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| 17. Wind-Singers Volume III.I: The Final Quest; Ivordir and Daerfalas journey into Gondor to face the Enemy and find tidings of Guldrambor | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Apr 5 2015, 04:14 PM (4,125 Views) | |
| Ivordir | Aug 26 2015, 07:25 PM Post #281 |
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Chapter CXCXXXIII: Pity Malfinseron suddenly rolled forward on his stomach, "Nay... the fault is mine... he has the right to take my life. Captain... Malgelir is dead. Malfinseron remains... and he holds Malgelir in contempt for all his vile crimes.... against you, your brother, the woman who would have been forced to wed me, and many others besides........ take my head." "Who trained you in such cruelty?" Gilorn noted. "You, or your Lord-Father, Denethon?" Malfinseron deeply sighed, "I should have known better.......... others tried to teach me......" Haedirn smiled, "Ivordir.... tell me, would it be justice, if you executed this boy, while allowing Baralinor to live? Or are you now the sole person who determines the nature of justice in this world? Is it truly in your authority to withhold the rod from one penitent criminal, while lashing the other, who is equal in his penitence?" Ivordir sighed, "Baralinor did not strike his Captain...." Daerfalas' hands tightened into fists. "He did worse than strike at Ivordir. He tortured him. You did not see what came to pass under his hands, not as I did." Gilorn nodded, "No.... he lead to the deaths of -four- of our brothers in arms. Yet he has changed greatly as a result.... so do I believe is this one. If you bestow Justice unto yourselves.... then where is the Justice for Tarion? Thanguron? Preston or Orchalon? And what of old Dolthor who never made it out of Tarlang, due to our delay, which happened because of the mess in Tadrent? Where then is Trenardir's Justice, for leaving him behind at the hands of Badhron? What for all who perished in that Ethring tavern?" "I do not see Brastor's head on a pike. Tell me, my Captain... where truly do you have the authority to execute this boy now?" Ivordir barked, "Are you insinuating that I had somehow suffered justly, that I was somehow responsible for the crimes of all who wronged us on our march!!! You old man!!!" Gilorn laughed gently, "Old man, am I? Very well then. Let us make this a trial by combat and see if the old man can defend the boy's sad cause, shall we?" Daerfalas approached Ivordir, and placed a solid hand upon his shoulders, for though he was angry, he could see that his Captain would do something rash if swept further into his fury. "Do not bait him, old knight. We are weary, and angry, and with much cause." |
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| Ivordir | Aug 26 2015, 07:25 PM Post #282 |
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Chapter CXCXXXIV: The Prowess of the Eldar Ivordir steeled himself, raising his sword at the aged knight of Gondor. He watched Gilorn's careful pacing in his fighting-stance. He was clever, his sword facing forward on a slant. Ivordir smirked, remembering Yucalwe's movements, slipping past the old Knight who buckled under Ivordir's rear-hilt attack, but Gilorn moved with surprising speed as he averted the blunt of the blow twisting around into a direct clash of blades. Gilorn stared into Ivordir's youthful eyes, and as Ivordir stared, he tripped as Gilorn kicked at his leg, knocking the sword out of his hand. Ivordir fell backward with a yell, all the while hating himself for having failed all the lessons he had received from Yucalwe. Gilorn's blade was pointing directly at Ivordir's throat, only inches away. Gilorn sighed, "I learned long ago, that a Knight can be chivalric, while not allowing his opponent free advantage," he gasped. "You claim you were taught by Elves. You conduct yourself honorably, but too honorably. This pausing to make a statement. Save the lectures for when your man is down, not while he's still pointing a blade at you." He withdrew his blade, "Get up." Gilorn re-sheathed his sword. "This trial is over." And without a word, he turned and marched away, Haedirn following at his side. Daerfalas signed, and rubbed at his temples, feeling a headache coming on. They were accomplishing nothing with this. He looked towards Malgelir, his frown deep, and could not help but think that he was the summation of all their misfortune here. Gilorn turned and nodded, and Haedirn circled around to watch Malfinseron carefully. The wind blew softly through the fir trees amidst the surging of the Sirith, roaring toward Pelargir. Amarthon frowned, "This is shameful. All of you. We've lost most of our men, my father is a traitor, and now we are all stuck out here on a long and dangerous road north and east. We have no time for these squabbles!" Auravon came forth from his tent, "Where is.... where is Rirossel.... where is she....." |
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| Ivordir | Aug 26 2015, 07:26 PM Post #283 |
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Chapter CXCXXXV: The Road As Gilorn marched away two miles, he heard a squabble near the road, and the sound of a young woman screaming. "Heh! Ye wench! She'll make a fine bounty, won't she boys!" Gilorn slowly drew his sword. He crept carefully as the tall, green grass swayed in the breeze. "Awww yeas! She'll be tasty at the tavern, oh won't she! A high-born Lady, fresh from the garden to be plucked!" One of the outlaws turned to see Gilorn marching in his stern countenance. Gilorn barked, "Unhand her at once!" "Ohh! What you gonna do, ye old man! Go back to ye grave and lie there!" Gilorn laughed softly, "Young man, I myself despise killing. But I'll do what must be done. Let her go. Many an Orc in Osgiliath felt the taste of my blade, in their mouths, on their necks. I'll give ya a warning. Run now and save yourselves. Whatever will happen is your choice alone." The outlaws all laughed, their youthful faces staring at him in mockery. Gilorn deeply sighed, "Forgive me.... spirits of the West...." In his mind, they were no longer men, but Orcs who he had fought long ago. It was the easiest way. Rirossel screamed and opened her eyes, amidst a brief sound of a clattering of swords and knives, to find all three outlaws lying dead there on the road-side, expressions of pitiful shock still on their sorrowfully dead faces. Gilorn began wiping his blade on the grass, "Go now, Lady. Run back to the camp, send some aid. My old bones aren't what they used to be. But these men need burial, if anything, to hide them from prying eyes. Go quickly." Rirossel wept the whole way back to the camp, her voice stuttering as she spoke to several of Melimir's spies, who nodded and ran-off to join Gilorn. They dug the graves in the heat of the evening sun, and finally, Gilorn sat down on the swaying grass, the mountain breeze cooling his aged, strong skin. They were a half-mile away from where the other spies maintained their camp in the shade, guarding the carts not far from the road. They rested and Gilorn bowed solemnly. He had no qualms about slaying Orcs. But ever he felt sorrow, whenever he had to slay any men. For he had viewed all the men of Gondor, as if they were his kin, blood-lines running strong as he stood there in the soil. He shed gentle tears, then slowly returned to the camp, dragging the weight of his sword. The sun was near to setting. They had lost another day. Ivordir had returned inside his tent. He could not bear to see Lady Melimir yet. He wondered how long it would be before word spread to her through the camp. He turned, "Brother.... forgive me for not listening......." Daerfalas held up a hand. "There is no need to apologize, not to me. I am...as unnerved as you were. We have been liberated from our prison, but this is strange territory for us." Ivordir sighed, "I wish the Elves were here..... they could have told us how to judge..... and that aged man is very wise..... though I hate to admit it.... how did we not notice him so far? He must have been wearing his mask the whole time, along with the other with him...." Daerfalas sighed deeply. "There is much we have missed until now, brother." |
