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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 (4,127 Views)
Ivordir

Chapter CLXXXIII: A Vengeful Mind

And he had gone on his special mission, to deceive Ivordir to the last, and he had marched through the muck and mud of the wilderness, and he had hated it and even now he
despised it, and part of him even thought of plotting to depose his Lord-Father. But it would prove too risky, and there was his ex-betrothed to deal with, and so he
decided to discard thought of murdering his father, and turned his chaotic thoughts toward the deceitful woman whom he now despised. He wanted her, harshly, to treat her a
hundred times worse than he had ever treated her, in revenge for her treachery. Unable to touch or reach her, he had settled for his prisoners. He had no thought or regard
for Melimir or her influence in Pelargir. But when he had told his Lord-Father, he was slapped down and hurt, in the night before the evening of the ball.

His Lord-Father had sternly reproached, "And so you had your prized captives whipped? Are you daft, do you not realize who Melimir is? Have you forgotten my lessons?
Perhaps I should whip you.... or worse. But you are my Heir. My hand shall be enough. Now listen to me! Melimir likely is aware of her son's capture, and of this precious
Captain. Their failure was Lord Ballithor's special task for you? Then, so be it. But I will not be cowed or hindered by that woman! A merchant's daughter, a woman of no
noble birth or blood, whose only advantage is her trade. She has been my competition for years, and you know it."

Malgelir darkly grinned, even after he had been slapped, "If there is a way in which we can achieve vengeance on her... why not turn daggers or arrows on her at the ball?"

"Too risky. We must feign friendship with her, if we are to truly discern the truth. It is a far greater option, and, we will need to heal those men. I am sending my
healers to their cell to assist, and, if possible, to mask or hide their wounds. Sadly, we have no known drafts that could hinder their memories. We shall need to ensure
their silence through worse threats."

"But they seem incorrigible to threats! They slipped their way through multiple adversities on our journey. Lord Badhron of Tadrent attempted to arrest us, but they were
too quick! And then, they somehow assembled a defence in that Tarlang dung-heap of a town. And then they survived the wilds, all manner of beasts, and outlaws, though we
lost some men along the way."

"As can be expected. What else did they survive?"

"They survived Linhir, they used Baralinor's irascible behavior in order to escape. And at Anglebed, Lord Ballithor let us go, with the stern orders that should anything
happen to his son, all of us would be executed."

"I was there, my son, in case you have forgotten. Do you remember our little conversation?"

Malgelir nodded.

"Good. I have little doubt that Lady Melimir will attempt to expose the night of our occasion as an opportunity. You have swayed the men to our cause?"

"I have done so, my Lord-Father."

"Good. Now, come. Many more preparations will be necessary."
Edited by Ivordir, Aug 2 2015, 10:57 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CLXXXIV: Bred Vicious

So ended their conversation on the night before the ball. But Malgelir ensured that his own Lord-Father's healers could not enter the cell by hiding the keys. He also ensured that his guards diverted the healers away from his Lord-Father's span of attention as they prepared for the ball. The Lord-Father of the Silver Fist was none other than Lord Denethon. He was a shrewed and calculating man, one whom Ballithor had feared. And so they became close allies, realizing that only mutual friendship would serve to strengthen both their Houses. Lord Denethon's wife had died from a rat-borne disease that came from the ships.

But Denethon had never loved his wife. It was all an arranged marriage. And she had never loved him. But she loved her son. She tried to teach him love, kindness, and friendship. But his Lord-Father won him over, and, eventually, he won her over. This made Malgelir simmer, for he longed for and desired the mother of his past, not the crazed power-hungry woman whom she became. Malgelir hated and loved his father. But he detested poverty, and his hatred of poverty prevailed over his malice toward his father. Malgelir's mother's death had ruined him, turning his heart mad and cold. He had overheard Ivordir and Sainion's conversation nigh the Ringlo Vale. He had overheard this talk of a mysterious foe. And he had come to believe that this foe was none other than his Lord-Father, that Lord Ballithor had betrayed them. His anger toward his Lord-Father had silenced his mouth. Rirossel had attempted to be kind to him. She had reminded him of his own mother. But she failed to spark a flame of love within his empty heart. And he knew of Auravon, and his jealousy had made him more possessive. He had treated Rirossel as an object of pleasure, than as a true, equal, human being. And now he had lost his prize.

He sat there, gloomily in the ballroom. But he played at the facade of mirth and happiness as he stared out at the dancers. He sighted Arhbaineth and Sainion in wonder.

Their apparent love only made his own heart fill with darker rage, when he thought of Rirossel.
Edited by Ivordir, Sep 14 2015, 09:04 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CLXXXV: The Night Attack

Shadows flickered through the darkness that lurked throughout the more hidden alleys of the city. Melimir's spies had managed to scout a clear path, and to re-direct any
human interference. The alleys on their route were ominous and dark. A begger found his way past the lines of spies, and noticed them, and he was approached by one of
Malgelir's spies, offering him a reward in exchange for money. The begger received his sack of coin, it was very heavy and tied around his ankle, and then the spy tossed
him in the currents of the Sirith. The begger was never seen again. The spy raced to inform Malgelir.

All three of them were clad in rags, their elven richness hidden beneath. Rirossel had borrowed Auravon's cloak. He did not wish for her to come to harm. "You have
naught to fear for me," Auravon had replied, "I will be safe within the cloak of my brother." Rirossel had tied the cloak around her so that it would not excessively drape
or hinder her movements.

There was a sound of heavy footsteps. Malgelir's spies had come to intercept them. They were armed with daggers. Baralinor motioned for their
backs to form a triangle, each person facing outward. The spies attacked, and Baralinor struck one down on the head. He was careful not to outright kill them, for he
remained haunted by the deaths of Thanguron and his comrades. Abrazan also feared a kinslaying, noting it to prove ill unless in an act of war or self-defense, and even
then, he would not dare to love it. His hatred of war burned with the memory of his burning village, its flames rising into black smoke nigh the sea.

