when he smiled. Then he beheld a stunning sight. There knelt Amarthon, on the floor, kissing the hem of Auravon's cloak. Auravon's eyes began to shed joyful tears, falling into bliss. Then Amarthon stood and Auravon buried his lips in Amarthon's cheeks affectionately, and Amarthon did the same to him.

Their embrace was long and beautiful, their chests pressed deep against each other, their cloaks wrapped around them in their beauty. Then, Amarthon said, "We have nothing to fear, my beloved brother....... even though I believe we will not survive....."

And Auravon: "I would rather die beside you than for anything else in this world, my brother......"

Then Auravon began to dance with his cloak again. Pale gold and black crimson flowed, gliding on the air in refulgent spirals as he spun, the moonlight illuminating his majesty. And then Amarthon joined him in the dance, their hems spinning into each other, gliding in an ecstasy. It was an ecstasy of the soul, a deep and welling confidence, that all would be well in the end, with the growing conviction that it must end well, no matter the toils and the cost. Auravon chased away terror from his soul as he spun, the cloak billowing in its deeper beauty, as his eyes seemed to shine in the moonlight.

They came together once more for the deepest cheek-kisses they had ever shared, their hearts throbbing in that same ecstasy that flowed from that conviction. They knew in their hearts and spirits that even if they died, they would die well, ever side by side. Yet another lingering hope grew in them. They had seen young women at previous balls whom they admired, and they had entertained thoughts of marriage with them, even after Amarthon's return from the East. They knew that some of them would be in attendance in that fateful dance, the dance they felt would be their last. Their loyalty toward each other was one of affectionate brotherhood, a subliminal power that flowed from the cloaks that webbed them into one tapestry, one ecstasy, one beauty. It was ever a love as natural between brothers, devoted to the survival of the other. They did not learn the cheek-kissing from the higher courts of nobility. It came naturally to them as they felt the ecstasy of the cloak.

After they danced, Auravon billowed the train of Amarthon's cloak, bliss welling in his soul, as they returned to their chamber. Arancir was still sound asleep. They smiled. And Auravon slept soundly on his bed, wrapped deeply in the cloak. He slept more soundly than he had ever slept. He dreamed of his Lady, her silky red-brown hair, her crystalline eyes.... her warm lips, her deepening smile... He deeply kissed his cloak as he dreamed of kissing her.
Edited by Ivordir, Aug 2 2015, 10:56 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CLXXV: Memories of Rirossel

Her hair glistened in the light of the morning sun, flowing in the breeze, a whisper of the wind, soft and gentle. Her eyes glistened as if the stars, radiant was her smile. She was crowned with beauty. Her golden-brown hair flowed gently down her back beneath her dress. For she had heard the myth of Luthien, a Gondorian re-appropriation. She had always loved the myths of old. There was one shy boy in the Quarter, Auravon, who she caught playing nearby outside her window. He spoke kind words to her, stuttering in his attempts to compliment her looks. She smiled deeply and giggled at him. But one day, her Lord-Father harshly took her side, "Rirossel... you are Heir to this House, my only daughter... and you will wed he with whom your marriage is pre-arranged: Malgelir of the Silver Fist."

And Malgelir was charming in his smile, attractive... and she consented. She sent Auravon away in tears, hiding her own.

Auravon dreamed of her. He wanted to kiss her. He awoke kissing his cloak. And in his dream he had stroked her refulgent hair, and kissed her soft, warm lips, feeling the ecstasy of his throbbing heart. Then he awoke, grasping the cloak, tears dripping down his cheeks. After she had abandoned him, he became devoted to his brother. His brother alone had gave him consolation. His brother became the heart of his deepest joy, his sole purpose in life. Amarthon's exile to the front had devastated him, Amarthon's loss at the front had horrified him, and Amarthon's return had enveloped him into an ecstasy of life and being that he himself could never hope to understand. He lost himself, willfully, in the cloak's swaying dance.
Edited by Ivordir, Aug 2 2015, 10:56 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CLXXVI: Within the Silver Fist

"When will our marriage occur?"

"After the Ball, my love. My Lord-Father wished for Lord Ballithor, our benefactor, to attend such a wedding, to consider wedding some of his sons to our sisters if the possibility remains."

"We have delayed for years..."

"I know, my love. But that has not stopped us..."

Rirossel glared, "I grow fatigued of all of this..."

