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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 (4,120 Views) | |
| Ivordir | Oct 6 2015, 09:26 PM Post #381 |
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Chapter CCLXII: Son of Ithilien In western Tumladen, Circhon's Lord-Father had gone to bed, and Arhbaineth and Sainion heard a knock at their guest-chamber door. Circhon came-in, revealing his talent for revelry, while his strength-obsessed father slept. They sat as the fresh, red wine danced and twirled in their glasses as if a cloak. Circhon told them his family history, that he had been of a noble and storied line that had lost most of its former glory, and that this was due to the rise of Morgul. He spoke of his gallant ancestors, some of whom had fought in the Battle of the Camp, in the lands of Rhovanion far away, and at the Battle of the Crossing of Poros. He spoke of the scents of birch, oak, and pine, and of the varied types of trees in the Lands of the Moon. Sainion told him of Mithon, which made Circhon proud and eager to join with them. But Sainion needed to sway him further, for Circhon knew many young nobles in the Vale. Sainion began with tales of the Eldar of old, delighting Circhon's mind. And he told Circhon everything in the most tactful and gentle ways, slowly working, step by step, up to the Third Age. Circhon believed every word. His lord-father had taught him how to detect a lie. At first, he was wary, for Elvish witchcraft was feared in Gondor, but he also longed to understand, and through that longing, his fears were slowly, and yet swiftly, put at ease. "Let me see this majestic cloak," he finally spoke. Arhbaineth unfurled it from her pack. Circhon asked to wear it, and Sainion clasped it around his shoulders. Circhon felt lordly and princely. He strutted to and fro across the room, delighting the couple as they watched. He played with it, making them laugh. Black and crimson-ruby silk poured and spilled and billowed and spread around the room. Circhon claimed that he had never felt so innocent before. Soon, they were all reclining alongside each other, the cloak draped across them. Circhon did not want to leave them, but took courage, returning to his own chamber. Arhbaineth smiled, "We have done it, my love............." Sainion smiled, "My dear sweet beauty....." And it was the night of the 21st, when they fell asleep. Edited by Ivordir, May 3 2016, 09:29 PM.
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| Ivordir | Oct 6 2015, 10:41 PM Post #382 |
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Chapter CCLXIII: Fall of Gurth That day, their travel was uneventful. Saelbainor and the others had tired feet and muscles, but the guards had largely deterred the arrival of any foes against their train. They were now halfway to Tumladen from Pelargir. They took their night's rest in a fair glen beneath the pine-trees. The sweet scent of pine stimulated the air. But mountain winds blew cold from the Ered Nimrais. Saelbainor tossed and turned in his sleep, the memories of his childhood torturing him. He remembered the sound of that crack of the whip. He remembered the consistent drills. He found himself repeating the words of service to Sauron in his sleep, but something halted it. He awoke from his slumber and decided that he needed some air. He left Duvaissel behind, asleep, and crept out of hiding. There was a bare hill nearby, the grass swaying in the winds of night. The perimeter of protectors was farther beyond it. The sky was cloudless, and the moon poured forth its light upon the hill-top, the blackness of Saelbainor's silk glowing in a pale-blue marked by veins and rivers of moonlight. He outspread his arms, his cloak pouring behind him in its billows, "Oh powers of the West.... bastion of moonlight. I plead to thee! Wrest me from these false lies that were my life!" A great gust of wind billowed his cloak as churned and twirled and flew behind him in the wind, as if he were a majestic Numenorean Prince, pleading penitently, glorious and ancient. For penitence was the true beauty, its deepest heart, the marrow of its being. Beautifully he stood, in an epiphany of beauty. It was a beautiful sight to behold. The black molded in the nightly shadows, as gold streamed behind him, the moonlight now beaming deeply upon him. He heard soft feet creep around him. He saw Isenadin and Daechon appear at his left and right. Isenadin had stirred in his sleep, hearing the louder footfall, and they had followed Saelbainor. The cloak brushed against their faces as they silently approached, a feeling of reverence growing in their hearts. They loved Amarthon and his brothers, and the thought of their reunification made their hearts churn with sorrow, as they wondered how they might redeem them. Isenadin smiled, "I heard that voice of yours....... you must not be so hard on yourself!" Saelbainor's eyes were glistening. Daechon nodded, "We are truer brothers now... we are here for you." This made Saelbainor shed warm tears in earnest. They hid themselves beneath Saelbainor's warm wings, embracing him closely. Duvaissel crept-up from behind, uplifting his cloak, for she had overheard most of it. She, herself, had struggled to fall asleep. She came with Himelon and Rostiel, who aided her, spreading-wide the beauty. Saelbainor soon drowned himself in a sea of tears and kisses, the bonds of loyalty wrapping around them ever tighter, intertwining the fabric of their souls and hearts. And they performed a dance beneath the moonlight. And when they returned into the tent, they all rested alongside each other, wrapped in the cloaks of Saelbainor and Duvaissel, cuddling close together. They all kissed each other on the cheek. They all molded portions of the cloaks into majestic billows and plumes. And there they settled within the gold beneath the black. Isenadin crawled through the cavernous folds of golden silk beneath the black. He crawled through billow after billow, fold after fold, kissing them in a state of innocence. He found Saelbainor, rising to his face. Saelbainor smiled, "....Ninniachon.... my dear Isenadin........" Isenadin smiled, "I have a gift for you..." Isenadin then spread his own cloak above and around their heads. And Saelbainor felt gentle lips, as Isenadin's voice spoke: "Receive the kiss of mercy.....our truest beauty...." They embraced each other tightly beneath the folds. Finally, Saelbainor sighed, "Oh..... if only the others had discovered what we have........" Isenadin spoke sorrowfully, "They made their choices...... their wounding, terrible choices......" "But we are complicit in those choices...... I lead them there......." "But it was -we- who chose to follow.............................................." Isenadin kissed his cold, pale cheek, bearing deeper warmth beneath his darkened eyes. Saelbainor gently returned the gesture. It was all chaste, all ever chaste... all brotherly affection. Isenadin climbed back down, his heart swooning from fold to fold. He cradled himself between Daechon and Saelbainor, the cloak was uplifted and slightly withdrawn, for the air had grown suffocating, and they all cuddled close together, with each other. And Duvaissel deeply kissed Saelbainor, for his love was the only thing that prevented her from dreaming terrible dreams, of the death of Morchon. She remembered Morchon's vain flourishes and how she had loved them.... and how, in a vain flourish, he perished... Saelbainor gently stroked her hair. And Himelon did the same with Rostiel. Their hearts pulsed in their deepening love. And all of them were no longer afraid of the long marches that made their legs ache. They no longer feared the hot sun or the teeming rain. They stuck to the road, avoiding the wild brush, save when it was time to camp. Unified in their glittering, radiant drapes, their vast, outspread capes, of dreams... they fell asleep in the life and spirit of the Faithful. Edited by Ivordir, Nov 19 2015, 12:32 AM.