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| Ivordir | Aug 26 2015, 07:27 PM Post #284 |
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Chapter CXCXXXVI: Merciful Honor Gilorn suddenly entered the tent, "Captain, may I see you alone?" Ivordir nodded. He feared the old man. He had bested him in combat. He had bested Yucalwe's teachings. Ivordir questioned himself, in harsh interrogation. Could he have won the duel? Or was it some hesitancy, that bordered on reverence, that caused him to yield. He decided that it was both. He yielded on purpose. He could not win the duel. They walked out in the moonlight along the plateau, high above the rushing river that gleamed and glittered coldly in the moonlight. Gilorn suddenly knelt before Ivordir, "My Captain... I beg forgivenness for my actions..." Ivordir shook his head, "No. You behaved honorably. I..." Gilorn rose and nodded, "I understand why you had tried to kill him. I watched him carefully on this entire journey. While I never suspected such treachery, I caught him at times when he didn't know it, sobbing behind some rock, bush, or tree. Please understand, my Captain, that I knew him to be Denethon's son, and I knew Denethon to be a ruthless man. But I cannot judge what has not yet occurred. And I sw-" "Please do not swear," Ivordir noted. "Oaths are dangerous, this I learned in the far north... how did you know that I had walked among the Elves?" "I overheard you. You should be more careful, if you do not mind me saying so, my Captain. Many in Gondor would think you mad... yet from what I have seen, I somehow believe you. Our old Enemy rising again, why should I be surprised to hear such things, after fighting the Orcs of childrens' nightmares? Many things we once regarded as mere myth are rising into our lives... tell me, we knew that Captain Boromir went north, did you see him there?" "No, I was unaware..." Gilorn nodded, "Very well. I still believe you..." Gilorn thought back to that fateful day on the ramparts, when the Banner of the Eye rose anew, out of myths and legends, nightmares. Some had even wondered if Elendil and Isildur had made-up the entire tale in order to ground their sovereignty. But Elendil had died, the men had fought alongside Elves, and when the Shadow returned, all they could do was re-double their ranks. The watch had grown silent, a mere place of exile. Now, they had lost nearly all Ithilien. Gilorn blinked. Ivordir smiled, "May I show you something?" Gilorn nodded. He stood in silent contemplation. Ivordir returned briefly to his tent, without a word to Daerfalas, grabbing his own cloaks and taking them back to where Gilorn stood, leaning on his sword in the moonlight, beneath the glittering stars. Ivordir unfurled the cloaks. Edited by Ivordir, Aug 26 2015, 07:31 PM.
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| Ivordir | Aug 26 2015, 07:34 PM Post #285 |
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Chapter CXCXXXVII: The Age of Men Gilorn removed his left-glove and reached-out to touch them. He suddenly knelt down low, "It is a gift that could be meant for Kings. Many a high noble lord could be made jealous by such things, even our Lord Steward. You should keep them hidden, Ivordir. What your friends did in Pelargir to them was risky, publically displaying and flaunting them. It saved us once, but I fear it will not again. Hide them in your sacks again, before we depart. Are there hidden places in Lord Ioristor's dwellings?" He rose. Ivordir nodded, "How do you know of my father?" "I served him, once. I was once one of his protectors as he traveled between libraries. He is a venerable, honorable, good man, and I was proud to serve him. Who do you think really sent me in search of you in Dol Amroth? He became worried after your year of absence, without a word, although now I think it far simpler to comprehend. You were far away. Tell me, did you find the ruins of old Arnor?" Ivordir nodded. He thought back to those fine olden days, when he beheld Yucalwe standing there, proudly atop Tyl Annun, his cloak soaring in darkening beauty in the chill winds from off the lake, winds that had surpassed the Even-rills, fed by the frigid north. Gilorn smiled, "How far deep?" "To Annuminas itself. I knelt before the ruins of the old throne of Elendil." Gilorn's smile widened, "And now we fight to prevent the throne of old Minas Anor from suffering the same fate. Now, do not worry or fear for Malgelir. I will maintain a careful watch over him. But allow Amarthon and his brothers to help him." They heard a shuffle on the rocky ground nearby. They turned to see Malfinseron approaching them, "I am Malfinseron now, as I declared earlier, my Captain." Gilorn smiled again, "Do I need to stay to maintain the peace between you two?" Ivordir clasped Gilorn's shoulders, "I trust your judgment and wisdom. My lord-father chose you well, I count you as if an uncle to me." Gilorn deeply smiled, "And you, as a beloved nephew. I will take my leave, then. I trust that I will see both of you on the morrow?" Ivordir nodded. He felt tempted to seek for a sword. Gilorn re-sheathed his sword, bowed, and marched away to return to his own tent. |
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| Ivordir | Aug 26 2015, 07:34 PM Post #286 |
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Chapter CXCXXXVIII: The Whimpering Lord Malfinseron gazed at Ivordir fearfully, but Ivordir smiled. Ivordir was wearing his trousers, but he was bare-chested, and he clasped his cloaks around his shoulders. Malfinseron stood entranced as he gazed at him, "I came.... I came because......" Ivordir strangely found himself smiling, "I know..." Malfinseron smiled, tears already streaming down his cheeks, "Do you?" Malfinseron crawled on the slab of stone beneath Ivordir's feet, he kissed the bottom of his cloak, and Ivordir gazed at him in shock. Malfinseron slowly around around beneath Ivordir cloaks, feeling the places where his whip had lashed him, and he gently leaned into each wound that he found, kissing it. Ivordir smiled, "Malfinseron... is this an attempt at atonement?" A small, whimpering "Yes," came from beneath the cloaks. Ivordir nodded, "Come forth and stand before me." Malfinseron obeyed. Ivordir enveloped Malfinseron in an embrace. A part of himself felt tempted to throw him into the river. Another part of himself grew stronger. He wrapped the cloak around them both and Malfinseron wept on Ivordir's shoulder and Ivordir felt a different person. Ivordir noted to himself, "This is not the same person who cracked the whip." Then Ivordir whispered, "I forgive you..." But to Malfinseron, it all felt as if a surreal dream. His father's teachings thundered in his mind, and ever as they thundered, he tightened his embrace of Ivordir. |
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| Ivordir | Aug 26 2015, 07:35 PM Post #287 |
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Chapter CXCXXXIX: Toward the Tent As Malfinseron returned to Amarthon's tent, he ran into Rirossel. Rirossel did not say a word. She leaped on him, slapping his face harder and harder, till his nose was bleeding, and his cheeks were bruised, and all the while, she kept slapping him maniacally, shouting, "How does it feel, traitor!" Amarthon emerged from his tent, "Sister... let him go." "I shall kill him!" Rirossel shouted. She reached for a nearby heavy stone. Before Amarthon could reach her, she smashed-in Malfinseron's face, which was now covered in blood. Horrified as she gazed downward, she turned and ran away. Amarthon approached Malfinseron's body. His heart was still beating. He lifted him up and carried him inside his tent. He reached for a nearby water-basin, which he had filled at the nearby river earlier that day. He gently washed Malfinseron's face. He was badly bruised and near-unconscious. Small tears fell from Amarthon's eyes. He cradled Malfinseron at his side, his vast cloak gleaming as he wrapped it around them both. He fell asleep, hoping Malfinseron would survive. Edited by Ivordir, Aug 26 2015, 07:35 PM.
