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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 (4,138 Views) | |
| Ivordir | Apr 20 2015, 09:08 PM Post #21 |
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Chapter XX: Across the Ringlo Gap Daerfalas raised his voice, quiet, feeling no need to shout when the rest of the men were silent. He said, "Dor-en-Ernil offers us the coverage of trees and wilderness. Is this not a wiser route? Though the road through it may be longer, we can carry our mission knowing we are secret, and safe." Sainion suddenly spoke quietly, "But.....but what of the fields and plains in between?" Ivordir nodded, "They are hilly fields and plains. I know them well. I trained there several years ago. Baralinor remembers." Baralinor approached, "Captain, you must command us. Now is not the time for idle chatter and bantering to and fro. Time marches, and we must march." Ivordir stood tall, remembering Yucalwe's example, "Very well. We march south, using the hills to our advantage, watching the roads carefully- crossing in haste. Avoid being seen at all costs. We will reach Ost Lontir by dusk." They marched steadily through the ancient ruins, the mythic past breathing before their eyes. Then they passed through and ascended the hills of the Ringlo Valley. But Sainion and others struggled, and they slowed their pace. The Ringlo surged to their north. They proceeded cautiously, taking small rests, being frugal with their rations. At dusk on the following day, the lights of Ost Lontir loomed before them. It was December 16th. They passed through the outpost gates, relieved they had not been seen by foes. Ivordir revealed Ballithor's crest to the Gate-Wards, who in turn granted admittance, directing them to the barracks. The barracks was large and spacious, with room to house a hundred men. Half the garrison was on night-duty, so Ivordir's men had a place to rest. And Ivordir did not take time for deep thought. He lay back on his cot and shut his eyes. Edited by Ivordir, Oct 1 2015, 10:15 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 20 2015, 09:09 PM Post #22 |
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Chapter XXI: In the Woods of Dor-en-Ernil on the Belfalas Peninsula The men awoke early. They were offered food and further provisions to make-up for their losses. The men ate happily at the tables and conversed amongst themselves. Ivordir sat back and listened, curious to learn more of his men. But the night-garrison was returning, and the meal was called to a halt. The men thanked the hospitality of the Chief Warden of Ost Lontir. Then, they prepared their belongings, re-fashioned their gear, and moved out. They pressed into the northern woods of Dor-en-Ernil: vast forests of pine and tall grass. They journeyed across rugged ravines and terrain of sharp rocks beneath the trees. They made camp, experienced little incident, and departed at dawn on the 17th. For they had deigned to pace themselves at 25 miles per day, respecting the physical shape of men such as Sainion. They moved carefully through the thickets, and kept watch over their surroundings. They made camp again and awoke at dawn on the 18th. They pressed onward, men with scratches and bruises, the healers keeping them away from poisonous herbs and wildlife. They made camp again and awoke on the 19th. They came to a vast gorge of a tributary that flowed into the Ringlo. And they found a deep, bowl-shaped ravine, steadily sloped, where they took their rest. The men lit campfires cautiously, and otherwise huddled in their cloaks, using their packs as pillows. A watch was set, and guards were posted at the brow of the ravine on several shifts. Ivordir took counsel with his small council at one of the main campfires: Daerfalas, Sainion, Brastor, and Baralinor. Daerfalas masked his surprise at Sainon's presence, though he eyed him curiously. Ivordir smiled, "Winter is passing..." Brastor grunted, "Yeah. And the Storm of Mordor with it." Baralinor waved, "Do not speak that name so loudly. Remember, our shores are under seige." "Aye, but we are far from that now." Brastor nodded. Daerfalas lifted a brow, and said nothing. Sainion whispered to Ivordir, for they were angled across the fire where the others did not immediately notice this gesture, "I do not trust them." Ivordir sighed, "Nor do I. But I must. They are part of this mission. Go and sit beside Daerfalas. There will be less suspicion." Sainion nodded, and moved accordingly. As Sainion took his seat beside him, Daerfalas smiled. If Ivordir his captain could trust this man, so then would he. Baralinor eyed Ivordir suspiciously, for he noticed the movement, "No need for secrets here Captain." Ivordir raised his voice, "No secrets. But the Captain's business is the Captain's business." "The Captain's business is -my- business. You forget-" Ivordir retorted, "That your father placed me in charge. And you shall not forget this either. We are now leagues from Dol Amroth. Enough with this nonsense. We have other dangers with which to concern ourselves. Do we not?" Baralinor nodded begrudgingly. Daerfalas drew his sword sharply, the sword of Ered Luin that Yucalwe had forged for them. He laid it upon his lap, and began to clean it attentively. "We do," he said softly. Edited by Ivordir, Oct 1 2015, 10:19 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 20 2015, 09:09 PM Post #23 |
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Chapter XXII: The Wilds There was a commotion to the south. The sounds of men shouting reached their ears. Ivordir slowly stood, the others as well. Without a word, he bolted. The men of the guard were scratched, several wild beasts attacked.They fought back against the beasts. They appeared to be foraging for food. They were bears. A few men were bruised, and scratched from the brambles they fell into. But their shields were strong and their leather-armor thick. One bear lumbered over them on its hind legs, but Ivordir charged, with a loud cry, thrusting his halberd into it. Several guards pushed behind into Ivordir, adding their strength. But the bear roared and snapped, unable to assault closer. But then the men gave way, adding their own spears. The bear fell backward, collapsing with a loud thud. Ivordir wiped the sweat from his brow, "Good men. Anyone gravely injured?" The guards shook their heads. From afar Daerfalas watched as the bear was felled. He noted that Dolthor was amongst the men that had taken down the beast. He was gladdened that the old man had strength left within him. Ivordir sighed, "You are relieved of duty. Go and rest for the night. Soothe those wounds. I'll call for others." But Sainion had already sent the word. More came to serve as replacements. Other soldiers, who knew something of battlefield healing, tended to the wounded men. Baralinor smiled, "At least we're on our toes. Any cooks among us?" Casting a glare to Baralinor, Daerfalas retreated, and went to go tend to the dying fires, which they had nearly lost during the fray. Several men raised their hands. Then they turned to the fallen bear, no questions asked. But then one turned away disgusted, "We can't eat this one. Look!" The wounds of the bear were festering with an unknown shadow. Brastor shook his head, "Somethin's comin'. What's with this?" Maglon nodded, "Yeah. It's no good. It's just ordinary shadows. What are you worried about?" Trenardir turned away in shame, "I'm sorry. Superstitious. With all the stirrings in the east and all." Trenardir was ever a superstitious man. He was the son of a sailor and ever heard tales of the sea. He heard of all the great legends of the water passages of the south, the ways nigh the cliffs of Umbar. He was a brave man, loyal to Ballithor, whom he aided often with his sailing skills. He was chosen in case the mission would require strong winds and a stronger sail. "The coming tides of war have us all on edge," Brastor admitted sadly. Ivordir nodded, "Let's re-fortify the camp, try to get some sleep. We have a ways to go tomorrow." Edited by Ivordir, May 31 2015, 10:20 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 20 2015, 09:10 PM Post #24 |