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| Ivordir | Oct 7 2015, 10:28 AM Post #383 |
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Chapter CCLXIX: Basking in Sunlight At dawn, they anointed themselves with their oils from their cart. And they returned to that hill, performing a dance to greet the sun. The guards were patient and gratified. They had varied their shifts and gained enough sleep. Some of them remained asleep for a few more hours. And this time, Duon assisted in their ritual. It was a display of deepest majesty. After their dance, they all rested themselves on the hillside, their gold gleaming as they basked in the morning sunlight. Rostiel rested gently in Himelon's tough and tender arms. They kissed each other tenderly, their hearts throbbing as they smiled. She hold onto him as tightly as she could, remembering her parents' initial threats against them in her sorrow. She spoke, ".....will our safety last, my love?" "I hope it will......." "How can this be............ our success flies in the face of everything and everything..........I...I do not think I could live without you....." "Nor I you, my deepest beloved......." The sunlight gleamed on the red hints of her hair. They had been careful not to seek further depth. They wished to be wed before they had any children. Edited by Ivordir, Oct 7 2015, 02:31 PM.
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| Ivordir | Oct 7 2015, 04:01 PM Post #384 |
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Chapter CCLXX: Cloaked Sisters Duvaissel beckoned to Rostiel. They had bonded closely in secret through the past months. Duvaissel, ever dominant, draped the right-fold of her cloak across Rostiel's right shoulder. Rostiel had ever felt comfortable beneath her wing. They had ever laughed, hidden in the darkness of the cloak. They had grown-out their hair long, raven and golden-brown, hiding their tresses beneath their outer-clothes. This, too, had won the hearts of Morchon and Himelon. Rostiel felt sorrowful for Duvaissel. Duvaissel felt mixed emotions. She envied the woman she had adopted as her sister, she envied the fact that her beloved was still alive, and yet she also felt happy for them, and wished for their preservation, so that they would not suffer from the same loss that she, Duvaissel, had suffered. Duvaissel hid her envy, not wishing to harm her sister. Rostiel ever felt enamored and entranced beneath her sister's wings. They walked onto another nearby hilltop, away from the young men. The wind whipped and billowed their precious capes. Duvaissel felt both pain and pleasure. Her envy was as if a dagger inside her heart. Her love was as if a healing salve. But the wound could not be healed, with the dagger still implanted, beneath the salve. The salve kept her alive. The wind blew their ruffled hair. They smiled at each other. Duvaissel clasped her sister on the shoulder, "Are you enduring?" "Yes.... I am........." ".........as am I........" They leaned on each others' shoulders, burying their faces in their precious, silky hair. The sunlight made Rostiel's hair shine and reflect as if a fiery gold. Duvaissel's hair was filled to the brim with shapeless pools and rivers of gleaming light. Her darker shade of skin gleamed as if it was painted gold. They laughed and smiled. They continued to stride atop the hill, out of view from the road. And they unfurled each others' tresses, so that they glowed in their beauty, pouring as if outer cloaks, flowing down their shoulders. The foul incantations of the past arose in Duvaissel's mind, making her stomach churn all the more. Rostiel could see that she was troubled. She grasped hold of Duvaissel tightly, but Duvaissel suddenly pushed her away. She gazed at Rostiel in shock, "....I am sorry... please forgive me....I...." Rostiel nodded compassionately, "There is nothing to forgive. These past few days have been hard on all of us......" Duvaissel knelt before Rostiel, "I would like to take a vow...... to never push you ever again.........." Rostiel laughed, "Don't do that...... you might need to give me a push in order to save my life someday." "Very well, I will not do it." "I appreciate it, all the same......" Duvaissel rose, pressing her nose against hers, as they laughed. Duvaissel grinned, "We Ladies must support each other........" There was a great gush of wind, their hair and cloaks were gushing, pouring, swimming around each other, as if they possessed cognizance of their own. They billowed wildly in their moment of freedom. Here was neither the stern rebukes and reproaching of their parents, nor the crushing claustrophobic pressure of their corsets, nor the stilted attention to the placement of utensils at the table, nor the constrained manner in which they had to curtsy, and speak in formal tones. It was due to these constraints, and their desire for freedom, that they were seduced by the free-flowing capes and dances, the fanatical rage before the altar of Morgoth. But then the altar had repressed virtue in their hearts, ever bringing their desires to ruination. It was then that they embraced each other, horrified, at the revelation of the curse that had marked their spirits, the curse from which they had been freed, through the recent powers that they beheld. The sunlight now beamed upon that hilltop, burning brightly, illuminating them. They felt as if they were young girls again. And in their innocence and mirth, they spread wide their cloaks in the sunlight, basking not in their appearance, but in the newly-found innocence that they embodied. And they sang a remembrance, a hymn, for the ladies and girls of Numenor, the unacknowledged heroines who had kept their children away from the King's Men, who had organized their households, who had preserved their cultures, and who