"Come, my love. I have purchased this silken gown for you. It was hand-woven, in the south."

"How come you by such Southron dresses?"

"Not Southron, my love. They are made in the style of our people. We have friends, south of Umbar. And even within the city, there are traders willing to place profit above history."

Their meal ended without much further conversation. She retired to her chambers with the dress and wore it. It looked pleasant in the sunlight.
Edited by Ivordir, Aug 2 2015, 10:56 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CLXXVII: Auravon's Obsession

Auravon sat alone in his room all day, while others continued preparations for the departure of the Company on Ivordir's presumed rescue. He sat alone and stroked the deeply interwoven silk, smooth and sleek, soft and cold. He probed it, knowing its supernatural potential qualities. He wondered. He buried his face within gold and crimson, inhaling its scent as much as he could. He billowed it, twirled it, tossed it, rested within it. He had tried nearly everything. No reaction had occurred.

He heard her voice, calling to him, "Auravon!"

He lifted the cloak from his eyes. There she stood, in all her beauty. His mouth nearly dropped, "How came you here........ I thought you were due to be wed......?"

"I..... obtained permission to travel on my own throughout the city. My husband-to-be is busying himself, ignoring me per usual. I refuse to trust him..... I heard of your friends in captivity from a servant girl whom I trust. I am not as passive as he believes.......... what glimmering majesty do you hold hither?"

Auravon stuttered, attempting to explain.

"Hush," she said gently, "I know everything. Your brother told me......"

And she got on her hands and knees before him, "I beg you for forgiveness.... for you are my truest love, ever since you ever entered into my sight...... I refuse my Lord-Father's plans.... I refuse Malgelir. He has threatened me, the lives of my family, he told me what he intends to do after we are wed, he told me how he intends to destroy-....."

A tear fell down her cheeks, sincerity blossoming in her eyes.

Auravon's eyes gleamed, "Perhaps you can help me........I am attempting to see if this cloak can be of any use....."

Rirossel rose to her feet, "Yes," she began to giggle, sorrowfully, mentally unhinged in her response, "Let me...."

She took the cloak from his hands and whipped it around herself, as it cascaded down her back in a fall of gold and ruby-red, her lips shining in the light of the nearby-taper.

Auravon laughed, "You shall not manipulate me.... as Sainion by Arhbaineth." Auravon was unhinged as well. His reactions were abrupt, as if bouncing from wall to wall. He had not seen her in years, now here she was, confessing her danger and then giggling and playing with his cloak. He lost any semblance of his own sanity. The only constant was the cloak.

"Then by all means.... turn the tables...." she smirked, handing him the cloak. He draped it around himself and stood in majesty, his eyes gleaming subtly in the light of the taper. His smiled beamed wide, "Your husband-to-be seeks to accuse us all of 'sorcery.' Well, then........... let us find a way to prove him right!"

He ran into the middle of the room, billowing the cloak around him, "Come, Rirossel of the Golden Swan.... first, you must tell me... how you slipped past Lady Melimir..."

"I did not slip... I confessed the truth."

"Come and behold my sorcery!" He outspread the cloak as if vast wings, as Amarthon was oft to do. She swooned at such a sight, approaching him, falling in his arms as the wings closed around him. She rested her head against his chest, "....he means to kill me....," she wept, "he means to kill us all......." She felt the ecstasy of the cloak overcome her sorrow. Her heart felt light, her spirit as if she could fly. She looked up at Auravon's mirthful face, his beaming smile, as he said, "Come then..... if you are a liar, draw your dagger now and end it. Slay me and get it done........... for I knew that at that Ball, I should die....."

Her eyes watered with sorrow, "Why....... he was going to force me..... to do such a thing........." She pulled the dagger from her dress, pointing it at his, and he felt chills as terror overwhelmed him, and she moved to stab him, but then, the dagger ceased to charge. She suspended it in mid-air, and said, "But I shall not be his slave, not ever again. Yes, you would have died by my hand, or I would have likely died from yours, my own dagger thrust deep within my chest..... as I wept and cowered on my own death-throes. Such fates may yet await my sisters.... but nay." And she tossed the dagger far away on the floor, "Malgelir cannot fathom his grave mistake... in letting me press forth."

Auravon's face was difficult to read, his thoughts foreign even to himself. He felt himself overwhelmed in a surge, from blissful innocence to terror, to wrath, to a mirth-filled ecstasy, and he smiled, "Thank you........."