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Chapter XXIII: Cliffward Bound to Tadrent Before the wide cloak of dawn spread across the horizon in its billowing rays, they awoke on the 20th. They took some time for the most recent watchmen to take their rest. Then, several hours later, after breaking their fast, they followed the cliff-lines of the gorge south, as the sun was rising. The cliffs bent northwest, and then they slipped southeast, toward Tadrent. By now, it was late-evening, and they camped for the night again, with little incident. At dawn on the 21st, they continued, and by mid-evening, they passed through the outskirts of the town, approaching the central plaza. Several guards were stunned, and Ivordir held the crest of Ballithor. The Chief Warden nodded, beckoning to them, "Follow me." They entered into a great hall and turned left, into the barracks. Several men were there. The Chief Warden smiled, "Please, make yourselves at home. How long will you be staying with us?" Ivordir smiled, "Only for several hours, Sir. We cannot disclose our mission, but we are grateful for your hospitality." Again, Daerfalas conceded to Ivordir, though he was immensely glad that they were amongst civilization once more. The Chief Warden nodded, "Very well. You may dine in this hall. I will inform our lord of your presence. I will let you know then, whether you have leave or not to go." Ivordir nodded in gratitude. Edited by Ivordir, Oct 1 2015, 10:20 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 20 2015, 09:10 PM Post #25 |
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Chapter XXIV: Guests and Hosts As the hours passed, Ivordir's heart felt the knawing fangs of worry. After Daerfalas made sure of their company's safety and comfort, he approached Ivordir. "Is there something troubling you?" he asked of his friend. The Chief Warden returned, interrupting their conversation, "Forgive me. But I fear, you do not have leave to go. My liege will not even speak with you. He detests Lord Ballithor of Dol Amroth. Ivordir shook his head, "This cannot be!" The Chief Warden balked, "Keep quiet or I'll throw you all in jail cells." And Sainion suddenly smiled widely, "Let me speak with your liege. Is he the only liege in this town?" Daerfalas frowned deeply, his lips pressed into a thin line. The Chief Warden shook his head, "There are several. But you are under the province of one of the most influential in our fair land." Sainion placed a warm hand on Ivordir's shoulder, "My father might know of this man. Allow me...." The lord in charge of the town's defense was an older man, of comparable age to Ballithor. Ivordir, Daerfalas, and Sainion bowed before him. "I am Lord Badhron, Master of Defense. You do not have my leave, pawns of Ballithor. Yet, wait.... who is this I see among you?" Edited by Ivordir, Apr 20 2015, 09:11 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 20 2015, 09:11 PM Post #26 |
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Chapter XXV: The Lord of Defense Sainion bowed again, "I am Sainion. My father is a noble lord. I was forced to travel with these men due to a punishment inflicted on my House by Ballithor of Dol Amroth." Badhron nodded curtly, "I believe it. I moved here long ago to escape from his strange plots. I do not trust him, nor any who serve him. Consider yourself free from this charge. But you two.... I ought to have you thrown in cells." Sainon raised his hand in protest, "Do not condemn them. For they are not Ballithor's servants. Nor do I intend to leave their cause. Ballithor would punish my father in some crueler way, if I abandon this mission." Steadfast Daerfalas stood, looking Lord Badhron without nary a blink. Badhron's face was gaunt and stern. His noble robe fell to the floor. Beneath it, he wore chain-mail. He approached Ivordir, "And what is this mission?" Ivordir bowed, "To face the Enemy. We are a small detachment of reinforcements." "Of thirty men. It does not make sense to me." Badhron brushed his own chin, stroking in deep thought. Ivordir politely retorted, "We may or may not be the only detachment. And we may be in advance of a larger force, if the beacons are lit." Badhron nodded, "Bands of thirty traveling secretly, save when nearing towns, parading themselves openly and demanding our hospitality. You are hiding something from me. I do not respect liars." The air was tense and silent. Finally, Sainion spoke, "He is not lying. He.... we are sworn to secrecy. Surely, the violation of a vow is worse than anything." Badhron closed his eyes, "It is. But something tells me: I should not let you go. Not until Ballithor answers for himself." "You are barred from leaving this town, until we receive word." Edited by Ivordir, May 30 2015, 06:05 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 20 2015, 09:12 PM Post #27 |
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Chapter XXVI: Chaos in Tadrent They returned to their men and relayed the message. Ivordir took private counsel with his confidants, "We cannot stay here." Baralinor shook his head, "The law is law." Sainion was downcast, "I tried........" Frustrated and angry, Daerfalas spoke. "This is not law. This is one petty Lord's grievance with another's." Ivordir smiled, "You did well. But we need a strategy. Yes, Daerfalas, it is. Listen. Slight wounds. No killing." Brastor grimly smiled, "Good. I'm sick of chatting about it." Ivordir and the men formed-up, the plan being whispered from soldier to soldier. They marched to the guards at the gates of the barracks. The guards drew their blades. Ivordir prevented them from fulfilling their draw. Brastor kicked them in a rush, making them fall backwards. The men rushed out of the gates and charged through the central plaza. Men huddled inside their shops, women screamed and ran, and the alarmum bells tolled in the barracks. Several soldiers were forming at their rear, heading towards them. They pressed to the town gates, overpowering the guards, knocking them unconscious. Several men were scratched, but otherwise continued to run. They ran into the road outside and then pressed north. Pursuit continued, but lagged behind them. They hid among large, jagged rock formations, until they were certain pursuit had ceased. And they were far from the fens to the north. And it was Midnight. Edited by Ivordir, Jun 2 2015, 08:13 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 20 2015, 09:12 PM Post #28 |