had prepared the ships, so that the strong men could sail all the Faithful away to safety. They sang for the old women who had kept their faith in the West alive within their households. They sang for the bravery that they had forgotten. They stared into each others' grey and starry, glistening eyes. They kissed each others' cheeks ecstatically, as the ecstasy of their spirits seized hold of their entire beings. They embraced each other tightly. "My precious...." "My precious..." Duvaissel laughed, "My precious Princess....." Rostiel laughed, equally in her bliss, "My precious Queen...." They processed back down the hill together, as graceful as princesses, and as gallantly as queens. And as the others stood and stretched their arms, they beheld the approach of the sisters, stunned as they approached, spreading their silk before them. And Saelbainor and Himelon knelt at the feet of their beloved loves. Isenadin, Daechon, and Duon all knelt as well, in the purest, deepest awe. They all embraced each other soon thereafter. Many a soldier had despaired on duty, and many a soldier had grumbled and complained about the long night-shifts and little recognition other than a soldiers' pay. But even they felt compelled to bend the knee, when they had witnessed the miraculous occurrences only days beforehand. And now, they bent the knee again, love blossoming in their souls. Saelbainor nodded to the others, and they all approached the soldiers who were watching them in such awe, and each soldier could not fight the tears in his eyes, as he was gracefully and deeply embraced by one of noble blood, in gratitude for their long watches and protection. Their entire Company was then united, unified in purpose, and in the bonds of love that were now woven into the hidden fabric that bound them all together. Daechon and Isenadin whispered something to Saelbainor, who nodded in agreement. At nightfall in their camp, they would dazzle and entertain the troops, in reward for their service. And they would hold -two- performances, so that half of them were ever on-guard, protecting the camp. They would love their protectors, by serving them, as their protectors loved them, by serving them. Edited by Ivordir, May 6 2016, 10:04 PM.
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| Ivordir | Oct 7 2015, 04:33 PM Post #385 |
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Chapter CCLXXI: A Watchful Night The day had passed, relatively uneventful. They had traveled north along the long road, dressed in shepherds' clothes, while the soldiers disguised themselves as well, wool covering their coats of mail. Their swords were hidden. Every hour that passed on their tired feet, the Ered Nimrais drew nearer and nearer, above the line of fir and pine. They neared the final stretch of fertile, green, lush and hilly plains before the larger foothills of the mountains. The sparrows were singing as they flew by. But the melancholy cry of gulls was now far away. They camped in another dell, formed by the hills, a half a mile or so from the road. The fabric floors were re-spread, the posts knocked again into the soil, and the tents raised. But they left a clear spot on the grass, before the hill, where the soldiers could sit. They spread mats of woven cloth onto the grass, forming a stage. The sun was setting, as the soldiers' gazed in wonder and awe, at Daechon's performance, and how Isenadin maintained the illusion of unnatural movements of the cloak. They were performing The Glory of Numenor. The rest of the players played the Elves of Tol Eressea. They gifted gems, symbolizing the palantiri, to Saelbainor, who played Elros. The soldiers all applauded with a standing ovation as the story concluded, a beautiful reminder of the glory of their past. The guards switched positions in their shifts, and the performance happened again, with the same heights of awe and ecstasy. Rather... would I play Elros, than the Dark Lord.... Saelbainor thought. Himelon and Duon distributed the ale from the cart, and there still much a plenty, for they had rationed it on their journey. When the performance was over, the guards shifted again for the night-shifts, as the nobles vanished in the folds of their tent. They repeated their rituals of mirth and protection. Isenadin hid once more beneath Daechon's cloak as they kissed each other on the cheek. They would look forward to the following day, when they might finally reach Tumladen, where Malnoron's spies had reportedly found Amarthon, sighting him standing in full view of a window of a manse. Saelbainor knew full well who these spies were. One of the soldiers was pacing to and fro atop the hill in the darkness, when he saw a flickering, flaming light on the distance hill-top, as if it was levitating in the shadows. He quickly found Duon and made his report. As they continued to scout, they suddenly noticed another hill-top, where yet another flame was visible. And then they saw another, and another, and another. They recalled the entire watch to their position, and watched as the flames, one by one, suddenly vanished. A cold chill flowed down their spines. Gracefully under the pressure, one of the soldiers ran into the dell, and told the others their danger. Isenadin hid himself with fright, as the thought of a cold blade piercing his skin, shedding his blood, terrified him. But Himelon, Saelbainor, and Daechon, all put-on their armor, as the Ladies and Isenadin grabbed their knives, gathering in the middle of the tent from back to back. The horses were neighing and stamping their feet frantically, trying to break away from their tethers. The soldiers' tents had been set aflame. Men rushed to pour whatever liquid they had on the fires, but the ale only made the fires worse. The still, night air, burst with the chaotic clash of