"Oh Auravon...." She clasped him deeply once more, "This cloak.... it is empowering..... I...I do not know what I would have done....."

"Ivordir could have wed us right hither and now."

There was a knock at the door. Baralinor entered, "Did I overhear talk of another wedding? As my Lord-Father's Heir, as he began command, I do believe that I am acting-Captain until Ivordir is released."

Rirossel did not withdraw her gaze at Auravon, "Then have it done."

Baralinor smirked, "We should await other witnesses, including his brothers."

Auravon smiled, "Her life is in grave danger, so long as she remains unwed. If they wish for pomp, they shall receive it at further notice."

Baralinor nodded, "I understand.... come then, let us save her from that traitor, Malgelir..."

He spoke the words, for he had learned them from his Lord-Father, and vows were made.

And Rirossel deeply kissed Auravon, "My love......"

Auravon's heart was deeply throbbing, "Come.... beheld my sorcery....."

Baralinor smiled as they thanked him, and closed the door.

Rirossel leaped beside Auravon on the bed, as he draped the cloak atop them both, covering their whole bodies, and then, their faces.

As Baralinor walked softly down the hall, he laughed, "I suppose those boring lessons were good for something.... I wonder, of these cloaks..... they are awfully convenient...... two secret weddings, love at first sight, two miraculous healings from near-fatal dagger-wounds...... and behavior so strange...... they make us want to dance, to billow them so brightly...to kiss their folds, and then each other............. or maybe our toils in the wilderness and fears at home have truly rendered us all mad......... all desperate................................maybe we yearn for the older times, when we were innocent children, without a fear or terror in the world............. or have the cloaks awakened a bliss, that has slept within us for far too long.............?"

He nodded his head as he walked down the hall, It is an ingenious design...... she can sneak us into the dungeon and aid us in the rescue........ so that is why Melimir allowed her through........... a dangerous risk..... what if this Rirossel had slain Auravon? She would not have survived herself.......... a clever gamble........ one in our favor.......... and it would appear the West approves............
Edited by Ivordir, Aug 30 2015, 11:40 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CLXXVIII: Shared Visions

Auravon slept soundly, though it was only mid-day. The windows were closed and the shutters with them. He heard her breathing gently as he fell asleep.

Rirossel's heart was swooning, her mind flooded with exhilaration. She felt liberated, finally free.......... she did not give thought as to what she should tell Malgelir. I suppose I cannot go back there..... and he will send men, searching for me......... Auravon's steady breath gave her comfort, He, too, must have had a restless night......... it all feels as if a dream..... a magical, beautiful dream.....can this truly be real? Am I suddenly now his wife? She pressed her nose against the silk. She had pushed the cloak slightly back for air as they felt sleepy.

Auravon found himself in a deep and heavy mist. The stars were barely visible above the mist. His wife stood at his side. She gazed at him, breathlessly. They heard someone approaching through the mist. A beautiful being stood before them. He was not Amanuiron.

He spoke, "Son of Ruby, Daughter of Gold... shall unify a cause once lost. A Captain shall then lead again, beyond all Shadow. Skies grow dark, but hope endures. And he once deemed bereft may yet be pure anew. Follow the Gold, the sun rising."

They awoke from the dream beside each other, gasping speechless. They remained this way for several long moments.

Rirossel turned, "What have I done........ you are a sorcerer. And now I am -wed- to you. Oh....."

Auravon whipped the cloak around them as they sat up, "Why? What is the matter?"

"I dreamed I was lost in a mist, and..."

Auravon's eyes bulged wide, "So was I!"

"You are deceiving me!"

"I am not!"

"How can this be.... such powers..... such remarkable powers..... forgive me, I do not take well to.... things that I.........I..."

"Cannot comprehend. But let me tell you...... when my brother returned from the East-"

"The East! Is that where we are going?"

"Not necessarily......... aside from further in Gondor, I do not know...."

Rirossel sighed, "Forgive me..... much has happened, and I..."

"I know, it is only natural."

Rirossel flung her arms around him, "At least we know.... our marriage was not an accident."

"No, it was not..."

And they kissed each other deeply, hope welling in their souls amidst confusion. It all felt very confusing, he had hoped to fall in love with her for years, she had hoped to never see him again for years, and it all ended-up this way because of a magic cloak. They knew it and it confused them, and ever as they feared confusion, they clung to the one close thing that they could cling to: each other. They rested beside each other for what had seemed an eternity of bliss, when Amarthon entered.