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Chapter XXVII: Along the Ringlo Marsh Ivordir rubbed the sweat from his forehead. The men gasped. Then there was a head-count. Someone was left behind. It was Trenardir. Baralinor whispered to Ivordir, "Don't worry. Trenardir won't talk. He does not know much of our mission. Most likely, they will hear of the bear, but little more. But they will punish him. They may torture him." Ivordir shook his head, "Oh Valar............ what have I done..... I should not have trusted Tadrent in the first place. Why did no one warn me?" Baralinor's eyes gleamed coldly, "Because you did not think to ask, Captain." Ivordir struck him across the face, "You will be next, if you think this is how this company will be led." Baralinor took the blow, laughing grimly, "So -now- you decide to lead. Good. I'll be watching." The men took their rest, treading warily near the waters of the marsh. The flies and knats annoyed them. Ivordir conferred with Daerfalas, "How....... how can I leave this man behind us...... in such peril........?" Daerfalas spoke sharply, "Baralinor seeks to confuse you, I think. He wants you to doubt your command. Do not falter!" Ivordir's tone became resolute, "Very well. Valar, protect that man from danger. Let us hope that Lord Badhron is as honorable as he claims to be. Let us continue." Ivordir summoned the men and they began their long, miserable trek toward the marshes. And the men were tested. And Sainion floundered. And the cumbersome weight of fatigue struck their senses. They forded the tributary and then pressed further into the fields. They made camp around ten miles away from Tadrent, after pursuit lagged. They camped for the night and awoke on the 22nd. Then they crossed northwest, fording the Ciril again. When they reached the borders of the fens, they took their rest. It was the late-watches and they slept through mid-morning on December 23rd. Then they crossed several marshy isles and reached the far bank. And so they passed into the vast fields that lay before the Tarlang. Here, they spent the night, awakening on the 24th. Edited by Ivordir, Oct 1 2015, 10:22 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 20 2015, 09:13 PM Post #29 |
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Chapter XXVIII: Nigh the Slopes of Tarlang In the waning hours of the late-evening, approaching Midnight, they reached the feet of the Tarlang. They set their camp and the men spoke little. Some had a terrible cough from the marshes. Others were wary, staying near their own campfires. And the council spoke little. Watches were set for the healthy men. They slept until dawn on the 25th. They passed along the feet of several large cliffs. The plains of Lamedon loomed in the distance. The blossoms of the trees had suspiciously bloomed. And the fields were deep and green in their unnatural girth. They faced several mountain prowling beasts. Maglon was gashed, and others aided his limping. In the mid-hours of the following morning, the host resumed its march. By late-evening, they reached Lamedon borders, where the cliffs turned greyer. They could not see Calembel glimmering, far in the distance to the northeast, for it was too far away. A terrible thought struck Ivordir: What if the lords of Tadrent sent errand-riders to both Ost Lontir and Calembel? The sight of over thirty men marching across the plains would not bode well. A man was injured. There were mountain herbs for healing. But it would be a hard road. And the sun was setting. But there was an old settlement nearby. Its walls were rural, aged palisades. Its wooden homes were well-built and humble. It was a striking contrast to Dol Amroth's marble streets and Edhellond's aged stone ruins. The people were rural fisherfolk and hunters, who made their living along the nearby streams and in the forests on Tarlang's slopes. Some of its people welcomed them. Others remained aloof. Old Dolthor watched the men who entered carefully, as if he knew some of them. He gave them a stink- eye. They did not notice him yet. He was fortunate. Ivordir watched this glance and assumed that some of the feared outlaws were near at hand. But they pressed forward through the town and reached an apothecary. There was an old healing woman among the folk, who was renowned for her herb-lore. Other men of Ivordir's Company brought the boar's victim before her. She examined the wounded, limping Maglon for no charge, providing the salves. And they all took their rest, without setting the watches. But Dolthor did not sleep well. He slept by the shut door, armed with his sword, ready to awaken if need be. He figured if he heard a noise, he'd wake up. The door would shove clean into him. Edited by Ivordir, Oct 1 2015, 10:24 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 30 2015, 09:30 AM Post #30 |
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Chapter XXIX: A Restless Night That night, Ivordir dreamed. He dreamed he was adrift in their old fishing boat. He dreamed they were surrounded by fog. Yet no one was on the ship. "Daerfalas?" He called. There was no answer. A flicker of a shadow disturbed the dim light of the torch. And the fog swelled. The torch flickered. It was silenced. A pale moon revealed itself above the fog, and above the ship, the fog cleared. Ivordir gazed upward in his awe. He felt as if he was drowning. There, through that portal of clarity, the stars shined brightly. The stars' light beamed straight into his eyes. And at the crest of the horizon, appeared a solitary Star, brightly shining, winds restless. The Light was unlike any light Ivordir had ever seen before. The Light filled his eyes with hope. The Light was ravishing to behold. Then, the Light vanished behind a cloud. He heard the old voice of the fisherman a-singin,' "Earendil was a mariner..." He heard the song that filled his lips with awe. Then the voice of the fisherman vanished. The fog lifted at the bow of the ship. Ivordir approached it warily. He looked down into the depths. There, in the deep darkness, a solitary Light began to shine. As he gazed at it, he heard a familiar voice, singing far across the horizon, a voice that ravished his soul. He heard it wailing out of the north. He heard its tone grow dim and melancholy. Atalante va Noldor, it sang. And it wove a tale of sadness, and of doubt. Then the voice was answered by another. A voice, less great, yet unwavering in its hope. It was Auruiron's voice. And this voice, in turn, was answered by a deeper, darker voice, that chanted. The voice of Yucalwe Ranyaro. This, too, was answered, trailing out of the East. He heard a voice he did not recognize. It sounded Elvish. And then this voice vanished as well. He heard a tortured voice. A tortured, gasping voice, attempting to sing. He gazed down into the depths of the sea, which opened into a fiery chasm. And deep in the fires far below, he saw a third Light, engulfed in flames. He did not know if this was because of the tales of the Silmarils that he had learned, or if he had truly seen the Light of all Three. It would be hubris to assume it so, he thought. No mortal man of Gondor could ever claim to have gazed his eyes on one, let alone three Silmarils. I must be dreaming. My mind hath made these things. And I do not deserve any prophesy. I am neither Elven Prince nor beaming Lord. I am not Earendil. I am not Fingon. I am only a man. No greater than the men who died nigh Harlindon. A man who dared to wonder............ He heard a voice behind him. He turned around. And there before him stood the old fisherman. He did not speak. He was robed in rags. His beard was sopping wet. And he did not have his lyre. He gazed into his eyes. Gazing, Ivordir heard a voice well deep into his soul: "Tell the Prince of Gold..." But then the sound of a door burst into all of it. He clung and held fast onto the dream, longing to hear more. And it seemed to him that the old man smiled. But the tendrils of reality snatched him. There, before his eyes, was Dolthor slamming a door into several men, the sound of axes chopping. Ivordir reached for his sword, crying aloud for aid, shouting commands. And the entire cabin awoke. Edited by Ivordir, Aug 10 2015, 07:48 PM.