blades, the sound of blades thrashing on shields, the guards forming shield-wall formations, the ladies stabbing unknown foes in their eyes, slippery and slick as they slipped-in close before their foes' blades could decapitate their bodies. The horses broke free and ran away. Saelbainor himself slew the commander of the opposing force. Malnoron had only sent a smaller troop of men, thinking hireling guards and a few nobles to be weak enough. At dawn, it was a bloody mess. Rostiel had pulled the tent down in the midst of the chaos, gathering it away from the flames. It was now their only tent. The cart with the valuables had remained untouched, for the goal of their foes was to destroy lives, and take the spoils later. But those thirty guards were not hirelings or mercenaries. They were soldiers. And Malnoron's crooked agents, one hundred strong, now lay dead, bloodying the grass before them. The air reeked of death. Rostiel and Duvaissel tried to run up the hill and vomited. And yet, they noticed something miraculous: none of -their- men had died, though plenty were scratched and wounded in minor ways. There was an ocean's worth of crying and lament. As they inspected the dead, Isenadin came across a soldier, who was still alive, gasping for breath. But he was dying. The soldier spoke as he wept, "......now I will never see my love again........ Malnoron was a liar............." Isenadin grasped his hand, weeping also, "I know.......... I served him once, but no more......." "Then you have done what I could not............ you were the one whom I was told to kill................" Isenadin gently stroked the soldier's wet, sweaty hair, as a small trail of blood poured out of the corner of the soldier's mouth, as warring thoughts of love and vengeance warred within Isenadin's warring mind. Part of him wished to stab the soldier, gaining the pleasure of revenge. But when he saw that they had miraculously survived, another part of his heart was stirred, longing to forgive. Love overpowered hatred in a sea of sorrow. Isenadin leaned closely on the soldier, rubbing his forehead, "I forgive you.......... know that you are forgiven, I know this, I believe this...... accept it....." "I would nod if I could," the soldier weakly gasped. Isenadin deeply kissed the soldier, "Receive the kiss of mercy......." The soldier gazed upward, as if he saw something, or someone, approaching. He gasped, "It.....is......beautiful.........................................................................................................................................thank you.............................................................................." Breathe ceased to flow from his lungs. Isenadin buried his head in the soldier's chest, weeping, more wrathful in his thoughts toward Malnoron, and the deep, dark shadow of the East. He raised his head, and saw another gasping soldier, similar in age to the one who had died. Isenadin ran over to him. He girded his heart, gulping, for he had long feared the sight of blood. He pulled back the mail, despite his fear, and saw that the wound was only minor. The soldier gasped, "I heard........ everything........................." Isenadin smiled through his tears. The soldier smiled, "..........................................he was my brother in arms........................................." Isenadin nodded, "I forgive you also............................................................................................................." The soldier scowled, "That pompous lord! He tricked us into deceiving our own countrymen!!!!!!" Isenadin worked on bandaging the wound with woolen cloth. The soldier smiled, "Let me now live for my fallen brother........... I beg of you..........................................................................." "And what is thy name, Sire?" Isenadin smiled, grief and happiness intermingling in a strange and churning sea of contradictory emotions. "..........Palanelon..................." The wound was bandaged. Isenadin nodded, "I will remain beside you..... I will protect you....... let us remain here, until I may speak to our leader, Saelbainor.........." Palanelon nodded. And the rest of them, in whatever ways they could, worked to salvage what could be salvaged from the gear of their slain, leaving their personal heirlooms of value, and buried them, singing old Gondorian songs of mourning and lament. Many of the opposing soldiers were young. Many of them had similar features to those of Daechon and Saelbainor and Himelon. Saelbainor stared into the dead commander's eyes: It was Dochon. And when they buried him, his velvet cloak with the sigil of Castamir sinking into the soil, they sang the hymn of Gondor that King Eldacar, slayer of Castamir, had written. But it was not sung out of disdain, but from sorrow. The men were buried with honor, their sword-hilts pointing out of the soil as grave-markers. They salvaged what they could. The cloaks were unharmed, and the central tent only had soot and footprints covering its canvas. They loaded-up the cart again. They heard the sound of neighing. There, standing on the hilltop, were their loyal horses, their manes and skin shining golden-brown in the sunlight. Duon smiled, petting them, and they were returned to the cart. Their horse-shoes were worn, but they remained strong. Saelbainor sat solemnly because Isenadin and Palanelon, as he heard Isenadin's tale. Saelbainor nodded, "I was once Gurthbainor the Cruel.......... the Terrible.......... and who am I, who have found mercy, to deny mercy to another, who is in grave need, of mercy? Come!" And they both helped Palanelon to stand on both his feet. It was time to leave their grief behind them. They girded themselves and continued on their way. Edited by Ivordir, Apr 20 2016, 02:18 PM.