Abrazan was deeply bruised on the skull by a spy's blow. Rirossel was the most vulnerable of the three. Malgelir had ordered them, if they found Rirossel, to return her
personally. A spy grabbed her, pulling her away from combat. She bit his hand and he threatened to slash her with his knife. But in the frantic chaos that followed, as she
attempted to wrest the knife away, he lunged at her, she rolled aside, and he fell on his own dagger.

Abrazan had pushed the attackers back with his sword. His head was bleeding, but his focus was on the combat. He conducted himself fluidly, with grace, as he danced around
his foe as the spy lunged at him, and the spy lunged with such force that he tumbled in the river, as Abrazan stood watching him sadly, as the spy vanished beneath the
dark swirling of the river. Baralinor had several scratches. Abrazan inspected his arms in the torchlight: the weapons were not poisoned.

They helped Rirossel to their feet, and came across the bodies of several of Melimir's spies, and sorrowfully, they finally reached the rear of the manor of the Silver
Fist. They could hear the sounds of music and dance within.
Edited by Ivordir, Aug 2 2015, 10:58 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CLXXXVI: The Tavern of the Silver Fish

The fishermen had entered the tavern. Suldor, Sulchon, and Nenthor had entered the district of the fishermen's Wharf. The air was filled with the scent of fish, chum,
mixed with the scents of the tides. It was high-tide now in the evening and the stars were out. It reminded them of the good ol' days, when Nendaer was still alive with
his singin' and his love of fishin.' They had loved and missed those days, and they had mourned the death of their beloved Bard, who taught them all how to use their
shining strings, to bring happiness and bliss to sailors. And they had mourned him deeply, when they had crash-landed there on those Harlindon shores so long ago. They had
landed a week and a half of travel away from Minas Noldorion, and the Elves through their powers had managed to stabilize their vitality, even though they had remained
comatose until they finally reached that place of bliss, that had uplifted their spirits in its beauty, how they had been treated as if Kings and had been clad in richly-
woven silks and had lived in an ecstasy that they could ne'r replace. But they were glad to return to their rougher cloth, for they had loved the warmer, harder fabric,
and they had loved life on the sea. And they had loved it all, regretting nothin.'

They had sneaked away from the Barracks as they were told, had scoped-out and selected
the Silver Fish tavern, though they came to believe that their fellow folk and nobles were all too obsessed with Silver. But the beer was golden-brown, the whiskey slick
and silver, and wine was reserved only for special occasions, like weddings. But there hadn't been any poormen weddings lately, but the bar-tender had kept his spirits up.
The tavern had catered to many sailors and fishermen in the Wharf, proud of their tavern, and proud equally of their city: Pelargir, the last bastion of the Majesty of the
Ship-Kings, the greatest port in the world, to match its rival, Umbar, fabled as a dung-heap across the Bay.

The three fishermen singers took-out their lutes and began to play some of Nendaer's old songs:

"~There once was a lazy fellow~
~Came down harbor-day~
~His boots were white, his face was yellow~
~But oh how could he sing!~

~Say do ye hear old Bardman bellow~
~Say do ye hear him sing today?~
~Say do ye hear his voice say 'Hello'?
~And oh how could he sing!~

~He sang as the ships sailed out of harbor~
~He sang as they returned~
~He sang as they dumped all of the lardor~
~He sang as they all learned~

~~Say do ye hear old Bardman bellow~
~Say do ye hear him sing today?~
~Say do ye hear his voice say 'Hello'?
~Why, how could he sing!~

~And then one day, he got a cougher~
~Barkin' as he writhed~
~Sick as his voice grew all taller~
~And then one day he died...~"

Their voices sang the last stanza slower, sorrow welling in their eyes and voices that glimmered in the dim light of the torches nigh the raised place for singers in the
tavern:

"~.....Say....... do ye hear old Bardman........ bellow~
~Say...... do ye hear him...... sing today?~
~.......Say do ye hear his ......voice say 'Hello'?
~And... oh.... how could he..... sing!~"

Then their voices' pitch was raised, restoring mirth and pleasure:

"~There once was a lazy fellow~
~Came down harbor-day~
~His boots were white, his face was yellow~
~But oh how could he sing!~

~Say do ye hear old Bardman bellow~
~Say do ye hear him sing today?~
~Say do ye hear his voice say 'Hello'?
~And oh how could he sing!~"

There was a great round of applause throughout the tavern. Suldor looked abroad, waiting for the sign to begin ferrying the men into the boat. They had decided to do the
obvious thing: to avoid the Anduin, for Melimir's spies to seize not only the North-Gate into Upper Lebennin, but the places where the Sirith flowed into the city. They
would sail up the Sirith and make it to join the others.

And Suldor saw not a single recognizable face. Not a single recognizeable face. He motioned to the others to begin playing an instrumental.

And as Nenthor played, he remembered the glory of Auruiron's Harp, how sweet it sounded, and how he had taught them deep, heart-rending, and profound Elven hymns, some of them ecstatic and
brilliant, and others sad and sorrowful, and they had taught him some of their favored tunes, and how he had listened and attempted to play them with such grace... he missed the Prince of Gold, wondering where he was, and sorry he wasn't here to hear them sing. He wished he could sing something elvish, but decided against it. He didn't want to spark a ruckus of a riot of confusion. So he sat there quietly, wiping the sweat from his brow, and then he continued to play. They had endured the wilderness with strength, but they didn't want to be involved in politics, and on and on they plodded, and they missed their ability to sing. Ivordir had sent their lutes with Arhbaineth to Pelargir. They had only borrowed lutes in Ethring, the lutes that saw such death and woe. They did not forget the lesson of Ethring. They hoped that yet another outlaw lord would rather keep his trap shut than muck yet another brilliant plan of Ivordir's.
Edited by Ivordir, Aug 2 2015, 10:58 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CLXXXVII: Amarthon's Revelation

The beginning dances at the ball had ended. Denethon had eyed Melimir constantly throughout the dance. He probed the room, noting all of his adversaries, and noting all who had ever offended him, who he needed, and who he did not need, who could be trusted, and who could not... The Company had reached the time in which the rescue party should have reached the rear of the manor, to find the basement door.