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| Ivordir | May 2 2015, 11:51 AM Post #31 |
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Chapter XXX: The Night Battle As Ivordir grabbed his sword, Dolthor struggled at the gate. They were near to breaking it down completely. And there was a scent of smoke. Several men came to Ivordir's side, not dressed in their armor, but armed with their swords and shields. Some had spears. Daerfalas woke, and drew the sword that he kept always at his side, surging to his feet. "Are they trying to burn us out?" he growled, going to stand by Ivordir. Dolthor shouted, "Nay. They're wantin' me head first. I know 'em. Warned ye about 'em back in the elf ruins. Brace!" The door burst. Dolthor was pinned against the wall as the outlaws charged into the room, their scimitars gleaming red in the torch-light. Daerfalas held his sword aloft and surged forward. "Defend yourself, do not falter," he said to Gwainoth the young, who seemed to want to flee at the sight of the outlaws. The men formed a wall-formation and held half the room. But the wall was incomplete. And their foes were clever. They were ten, in all, ten men of Gondor, the others scattered across other cabins. A shadow arose behind the outlaws. Brastor yelled and hacked at them. Maglon was at his side, with others. They were surrounded. Ivordir ordered his men forward. In the midst of their charge Daerfalas could see the dark behind the incoming outlaws. He could only wonder at it for but a moment, until swords began to clash. He pushed forth, despite his lack of a shield. One of his attackers fell, and Daerfalas clambered over him, the roar of battle deafening. An outlaw stabbed at Maglon's limb. It was still wrapped in salves. He had limped his way across the road. Duty compelled him. Brastor's words and orders meant naught. The wound burst, flowing. Maglon fell to the floor. Brastor had not noticed that Maglon had followed his troop out of the adjacent cabin. Several more outlaws poured into the road behind them, their torches producing the scent of smoke. Time accelerated, then broke, in a cycle, within Maglon's mind as he fell. For another outlaw speared him in the neck. |
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| Ivordir | May 2 2015, 11:53 AM Post #32 |
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Chapter XXXI: The Merchant's Son The chief healer Aeglos saw his patient fall, and strove towards him to no avail. The press of enemies grew thicker, though they fought hard. Across the room Daerfalas struggled to catch sight of Ivordir. He feared for the men, and heard a cry rise up as Maglon was pierced. He couldn't see what had transpired, he could only fight on with desperation, and hope. Maglon was a merchant's son, born beneath the stars, named in remembrance of an old legend. Darkness covered his eyes. It all flashed through his mind as if within an instant. His mother's smile, his father's laughter, their traveling caraven, their horses and oddities, their bottles and salves, their riches and times of poverty. His father's tale of how they struggled, until their herbs cured a noble's son. His mother's time of learning in a richly-flowered vale, far to the east. His long years on the road, his wonder, as he grew older, his lust for adventure, his vain pursuits. And then came his lost love, who he had met in Dol Amroth, who was unwilling to wed a traveling merchant's son. She was the daughter of a minor lord, who caught his heart, whose refusal burst it. His father had become patronized by Ballithor. But his son brought the wrong bottle. Baralinor was sick for weeks. So it was that Maglon was drafted. And then silence followed darkness. And he saw no more within the realm of Arda. Ivordir shouted aloud, gazing at his fluid, lifeless eyes. For Baralinor had told him of Maglon. And Ivordir knew the legend of his namesake. He thrust his halberd at the slayer. But Brastor roared aloud the most. Maglon had tricked him, into thinking he had remained behind. Then he was dead. Brastor swung his sword at the same time Ivordir thrust his halberd. What remained of the outlaw fell to the floor. Edited by Ivordir, May 2 2015, 11:54 AM.
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| Ivordir | May 2 2015, 11:55 AM Post #33 |
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Chapter XXXII: The Lord of Outlaws Dolthor's wife had been murdered. Dolthor had settled on the feet of Tarlang. He was a laborer's son. He had raised his own crops and hunted his own game. He even wanted to have children, but his wife was murdered in the night, when he was away, out hunting. He came back to find his home sacked, he cradled the body of his wife in his arms, and wept through many near-sleepless nights. He realized he had not gained the martial training to avenge her, so he journeyed to Dol Amroth, re-settled himself, and enlisted. As a guard, he was employed by Ballithor, a strong, but noble man, who taught him many things about combat and warfare. Then, he was chosen for this mission, for his knowledge of Tarlang's lands. And then the outlaws suddenly retreated, as another entered into the room behind them. His beard was old and gnarly. His breath stank. His eyes blazed as if coals of fire. "So ye killed 'em. Brave lad he was, young Bronor. His kith and kin counted on 'em aight. Not now, you honorable lot of men!" Ivordir had bade his men to pause as he turned to face the lord of outlaws. "You break the guest-right customs, sacred laws and oaths, not only to your countrymen, not only to your soldiers, but to your guests. And you dare to question -our- honor? The boy killed a boy. Now both Maglon and Bronor are dead. But you were the one who threatened lives. You were the one who began the killing." Daerfalas lowered his sword, watching the gnarled man with an angry stare, ready for Ivordir's command. The lord of outlaws laughed, "I'm Arradon. A man of no purpose. Unlike ye noble, mighty lords. Yes, 'em. I was raised on the scraps of ye pathetic country. The scraps of the alley-ways of Calem-bad. Always struttin' around, ye noble lords. No concern have ye for we folk. None. We starve while ye feast. Ain't it right boys? Tonight, we return favor, don't we lads?" Several outlaws gave-off expressions that were hard to read. Some of them seemed impatient, while others gave amused glances. But more of them were grim, stern-faced. They did not respond. Around him, most of their company returned the glares of the outlaws, eager to fight their way out of their predicament, yet behind him Daerfalas could sense Gwainoth's fear, and wished he could convey his reassurances; they would not be stopped here by these lowly men. There was a loud cry and a yell, as the remnants of the breached door fell forward on Arradon, Dolthor's blade singing behind them, buried within him, as Dolthor shouted: "And this is for my dead wife." The other outlaws gazed in shock, but some rushed forward on Dolthor, stabbing him. He fell to the floor, atop a gasping, dying, Arradon. Arradon shouted, "I curse ye Gondor! I curse ye! May the Black Land swallow ye!" Brastor roared, his large blade scything through his foes, the other men charging behind him. Many were wounded. And many outlaws were killed. And Ivordir aided Arradon on his road to death. Dolthor was pinned and gasping. Dolthor grapped Daerfalas on the collar, "Listen..........stay....far.....roads......mountain......................sun.....risin'...........home............" And the rigor of life vanished from his eyes. Weeping, yet fighting to keep composure, Ivordir blew aloud his horn, as their remnant gathered. There were now 28 of them in full. Sainion had stayed behind in the other cabin, while there was fighting on the main road through the town. But then, many farmers and fisher-folk rose beside their men. They charged at the outlaws with pitch- forks, knives, other tools. They held, drivin' the remnants out of town. They fled. They vanished into the darkness of the trees up Tarlang's shadowed slopes. Daerfalas could not help but wonder at the townsfolk as they joined the fray. Their ferociousness borne to protect their loved ones, their homes, and he felt gladdened, even as he still felt Dolthor's last breath upon his cheek. The night stilled. Edited by Ivordir, May 31 2015, 10:25 PM.