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| Ivordir | Aug 26 2015, 07:38 PM Post #288 |
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Chapter CC: Blessed Survival Malfinseron gently opened his eyes, "...have I died yet...?" "No," Amarthon shook his head. Malfinseron closed his eyes again, "..I..am...afraid...." Amarthon nodded, "Only one thing may yet save you..... but to do so, I must embrace and hold you even tighter..." Malfinseron tried to nod. Amarthon enveloped him, whipping the cloak above their faces, so that they were completely enshrouded together from head to toe. Amarthon tried to contain his tears. He kissed Malfinseron lightly on the cheek. Malfinseron whimpered. Amarthon spoke, "Come, bath your head within the cloak, press your nose against its surface." Malfinseron obeyed, burying himself in the deep dark red, cold and smooth, as he and Amarthon wept. They held each other close. Amarthon folded part of the cloak, making a hole for air. They slept in each others' arms for what remained of the night. Malfinseron awoke at dawn. Amarthon was still sleeping. He had rolled-over in his sleep, falling out of the cloak. Malfinseron clutched the cloak, clasped it around his shoulders, and slowly stood. His face was still bruised, but it ached far less. The bleeding had stopped hours ago. He felt strangely happy. He spread and stretched his arms in the folds of the cloak. He paced back and forth. He felt giddy. He swished the cloak around himself, covering his mouth. It gleamed in its beauty as it swished, a flash of gold and red. Amarthon awoke and peered upward. Malfinseron gazed at him in shocked embarrassment. Amarthon merely smiled, "Please.... it is a -joy- to see you alive....." Amarthon's eyes were gleaming with joyful tears. Malfinseron paced near him, swishing the cloak over Amarthon, as it draped down Malfinseron's shoulders. Amarthon laughed. Malfinseron whipped it back. Suddenly, Amarthon proclaimed, "Stop! There is something I must do." Malfinseron stood very still. Amarthon prostrated himself before him, his heart beating warmly as he kissed the bottom folds of the cloak. Amarthon could not stop kissing it. Malfinseron glared at him strangely. Malfinseron withdrew, whipping the cloak away from him, "Nay! I am cruel... I..." "Calm down," Amarthon spoke with a touch of command. He was not kissing it for any reason other than the fact that Auravon had kissed it. Amarthon finally longed to bow. He longed to serve his brethren. His heart beat warmly in the peace that came from the fulfillment of this longing. He longed to love everyone and everything. Everything save the Shadow. He even longed to save Amanuiron from himself. He had long feared the House of the Silver Fist. Fear fled far from his heart. Edited by Ivordir, Aug 26 2015, 07:41 PM.
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| Ivordir | Aug 26 2015, 07:41 PM Post #289 |
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Chapter CCI: Ghosts of the Near-Past Malfinseron grinned insidiously, "You think you can hide from me! You think you can change me, why my whims shalt triumph o'er thee! You shall see! You think that you have changed my heart so dear, so pleasant, well nay! I..." "You are confused," Amarthon noted. "Very confused. These were life up-rooting changes that occurred in you. Come, come. Come back down and rest awhile, it will not be easy. You know you have nowhere to go, aside from death. You know that you betrayed your father and that you will never hold the power that you once held, not ever again. Only one power remains... to save yourself. Come, come. Rest beside me in this sweet beauty." Malfinseron struggled and toiled in his innermost mind to resist, but he could not. The elven cloak that surrounded him slowly began to calm him. He outstretched his wings, crimson, golden beauty draping from his arms. He paced to and fro inside the tent. Gold richly gleamed as it cascaded down his shoulders. Amarthon stood and embraced him deeply. Then Malfinseron re-cloaked Amarthon, who smiled, "Allow me to perform more properly before you, my Lord." Amarthon spread his wings as brightly as an eagle, his cloak glimmered as it draped, it flickered into domes and shapeless vales once more as he spun, and he spun even faster. It seemed as if the Sun itself was giving birth to a ruby-red rose, its petals spreading outward in bright plumes. Malfinseron gazed at him ecstatically, for it seemed to him as if a Spirit of the West of legend had come to save him. Amarthon suddenly ceased spinning. He outstretched his arms, as Auravon had done in Glaniath. His cloak draped from his arms as if ruby wings, enclosed by the gold. They had seen this sight many times. Domes, vales, rivers, and streams. But there was something missing, beyond the waterfall. Something even more beautiful. There, within those red and golden folds, Malfinseron felt a glimpse of the old West, of Elvendom at its greatness, a greatness that now made even Gondor appear to pale in comparison. Malfinseron stared enamored, and then he forgot his wounds. They sat down and snuggled in the cloak once more, gold gleaming down their limbs. Malfinseron burst into tears again. Amarthon smirked, "Come, behold once more this precious beauty." Their faces plunged into the red, cold, gleaming silk again. Amarthon gently stroked Malfinseron's hair. Malfinseron closed his eyes. He heard Amarthon's voice announce, "Fear not... beloved brother mine... I will protect you..." Theirs was a chaste bond, a bond of brotherhood. He breathed within his cave, hidden like a babe within its nest. His head peaked through the folds. Their faces were smiling. |
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| Ivordir | Aug 30 2015, 08:14 PM Post #290 |
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Chapter CCII: The Council Reconvenes They began packing-up their camp, and the council was held in Ivordir's tent. Ivordir gazed at the map on his lap, "We are still far south. We must determine our direction carefully. Malnoron is likely watching the coastal roads..... we do not know how far his influence spreads...." In attendance were: Ivordir, Daerfalas, Melimir, Abrazan, Amarthon, Arancir, Sainion, Arhbaineth, Aegon, Gilorn, and Haedirn, as well as Raedwyn and Baralinor, and the mysterious Spy Commander who had aided them in Glaniath. Auravon was missing, attempting to console his wife. Malfinseron was also present. His gaze darted across the tent. He stretched his arms and yawned. Lady Melimir was weary. Her noble garb had been traded for something more suitable for travel, and in the company's haste it had become worn. Yet it was with determination that she regarded Ivordir, and when she spoke her voice was still lordly in manner. "My sons," she said, looking between Ivordir and Daerfalas. "We must reach a place of refuge, and soon. As prepared as we were leaving Pelargir, the disaster at Glanaith wounded us deeply. We lost many good Men, and our spirits have been dampened." To Ivordir's left, Daerfalas nodded slowly. "Those maps you have, Captain, will not tell us all," he said, rather gravely. "We head north, yes, but who knows whom we may come across? My mother is right. We are sorely lacking in both Men and supplies." Ivordir nodded, "Are there any suggestions? Do we know of such potential places for refuge?" Mother and Son gazed at one another. Daerfalas spoke up. "Other than Tumladen, Captain, I know of no such place. But that is still a journey away, and I will once again warn that there is no way of knowing what we may come across if we should choose to go there. I do not doubt Malnoron would anticipate our arrival there." Amarthon nodded, "My Lord-Father has less influence in the north. His prime loyalties are to the coastal