Amarthon nodded to his brothers, and taking them hand in hand, approached as Arhbaineth and Sainion cleared the floor. Amarthon announced, "In honor of the House of the
Silver Fist, in union with my House, the Golden Wing, we wish to present, for you, a dance."

Denethon applauded, "We await eagerly, at your pleasure!"

Amarthon and his brothers shed their velvet, revealing their ecstasy of gold and crimson folds of silk, pouring down their backs and shoulders and onto the floor. The
crowd gazed at them in awe as a strange power began to fill their hearts with wonder, as their hearts throbbed and pulsed. Even Denethon was moved, despite his hardened
heart. He was used to giving orders, making plans, and carrying them out, controlling his world around him. Now, he felt powerless, and yet his powerlessness felt
liberating. He refused to admit it to himself, but he felt moved by Amarthon's beauty. And as Malgelir stared, his dark eyes fell on Auravon, and he felt his heart beating
intensely. His mind cried aloud in hatred. His soul longed to embrace that beauty. He could not stand it. He wanted them all removed from the ballroom floor. Yet his
tongue was silenced by his eyes.

And then they began to dance, twirling and spinning in their cloaks, anticipating mounting, as the title of Amarthon's House appeared to breathe alive: the Dance of the
Golden Wing, in a flurry of crimson beauty. The ecstasy filled the entire room. Arhbaineth and Sainion revealed their black and crimson silk, joining them in their dance,
as the musicians, awe-struck, felt the sudden urge to play in melodies of the high courts of Gondor, of origins they could never begin to understand, for they had not seen
the North.

They spread their crimson wings of beauty, courage mounting in their hearts, as they felt as if they were immortal. And their hearts sang as they danced. The room was
filled with the beauty of the songs of their hearts. Many were the schemes forgotten as they danced. But then a spy hearkened to Malgelir's ear. The spy was careful to
avoid staring at the cloaks, for he had caught traces of them as he observed the street-fight, peering from beneath the rags. Malgelir never hired spies who lacked any
form of intellect. Malgelir was broken from his revery as he listened. He whispered in his Lord-Father's ear, who nodded. Malgelir turned, motioning to several guards,
filing toward the doors of the ballroom. They passed through the doors.
Edited by Ivordir, Aug 2 2015, 10:58 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CLXXXVIII: Courage

As Malgelir left the manor, he suddenly felt Auravon grasping his hand. Malgelir's mother had retired far earlier in the evening due to a sudden fatigue. She was not present when the others entered the Ball. Malgelir sought initially to join her. He was staring at his hands in agony.

Auravon noted, "Come back inside."

Malgelir stammered, "Why... not quite yet. Please return and enjoy."

Auravon smiled, "Our next dance was to be dedicated to you."

Malgelir burned inside himself, but nodded, as he and the guards filed back into the side-halls of the ballroom, as his Lord-Father stared at him in confusion.

Amarthon raised a glass, "I would like to toast to the Silver Fist... to Lord Denethon, our most gracious host... and to Malgelir, his only son and heir..."

They drank, and then they danced, and Auravon as he twirled suddenly grabbed Malgelir, dragging him into the center of the room, as the guards drew their swords, as Auravon surrounded Malgelir's face with the brilliance of the cloak, its scent of roses filling Malgelir's lungs, as Auravon whispered in his ear as they twirled, "This is what you are rejecting. How can you live with yourself.... you once called us brothers...."

Auravon whipped back the cloak. Malgelir stared in his Lord-Father's eyes. A knife was to Malgelir's throat. Denethon stared at his son coldly.

He declared, "Is this a farce of a ball, a parade of pageantry? This is nonsense. I accuse you all of sorcery. Those are clearly silks from Umbar, sworn enemy of our city, and ally to the Shadow of the East."

Auravon tightened his grip on his knife. The room was hushed with complete silence.

Denethon leaned forward, "Go ahead. Do it. Kill my son who sought to depose me of my power. You think I did not know, that I did not overhear my own guards? End him for me, you will have done me a favor."

Auravon gazed at him in dread and confusion, "Why? He is your only son and heir. If you let him die, you will have no one left to inherit your lands."

Denethon laughed, "Why, better for me to sign them over to Ballithor himself, than for my estate to pass to a treacherous heir. I disinherit him, now, at this moment. Go on, do not be shy. Kill him, and I may even consider making -you- heir to my fortune over him. Better a loyal son than a traitor............. but you are a traitor, aren't you, Auravon? I may be friends with your Lord-Father, but I know you and your brothers have prepared this ruse for a particular purpose," his cold gaze fell on Melimir as he pointed, "Do you truly believe my eyes would prove so blind to your witchcraft, yes you, the Merchant's widow? You hide in your manor, quietly spinning your webs like a poisonous spider, waiting to pounce on thy prey, wily as a cat in hiding, stalking the rats. Rats are more intelligent than felines, in case you have forgotten. We know where to lurk in the cracks and crevices, avoiding capture. And we know when to bite in the most vulnerable position, leaving our prey with naught but disease and death." He turned back toward Auravon, "Go ahead, brother of Amarthon. Lest Amarthon do it for you, prove himself a man, that I may bear greater words unto his Lord-Father of the Golden Wing. He shall be most pleased to hear of his son finally attaining manhood. But you, Auravon, he shall likely scourge, for your cowardice."

As all of this went on, small tears began to drip from Malgelir's serpentine eyes. Auravon stared at him, noting his terror. His eyes shook. And as Auravon stared at him, he no longer saw the vicious viper, but in his place, a cowering child. Then, Auravon understood. He leaned into Malgelir's ear, "Have hope."

The words thundered throughout Malgelir's soul. All around him, he saw a black abyss within the shadows of his mind. He felt the emptiness, but he heard his mother's words of love, and pity, compassion, in his deepest memories. Auravon looked down to see Malgelir's dagger aimed to plunge straight into his side. But as Malgelir gazed into Auravon's eyes, he felt the warmth of hope melt the ice of despair that long had frozen his soul. He nodded to him. Auravon withdrew his dagger, as Malgelir tossed it.