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| Ivordir | Oct 7 2015, 04:55 PM Post #386 |
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Chapter CCLXXII: Plans Solidified By the time Arhbaineth and Sainion had returned to the main manse with Circhon, they had come with over thirty recruits. Many were the noble sons who wished to risk their lives for Gondor, bored with peaceful lives within their manses, balls, and feasts. Their fathers agreed that it was necessary for their noble bloodlines to be risked, though it gravely grieved many of their gracious hearts. But out of duty for their country, they obeyed. The closer one got to Minas Tirith, the bonds of loyalty grew ever higher and passionate, loyal to the dream and the promise of the restoration of Gondor's glory. Their fathers were invited to come to a special Council, which would be held several days later. But for now, on February 23rd, their sons would go in advance. Many of the noble fathers had encouraged their sons, appealing to their courage. And after their entrancement in the presence of Sainion's cloak, and their awe and wonder at the tales that were told, many of them sought to go, willingly. Some of them, however, were not the heirs to their households, but second and third-born. And many more even still were the noble houses who had turned Arhbaineth and Sainion away, out of skepticism, out of fear, or out of pure rage. They were granted common sleeping rooms in the manse, for there were many noble sons, and not as many rooms. And Ivordir began, with Mithon, plotting their course through Ithilien, planning on the division of their Company: of who would proceed directly to Minas Tirith, versus those whom would brave the terrors and toils of the Moon-Land, beneath the shadow of Morgul. Edited by Ivordir, Dec 6 2015, 12:47 PM.
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| Ivordir | Oct 7 2015, 08:53 PM Post #387 |
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Chapter CCLXXIII: Baralinthor Baralinor had remained aloof from the rest of his companions, breathing slowly, meditating, and attempting to find himself in the wake of the loss of his Household. No longer could he rely or trust in the Silver Swan. He had no home to return to. And the thought made his heart ache. He had fallen back into self-pity. He had endured many sleepless nights, and slept through entire portions of the passing days, out of mere exhaustion. He had lost sight of the daily cycle of life and living. The only constant was the black and red-lined silken cloak, the powerful embodiment of Yucalwe's trust. But Abrazan, too, kept himself aloof, pondering the road ahead. He had watched the procession of the noble sons in awe, heads of silky and curly hair in varying shades of black and brown came marching into the manse, their heads glistening in the sunlight. Some of them had shorter beards, and some of them were already growing longer, and the length of their hair varied. Their procession was noble and majestic, a rainbow of colors, for they processed in their finest robes and cloaks. Their traveling garb was carried on their backs, attached to their packs: tunics and armor of the finest leather. Some of them had grumbled under the weight, while others endured it. Lord Brenion had welcomed them warmly. There was a fine reception. The wine was poured, the ladies danced, and celebration was in the air. But Baralinor felt away from it all. At nightfall on the 23rd, Baralinor wandered alone, on the same balcony upon which Mithon had beheld the old glory of Numenor reflected in the folds of Amarthandor's cloak. Baralinor paced to and fro. "Hello my dear friend." The voice startled him. "You have been so aloof......... what is the matter?" Baralinor shrugged his shoulders. Sainion nodded, "The past weeks have been trying on us all....... I know not whether or not my Lord Father still lives, or if Ballithor has killed him........" Baralinor turned away, "Better a dead and honorable man, than a living horror................" "Oh............. so that is why you are so aloof.................................. it is hard, I understand." "No, you do not. Your father is virtuous, your father is honorable, your father was unjustly tortured, by my cruel, horrid, Udun of a father......." "There is no need to curse............" "I am cursed...... my bloodline is cursed......... everything I am is cursed..................." "Stop saying that right now!" A deeper, yet young voice, came from behind them. Abrazan's eyes gleamed, "I thought we discussed these matters..........." Baralinor sighed, "They have returned." Abrazan came and stood beside them, so that Baralinor stood in the middle, as they gazed at the moon and stars. Abrazan nodded, "I lost my family a long time ago. I never truly knew my parents. My village is gone, scorched. But I learned to find family, yet again, in others whom I have loved, my elvish father, and you...... my brother. And all of you are my family now. I feel the pain of my loss when I reflect, but I do not pity myself. I pity my parents, who had died a terrible death." Baralinor grew angry, "WHOM SHALL I PITY?" "......Your family," Abrazan spoke in a matter-of-fact tone. "Oh yes. Pity the torturer. I pity Sainion's father." "You should pity him too." "AND WHOM ELSE SHOULD I DARE PITY, IF NOT MYSELF?!" "The starving children of Harad, the brainwashed young boys who become the Enemy's servants, the various abused tribeswomen of the Haradrim, the abused sons of the Variag hordes, the far-deceived Easterlings beneath strange stars, and every starving and suffering man, woman, and child, regardless of race, throughout the breadth of the Earth. For I am part of their suffering. I am complicit within this." "Oh, yes, such a comforting thought," Sainion spoke smoothly. "But he speaks the truth, Baralinor. Think of Yucalwe, and all he suffered........." "Under the weight of his own Doom," Baralinor muttered under his breath. "I heard that," Abrazan retorted, "What drove this back into you?" Baralinor sighed, "It was never fully driven-out. You speak of it as if a family was a skin, like that of a Black Serpent, Southron! A skin to be shed like a snake's!" A tear fell down Abrazan's golden cheek. Baralinor turned away, "Forgive me, I did not mean............" "...........But you did," Abrazan replied. "But I understand your suffering.................... nor do I claim allegiance to that foul idol of the Black Serpent, that foul masquerade put-on by the Dark Lord...................... nor do I suggest that a family is a skin to be shed. But I do suggest that a family can grow akin to the spreading rays of sunlight at dawn. The rays spread far and wide, like our cloaks. Many can fit beneath the folds. No one can be replaced. But the void of loss can be both known and filled by love............ love those who are dead, but love also the living............ and yes, even love the living from whom you are sundered....................... and no one is irredeemable." Baralinor burst into tears, but Sainion and Abrazan deeply embraced him. Abrazan clasped him on his shoulders, "Do you hear me? You are Baralinthor, my brother................................" "Baralinthor.............................................." Baralinthor mustered a smile, "I will take-on that name with honor.................................................................." Sainion smiled, "I must return to my wife. But you both should keep each other company, I suspect.................... no one should wander alone, especially not in these darkened days............" Abrazan nodded with gratitude, as Sainion departed. And Abrazan uplifted the wing of his cloak, as he and Baralinthor deeply embraced, resting in the ruby-red folds, with their gleaming, bluish lines of light, the scent of roses rising on the nightly breeze. Abrazan took Baralinthor to his room, where they wrapped each other in their cloaks, sleeping chastely alongside each other, with the intention of warding-away the shadows of self-pity and regret, through brotherly love and loyalty. It was a gesture of protection. Peace finally filled their hearts as they closed their eyes. Edited by Ivordir, Oct 7 2015, 08:55 PM.