Amarthon bowed, "I am so pleased, my beloved brother....... and my newly beloved sister........"

Rirossel deeply smiled, "I already know the story.... Arhbaineth and Sainion told me everything......... come, Auravon, you know what we should do....... I should like to know how it feels....."

They crawled down on their hands and knees, kissing the hem of Amarthon's cloak. Rirossel quivered with delight, "It is strangely.... beautiful...."

Amarthon laughed, "Come, I do not wish for you to do that to yourselves....." He knelt down on the floor with them, "I am no longer deceived by such lies......."

Rirossel had noticed him as a child as well. She had always smiled as she watched him and Auravon play. She smiled, "I am glad to have such a beloved brother...." She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. He blushed and smiled at her.

Auravon deeply kissed his brother on the cheek as well, "We are all of the same kin now... come, we must plot for Ivordir's rescue..."

"No planning, remember? We wait...... I am eager for this day to come and be gone..... I heard tale of what you confessed, Lady Rirossel......."

Rirossel bowed her head in shame, "I..."

"Please, no. We are reconciled now. You demonstrated extraordinary courage.... to defy your betrothed so openly. But now I fear for you..... I fear for you if you attend that Ball......... you must travel with Baralinor and Abrazan, trustworthy men, and aid in Ivordir's rescue, while we distract your betrothed and the others upstairs....."

Auravon smirked, "No planning, brother...."

Amarthon nodded, embarrassed, "I know....... we have spent many days in mirth and bliss.... awe and wonder..... at these powers in which we are draped........... we have but one day more before the plunge. At least we will travel away more comfortably, once the first night is through....... but we will need to fear riders on the road. The Houses will be angered........."

Auravon sighed, "We have nothing to fear..... is that not what you have tried to teach me?"

Amarthon laughed, "It is........."

Rirossel bathed herself in Auravon's cloak restfully, deeply kissing her husband on the cheek, "I am so glad..... so glad that I escaped....."

Auravon spoke darkly, but playfully, "A sorcerer am I.... come to me....." They closely embraced as she allowed her heart to swoon, as she fell into his arms, within the folds of the cloak, kissing warm, smooth crimson silk, resting her head against his bosom. Auravon gently stroked her hair and smiled.

And Amarthon smiled. His heart soared to finally see that his brother was so happy. He felt jovial and relieved at once. He loved his brother. He knew what it meant. And he was glad. He even felt relieved that he would never be King.
Edited by Ivordir, Aug 2 2015, 10:56 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CLXXIX: The Cracking

The cell was damp and dark. Ivordir had a terrible, barking cough. And the stench reeked. He had vomited on the wall, gagging, the night before. He heard the scurrying of
rats in the darkness. He feared disease. And his stomach pained him. His lips thirsted for the cool, fresh touch of water. All his clothes were drenched with sweat.
"Daerfalas..." he gasped.

From the depths of his sleep Daerfalas was roused, and he stirred despite the soreness of his muscles and the pain that seemed to permeate into his very bones. "Ivordir,"
he whispered in return, lifting a hand and reaching into the darkness for his brother. Ivordir fared worse in their cell, and this drove Daerfalas' spirit low. He worried
greatly, and suffered from great thirst.

The doors of the cell opened. Ivordir felt rough hands binding him. Then he heard Malgelir's voice: "My betrothed escaped from me... seeking shelter at the manor of one
Melimir... a most unfortunate turn, for both of you..."

Ivordir clenched his teeth in pain, and there was another cracking sound. A grave, red stripe had appeared on his back.

Malgelir stammered, "You rabble! You think that you are somehow entitled... spurning Lord Ballithor was the final ill turn." The cracking sound cut the air like a scythe
again. Ivordir was writhing in pain.

My Lord-Father thinks that I am spineless! He thinks that I am a co-ward! I am NO coward!!! I will show him, I will show my betrothed, I will show all of them, that I am a man to be feared! The Silver Fist shall strike terror in the hearts of all who hear the mere utterance of its name! None shall dare to cross us! I AM NO COWARD!!! I, Malgelir, shalt show them all! Too long have I stalked in terror in my father's halls, too long have I lived in terror of his hatred of me, his inadequate, spineless Heir! I AM NO COWARD! I shall demonstrate unto them all how sly I can truly be! For so long didst I deceive those scholars, for so long didst I deceive those men, for so long didst I deceive even Lord Ballithor's son, for so long didst I deceive them all, for so long didst I surrender to trekking in fen and muck, for so long didst I endure that agony and pain, for so long didst I endure the foul, stinking wilderness, for so long didst I... I AM NO COWARD!!! Neither fern nor tree nor mud nor muck can stop me! I AM NO COWARD!!!!!!!!! I AM NO COWARD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I AM NO COWARD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Malgelir turned toward Daerfalas, "I shalt rob thy precious mother of her son's clean back...." The cracking sound arose from the shadows.