And Denethon ducked. But he did not duck low enough. It glazed his head. The force of the blow ripped his left-eye from its socket when it tore through the pupil. The guards who were loyal to Malgelir turned on the guards loyal to Denethon. The ladies screamed, men rushed for the doors, as Denethon's guards began randomly attempting to kill everyone in their cold rage. Malgelir's loyalists had little room in which to maneuver. Ladies and gentlemen both fell maimed and wounded, the marble floor became drenched with blood, and Auravon turned to Malgelir, who nodded.

By now, Melimir and the others were nowhere to be seen, as Auravon sighed with relief. His brothers came beside him, and they ran through a side-passage, several guards chasing them. They nearly slipped on the blood as they ran through the halls. They were afraid, but they did not let it paralyze them. They found their way into the basement, where they found the others. They sighted the two healers. They barred and barricaded the doors behind them, the guards pounding with their halberds, but the doors held. Amarthon turned to Abrazan, "Are they alive?"

Abrazan nodded, "They are, but barely."

Amarthon noted, "Go tell Melimir and her caravan to get moving. They have their heirlooms and lineages, and chief objects of wealth, I presume. Get them out of the city, now. We will tend to these wounded."

Abrazan gazed at Malgelir confused, "How is it that he is with you?"

"We will discuss him later," Auravon nodded. "And he is the key, it is my guess, to determining the nature of our foes in Minas Tirith, while Baralinor can continue with the Company. Later, Abrazan! Get them out of here, before tidings reach the higher lords! The City Watch will be on us all for disturbing the peace soon. Go."

Abrazan nodded, "Quickly. Come with me, my Lady."

Rirossel nodded sadly, as she gave one glare of disdain towards Malgelir.

Baralinor nodded, "Let's take them on our shoulders. They are unconscious. Arancir, watch our rear."

Amarthon hoisted Ivordir on his back with all his might, while Baralinor shouldered Daerfalas. Amarthon struggled, for he was not muscular. Malgelir came as well to balance the weight, as Auravon aided Baralinor. They carried them out the basement doors that Baralinor had chopped into, passing several bodies of spies with different insignias. And they reached the nearby river, where they found the boat they had prepared. They gently lifted the bodies into the boats and Amarthon began to row beside his brothers. They heard many running feet on-shore as they rowed.
Edited by Ivordir, Sep 14 2015, 09:05 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CLXXXIX: The Silver Fist

Denethon writhed on his back. He had ever despised the likes of Melimir. He had ever hated successful persons of lower birth. But he more so, he hated his own father, who had brutalized him with whips, and his mother, who had wished that he had never been born, because he could never replace her still-born son who never made it out of her womb, his dead older brother, whom he hoped was rotting with his mother's bones in the depths of the harder sewage that had plunged to the bottom of the sea. Denethon banged his fist on the table, shedding tears, weeping for himself.
Edited by Ivordir, Aug 2 2015, 10:58 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CXC: Trapped in the Barracks

Together Naitheg and Thalathond rose. Both were tall, broad Men; even more impressive, they were built as warriors, lean and ready with their weapons in hand. In the dark
their shadows cut the faint moonlight drifting in from the shuttered windows, statuesque and utterly still. "Traitors," Thalathond spoke, and his voice was a great booming
thing, even in a whisper. "You are all traitors to Ballithor. Step down, or I shall slay you where you stand."

From the doorway, Gwainoth paled and balked. Thalathond had long frightened him, for he had ever been silent, his eyes calculating and sharp from the depths of his low
brow. The sound of his speech inflicted terror upon the young laborer. He looked desperately to Aegon.

Aegon stepped back, but two more men appeared behind them, as they had been summoned. They were older, with wisdom in their eyes.

The eldest had snow-white short-hair and a longer beard. He drew a two-handed sword, staring at the men, "I believe the fishermen await us. Come clean, or stand aside, servants of the darkness. I serve Ballithor's twisted schemes no longer. For I am Gilorn of the House of the Tree of Stars, sworn to defend Gondor with honor and nobility, loving not the sword, but the land that it protects. I heard that Captain Faramir himself follows similar principles. It is you who are a traitor."

The older men were hale and strong. They looked as if they had several battle-scars on their arms and faces.

From where he stood, Naitheg smirked. "Darkness?" he echoed. "I am no servant of darkness. I serve my lord, as you once pledged to. That makes you traitors, in my eyes.
Now if you would kindly drop your swords." He sniffed, and peered over Aegon's shoulders. His expression was amused, as the two wisened warriors stepped forward. "You
there. Old Man. You don't wish to die today, do you? Nor do I. Let us be reasonable - " Thalathond cut him off with a roar, "ENOUGH! I tire of your endless prattle.
Dispose of them immediately."
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Ivordir

Chapter CXCI: Honorable Men

Naitheg rolled his eyes. "Who died and made you my liege lord?" he muttered with dark humor. His sword lowered the slightest, as he turned to face Thalathond. "You do not
command me."

And the other old knight stood beside his brother-in-arms, "And I, Haedirn, maintain my watch. My days of remote wandering are long since over. We may appear old and
frail, but I warn you: never underestimate a man's age."

Thalathond growled. "I am a loyal servant of Lord Ballithor, and you will raise your sword or I will cut it from your hand, and take care of these traitorous fools
myself."

Naitheg sheathed his sword, and crossed his arms over his chest. "Oh yes? I'd very much like to see that. Old Man. Haedirn. You there." He pointed to the old knight. "Let
us see if you can overcome your disposition and dispatch of this monsterous hulking beast of a Man." He stepped back, and his grin grew wider still.

Gilorn raised his sword, pointing it straight toward Thalathond, his knees bent. The sleeping hall they stayed in was cramped, with triple bunks lining the walls with
ladders. He noted, "This is hardly a fair fight. But you are sellswords, hirelings, are you not? The mere mention of the word "honor" makes you vomit. Better that I go at
him, in place of my brother. I warn you. We have both faired worse, in even closer quarters. Many a time I had the greater pleasure of smelling an Orc's foul breath as I
gutted it clean. Can you say the same? Our Steward is wise not to hire sellswords on the Osgiliath front, knowing your types would all turn-tail and run to the nearest
Umbarim merchant and join the Enemy!"