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| Ivordir | May 2 2015, 11:56 AM Post #34 |
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Chapter XXXIII: Mourning the Fallen Healers from the settlement arrived at the cabins. The men of the town took the dead away. Several of them apparently knew Dolthor. They carried him away honorably. The wounded were tended, but those strong enough to stand came to the crest of the hills at dawn, outside the settlement, gazing east. And as the light of the sun illuminated Calembel, leagues in the distance, a dirge was played, strings were strung, as the settlement laborers dug the graves, as the bodies of the slain were cremated. They would bury their ashes in the Spring, when the ground had thawed, with markers at their final resting places. This would be done for the fallen soldiers. But for the outlaws, they would be buried in a dark range of trees to the north, in the shadows beneath their eaves. Yet Ivordir felt pity for the plight of the desperate. But the folk refused to listen, for the outlaws had caused them pain, slaying many of their kith and kin. And Ivordir promised himself the following: to speak for the folk of Gondor in the capital, to work to bring an end to grievous poverty. They rested in the settlement for several days and nights. And the men spoke little. Ivordir remained shaken by Dolthor and Maglon's deaths. It was February 28th when they set-out again. They took their leave of the elders in the settlement, who were grateful for their aid. And then the twenty-eight pressed north, vanishing behind the hills of stone. After they pressed north for several hours, Brastor demanded a halt. He barked, "Ye may be our captain, but you're young. You know we could just cross them fields yonder, come to Calembel in a day. Why are we heading north?" Already grim from their losses over the past few days, Daerfalas' mood darkened at Brastor's interruption. Ivordir sighed, "Do you not know, or care to remember our mutual friends from Tadrent? If they sent errand-riders, warning them of us, then marching across the fields could lead to a swift arrest. And who can say unto whom the lords of Calembel would render loyalty?" Brastor spat in the grass, "You would need to worry about this either way. Heading north will add unnecessary days a-foot. It will strain our provisions." Baralinor nodded, "I agree with Brastor. The fields are the closest route." Daerfalas spoke, "And Dolthor warned us to stay clear of the main roads! Would you have us forsake the wisdom the dead?" Ivordir felt tempted to say it aloud: / I do not trust you, Baralinor. / But prudence held his tongue. Then Ivordir stood stern and tall, "Are you questioning my authority, openly before my men?" Baralinor shook his head, "Nay, my 'captain.'" Ivordir did not say anything in direct reply. He turned, "We march north!" It was January 19th. Edited by Ivordir, Jun 2 2015, 10:11 PM.
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| Ivordir | May 2 2015, 11:56 AM Post #35 |
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Chapter XXXIV: Northward Bound They passed along the vast, stony fingers of the Mount of Tarlang on the 26th. And the fields of Lamedon flowed long below. They reached a surging river of fresh, mountain water. They camped for the night, and at dawn, on the 27th, theyre-filled their flasks. They found a shallow ford and crossed the river, continuing along the rocky, exposed country that met the plains of Lamedon from mountain slopes. Then they camped for the night and set the watch again. Before dawn on the 28th, they awoke. They passed into the upper fingers of the mountain: large stony hills that jutted forth from Tarlang. Here, the wooded vales covered the mountainside, and the scent was pleasant. But their provisions were running low when they camped, continuing again on the 29th. And as they neared the regions nigh Tarlang's Neck, they found that the outlaws who had fled the settlement were stalking them. They camped for the night, setting a stern watch. As middle night passed, the moon riding westward, the sounds of many running feet came out of the western hills, accompanied by cries of battle. But this time, the soldiers of Gondor were prepared, fully-armored, and their shield-wall was nearly impenetrible. The battle was joined, and many outlaws fell, ruined by the strong spears of the Gondorian soldiers. At dawn, Ivordir saw to the swift burial of the dead. Some of the men did the hard work begrudgingly. As they labored, amidst the sounds of heavy breathing, Ivordir investigated the nearby grove. Out from behind a copse of trees appeared an older man and a younger one. They were clearly outlaws. They had lost their weapons. Ivordir ordered their hands chained behind them. They would journey as far as Calembel, where the authorities would determine their fates. So did Ivordir reason. And Ivordir spoke of the dead, "These men died in desperation. They were the sons of fathers. They once were babes in their mothers' arms. Need and poverty made greed tempting. I cannot claim to know these men. But we are men. And they were men. This is our common lot. So let us hope, better for the good." Daerfalas beheld Ivordir as he spoke, and smiled, his mood lifting once more. This was, he thought, the reason why Men followed him, and why Brastor questioned him. And the next hours were filled with the sounds of men at work. They built the pyres and burned the dead, scattered their ashes to the frigid, northern winds. And the men were glad that someone had thought to bring a sack of flint with them before they left Dol Amroth. As the sun was halfway across the dome of the sky, Ivordir ordered his men to rest. And at mid-day on the 30th, they continued beyond the Neck, crossing the old road toward Erech suspiciously, crossing the fields. They could feel the darkening feeling that accompanied the word "Erech." Ivordir wondered why anyone would want to live within that forsaken vale. Passing into the fields, the ground became soft and moist, a welcome contrast to the harsh stones of Tarlang. The fields were brown and gold, still recovering from winter snows, for the Shadow of the East did not touch these lands, so far north. Then they were caught in a storm themselves. It snowed several inches as they marched. They forded the icy-cold northern river at dusk, careful not to slip on the icy parts. They camped and rested. Edited by Ivordir, Oct 1 2015, 10:28 PM.