fiefdoms." Lady Melimir turned to look at Amarthon. She studied him with knowing eyes. "Are you suggesting, then, that Tumladen would be far enough from his reach that it would be safe for us there?" Amarthon nodded, "Because neither he nor his men saw how we doubled-back, they think I am marching east with my followers. They're chief watch will be on the coastal route." At Lady Melimir's side, Raedwyn spoke. "Surely our answer is clear then. We should head to Tumladen." Ivordir nodded, "We have to consider provisions.... I wonder if there are any towns along this river...." Daerfalas shifted his weight from foot to foot, and crossed his arms over his chest. "There may be some small hamlets. The river makes for plentiful fishing, after all." Gilorn finally spoke, "We should take care. I hear that some of 'em are rather rough. And we do not know their loyalties." Lady Melimir nodded solemnly. "That is absolutely correct. And we are a rather large party, to descend upon a small village. We would be noticed immediately." Haedirn nodded, "What of your remaining spies? Could they not infiltrate such villages?" With a frown, Lady Melimir tapped her lower lip thoughtfully. "It may serve as some use, yes. But I fear the dangers of our party becoming scattered. If we were to be attacked upon the road, I would prefer that we have as many hands as possible towards our defense." Gilorn noted, "This is true, your Ladyship. What other options might we have?" Daerfalas interjected, "That we may continue on to Tumladen, without disturbing any of the villages upon the River. It is better, I think, if we remain undetected for now." Ivordir nodded, "We will have to take an inventory then and ration our current supplies." There was a short silence. Most within attendance were already weary and hungry. Ivordir gave the order and called the Council to adjourn. Edited by Ivordir, Aug 30 2015, 08:15 PM.
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| Ivordir | Aug 30 2015, 08:16 PM Post #291 |
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Chapter CCIII: A Fateful Match Amidst the bustle and hussle of the camp outside, Auravon's tent remained standing the longest. Auravon had prostrated himself before his wife, begging her for forgivenness. Rirossel merely gazed at him with hardened eyes. Rirossel stammered, "I will never forgive or trust that scoundrel of a lord!" Auravon protested, "My beloved wife..." Rirossel shouted, "Beloved? Beloved my rear! I will tell you, I was bartered and sold as chattle by my family, a mere alliance to aid in 'mutual wealth,' while I was left to the grubby hands of that... that beast! He seems so charming in the beginning, but he works on you with his wiles, and soon, he's beating you and worse! Redemption? Dare you even think it! All cruel men should be destroyed! Age of Men indeed! Oh yes, the Age is dawning for the proud, brave, M-E-N! What of we women? When will the Ladies have an Age of their own, eh? When will we? We are growing tired of waiting! We serve as wet-nurses and healers and cleaners and chamber-maids and alliance-chattel! Not you, brave soldiers, lords, with mightly dignities, you fair and pampered, with your pomp and prestige! You are honored, while we merely stand at hand in order to suit your honor? Oh, don't tell me, you are holding out that cloak of yours at me, so that you can seduce me with -your- wiles? And how far much longer before you'll start hurting me, too! Why, Malgelir is digging his little claws around you. Very soon, he will reveal who is truly is, and so will YOU!" Auravon sat down on the ground heartbroken, attempting to fight-back his tears. "Oh, so now I've hurt you, haven't I? Oh beloved husband!" Auravon muttered under his breath, "No wonder the King sent Beruthiel away with all her whining and cursed cats!" "What was that?!" Rirossel gasped. "Well then, I suppose I have no choice. I cannot leave you and I cannot escape, our marriage will last forever." A deep, dark thought struck inside herself. It chilled her. She sat down and closed her eyes. Daggers danced within her closed eyes. Suddenly, she heard the sound of something being flung, followed by a mass of soft, colder, smooth fabric falling on her. She was suddenly drowned within the fabric. She found herself tempted to raise her arms with all her might, and fling it back at him, only she could not budge, she found herself as if she was being submerged within the membrane of a living entity, a being that sought to silence her voice. But it felt soothing. She began to breathe more slowly. She closed her eyes and soon felt the fabric being fanned away from her face, followed by the suction of warm, wet lips, as her heart began to throb and forget her sorrow. She could not help but kiss him. And when he whipped back the cloak, she plunged into a sea of tears, as she cried o'er his shoulder. He patted her back gently and warmly, "I want you to know something... I believe that women would make great soldiers, and greater Queens... you gave yourself to me, and I to you... no one forced us, my love... you know I will never let Mal...gelir hurt you... you know that I will ever be at your side, if you ever see him again, and that you won't have to fear him anymore... but have you forgotten your words to me in Glaniath, and mine to you?" Rirossel shook her head. Auravon tried to smile, "I'll kill him. But I'll kill him from the inside. The man who hurt you... will cease to exist..." Rirossel's heart burned, but she also felt a surge of love, in a paradox she couldn't explain. She wanted to believe that she would kill Malgelir, but her heart warned her... that Auravon was right... and how could she deprive Malfinseron, a beloved, loyal brother, of his life, for the crimes that would be expiated through Malgelir's death? No, she told herself. A man can never change. He will always be the one who harmed me, so long as he doesn't use magic to change bodies, a phenomena she great doubted ever, or ever would, exist. It will ever be those fists who hurt me, she thought. Ever the strength in those arms. There was a sound of immediate movement outside the tent. Malfinseron came into the chamber of the tent. |
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| Ivordir | Aug 30 2015, 08:16 PM Post #292 |
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Chapter CCIV: The Final Breath of Malgelir Malfinseron did not speak a word. Rirossel was enraged as she gazed at that face. Malfinseron pulled a dagger, Rirossel screamed, but she looked-down to find its hilt facing her. She quickly grasped it. Malfinseron stared at her, opening his upper-dirty-robe and tunic, revealing the flesh of his chest. Malfinseron nodded at her. Auravon stared in shock at the whole scene in all its horror. Auravon stammered, "W-what further proof do you need that he has changed!" Rirossel was shaking, a maniacal expression in her eyes. The thoughts unfolded through her mind as if she had dreamed it all. She saw herself being dragged down by her husband, only to turn and stab herself in the chest, causing her husband to scream in rage and stab Malgelir Malfinseron, only for her husband to stab himself. She envisioned proud, pompous Ivordir and Daerfalas with their sad eulogies above the river, the solemn faces of the old knights bowed before their corpses, Melimir weeping softly beneath her veil as it billowed in the evening wind, and how their bodies were dropped ceremoniously into the river, as the sun set, to sail down stream to swim down deep into the darkest depths of the sea, their eternal resting place. It would have been too predictable, she thought, as she imagined herself writing it all as if a story. She dropped the dagger. Rirossel's arms clasped Malfinseron tightly, as they both slowly fell to the floor, crying bitterly, crying for everything and everyone, crying for themselves, and crying from the depths of their misery. They drowned themselves in the sea of tears instead, as Auravon watched-on in shock. A part of him wanted to warn Malfinseron, a part of himself thinking that his wife was terribly unstable. He did the only thing he could do. He stretched his arms around them both, his cloak around them all. |