Haedirn noted, "I am not a coward, my friend. I can face the likes of this rabble."

Gilorn nodded, "I do not trust this Naitheg or whatever his name is will stay out of the fight. I have your back."
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Ivordir

Chapter CXCII: Thalathond

Haedirn, smirked, "As you can see, we older men do like to prattle. All the pleasure to annoy you. Come now, let's have at it!" He drew his sword and set his kite-shield
abreast, as the others filed behind the one-man-phalanx.

By now, the fishermen had wondered where they were, and had begun their instrumentals in the tavern. Haedirn braced his shield.

Utterly incensed, Thalathond roared. He rushed forward, his sword coming down with the strength of an axe, aiming it right for Haedirn's shield. The resulting sound was
loud enough to alert any passerby to the altercation. Despite his great size, Thalathond moved quickly. He spun, and hammered down another powerful blow against the
shield. All the while Naitheg tarried, watching.

Haedirn shifted his blade. He had fought many an Orc in tight-quarters in Osgiliath. He remembered when once he got wedged in an alley-way. The Orc's weakest point was his
neck. As Thalathond hammered on the shield, Haedirn dug-in his knee, raising his shield higher, only to suddenly drop it lower so that Thalathond's body-weight sank lower,
and then Haedirn shifted his blade up as the force of Thalathond's movement forward thrust his neck into the blade.

Haedirn and the others stepped back as Thalathond's corpse collapsed on the floor, a stream of blood slowly forming into a pool beside his neck.

Then Haedirn raised his shield and blade again, turning toward Naitheg, "Such a pity. But such is the solemn, necessary fate of traitors. He may have served valiantly
once, as we marched across the wilderness. You forgot we elderly men endured all of that, ha! Now come, traitor. His fate is yours, lest you surrender."

The smile slipped from Naitheg's sly lips. In its place was shock, and he stared at the body of the mountain of a Man once known as Thalathond. He felt something wet upon
his face, and with slow, stiff movements, he raised his hand to brush it away. It was blood. Thalathond's blood, a neat, straight spray that had been flung from the back
of his neck. Promptly he dropped his blade. "You...have made your point, Old Man," he said, with a wavering voice, and when he leveled Haedirn with a look, it was of
respect, and awe.

Haedirn pressed forward, careful to step over Thalathond's corpse, motioning to the others to do the same. Aegon stared in shock, "Come on, we must reach that Silv'r Fish
before the Warden finds out what happened here."
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Ivordir

Chapter CXCIII: Through Darker Waters

They marched along the quais and bridges that lined the harbor, and twenty minutes later, they reached the Fishermen's Wharf.

Naitheg followed them, from a distance, weaponless.

Then, Gilorn and Aegon took the lead, while Gwainoth, Sarndur, and Naitheg followed from behind. Haedirn doubled-back to keep a careful eye on Naitheg.

The two healers and the two scholars had remained with Melimir and her train, along with Arhbaineth, Sainion, and Raedwyn.

The three fishermen awaited the soldiers at the tavern. And they were running out of instrumentals. Sulchon came to the door, waving them inside, ushering them along the
sides, and then through one of the less-visible doors near the rear of the tavern.

They boarded the boats while the fishermen played their encore, Haedirn marching Naitheg forward as if a prisoner. And they slowly began to row up-river, wearing their
dark hoods, hoping to avoid being sighted by city watchmen on the bridges. The fishermen had thanked the bar-tender, announcing their songs came at no charge, and they had
boarded the boat with their lutes right before they left the dock.

They rowed through the dark canals. A fog had fallen on the city, as if in their favor. Even the light of torches was dimmed on the bridges above by the fog.
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Ivordir

Chapter CXCIV: Free at Last

The carts were prepared, heirlooms and treasures hidden within sacks, as Melimir and her train rode slowly toward the city gates.

The spies had treated the Gate-guards to fine beer and made them drunk, with a little addition, that made them sleepy. The spies opened the gates as they made their way into the free air of Upper Lebennin. The road did not follow the river, but the river was close at hand, less than a mile away.

Amarthon and the others continued to row ahead, as they passed away from the city in the fog, up the Sirith.

The fishermen were strong rowers, and they sailed out, fifteen minutes behind Amarthon.

Amarthon waited for the fishermen and the other men to arrive. Then they helped bring Daerfalas and Ivordir to shore. They scrambled up the steep, slick bank of rock,
nearly slipping and crashing into the river on several turns.

Baralinor bade Amarthon to stand back, to keep himself in order. His cloak was now dirty and stained with blood from the brawl in the ballroom.

They made their way through several groves of trees, reaching the carts.

They made room for Ivordir and Daerfalas on the carts.

They heard the grinding sound of a large gate as several men slipped beneath it. It was several of Melimir's spies. The carts paused, and they waited as the spies ran a
mile to reach them. These new men were hale and strong. The village of Glaniath was twenty miles away. They had escaped Pelargir. And they all slowly plodded on through
the foggy depths of night, as February 5th became reality.
Edited by Ivordir, Oct 1 2015, 10:59 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CXCV: Agony on the Road

Echuidor sighed as they plodded along, "We are safe under cover of darkness. Amarthon, Auravon... return those majestic cloaks to them. I cannot treat them while we press along this way. They have lost too much blood, they are looking pale... but I believe that the miracles we witnessed may yet spare them..."

Amarthon nodded, and as Ivordir and his brother groaned, they were gently wrapped once more in their elven silks. Ivordir felt his pain significantly lessen, and closed his eyes. He was asleep thereafter.

And as Malgelir heard their moaning, he shed even deeper tears. His harsh exterior had cracked as soundly as his whips. Auravon looked toward him in sorrow, and soon, was walking right beside him.

Glaniath slowly drew near, and in time, they were admitted into the town's gates due to Melimir's connections in the burg. They were granted fair quarters in the home of friends in the sprawling town, and some were even given their own rooms: mainly the nobles.