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| Ivordir | Oct 9 2015, 04:57 PM Post #388 |
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Chapter CCLXXIV: Away to War Ivordir and Glossel were back in Glossel's chamber across the street from Lord Brenion's manse. "And just what do you think you're doing? Leaving me behind on some other.... crusade!" "You know I do not want to, love." "Love? LOVE? Oh, yes, that is correct, the brave lover-hero-soldier always charges-off, and NEVER comes back!" Ivordir stared at Glossel with beaming eyes, speaking deeply and thoughtfully, "And do you truly believe this?" Glossel turned away from him, ".....I.......I do not want to.......I will not be smooth-talked by you into believing that you'll come back.......I've fallen so deeply in love with you... so deeply in love........." "Turn around, my love." He had outspread his cloaks, and Glossel flew into his arms, as they tenderly kissed. She smiled, "Hold me......" "Ever deeply, my love............... and I shall leave one of my cloaks with you, so that I may be with you.................................................................................................." Glossel shook her head, "No............ it is clear to me, that all of this is real............ you wear them both, proudly...................................................................." Ivordir stared into her beaming eyes, realizing how much he loved her. His heart ached. He did not want to leave Tumladen. He buried his head in her cloak of pink silk, deep into the rosy-red heart of its folds, as she wrapped her arms around him. Ivordir suddenly withdrew, "My love...... now you should seek for your sisters........... for you will need to be strong......................" Glossel nodded, kissing him, "Yes.....you are right." Edited by Ivordir, Oct 10 2015, 10:19 AM.
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| Ivordir | Oct 10 2015, 12:10 PM Post #389 |
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Chapter CCLXXV: A Feud Resolved Glossel smiled as she saw Fingaereth and Colhel playing their old games, as Amarthandor and Malfinseron ran with them. Colhel's cape was gliding in the air as Fingaereth reached and pulled. They sighted Glossel, stopping short. Glossel stared at them, "Oh please, please do continue." Colhel frowned. Glossel sighed, "I....I am sorry......" Colhel stared at her coldly, "You may say it a thousand times.... but it will do you no good." Fingaereth turned, "SISTER! STOP IT!" Colhel glared at her, "I am........." Amarthandor clasped his beloved on the shoulder, "After everything I have been through, and the horrors I have witnessed, surely this is not one of them........................calm down. Is there a private, larger space where we can go?" Fingaereth nodded, "My father's cellars...... I'd go there, all the time, to meditate, if I didn't want to go out onto the railing." Glossel smiled mischievously, "Alright, my beauty, lead on." They climbed down the labyrinthine stairs, reaching a vast and empty space. There were upper windows, where the sunlight illuminated the chamber. It frightened Amarthandor. His heart felt cold. The room reminded him of his Lord-Father's basement in Pelargir. Fingaereth smiled, "Amarthandor, can you do me a kind favor?" Amarthandor nodded, unclasping his cloak and re-clasping it onto her shoulders. She outspread her golden wings vast and wide, torrents of light illuminating the gold behind her, lined with bursts of ruby-red. "My love, attend me." At the end of the hall was a stone chair perched upon a flight of steps. Her father had installed it for hidden meetings with noble lords. Brenion had not used it for years, having surrendered his older opportunistic ways. But before the throne, also, was a great pillowed area, a place for his daughter to meditate in comfort. He had wanted his daughter to feel alive and well, esteemed in her beauty. The others sat down comfortably before her, in the place of meditation. But Malfinseron held the cloak behind her, as she walked alongside it, and then in front of it, up the flight of stairs. There, perched at the top, her cloak plunging around the dias, she seemed as if an ancient and revered Numenorean Queen. She even seemed as if the Elves of legend. And Malfinseron bowed before her, kissing her tender feet. Amarthandor's heart pulsed with unease, for it reminded him of the cursed altar. Yet here, there was light, an inversion of the darkness, something to fill the void. But his mind remembered the torture. He and Colhel embraced, as she bundled them closely together in her blue velvet, her orange silken-lining calming them both. "Glossel, come before me," Fingaereth demanded. Glossel obeyed, kneeling before her, her vast pink and rosy silk trailing back to the place of meditation. Fingaereth bade her to rise, "Come and side by my right. My betrothed, to my left." Glossel and Malfinseron obeyed. Fingaereth's eyes were glowing, "Now, outspread my wings, outstretch them so that they cover everything, including the stairs." And now she seemed incredibly tall, her vast beauty spread around her. Her golden-brown hair appeared as if a rich-golden blond, in the sunlight of her transfigured moment. Their hearts were throbbing in an ecstasy. It was as glorious as a master-noble painting. She reveled in her height and beauty, in a playful tenderness. But she kept her face stern in its severity. She deeply wished to end the recurrent feud. Suddenly, she stood, her head completely crowned with gold. "My betrothed, you may sit. Col, come and take his place." Colhel obeyed. Malfinseron sat beside Amarthandor. On the floor, before Fingaereth, the rosy-pink silk met the blue velvet. And Fingaereth commanded, "Uphold my wings." They draped the rear folds of the cloak before the throne, and then, outspread the front-ends, as the rich, ruby-red lining glimmered as if a wide wing-span. Malfinseron and Amarthandor stared in awe. Then Fingaereth declared, "And now, enclose them in front of me." Colhel had finally figured-out what her sister was planning, angst rising in her soul. And yet, she felt calmed, by touching the cloak. It