Daerfalas did not protest as they took Ivordir from his side. He knew that if made any sound, if he rose to the onslaught, that it would be worse for his Captain, and for
him. Instead he tried to think of his Mother, he thought of the Elven refuge, of his cloak, and he shivered. The whip was turned to him, and still he tried not to cry out.

Ivordir felt clumps of flesh ripped from his back, the gaping holes all the while bleeding. The whip cracked again as he was brought to his knees. Then, for the first time
ever, he screamed.

Finally, after both men had been tortured, Malgelir suddenly called it all to a halt. He laughed, "You thought you could defy ME! The Silver Fist hath struck thee both.
Now, bleed to death within this cell. My Lord-Father and Ballithor will be pleased."

Ivordir cried aloud, "If you think my father won't hear of this! The Steward shall destroy thee!"

He wished to say, "No, Captain, do not speak!" and rip himself from his bonds, but Daerfalas was to weak even to rise. The sound of Ivordir's pain nearly brought him to
despair, so thick and cloying that he thought he would choke on it. The ceasing of the whip brought him no satisfaction.

Malgelir turned, "I think not. Do me a favor and die a hasty death. This Expedition is over."

Ivordir gasped, "Why were you so silent throughout all of this? Did you not learn on all of the times we had been caught before?"

Malgelir stammered, "Did -you- not learn?! They gave you every opportunity to obey. And you spurned obedience. You were warned not to stray from the path. You ignore all
of Brastor's sound bits of wisdom. You drove us for leagues in wrong directions. You pardoned men who should have been hung. You escaped justice for far too long...."

If he could, Daerfalas would have laughed. To think that this Man spoke of justice...

"I have wasted far too much of my breath on you. Goodbye forever, my Captain."

The sound of boots ascending stairs filled the chamber. Silence swiftly followed it. A deafening silence. Ivordir grasped at his back in agony.
His hands were drenched with blood. He felt as if he walked in a haze. He collapsed to the floor, grasping forward on the wet floor, clutching in vain at the damp
tiles. Then all went dark.

On his hands and knees Daerfalas crawled over to Ivordir. With all of the strength he could muster, he pulled Ivordir into an embrace, draped within his lap, minding his
back with careful, trembling hands. "Have hope, as I try," he whispered, and his voice was hoarse with disuse and dehydration. "If he truly leaves us to die
here...alone...perhaps still we may be rescued. Hope."
Edited by Ivordir, Aug 30 2015, 11:51 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CLXXX: The Procession to the Ball

Malgelir had awaited tidings from his spies of Rirossel. They had returned to him one day later. All that day, much had proceeded per usual. Cloaks were worn, dances were
done, embraces were warm. Yet in all their minds, fear began to grow. And then finally the day had come. The evening had arrived. They all dressed as they had planned to,
and followed Melimir in her train. They processed through the darkened, torch-lit streets. The guards were at their posts. Aegon nodded from the doors of the barracks as
the others passed them by. The procession arrived at the House of the Silver Fist, tension rising in their hearts. Baralinor, Rirossel, and Abrazan had stayed behind, to
leave later, with the aid of Melimir's spies. Sainion and Arhbaineth awaited the procession inside as they stood outside.

Melimir was in a courtly state, her dress fine and her poise imperious. Long had she been used to being recieved to such events, though she endured stares and whispers.
Such was the way of things, towards a Woman who wielded power, money, and influence - a widow no less. She led her servants, and Ivordir's company, with the practiced and
easy steps of one comfortable wherever they should trod. And such a company they were, trailing behind her, for she had spared no expense in dressing her guests. They were
each clad to look lordly, like herself. This was a ball, after all, she had said before they left her estate. They should smile. Be gay, and pleasant! Laugh, and leave
your ills behind you. There was music coming from within. She gestured to her servant, who handed a guard her invitation, never pausing in her step. And so she led them
into the lion's den, and though the Silver Fist might have squeezed terror into their hearts, they did not show it.