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| Ivordir | Aug 30 2015, 08:17 PM Post #293 |
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Chapter CCV: Finding Lost Brethren Rirossel felt tender, gentle hands framing her. Finally, she uttered, "I forgive you..." And Malfinseron's heart swam in all manner of peace, as the sunlight slowly draped through the opening of the tent, shining upon them in all its glory, the gold gleaming, glittering, everything shining, ablaze with sunlight, and they slowly stood, and Auravon hid his cloak in a sack, and they all walked out of the tent into the light of the sun. And Auravon laughed to himself in his thoughts, "See that now, Lord-Father?! We just did something that you would have deemed impossible. We just did it. I'll write it on your grave someday." The sun was still shining as they crossed the field. And the spies, without a word of command, worked on removing the rest of the tents. They would be traveling soon, it would be a long hot day. But Rirossel, Malfinseron, and Auravon all held hands, their heads basking in the sunlight, as the winds swayed through the fir trees, and as the sunlight glittered on the rushing, surging surface of the river far below. As they stared down toward the river from the plateau, Auravon realized how much he missed the sound of the fishermens' voices. He heard Nenthor nearby, struggling to sing against the morning breeze. Nenthor was clearly still distraught over the loss of his sons. He looked down the surface of the water to see two trout glimmer near the surface of the water, as they swam in the direction of the sea. And Auravon bowed. He turned to see Nenthor standing beside him. Nenthor smiled, "Oh ye remind me of me sons, brave lad. Tell me somethin', would ya? Why did they have to die........." Auravon shook his head, "I wish I knew........" Nenthor mustered-up a makeshift smile as if raising makeshift sails in the midst of a battering barrage of winds in a storm at sea, "Them Elves sure were pretty, far up in them northern lands... great singers, several of 'em... one of 'em had a voice so strong, it seemed to echo off them mountains.... ah how I miss 'em... could retire up there myself... my poor brave lads......... they were taught so much.......... oh why oh why did that thar Song of the Sea have to take 'em......." Auravon continued to stare into the solemn waters, "Maybe they're still singing........." Nenthor gently patted him on the shoulder, "Aye, lad. Aye.......... maybe they are........" He suddenly turned and walked away. Auravon turned to Rirossel, "Feeling better?" Rirossel nodded, "I can't explain it myself..." Auravon heaved a deep sigh, "It will take time..... all mending does.........." Malfinseron nodded, "Oh my poor sister..........." Rirossel tried to smile, "I will be fine, I hope............. I am glad that you are different now, my poor brother............" There was a hint of sarcastic spite. Malfinseron tried to smile also, though he could not mask how morose he felt, "So am I.......... so am I............." Edited by Ivordir, Aug 30 2015, 08:18 PM.
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| Ivordir | Aug 30 2015, 08:54 PM Post #294 |
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Chapter CCVI: The Lady and the Sellsword ((OOC Subtitle- All -exclusively and wonderfully- Inny's excellent work this time!)) At camp, Raedwyn excused herself from Lady Melimir's side. Beyond the safety of their shared tent, she found Ivordir's company. They were all weary from their journey, their toils plain upon their faces. Raedwyn too suffered from exhaustion. Her stomach felt leaden and empty, and her legs ached. There was sweat upon her brow, and her robes felt frayed and unclean. Wandering, she came upon a strange sight indeed. Within the outskirts of the camp, she found Gwainoth and Naitheg. The young Mason was red of face, holding a worn sword aloft and breathing hard. There was dirt on one side of his face. Naitheg seemed to fair little better. He was holding a sword, pointed downward, and shouting commands. "Get up!" he hollered. "Again! Remember, when I come to come to strike you, parry and move to the side! You will never get anywhere trying to match my strength, boy." "Stop this!" Raedwyn marched forward, holding her skirts up to avoid snags in the high grasses. "What are you doing!" Upon seeing her, Gwainoth straightened, and stammered, "It's okay, my lady, he was just-" Naitheg turned to Raedwyn, and he smirked at her, pushing the hair from his face. "Ah. Lady Raedwyn, what a pleasure. Calm yourself, I am merely...training this poor excuse of a soldier." Raedwyn came to a stop, her eyes bright with anger. "He is not a soldier, you...you traitor!" she growled with a stamp of her foot. "He is a boy. Let him alone." Rolling his eyes, Naitheg dropped his sword and held his arms up placatingly, though he continued to regard her with a grin. "Forgive me, Raedwyn," he continued, his voice laced with amusement. "But all Men must be soldiers on the road to war. And that is the road we travel upon, is it not? Do you really think it fair to leave any Men helpless, defenseless, on the path we take? Truly? Very well. Get out of here boy," he gestured a dismissal to Gwainoth, "we will take up our swordplay another time." Raedwyn watched Gwainoth go, aghast. "You did not need to send him away," she managed finally, her tones clipped. "I had thought..." she deflated visibly, and looked helplessly towards the horizon, the sun beginning to set. "Nevermind, it does not matter." She turned to go. "Wait." Naitheg grabbed his sword, and rushed to her, trailing beind a few feet away. "You thought I was being needlessly cruel. That is understandable. It seems I have gained a certain reputation amongst these ranks. Because I was loyal to Baralinor's father." Raedwyn turned to scoff at him. "You were not loyal. Not to Captain Ivordir, and not to your Lord. You, sir, are an oppurtunist. I know your kind. You hatch your bets on the winner, and choose their side when it is convenient to you." Naitheg blinked, and laughed, a sudden, harsh sound. "You think I choose a winning side? I ask you then, my lady; why am I here?" He spread his arms, and spat into the grass. "Think you this a victory? We are running, like frightened children. Like refugees caught in a mire. Tell me, if I truly was a gambler, would I have chosen this losing side?" Balling her hands into fists, Raedwyn took a step closer to him. "You tell me. Or perhaps the answer is more simple. Perhaps you are nothing but a coward. You surrendered to Haedirn. You chose the life of a prisoner." "Do I look like a prisoner to you?" Naitheg growled. He clutched his sword. Raedwyn eyed it, and took a step back, relaxing only when it was sheathed. "No," she said finally, and he nodded in assent. "No," he repeated. "I am not. I am here of my own free will. You told me that you would welcome my service to Lady Melimir. That is what I choose. Luckily for you, I am full up of the horrors of war. I would rather be an arm of protection than a instigator wielding a sword. If you don't believe me, well then. I hear your Captain tried to execute a Man earlier today, and was stopped. If he still has a taste for blood, send him my way. If not. Good day." He brushed past her. Raedwyn stared after him. Edited by Ivordir, Aug 30 2015, 08:55 PM.