was not long before her and Glossel's eyes met each other. "Embrace and kiss before me," boomed her sister's voice. And Colhel, finally, could not refuse. Colhel and Glossel deeply kissed each other, burying their lips into their cheeks, before their faces vanished beneath the folds in a deep embrace. Fingaereth sighed with relief, and smiled. The sisters began to laugh, emerging from the folds, staring at Fingaereth. Colhel smirked, "Are there any further commands, my Queen?" "Yes," Fingaereth smiled. "I want my betrothed to come and stand before me." They cleared the space as Malfinseron came forward, his face parallel with that of Fingaereth. Fingaereth's lips, glistening with beauty, awaited him. Then they all stood, laughing and smiling, as Fingaereth ran around the room, the cloak billowing and falling behind her, as the others chased her. She glided around the room, spinning and twirling, and Amarthandor was sick at heart beneath the guise of his smile, as he was reminded, painfully, of the evil that he had not only witnessed, but within which he was complicit. As he chased Fingaereth's movements, she reminded him of Ninniachon, and Colhel was her female counterpart of Daechir. Who am I....... am I Gurthbainor? Is there no escape? There was a pleasant scent in the air, as Amarthandor reminded himself, that this was different. This was new. They were dancing in the name of love. The nature of love determined the heart of their dance, as despair was at the heart of his former worship, his dark service to Morgoth. He thought of what he had learned, and began to ruminate... for he knew that Gurthbainor would pose a significant threat. His mind returned to the present. Fingaereth twirled, spinning fast, in a whirlpool of golden, gleaming silk. They all landed in the place of meditation, as they all submerged beneath the cloak. Glossel, Colhel, and Fingaereth cuddled close together, in peace. Edited by Ivordir, Oct 10 2015, 06:36 PM.
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| Ivordir | Oct 11 2015, 12:38 AM Post #390 |
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Chapter CCLXXVI: Deepening Storms In one of the labyrinthine libraries of Pelargir, a cloaked figure processed down into the deep dark. His vast, majestic cloak was held by two younger men: Tinnuchon and Uialchon, identical twins who had been born at twilight, and who had become close to Silevren in his studies. If their names were ever writ in Quenya, the name would have been: "Yucalwe." They greatly admired Silevren, he had told him of his newly-found powers..... they had drunk the bile. Due to Malnoron's treason, Silevren had come to believe that he, himself, should bring the glory of Ar-Pharazon to bear within himself. Descending into the depths of madness, the twilight twins followed him into the abyss, enchanted and entranced. His cloak was lined with a fiery cross between red and orange, but the body of the cloak that covered the lining was of a deep-blue that verged on black. They processed into the bottom portion of the library. The servants had already lit the braziers and dispersed. Silevren's piercing gaze fell upon the text upon the dais before them. He spread his cloak aloft with his arms, "Twilight Brethren.......servants of power..............attend me." The twins had fluffy tufts of silky black hair. They were eighteen years of age. They were wearing similar cloaks, which Silevren had commissioned for them. They outspread the cloak across the floor. Silevren spoke, "Oh Ar-Pharazon, King of Power..... hear now, therein, our plea.........................." As if in answer, a crack of thunder could be heard far outside the library. Silevren whipped around, "Did you hear that?" The twins nodded. Silevren re-approached the text, his voice rising in his swooning infatuation with the myth of power, "Here then, our plea...... that Amarthon be made thy successor." The thunder struck again. Silevren's eyes were swelling with pride, "And that the treachery of Malnoron and Saelbainor's replacement shall be crushed." The thunder struck thrice. It struck no more. Silevren turned in delight, "I told you, my beloved friends........" He spread his cloak aloft once more, and this time, facing them: "Come!" The twins ran into his arms, as silken wings were enclosed around them. They did not feel concerned, for Silevren was of their age. Their bond had grown toward brotherhood. Then they resumed their positions, processing ever deeper, beyond the dais. They caressed the folds of Silevren's cloak with reverence, rubbing it against their faces, as he had bade them. They felt as one and unified. Silevren was their noble, their brother... nay.... their Prince.... they wished to serve him. They wished to bask in his knowledge and in his feigned power. And as with his former brethren, he was a master magician with capes, with appearances, with pageantry. Most pageantry was stilted, uniform, throughout the noble houses he had visited. Many lords preferred furs and velvet over silks. Many more dressed in simplicity, according to what they could afford. To the lords of Umbar, Gurthbainor was young and foolishly naive. They had received his reports, and determined that he was unfit, and that they would have been stabbed by Morgul blades and turned into wraiths if they did not replace him quickly. But they did not count on Silevren. They did not consider the notion that Gurthbainor had been successful in his indoctrination of some of his adherents. Their impatience undid their plot. The Twilight Brothers had been raised through study, for their parents were most fascinated with history. And so they came beneath Silevren's wings. It did not take them long to be entranced. They watched the slippery way in which he moved, how the silks draped behind him, how his beard glimmered... and they wished to shimmer and gleam with him, not only in their appearances, but within their minds..... If Knowledge, to them, had been personified, then his name was their prodigious brother, Silevren, whom they regarded as a genius. He manipulated them to and fro, weaving his webs around them. Edited by Ivordir, Oct 11 2015, 11:04 AM.