Amarthon took Auravon aside, "I fear for you, my brother. This Malgelir is not to be trusted."

Auravon nodded, "I know, my brother... but as with ourselves before him, a great power may yet aid him...."

Amarthon smiled, "Do you truly believe it so?"

Rirossel suddenly slapped Auravon across the cheek, "How.... how could you!"

Auravon closed his eyes stoically, "I know that he..."

"NO, YOU DO NOT KNOW!" Rirossel asserted. "He is a vile beaten, and... and..."

Auravon quickly took Rirossel within his arms, resting her head against his shoulder as she broke into tears, "Now, now... it is over now..."

He knelt before his wife, "Tell me, my beloved... my dear Rirossel... which is the greater punishment? To whip him a thousand lashes, rendering him far worse than ever before? To turn him into an even more vengeful, spiteful creature? Or... is the greater revenge... the greater Justice... to change his mind and heart, his very spirit... forever... for good.... to make the monster that he was cease to exist forever and ever, to no longer rule over him...."

Rirossel was still weeping, and courage suddenly burned anew within her eyes. She nodded, "I......I agree......... if you can change him, if you can put that monster to death in him.... it would prove far better, far safer for us, but........... I want to hurt him for what he did to me........ and if this would truly hurt him far more....."

Auravon nodded, "A guilty conscience is far more painful than any lash............ he will die a thousand deaths in his guilt, before he is born anew.......... if he were to become an entirely new....... and good person......... if he were to expiate himself of his viciousness...... and put it to death within himself forever.......... I know this is a hard question to ask, especially now......... would you grow to love him as a brother?"

Rirossel was rendered silent. All the evil he had ever done to her arose in one fell tide, the waves of hatred rushing through her.... and yet, in her husband's words, she felt at peace, and could not fathom why........ and then her next words plunged her into shock, as she could not believe her own mouth had uttered them: "Yes...... given time, and trust.... I would...."

Auravon smiled, "I will need to stay with him, even if he kills me as a result... but something in me doubts that this would happen."

"Oh must you risk your life so needlessly, have you any care or concern, if you would widow me, after we have been married only for mere days?"

He deeply kissed her, as trust grew within her, as he said: "I have no choice. He could lead us all to our deaths, if I should fail....."

Rirossel grimly nodded, but enveloped him in an enrapturing embrace, kissing him deeply as their hearts throbbed anew, "Very well, beloved.... I will be waiting for you...."

Auravon nodded, "The time has come."
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Ivordir

Chapter CXCVI: Malgelir and the Golden Prince

At mid-day on the 5th, while many were still recovering, Malgelir writhed in agony in his bed-chamber, tortured by the horrors he had done. Tortured by the memories of the cracking whip and his deranged, wretched words. There was a knock at the door. "Enter," he spoke to his own surprise. There in the light of a candelabra, a refulgent being, as if one of the Maiar themselves, entered the room. His cloak streamed down him onto the floor in majestic plumes of golden silk lined with the crimson, flowing down him as if waves of beauty as they ever did, and a smile was beaming on his face, courage blossoming in his heart. He knew that Malgelir might have a hidden dagger. He knew that he might perish in the depths of night.

He approached the bedside as Malgelir sat-up. Malgelir felt far more entranced by Auravon's beauty, far more than in the ballroom. And Auravon suddenly spread his wings, his cloak glimmering in plumes down beneath his arms, and he spoke softly, gently, beautifully, "Listen, my brother......... now is the time for you to choose a brighter path."

Malgelir crept back against the wall, "NO! Be gone from me......" Tears silently flowed him his eyes.

"No, I cannot go."

"You approach at thy own peril."

"You refuse me at thy own peril..." Auravon's eyes seemed to glimmer in the candle-light. He smiled, "Listen to me..... my friend....... if you slay me, then you will surely die. Embrace me, let me wrap this beauty around thee, and you will surely live. The choice is thine...."

Malgelir's head fell downcast, "Why do you even care... or claim to care..... how do I know this will not be my demise....."

Auravon closed his eyes, "Ivordir's fourth-in-command, Baralinor.... whom Sainion, I hear, plans to name Baralinthor, his brother....... Baralinor once killed innocent men in the name of his father, Ballithor. Consider him now: Baralinor was also spared from his own darkness, and he came out of it, into our light.... as I said, the choice is thine.... please, I beg you..... choose wisely......"

Malgelir closed his eyes, "My father, whom I nearly killed...... will slay us all...... and I am a monster....."

Auravon kept his arms outstretched, "And I can slay that monster. And allow one of the greatest brothers, comrades, and friends, we've ever had.... to be born within you. He is already there, reaching toward me. If he was not, then the monster would have killed me by now."

And Malgelir crumbled, his stone foundations plunging into the vast abyss of his essence, his very being, as he felt something, a light, growing inside of him.... he felt love for the first time....... in the longest time.......... and he muttered, "Very well, please, embrace me quickly!"

And Malgelir plunged his bitterly weeping face within the red refulgent folds of Auravon's cloak, breathing-in the fresh and sacred scent, burying himself in the cold, smooth fabric, clutching it deeply. He felt Auravon's arms surge around him, as they felt drawn to clutch each other tightly. He deeply kissed Malgelir on the cheek, and Malgelir shuddered at first, but then he felt at peace. Malgelir's head emerged from the folds, and he said, "I....I do not know what to say.......... I have done so much wrong, I can never be-"

"Hush," Auravon smiled. "It will take time. It all must. And you will have much to do. But for now.... rest in me............"

There were extra pillows and blankets in the nearby cupboard. Auravon prepared a spot on the floor alongside Malgelir's bed. And Malgelir deeply smiled for the first time in his life. They slept side by side as Auravon slept on the floor, the cloak gently cradling them both. For the first time since his mother was alive, Malgelir felt at ease, while sorrow delved deep inside him. And he dreamed peaceful dreams as he slept.
Edited by Ivordir, Oct 1 2015, 11:00 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CXCVII: A New Bond

Malgelir awoke in a cold sweat, and paced around the room. He grabbed his knife. He stared down at Auravon. His peaceful dreams slowly fled from his memory. And yet he felt entranced as he stared, fold upon fold of silken beauty on the floor, Auravon curled warmly within them.