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| Ivordir | May 2 2015, 11:57 AM Post #36 |
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Chapter XXXV: The Surviving Renegades Ivordir spoke with the prisoners, "Name yourselves. How came you to such a band of outlaws?" "Name's Aeg. And my son here's Aegon." Aegon muttered under his breath, "I'm sharper than my paw. I could've killed......" Ivordir gazed at him sternly, "Could you, Sharpened Point? And for what purpose? What gain would the deaths of me or my men be to you?" "Could rob you of coin, that rich armor of yours. Why you call me 'Sharpened Point?'" "So that is what this is all about? Money? If you had asked politely....I would tell you that your name means 'Sharpened Point' in the old-tongue in which you are named. And if you had asked politely for money..." "We ain't allowed to even speak to y'all noble princelies." Daerfalas frowned from where he stood behind Ivordir, his arms crossed over his chest. "You speak loudly enough now," he chimed in. Aeg kicked his son in the leg, "Don't get us killed, son." Aegon did not even flinch. He stared-down Daerfalas, "Oh do I. Good. Finally I'm heard by y'all princelies." Daerfalas narrowed his eyes. "So you are. And now we are aware of your plight." Ivordir laughed, "Do you know where we spent the year before last? In a leaking fishin' boat, wearin' tattered clothes." Aegon was stunned at the sudden change in dialect, "Our plight eh..... fishin' boat eh? How many did y'all caught?" Ivordir smirked, "Enough to lose 'em in a storm." Then he frowned, suddenly, remembering his dream, his fallen comrades. Gently Daerfalas placed a warm hand upon Ivordir's shoulder. Ivordir nodded, returning the gesture. Aegon's face was hard to read. He was reduced to silence. Aeg closed his eyes, "It's true that we were desperate. My wife died a- starvin.' My kin turned to robbery and murder. My settlement disgraced me. What more do you want? Prison? A long, slow death........" Ivordir closed his eyes, "Prove yerselves worthy, and ye may come with us. But for now, the chains remain, till we come a-learnin' whether or not we can trust y'all." They spoke no further that night. |
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| Ivordir | May 2 2015, 12:02 PM Post #37 |
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Chapter XXXVI: Calembel At dawn, Ivordir roused the camp. It was now December 31st. They were losing time, they felt it. It was now a two-day's march to Calembel. It should have been one day-journey overall. The outlaws slowed their progress. So they doubled their march. And their provisions were nearly gone. And they had re-filled their flasks at the river, and they pressed forward, despite their gripes and pains. And they avoided the fens at the center of the vale of Lamedon. And they returned to the steppes, this time, on the flanks of further mountains in the eastern borders of Lamedon. The Ered Nimrais loomed above them, its snow-crowned peaks vanishing above the cloud-cover. They rested for the night and then the Sun rose high as they camped in the shadows of January 1st in a land of intersecting streams and rivers. But they conserved their energy and their strength. They forded across the streams and crossed the plains. They were tired and hungry, no longer fearing errand-riders. They re-joined the road and crossed the bridge. They approached the northern gates of Calembel cautiously, sending Sainion ahead in his finery. He had kept his finery in a sack that he had used as a pillow. The air was frigid and the wind billowed his robes. The Gate Warden called him to a halt, but Sainion spoke eloquently, and was swiftly granted admittance to the city. He spoke of his guard, who he claimed were his own for protection. This was true, for Ivordir had promised him his safety. But the Gate Warden did not need to know the rest, as Sainion thought. And so it was that they entered the city, and were led to one of the main barracks structures. They passed through the partly-snowy streets, their heads downcast, despite the sea of marble that now surrounded them: plazas, shops, fountains, smithies, which all seemed abandoned at nightfall. They were bustling at daylight: merchants and tradesmen, masons, laborers, and lords passing to and fro on their business. Great manor houses lined the main streets and roads through the city. The hovels were set apart on side-roads. They entered the barracks. It had a grated sky-light high above in the halls, a window on the stars. It had many smaller chambers with beds. In the center of the barracks was a fountain surrounded by a garden of hyacinths and blossoms. Ivordir scanned the structure cautiously, whispering to Sainion to keep close watch over the Warden of the Barracks, all of his movements, and unto any to whom he might speak. Daerfalas sat down. But Ivordir was gravely fatigued. Glad to feel a soft bed again, he fell asleep. Edited by Ivordir, Oct 1 2015, 10:29 PM.