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| Ivordir | Aug 30 2015, 09:18 PM Post #295 |
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Chapter CCVII: A Matter of Trust ((OOC Subtitle- All -exclusively and wonderfully- Inny's excellent work!)) As the Council reconvened, Daerfalas began to make his way for the tent he shared with Ivordir. He was not a few paces away when he caught sight of Raedwyn. She was beyond the inner circle of the camp, where most of the Company would sleep, and at her side was a Man he hardly recognized, but knew from reputation. He frowned as he watched them speak, their shadowed outlines hard to make out, yet unmistakable. Their conversation did not last long; indeed, it seemed they spoke for mere minutes, but Daerfalas could not stop watching them. The Man, Naitheg, finally stalked away, and disappeared into the dark shadows beneath the fir trees. Raedwyn lingered for some moments, and when she began to return towards the camp Daerfalas crossed his path purposefully into hers. "Lady Raedwyn," he said politely with a short incline of his head, and she stopped, regarding him curiously. "Daerfalas," she returned the greeting, and she smiled. "Must we continue with these proprieties? I have known you since you were a child." Daerfalas smiled, and extended an arm towards her. She took it, her chin inching upwards, and they walked slowly together to Lady Melimir's tent. "Who was it I saw you speaking with just now?" With a snort, Raedwyn chuckled. "No one of import. He is a... sell sword, of sorts. He pledged his allegiance to your Mother in Glanaith, when we were attacked." Daerfalas brought them to a stop, and faced her. "He is not just that." Hesitantly Raedwyn continued. "...no. He was one of your company. But you know that." With a grim nod, Daerfalas spoke, "Aye. He was one of Ballithor's Men. That and more has been said of him. Tell me. What business do you have with a Man such as he?" Raedwyn withdrew her hand from his arm, and peered into his face with confusion. "I serve your Mother, as you well know. As he does now. What do you think I speak to him of? I ask him to swear his fealty, and he swears it to me." "And you believe him?" Daerfalas asked. For many moments Raedwyn was silent. She studied the ground beneath her feet. "Yes," she said finally. "I believe him. He speaks in earnest. He rose his sword to defend both your Mother and I, when we needed it most. Daerfalas. I thought we would die there. I was sure that we would be overcome by Amarthon's Father. We were...ready I think. To meet our end there, in Glaniath. Malnoron's Men had us surrounded. Do you understand? If it were not for him....why, he roused Lady Melimir's servants, he protected young Gwainoth. He did not have to." A strange anger began to stir within Daerfalas' breast. He frowned. "Lord Ballithor all but ensured our failure, from the very start. He saw that Ivordir's ranks were filled with Men loyal to him. Do you understand that? This...Naitheg. Your sell sword. He was one of them. If there is one thing that I have learned on my journey hence, it is not to trust those I do not know. You are naive to believe such a Man. And to invite him to my Mother's service! That is unwise at best, and foolish at most." Raedwyn looked up at him sharply. "You doubt my judgment of character. I will remind you that you were the one that traveled in Ivordir's company for many weeks and suspected nothing of treachery. Do not seek to lecture me. I...I trust him, and I do not have to explain that trust to you." "You do if you think to bring him into my Mother's House!" Daerfalas replied stiffly. "Furthermore, you speak of that which you have no knowledge of. Raedwyn. I have loved you as a friend, and regarded you highly for many years. Men like this...they have fooled even the most learned of us in the past." He did not expect Raedwyn's reaction; her eyes filled with tears, and she took an furious step back. "You think me nothing more than a -silly- girl! Nay, do not deny it. Even as children you teased me for it. I have every right to make up my own mind! Your Mother trusts me. Perhaps you should learn to as well." She turned away, and despite his calling after her, Raedwyn disappeared beyond the sight of the tents. Edited by Ivordir, Aug 30 2015, 10:16 PM.
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| Ivordir | Aug 30 2015, 10:16 PM Post #296 |
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Chapter CCVIII: Mother and Son ((OOC Subtitle- All -exclusively and wonderfully- Inny's excellent work!)) "I must speak with my Mother." The flap of the tent peeled back. Ialon the servant stood at the entrance-way, his bleary eyes matching Daerfalas' gaze. "Of course, my Lord," he said with a short bow, and he made space for Daerfalas to step in. The Lady Melimir's pavilion was hardly a grand thing, yet it was warm and comfortable, and lit with a few candles. There was the faint scent of lavender in the air, which Daerfalas knew to be his Mother's favorite flower. It could not completely mask the scent of dirt and exhaustion. Ialon excused himself. "My son," Melimir said. She swept in for a quick embrace, and kissed Daerfalas upon his cheek. "I had thought you abed still. Please. Keep thine mother company. I cannot sleep for worry." "Fret not, I am nearly fully healed." Daerfalas held her close before releasing her. She had always been a strong woman, full of vitality, yet now she felt fragile. She took a seat upon the ground, and he sat beside her. "Something worries you," she said, her eyes searching his face. "This mission worries me," he admitted, taking her hand within his own and holding it firmly. "Your health worries me. The road worries me. Ivordir...for all that I love him, I worry for him too. Worries upon worries." "Something more than that," she pressed. Her expression was open and earnest, and in the soft light she appeared young and beseeching. "Aye," he said finally. "I fear Lady Raedwyn is cross with me. I...have doubted her judgment. And I do not know if I have done so wrongly." "You hold Raedwyn is high esteem. And her opinion. You always have," his Mother replied smoothly, reaching up to fondly brush a lock of his hair behind his ear. He allowed her doting, and continued. "She has invited someone into your House. I think him untrustworthy. That is all." Lady Melimir laughed. "My son. You have endured so much these past few years. I would not be surprised to learn that you regard many with suspicion." Seeing that he would speak again, she rose a hand, a gesture of silence. "You may be surprised to know that your Mother still sees all. My spies are still my own. You speak of Naitheg, do you not?" Daerfalas nodded slowly. She continued, "We do not have the luxury of suspicion. All we have now is our own strength. We must all muster ourselves. I know that we will be making our way to Tumladen within the next few hours. Hush, my son. In this endeavor, we will need assistance, more perhaps than we can afford. Naitheg has pledged his sword to me. He has bent his knee within my presence. He has saved me on more than one occasion." "Raedwyn has said the same," Daerfalas said with a weary sigh. His mother patted his shoulder reassuringly. "We have not come this far from Pelargir to falter now," she said, and her voice was strong. "You said you worry for Ivordir. I do not. He is learning. He will continue to do so. Slowly, the weeds of the garden you two sow shall show themselves. But it is not now. Imagine, for a moment, that there are still Men loyal to Lord Ballithor amongst us. They will not strike us now. We are a small party, close to starving, amongst a land that is kind to no one. Is it not better that we keep our possible enemies close? Think, my son. Even if Naitheg is a traitor of a traitor, if any here are traitors of traitors...they can do us little harm now." You are terribly pragmatic," Daerfalas admitted, and Lady Melimir laughed once more. "Come now," she said lightly, "I did not become rich by batting my eyes." The light of the sun was growing stronger. Daerfalas stirred. His shoulders felt stiff. He imagined he could still feel the marks Malgelir - nay - Malfinseron had left upon him. He shook his head. "I do not know what to think anymore." "Trust in your friends," Melimir whispered. "Trust in your loved ones. If you do not, then there is no hope." "I trust you. I trust Ivordir, with all my being. I trust my brothers, and their brothers." "Then," Lady Melimir said loftily, as she moved to stand. "Are we not all the same?" She paused, and looked about her. "The hour approaches for us. Go forth, Daerfalas, my beloved son. Join your Captain. The rest of us will follow you." Edited by Ivordir, Aug 30 2015, 10:16 PM.