He struck, but found Auravon grasping his hand as Malgelir plunged into bitter weeping, tossing himself back on the floor. Auravon grabbed his knife, approaching him.

"Do it!" Malgelir barked as he wept. "End it........."

Auravon raised his hand as Malgelir shut his eyes. He awaited the touch of cold steel against his neck, his warm blood flowing. He felt warm lips caress his cheek as he shook, protective arms surrounding him tenderly, gripping him firmly. He heard the sound of the dagger bouncing off the floor in the distance.

He felt warm silk caress his face, the arms guiding him down to the pillows on the floor, Auravon prostrating his back against the edge of the bed, as Malgelir's head rested softly on his chest.

Malgelir motioned to speak, but Auravon hushed him, calming him gently.

And then Auravon began to sing. He sang softly, gently, as Malgelir fell once more into the embrace of sleep.

He found himself in the wilderness of a dream. He heard Auravon's voice calling to him, softly. Malgelir stepped forward in the direction of the voice in the mysterious fog. Then suddenly, the fog lifted, as the sun shined on Auravon, brightly, its rays crowning his brow. And Auravon spoke sweetly, gently, "Malgelir.... you are not your father......... you need not follow him........ need not follow twisted ways....... how can you hope for him, if there is none for yourself.................." Malgelir embraced the gold as Auravon kissed him on his cheeks in that dream that felt as if it were lived reality.

And in that dream, Malgelir cried, as the light fought back the shadows of despair's dark night. "What sorceries are these!" Malgelir cried. He had never beheld such powers in his life. His mind began to feel unhinged. He felt the world he knew slipping away, the hard, grinding world, of politics and plots, of soldiers and wars, of merchants and coin... he felt it slipping farther and farther away, the world of normalcy... it was passing away as if it were the nightmare, the darker dream....

In reality, the capes looked as if any other flamboyant cape. Traders and merchants had brought them from far eastern lands, in caravans, from southron realms beyond all reach of Gondorian men. None would have been able to tell of their immortal quality, save for those who received the dreams. Many nobles had been accustomed to such things. Peddlers had used herbs of different scents to make perfumes. And it was all still nothing, compared to the glory of Numenor of old, when fabrics held their woven bonds far longer, and powerful objects from the Elves were commonplace, when men even looked like them and spoke a higher Tongue, and when men had lived longer lives, the glory of the Dunedain, of the Houses of Haleth, Hador, and Beor, the splendour graced by the Eldar, when the First Age had ended.

And as Malgelir rested in his ecstasy, cradled by his new brother, he began to feel reborn as he slept.

And somewhere, far in the upper mountains nigh the White City, a flower blossomed, awaiting the return of its King.

And deep within his dreams, he heard a soft whisper: "You are Malfinseron............."
Edited by Ivordir, Aug 8 2015, 09:38 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CXCVIII: Rebirth

Malfinseron slowly opened his eyes. It was now late-evening. He was Malgelir no longer and he felt the change in the air, how he breathed........ and long had he expiated for his crimes against many in his life. But he felt Malgelir within him, howling in his insanity.

Malfinseron felt Auravon's gentle kiss on the cheek. And this time, he returned the favor, "I am Malfinseron now..... the voice, the voice I heard...... in that strange dream....."

Auravon widely smiled, "This is good........... very good.........."

"Stay with me," Malfinseron begged. "I.....I am not ready to face the others....... and I..I deserve to die for what I have done........"

Auravon nodded, "But you are changing..... and that fact alone may yet spare you from death........ many of us have changed on this long and wearying road......"

Malfinseron nodded, "You are beautiful.......... very beautiful......... not only in your appearance, but in who you are, and I...... I do not deserve your friendship......"

Auravon smirked playfully, "We are more than friends...... we are brothers now? Do you not remember our dream?"

Malfinseron gazed at him in shock, "These powers....... they amaze me....... to think Malgelir once schemed to have you murdered for sorcery........"

Auravon nodded, "Since you claim I am such a sorcerer, then come............. come and behold my sorcery......"

He stood, the gold silk streaming down his shoulders, flowing gracefully like water down onto the floor, where it gathered in gold and crimson pools of silken beauty. He spread-out his arms, and Malfinseron embraced him far deeply than ever before, tears streaming down his cheeks as he lapped Auravon's cheeks with warm and tender, firm kisses, his heart throbbing in loyalty to his new brother as a burst of innocence, of absolution, flowed through him like a river. And for the first time in his life, he became playful and mirthful, and Auravon joined him in such mirth, leaning back on the mattress as they climbed beneath the cloak together, burying their heads in the silken folds, feeling the fair scent of roses burst, flowing through their lungs, as they maintained their deep embrace.

And Auravon said, "None of this was an accident........ a great power has saved you...... as it saved me........................................................................................................do not allow your regrets to drown you.................. only through living now, can you truly be free......................come, let us rest and revel now, in this true beauty..........."

Malfinseron's heart soared as he felt as if he was swimming in an unending sea of enchanted ecstasy, a power that seized his soul.........filling his mind and heart with the grace of undying hope........ He rested himself warmly between Auravon's arms, in shock at his own actions nonetheless. He uttered, "How can this be.... that only yesterday, I awoke a hardened, cruel person, and now....... I feel....... I feel.........."

"You cannot explain it, can you?" Auravon nodded, wrapping the cloak gently around them both. Auravon smiled, "Neither can I......... years ago, if one told me such quickly-woven bonds........ were even possible, I would have hardened my heart and shaken my head in utter, complete disbelief........... for these are not the ways of men."

"Then.... who....? What sorcery is this?"

"It is of a higher power.......... of the West...... our stories, myths, are not fiction.... they are not mere fairy-tales....."

Malfinseron closed his eyes, "My Lord-Father taught me that they were......... yet hither is this power, before my very eyes...............this beautiful power......... I feel as if I..... died and became reborn........ I fear it and I welcome it, for reasons I cannot understand..................oh the sound of that horrid, cracking whip!"