But Amarthon and the twins hid in the rear of the ball chamber, their cloaks concealed beneath their velvet.

The Lord of the Manor came forth. It was the same whom they had seen at Ost Anglebed with Ballithor. He raised his toast, and proclaimed the dance. Malgelir sat near his
side.

Arhbaineth kissed Sainion one last time before the dance, and then they processed forward, dancing according to the codes they had been taught since they were children.
Edited by Ivordir, Aug 2 2015, 10:57 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CLXXXI: Aegon's Motions

Aegon whispered to Sarndur, "Now." He motioned to Gwainoth. Aegon began to move toward Naitheg and his comrades.

The barracks was more silent than a morque. Aegon gripped his knife. Aeg had taught him how to fight since he was young, how to survive in the Tarlang wilds. His heart
grew tighter with his grip.

Naitheg slept lightly. The slightest sound disturbed his rest, and the movement of Men was easy enough to detect, so alert a sleeper was he. His eyes opened, and he
remained unmoving for many moments, kept his breathing steady. To his side, underneath his blanket, he kept a sword. Silently he drew it.

On the bunk opposite, Thalathond too was roused. He had not been asleep. Rather he had been listening, calculating, detecting whispers and the gentlest flurries of moment.
He had, from the beginning, suspected treachery. He too drew his weapon under cover of darkness. The rest of the Men remained asleep.
Edited by Ivordir, Aug 2 2015, 10:57 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CLXXXII: Son of the Silver Fist

Malgelir curiously watched the dancers, how they strut to and fro across the marble floor. He remembered back to when he was a child, when he watched his parents dance. He
watched in awe at all the courtly nobles and lords and ladies. And he loved the guards in their ceremonial dress. He had loved all of it.

One day, when Malgelir had reached his current age, his father whispered to him, "All of this shall be yours one day. But it shall come at a price. Serving as a Lord is
not simple, nor is it easy. Other Houses will compete for influence, and some may attempt to steal away everything that is rightfully yours. You must be prepared to defend
it, by any means.... all means. A Lord who feels entitled, who does nothing to protect what is his, shall swiftly lose it. Nor is it simple to assume that everyone else is
your adversary. Nor must you be so naive as to immediately place trust into someone whom you do not truly know. This is why you will need spies: to report everything your
supposed allies are doing, who they meet, what arrangements they make, and everything else. Then you shall know who your true friends are, versus traitors. You will be a
proud, noble son. You shall do well. You must also be willing to make friends outside of Gondor. For example, my partners of trade who dwell in the cities nigh Halifirien,
secure the sale of goods to Rohan. It is important to be involved in trade, even as a noble Lord, so as to increase your wealth, prestige, and influence. You must appear
to be good, noble, and just, in the high Numenorean sense. But you must act accordingly, by any means necessary."

"I shall labor to make you proud, my Lord Father," Malgelir had replied.

And his Lord-Father continued, "Very well. You will do the following. Until now, your mother has ensured for you a pampered, protected life. But you will need to know the
trials that are faced daily by your servants and subjects. You will need to understand their perspective, so that you may act accordingly, to maintain your favor. A good
friend of mine made the fatal error of attempting to teach this lesson to his noble son. His noble son was sent to the Harondor watch, a lonely, desolate place, and then
he vanished, only to return as flamboyantly as before, one year later. But you, my son, will not be so prodigal. And you will press on to Dol Amroth. There, you will enter
into the service of one of our greatest and most powerful allies in that city, the Silver Swan. You will serve him diligently. I hear he is attempting to form an
expedition of some sort for an unknown purpose. I admit that I do not feel entirely comfortable with this arrangement, but, he holds more influence than me, for the
present. And so you will obey him."

"I refuse to embark on some farce in the wilderness!"

"You refuse?!" The Lord-Father slammed his desk. "No. You will march through every marsh-laden bog, every pile of dung and mud, every thunderous rain, that I command. You
will march, and that is the end of it. Listen," he came even closer, "Lord Ballithor has informed me that he has some special purpose in mind for you. You must fulfill
that purpose, and our House will gain favor- which shall become -your- House. You will depart to Dol Amroth by ship, with adequate protection against any invaders. Now
go."
Edited by Ivordir, Aug 2 2015, 10:57 PM.
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