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| Ivordir | Aug 30 2015, 10:25 PM Post #297 |
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Chapter CCIX: Lost in Time The wind sang through the fir trees and clumps of taller grass as they set-out away, when the rocky plateau gave-way to the muddy dirt. It had begun to rain, their clothes were soon drenched, and they had no horses. They tread morsely along the old road, mud creeping between the road-stones. The road stretched onward. The carts creaked and their drivers took care. At one point, a wheel got stuck in the mud. They heaved and managed to lift-it-up again without breaking the wheel. These struggles became more frequent. Their march slowed. There was no sign of thunder. But the skies continued to roar with rain. They tramped onward, league upon league, until nightfall struck again. The ground was far too muddy to move far off the road. They pitched their tents in the teeming rain, dumping blankets on the muddy ground to rest-on. There were no dances or displays with elvish cloaks in secret that night. It was a sober time of sorrow. At dawn, they awoke to find the rain had stopped. They piled their muddy blankets on their tent-cart, along with their canvas and tent-poles. They had ten tents and they were thirty, and only the higher lords had more privacy. The Lady had her tent, Ivordir and Daerfalas had theirs, Baralinor, Abrazan, Arhbaineth, and Sainion, Amarthon, Arancir, Malfinseron, Auravon and Rirossel, and the rest had to squeeze into the other tents. Many of them did not appear happy. Even Aegon grumbled to Sainion. And on rain-less nights, Nenthor slept outside, to sleep beneath the stars. The stars were always there, he thought. They were ever above their heads when he and his sons had sailed the sea. He felt as if he was sailing again, whenever he fell asleep beneath the stars, his brethren. They pressed onward again, toiling as they could, as the road wound through many a field and pasture beside the river, as well as through several forests. Smaller roads led away from the main road, toward the river-towns. But the river-towns were too dangerous, as their council had decided. As they pressed onward, they encountered few travelers on the road. It was a strange sight. By now, three days had passed since their escape from Glaniath. They had traveled roughly seventy miles. The rations were running low. Many of the men grumbled from their hunger, clenching their teeth as they girded their stomachs. At times, they sent scouts to fill the flasks in the river. The flasks were passed around from comrade to comrade. Their boots were caked with mud, many of their clothes were still disheveled from the rain. What had once began as a company of mighty lords became as if a band of traveling peasants. Yet the road remained silent. Ivordir began to wonder why. In times of peace, the roads were heavily used for travel. He wondered where the merchants and traders, and men traveling on their business were, and why the road was so stark and empty of commerce. Ivordir even had difficulty recollecting what day it was. He remembered that it was February 7th when they first reached Pelargir, that the Ball was held on the 4th, and then he reckoned that the mess in Glaniath took them through the 5th and the night of the 6th, that they were stranded along the Sirith on the 7th, and therefore, they had broke their first full camp on the 8th, when the rain began. It was now February 14th, TA 3019. The road wound steadily uphill as the hours passed, curving more through the foothills of the Ered Nimrais. They reached the Gates of Tumladen and finally reached the place they sought an hour later. They were allowed through the gates due to the honorable noble lords who dwelt there, several of whom knew Ivordir's own lord-father, Ioristor. The servants aroused one of the chief allies from his bed, but he embraced Ivordir upon sighting him, and had his servants prepare their rooms. They spoke of their journey on that next morning, the lords agreeing to aid them all, and Ivordir was careful to avoid the topic of Elves. Most of them were appalled, but not surprised at the treachery of Denethon and Malnoron. Their conversation did not last for long. All universally tired folk returned to their rooms within that manse. Amarthon and Malfinseron began preparing themselves for sleep within their chamber. A restlessness stirred within them, despite their deep fatigue. It was approaching the hour nigh Midnight. Edited by Ivordir, Oct 1 2015, 11:07 PM.
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| Ivordir | Aug 30 2015, 10:26 PM Post #298 |
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Chapter CCX: Redemption of the Feanorian Noldor, Gleaming from a Golden Wood Auruiron gazed at the stars as he stood in the wilderness. His comrades were asleep, his family and many others. Inheroth and Lerinon were sleeping, their backs against a tree. Their other brothers were sleeping near at hand. The twain were clearly dreaming and not staring at any objects in their reverie. Auruiron noticed that the wind had blown Lerinon's cloak into a pile on their laps. He gently tucked the cloak around their shoulders, kissing them quietly on their cheeks, without rousing them from slumber. Auruiron felt a sudden urge. He came down to the waters of the Anduin. They within the northern part of the Golden Wood. Auruiron played on his harp, singing softy, so that his voice did not carry above the sounds of the surging currents of the river. It had reached Midnight. As he sang, he thought he heard the sound of a gown trailing softly down stairs of stone. He thought he heard the pouring. He thought he saw a Golden Ring within the shadow of his mind. As he sang, he heard a voice inside himself: "Hear now the Third Theme. May the Hosts of Melkor be forever silent." The Third Theme. The thought grew brighter and more brilliant in his mind. He swooned as he sat playing. He swooned at the thought of that Theme. As he plucked his string, he gazed at the Ring within his imagination, a thought rather than a vision. He wanted to imagine himself reaching out his hands to seize it, but paused, and in pausing, lowered his imagined hand and arm. He thought he heard the sound of an elleth's voice. He turned around. Silence. He continued to sing and watch the river. As he sang, the following thought came unbidden within his mind: "Ye have passed the test. 'Tears unnumbered shall ye shed.' Tears of endless joy. The Host of the Eldar shalt return. The Great Journey, they shall conclude, as was bidden at the time of their Awakening. Unto the Lonely Isle, they shalt be welcomed, unto their kith and kin. Exiles, they shalt be no more. The son who surrendered the Light shalt be restored, unto his kith and kin, and all who will follow him, from the Uttermost East unto the Uttermost West. The Restored shall they be forever." The words had come into his mind spontaneously. They had entered without the need to hear them from voice or vision. He heard them from his own thoughts, and as he sang all the more deeply, the stronger the words became within his mind. And far south, down the Anduin's currents, beyond the Golden Wood and the wide Lands of Brown and flower-ridden fields of Celebrant and the marshes of the Undeeps, beyond the golden Rohirric fields of the Wold, beyond the rapids of Sarn Gebir and the stony canyons and the great Argonath, the Kings of Men standing tall and proud, and beyond the still surface of Nen Hithoel, beyond the surging falls of Rauros and the wide angle of the Entwash's Mouths, beyond Cair Andros, beyond Osgiliath, and the band ringing around the Rammas Echor and the Pelennor, Minas Tirith shining in the moonlight, down to Pelargir and up the Sirith's currents, a surge of hope grew within the hearts of Ivordir's Company, a hope that infiltrated their dreams. Amarthon and Malfinseron were still awake. Edited by Ivordir, May 16 2016, 08:58 PM.