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| Ivordir | May 2 2015, 12:03 PM Post #38 |
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Chapter XXXVII: Shadows of Tadrent At dawn on January 2nd, Ivordir awoke to the smell of food on the table. Brastor smiled to see him, "No worries, lad. You're fears were unfounded. Lord Angbor is an honorable man." Ivordir scoffed, "But so is the lord of Tadrent." Brastor scowled, "Hold thy tongue, my captain. The lords of Calembel are honorable to we guardians of Lord Sainion. But to..... the Tadrent incident. It would weave a different tale, would it not?" Ivordir sighed, "You are right. I will be more careful, for our sake." Sainion entered the barracks in haste, running up to Ivordir, "We must hasten our stay. Errand-riders did indeed arrive from Tadrent. I have stood in the great plaza before the citadel, and overheard some lords conversing. It is true. We should leave......" Ivordir nodded, "But first, we must secure provisions for the longer road ahead. Sainion nodded, "I have spoken with the Warden of the Barracks. We have leave to take provisions. However long this will last, I do not know." Daerfalas awoke to the sound of Sainion's voice. He rose, and immediately began to pack his things, fearing trouble if they remained. Ivordir turned to Daerfalas, "Get the men awake. Tell them to go to the provisions hold here in the barracks. Fill your packs. Then, we are going out the way we came." Brastor's ears perked at this, "Back north, are you mad?" Ivordir laughed, "Trust me. One thing I've noticed: the eastern wall's unguarded." Daerfalas nodded once, and proceeded to rouse the Men. Once the men were roused, the provisions gathered, and the men armed, word came of disturbing debates in the heart of the city. Sainion nodded, "Our time is now." Before the Warden of the Barracks could return from the Citadel to stop them, they had marched back through the northern gates. Then, after they passed the outer hills out of sight of the gate-guards, they banked left, and then approached the foot of the eastern walls of Calembel. They followed it carefully, avoiding detection. Some men were in the towers above, but they were too at ease, feasting and drinking. And Ivordir's men passed south, then east into great, grassy hills, and then they followed the cliffs. In time, they rejoined the road, passing east and north into the Ringlo Vale. They camped for the night and continued once more on the 3rd. They avoided the old ruins to the north as they passed southeast along the road. They camped again, rising on the 4th. It had not snowed here for awhile, but the clouds were threatening. Brastor was pleased. He did not enjoy forested delays. They paused for meals, but otherwise maintained their march. Even still, they floundered, though the muscles of many of the less-athletic among them had grown stronger. At nightfall on January 5th, they reached Ethring. Edited by Ivordir, Oct 1 2015, 10:30 PM.
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| Ivordir | May 2 2015, 07:40 PM Post #39 |
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Chapter XXXVIII: Son of Sainon In the Ethring barracks, Ivordir sat down sorrowfully. Sainion sat beside him quietly. Then, after several long moments of silence, Sainion turned: "My captain...." Ivordir nodded, "Yes?" The doors closed. They sat in the chamber alone. There was a bed, a hearth ablaze, and several columns with bare walls. Ivordir no longer sat in his rougher ranger-clothes. He wore a golden silken robe with a reddish-silken cloak that billowed around him. He had received these artifacts in Harlindon: from Auruiron and Yucalwe. He knew how to fold them small, tie them in bundles, hiding them in rough sacks that did not glitter. He and Sainion were of similar minds. They used them for practical reasons in the wilderness, and to enjoy them in a civilized place. They had used the sacks as pillows in their night encampments, wearing their rough ranger-clothes in the wilds. Sainion did not change his attire back in Tadrent, for their stay there was not long, only for several hours. He had worn his finery in Calembel, clad in his ranger-garb again when it was time to leave the city. They both knew that they needed such clothes in order to impress the lords of cities, to gain provisions for their fellow men, and rest for the weary. At times, Ivordir reasoned: Politics can ache my head as much as tree-roots ache my back at nightfall! But now he was glad. The people of Ethring were an honorable folk, the mothers of ships. And so they finally settled-down. The Warden of the Barracks had already obtained their leave to stay for the night and depart at dawn. Ivordir smiled. Now he was glad. They would finally have a normal day to rise and march. Sainion sat in his finery, which he changed into when in a barracks, or nigh entering a city. He wore a maroon, velvet robe, with a similarly-textured cape, lined with crimson silk. He brushed a tress of raven hair away from his eyes, "I.....I do not know how to say this....." Ivordir clasped his shoulder warmly, "Have it out, if it will help you." Sainion closed his eyes, "Worse was done to my father than you realize. I...I...." There was a long pause. Ivordir's eyes were brimming with concern, "You told me that he overheard Ballithor. And so, to extort your family, you were drafted." "I did not tell you what he did to my father when he overheard. He reached for him, shoving him against a wall. He nearly killed him...." Ivordir stared into the flames that were reflecting on his face, shadows flickering in the still, dark chamber of the barracks. He closed his eyes, "Spare me the details............... I I think I understand....................... Ballithor ordered me to......... well, .......................................................................................................................................do not worry about this right now..................... It will become a problem when we reach Harad." "Harad?" "Harad has crept north across the ages. They will likely cross the Poros yet again. Harondor is likely overrun................... some of those men may know............. of something that we must know.......................... and Ballithor gave me certain orders............... of how to gain this knowledge from captured Haradric prisoners, oh........ I cannot bare to say it further......................................." Sainion nodded, and after long silence, reflected: "...Ballithor is a terrible man........" "I know..... and I know not why Yucalwe dared to trust him. Brave Ranyaro....." "Yuc...who? My father overheard that name!" "Oh no.............. Ballithor............ did you truly dare to think that you could harm innocents over a name so pure......... and yet conflicted..... I will tell you the story, Sainion, the story your father was nearly killed over. You have the right to know. And Ballithor was cruel to harm you thus. SHAME! SHAME on what he has done..................... for a tale far greater than he will ever be.................. Are you ready to listen?" Sainion nodded, almost eagerly. "In the First Age of this world, there was a grave lord of Elves, of the Noldor. He dwelt in Himring and he served Nelyafinwe. He fell out of favor nigh Doriath and began to serve his honor. Long he wandered, throughout the ages. He led a contingent in the Last Alliance, and one whom I should not name hither ruined them all. And he wandered yet again, for ages and ages. In time, he encountered Dol Amroth, dwelling in a cave astride the shoreline. And that is where the Silver Swan enters..." "But the Silver Swan is the standard of all our people. The people of Dol Amroth. You know this..." "Indeed, it stands tall and proud on Prince Imrahil's standards...." "Then why would a noble house chiefly take that name?" "A valid question........... but I am beginning to suspect............... that pride might have had something to do with it. Vanity and pride. They might have claimed to speak for all of Dol Amroth, when they are but one noble house among many others." "Why would the Prince, meaning any Prince of Dol Amroth in the lineages, allow for such a thing...?" "Perhaps he, or they, did not know. Or that there were too many important matters to consider, vastly more important than house-naming. Perhaps it was perceived as an act of the purest form of loyalty, to deny uniqueness in one's House Standard...................... and maybe that was the original Founder's intention. Yucalwe told me what he knew, and Ballithor's forefathers............. well, it is best we refrain from talking about that House for now. But let me continue with our greater story. The elf was Yucalwe to some, Ranyaro to others. He is the Prince of Twilight, the Wanderer beneath the Moon. Many throughout the history of the Silver Swan, Ballithor's forefathers, knew of him. Long he dwelt in secret, long after the Elves abandoned Edhellond. And he was hidden from all other mortal eyes. But then over nineteen years ago, he vanished from Gondor, forced to depart by forces that were far beyond his power or control. This must have dampened Ballithor's spirit, though I cannot know for certain. He is a hard, stern man, as you know. It is hard..................and it would grieve Ranyaro, to see who Ballithor is today........ short are the years of Men for Elves.......... but long and storied are they, for us............." "It....... it is all very strange to me, my Captain......... by right of honor, I should be trying to fight you, to thwart you.......... but you, you are not Ballithor....... you are not like him......... why do you obey him?" "We are given choices, and there are times when we are forced to choose, even between undesirable options." "Then what are, or were, the other options?" "My dear Sainion, they are simply thus. To condemn an entire host of Elves. To condemn all this world to shadow. Or, to do what Yucalwe Ranyaro has ordered..... has ordered us, to do. We must fight this foe. Or all the world will be in darkness." "So this is about the Black Land, our need to fight.............?" "Yes, for the world in darkness part. But there is another, less widespread in influence, less powerful, but dangerous....... this foe who corrupts mortal hearts and sways them to his bidding. No, he cannot conjure an army of Orcs with which to overrun the world. But he can corrupt men, he can speak to the dark seeds of the first evil that fought the Powers. And so we must contend with him. It is the way of things. To seek tidings of him, is why we march. The hidden mission." "And how can we, mortal men, face such a foe?" Ivordir's eyes glistened in the light of the fire, "With hope." But Sainion trembled with fear, and in a sudden motion, he was embraced by Ivordir. And Ivordir saw in him a younger brother, as they were not many years apart in age. Sainion entered into shock, beginning to push against him, "Wait.... don't.... what are you.....?" Ivordir paused, slowly ceasing his embrace, realizing that Sainion could not yet understand. Smiling, Ivordir gently spoke, laying a hand of trust on Sainion's shoulder: "You have nothing to fear. I learned this from the Eldar..... it is a sign of familial affection, nothing more.... and nothing less......" Sainion deeply sighed, but then, after a long pause............. he began to smile, "I believe that...... I should trust you. Were you..... ever embraced in such a way? Did the Eldar truly......?" Ivordir nodded reassuringly, "Many times. It frightened me at first....... we are not used to such closeness......... we prefer to feel aloof......... severed.............." "Like Ballithor.............." Sainion suddenly returned the embrace completely. Crimson became wrapped in crimson in their near-familial embrace, a motion that astonished Ivordir at first, as gradually, he felt an inner spring of love, as if between brothers and friends, sons and fathers, all burst in his heart, overflowing with the desire to protect........ to save...... to preserve from harm......... to cherish, and to serve...... It was a feeling he had not felt since he dwelt among the Eldar. And then: "If it comes to it........... and there is naught between you, and that horrid, spear of death......... I will toss myself before it, taking the blow............ and this, I promise you..............." At those words, uttered from Ivordir's trembling, soothing lips, soft tears flowed warmly from Sainion's eyes, gently down his cheeks, framing his face. And Ivordir finally understood why Auruiron had sacrificed immortal bliss, the West, and eternity....... for the hope of Macalaure. Edited by Ivordir, May 3 2015, 10:42 PM.
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| Ivordir | May 4 2015, 04:35 PM Post #40 |
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Chapter XXXIX: In Darkened Halls Baralinor sat pensively on a bench behind a column in the central chamber of the Ethring barracks. Brastor approached him, pacing from the left. The flames of hearths flickered in reddish lights along the pillars, forming vast shadows in the darkened halls. Brastor smirked, "Hail, boy. What's the word?" "I sent my raven at sunset." "And no one saw?" "Nay..." Brastor scratched his chin, gazing at Baralinor intently: "Any replies?" Baralinor nodded, "We are to move at dawn." Brastor nodded coldly, with a gleam in his eyes. "Aye. How long's this farce goin' to continue, eh?" "Long enough, my friend. Long enough. Imagine my foolish ancestors. Believing in such a...... traitor of ages past. Our blood spilled! Chasing shadows." "Ivordir is -our- captain, and ye will obey him, if I have anything to say about it." "Do not make threats at me, Brastor. He is our captain and we owe him loyalty. He is my friend." "Is he....?" Baralinor nodded, "And we must always do what is best for our friends." "What did yer father's letter say?" "We are to enforce his orders. Whether our captain enjoys it or not. We are to remind him of his patrons. Hopefully, he will simply do it, follow them. But if he does not... we will make him. But let us not try to force it first. Let's work on him. Persuade him. I know a few tales I heard from sailors who made it back from Umbar, when Thorongil led them to victory." "Thorongil was a myth. You know that. A myth to keep our forces goin' strong." "The Steward claims it was not..." "Of course he did." "Clever..... more clever than my father." "Remember who yer father's right-hand truly is, boy." "And you will do well to remember who -will- lead the Silver Swan, after his passing." "I don't like yer talk, boy." "Nor I, yours. Be careful, or you may find yourself serving as 'right-hand' to someone else. Such as Sainon. And you remember..." "Don't speak that name so loudly. His son's in these halls. You know this." "Good. Let him remember what happens to those who spy on the Silver Swan." Brastor laughed grimly, "You talk tough, Heir of the Silver Swan. But remember who served Imrahil long before you were born. Remember who could yet have his ear, besides yer father. I may be an old warrior, but I know my forces, my allegiances, my sovereigns. If you want yer House to live on and strong, yer goin' to have to make concessions. Yer father rules by extortion. But we are a people of laws, the sons of Elros of the old legends. Men of Numenor. Don't you forget that fact, boy. Don't you forget that fact. Don't you forget what happened to the King's Men when they disobeyed the Powers. Don't forget, its the Eldar who gave us this job. The Eldar of legend. My father's forefathers served him proudly. And I expect the same from you. I don't give a rat's dung-heap what yer father thinks about it. He's far away, in Dol Amroth by the sea, eatin' his mornin' feasts and drinkin' his wine. But yer with me, boy. Out here in the Ringlo Vale, surrounded. And I'm goin' to keep my sharp eyes on you." "Always fast and quick to assert conclusions. Yes, Brastor. Do you think I do not know what game you are playing? Have you forgotten why my father sent us here?" Brastor shook his head, "I'll only obey the orders of yer father himself. Now give me that letter before I have to rip it from ye hands after I've knocked ye out cold on the floor. You're not my Lord yet." Edited by Ivordir, May 26 2015, 08:51 PM.
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12:43 AM Jul 11