He hid his face inside the cloak, resting gently against Auravon's chest, breathing-in the fair scent of the fabric. Auravon smiled, "I will protect you, my new brother....... even to the very last......"

Malfinseron fell into uncontrollable weeping as he shook, but Auravon embraced him ever tightly. Malfinseron cried, "I should die! I am unworthy of such...... such...."

"Hush now," spake Auravon gently. "You are experiencing the pains of birth..... as I did long ago........... when my heart had become dark and cold, in the belief that my Lord-Father had sent my eldest brother to his death......... and my twin-brother could not comfort me........."

Malfinseron grasped him even tighter, "I..........."
Edited by Ivordir, Oct 1 2015, 11:01 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CXCIX: The Unforeseen Hand

As Malfinseron rested with Auravon, a commotion awoke in the halls. The Warden of the Barracks stood defiantly before the gates, "The traitors are here."

"Good," Amarthon's Lord-Father nodded. "Destroy them all, save my sons and Malgelir. They are to be returned to Pelargir to stand trial."
Sounds of screams echoed down the halls, and cries of terror.

Chills ran down Malfinseron's spine, "They've come....."

Auravon seized his shoulders, "What do you mean?"

Malfinseron deeply sighed, "My Lord-Father must have survived my attack.......... they've come to kill us all......"

Auravon motioned for a hush. They clutched their daggers. A soldier clad from head to toe in mail entered the room. His iron boots thumped the floor. Malfinseron leaped on
his back, wrestling his helm away. But he turned and shoved Malfinseron against the wall, making his nose bleed. Auravon felt his ribs ache as the soldier thrust his
sword-hilt into his chest. Auravon's dagger fell and he reached for it, as the soldier's blade scythed through his wrest, blood sputtering onto the floor as Auravon cried
and moaned in agony. As the soldier prepared to deliver the final blow, a cold, wet, knife, sliced through his throat. Malfinseron was covered in blood. He quickly grabbed
the cloak and wrapped it tightly around Auravon's bleeding stump. He had lost his right hand. The hand continued to ooze as it maintained its grasp across the floor.
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Ivordir

Chapter CXCX: A Final Sailor's Dirge

Suldor and Sulchon had looked forward to fishing in the Sirith River. They had loved the rivers of Gondor since they were children. And Nenthor cried aloud. Suldor and
Sulchon had much loved the sound of Auruiron and Elven Auravon's mystical harps, their mysterious sounds penetrating their souls. They had loved the sound of Melimwe's
voice, and they were glad to serve within their cause. They loved the Sea. They had spoken more openly in the far North, befriending many. They had kept silent in their March, for they did not know the inner lands or their politics. They spoke only amongst themselves: awe and wonder, fears for the future, embracing their present, longing for their pasts. Before they had ever met Elves, they knew only where they had dwelt nigh the Sea: a life of singing and fishing. They missed that life now. They had faced many sharks at sea, defending their catch. Now the sharks stood on two legs and were mailed from head to toe. They wondered where the men were, within those husks of cold, cruel, iron and steel. And as the tugging of soldiers' blades ripped out of their ribs, as other hardened men watched, they thought they heard the Song of the Sea herself, beckoning them home. They had gazed across the floor to see their shattered lutes. Yet they thought they heard the sound of gentle strumming. They passed away, as if the waves had tossed and churned o'er their blessed heads, as the gnawing jaws swallowed them.

Baralinor pulled Nenthor back as Nenthor tried to charge, his tears intermingling with the blood of his fallen sons.

Nenthor struggled, "I will kill 'em! I will slay 'em all!"

Baralinor shouted, "Nay! Do not! You would die so far from the sea?"

Nenthor slowly relented, weeping bitterly, as Baralinor pulled him out of the room. The honorable elder swordsmen continued to protect their flank.

Gilorn and Haedirn stood back to back.

Gilorn was breathing heavily, "It was an honor to fight beside you my brother. Little did we know we'd meet this fate, butchered in a hall by traitors' blades...." He
continued to hack and parry at the soldiers.

Haedirn muttered, "Death at the hands of traitors is worse than at the hands of Orcs! One more Osgiliath Charge, my brother! One final time! For Boromir, Faramir, Gondor,
and Numenor!!!!"

They charged with fury in their eyes, their broad-blades gliding across the room as if scythes in the grass, chopping hard into the meager defense offered by the weaker,
inexperienced soldiers.
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Ivordir

Chapter CXCXI: Aegon's Charge

Arhbaineth and Sainion had worked on carrying Ivordir and Daerfalas, having them lean on their shoulders. Arhbaineth heaved under Ivordir's weight. She endured. Spies
covered the retreat of the less experienced people.

A soldier suddenly emerged in front of them, but Aegon charged, stabbing into his neck. Aegon looked down at his own shoulder and felt bruised. He was relieved to see it
was only the fallen man's blood on his shoulder.

As they came out into the sunlight through a side-door, Aegon wondered where Gwainoth and Sarndur were.
Edited by Ivordir, Aug 12 2015, 09:13 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CXCXII: A Healer's Duty

Echuidor had been exploring the chamber of herbs in the barracks when the attack began. Several tall soldiers entered the room. They stabbed him unapologetically. His
blood flowed into the Kingsfoil as he gasped. As he lay there dying, he thought of how he had failed Aeglos as a healer. Memories flowed in and out of his skull. He smiled
when he thought of Arhbaineth and Sainion and the cloak. He glasped his chest, muttering within his mind, "No magic cloak to save me... but I do not need it.... better to
have perished here, by well-tended herbs.... life giveth life..........."

Amarthon barged into the room, hurling himself at the soldiers, who cowered when they felt his cloak as he charged. The soldiers ran in terror out of the room.

Echuidor was coughing blood, "End me........... I beg of you........"

But Amarthon embraced him, "You have many more lives to heal.... come, I beg of you......."

Echuidor looked down, feeling the area of his wound. He no longer felt a gaping hole. He felt a scar. He leaned on Amarthon's shoulder as they sought for an escape.
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