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| Ivordir | Aug 30 2015, 10:27 PM Post #299 |
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Chapter CCXI: A Eucatastrophe They felt compelled suddenly to open the sack, and touching their cloak, they found that it felt as if it was pulsing with life, as if it had a heartbeat of its own. Amarthon gazed at it in wonder, "Something has happened. Something powerful. What could it be?" Malfinseron shook his head, "All I know is that we have been long bereft of good tidings. Let us take it as a good sign." And Amarthon's smile widened. Malfinseron draped the cloak down Amarthon's shoulders. It reflected brillantly in the candle-light, smoother than it had ever been before. Amarthon felt the pulsing of the cloak grow within the rhythm of his heart-beat. He processed across the room. Malfinseron fell to his knees. He felt as if he was gazing at the Eldar of lore and legend, in their glory in the West. Amarthon whipped the cloak around in a flurry and ecstasy of red and gold, and he bade Malfinseron to rise, as Malfinseron became drowned within the cloak, within Amarthon's warm arms. Malfinseron felt as if he was embracing a protective father, safe in the arms of a nurturing mother, beneath the warm eyes of a loving brother. For the first time in weeks, his heart ached. He had had a Lady and he lost her to his own cruelty, but then a sudden feeling came over him. As he rested there in those arms, he quickly buried his head in the pulsing cloak, and there he felt sorrowful for every wicked thing he had ever thought and done, and wished he had never done any of it. The cloak suddenly appeared bathed in a subtle, dim light that glowed, Amarthon's eyes widening in wonder. Malfinseron finally felt forgiven, courage swelling in his heart. Amarthon smiled to see the change in him. They kissed each other deeply on their cheeks. They clutched each other even more tightly. Amarthon smiled, "I love you, my brother......." Malfinseron was sobbing with joyful tears, the ecstasy of his absolution filling all his spirit. Amarthon released his embrace, and suddenly began to dance, as he felt the shadows of his past departing away from him as well. He spun, his cloak spinning in its vibrant, fervent beauty as it appeared to glow, the dim light of gold filling all the room, as light and beauty overwhelmed him. Malfinseron's heart swooned and sang as he watched him, and soon, they were in each other's arms again, resting for what remained of the night. The others reported similar phenomena the next morning in their hidden meeting, as Ivordir discussed the great feeling of a change that overwhelmed them. Hope blossomed anew within their wounded, broken hearts. They found that they were strong, despite all who had died, and they all vowed that they would live, honoring the memory of the departed through their lives. Edited by Ivordir, Aug 30 2015, 11:11 PM.
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| Ivordir | Aug 30 2015, 10:27 PM Post #300 |
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Chapter CCXII: A Captain's Anguish It was now February 15th. They learned why the roads had been so vacant. Rumor of bands of outlaws had caused many travelers to stay aloof in their towns. But the guards had known Ivordir. They had seen him standing alongside his father in Minas Tirith. They were in the beginning reaches of Tumladen. They walked through the woods for about an hour, and saw the rushing Sirith surging down below, as the vale stretched far and wide, toward the peaks of the Ered Nimrais that were glowing white in the light of the morning sun. They heard the fair sound of robins. Winter was ending sooner that year. When they returned to the mansions where refugees who were nobler lords would stay, they met in a map-room and plotted their next course. They decided that they would skirt the mountains, following the main road east, but separate near the crossroads. For the main coastal road ran up through the middle of Lossarnach, away from the river, through Arnach, before turning northeast again toward Harlond and the Pelennor. Lady Melimir and the carts could not possibly pass through there unnoticed. But nor could they avoid the fact of their description. Lord Forlong the Fat was a good man, and Ivordir knew that he likely would not wish to deal with matters below his rank. Malnoron, Denethon, and Ballithor were all lower-ranking nobles, who fancied themselves as greater than their stations. Ivordir knew that Melimir would be safe in Arnach regardless. But Malnoron's spies would be there, he reasoned, and, therefore, they should disguise themselves even further, by decreasing their ranks. Malnoron likely did not know about the older knights, who could protect the caravan. Some of Melimir's spies would have to press onward with the Company into the wilderness, he reasoned. The wilderness. The thought made Ivordir ache. He did not want to trek through fen and forest again. But he knew it was unavoidable, and that there were likely shallows in the northern Erui that they could cross, before they reached Imloth Melui. They would plan to meet Melimir in that vale, before journeying toward Harlond. Ivordir was tired. He wanted to rest. He spoke with his noble friends, who deigned to give them two weeks to recover from their journey. If they could derail Malnoron's plans, Ivordir reasoned, then they could prove more successful in their Quest. The old, final quest, ached at Ivordir's mind. He wanted to journey to Emyn Arnen, to see if he could detect any signs of Guldrambor. He knew from Amarthon that Guldrambor was hiding near Rhun, but Guldrambor's position could have changed. Guldrambor was craftly and clearly still powerful, in his guise as Amanuiron. In that guise, Ivordir feared, Amanuiron could unite many Haradrim, Variag tribes, and Easterling hordes, enough to crush the West if he could. Then the thought dawned on him. Guldrambor was fancying himself as a third Morgoth, as Sauron before him, or was he? His actions and affections toward Amarthon baffled Ivordir. The thought drove at him. It was dangerous. Ivordir wondered... if he found the old town that was destroyed by the time Yucalwe had reached it, if he found those ruins in the brush, then he might drink from one of Amarthon's last phials, which he secretly forbade Amarthon from emptying, precisely for this purpose. Ivordir debated with himself. It was all a risk. But the cloak might protect him. Edited by Ivordir, Aug 30 2015, 11:12 PM.
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12:43 AM Jul 11