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| Ivordir | Oct 11 2015, 12:03 PM Post #391 |
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Chapter CCLXXVII: Silken Shadows As they journeyed deeper among the books, they heard footfalls behind them. They turned around. There was naught but shadow. As they hid in the deeper shadows, they remembered how quickly Morchon had disappeared, how fast he had perished, and their hearts were pounding, in terror for their lives. They had seen various Haradric faces appear in Malnoron's manse, part of a far larger movement of treason. And Malnoron had dropped hints that horrified them. They realized that they could be sacrificed, if the Masters were further displeased with them. Silevren whispered, "With me, quick!" They ran through a maze of bookshelves, and hid behind one on them, in silken shadows, as they all hid beneath Silevren's cloak, terrified that the cold, cruel, painful touch of knives would streak across their throats. They heard the footsteps approaching, closer and closer. They clenched their fists, preparing to charge. They turned the corner. They heard Caldor and Rildis' voices, recognizing them. "SHHH!" Silevren whispered, "Over here!" They vanished beneath the darkness of his cape. Silevren could feel Rildis' warm breath as she whispered, "They've watched us since we've left the manse behind, locking it... we have the capes for the sake of poor Ninni's father... but we also have plenty of rations. Caldor has extra coin." Uialchon whispered, "How far away are they?" Caldor whispered, "They are close. They mean to slay us all for treason." Silevren whispered, "This Library runs into catacombs that have entrances nigh the Twilight Brothers' manse nigh the eastern docks....... we will need to escape by boat." Caldor whispered, "Let us make haste, quickly....... I hear the clanging of doors upstairs." They all quickly folded their cloaks on their arms and began to follow Silevren, whose cloak still flowed freely. He bade the others to clutch his cape. He knew even how to grope his way through the dark, for he had many a time when his tapers had burned-out. The booted footsteps were echoing in the distance behind them. Their hearts froze, but they knew that if they halted, they would lose their lives. They were beyond the braziers and passing into the suffocating darkness. Silevren felt the walls for the touches that had become so familiar to him. They crept along carefully through the shadows, attempting to quicken their pace. The boot-steps had grown far faster, but then, suddenly, they stopped, likely at the borders of the brazier-lights. But then they continued, very slowly. |
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| Ivordir | Oct 12 2015, 12:58 PM Post #392 |
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Chapter CCLXXVIII: Beneath the Cape Silevren whispered, "We have to get off the main path and lose them." They shifted in direction as their sweaty hands clutched the hem of the cape. They turned several corners in the dark, and nestled themselves in a corner. The metal clang of footfalls grew near. They quickly hid themselves beneath the cape, so as to blend-into the shadows. Caldor gripped the hilt of his sword. Rildis held onto Caldor tightly. The footfalls grew louder. They buried their faces in the cloak to mask their breathing. The footfalls ceased. Chills ran down their spines. Tinnuchon and Uialchon drew their daggers. The footfalls were heard again, retreating. They waited till the footfalls slowly vanished from their ears. Silevren whispered, "They know that we are here......." They peered through the cloak and noticed a flaming light flowing between several books. Silevren gazed between them. There was a door lit with flaming braziers beyond it. "Now!" They ran around the book case and charged through the doorway, and the sound of boots reemerged and quickened. Behind them, in the gathering dark, cloaked men appeared, in dark wool, in imitation of the Nazgul. And they bore Morgul blades. And the Master of Umbar appeared behind them, he who had replaced Saelbainor. And the Master uphold a dark, globe-shaped orb. It was a lesser Stone, brought across the sea by surviving King's Men, an artifact of the Eldar that had been corrupted to their fell purpose. The cloaked men suddenly knelt on the floor. A vision grew within their minds. His skin was fair and his hair long, silky, and fertile, with beaming eyes. And his raiment was of many colors, iridescent, vast, and beautiful, lined with a fiery silken gold. He spread his wings as the fabric flickered and bellowed, as his form vanished into complete darkness, forming the slit of an Eye, as the cloak was simultaneously fabric and flame, fair and four. From the deepest shadows, the image of the armored figure appeared, as the armor melted once more into thick silk, his finer form emerging. Whether it was a direct vision of Sauron, or a mere phantasm born from their innermost imaginations, their deepest expectations, their darkest terrors, born from the bile of Guldrambor, none can say. His four-fingered, blackened Hand beckoned to them. Silevren shook his head, "Everyone, fly!!!!" They ran up the stairs and through the vaulted hallways, Silevren grabbing his cloak and wrapping it on his arm as he ran, so as to avoid tripping. They reached a stairwell and climbed, higher and higher, until they emerged on a rooftop in the midst of the thunderous storm. The river was not far below them. Silevren gazed at the sky, and yelled at Caldor, "Re-sheath thy sword! Quick!" And as they began running down the stairs toward the docks, sopping wet, their foes emerged. And as the Lord of Umbar laughed, staring at them as they fled, with his men surrounding him, their fell swords raised toward the skies, there was a crack of thunder, and a great flash. The stone was sundered and collapsed. And naught remained of those foes other than their bones. The Morgul powers rose, and then dissipated. They were gone. And Silevren laughed, "Our King has saved us!" They fled to the House of the Twilight Brothers. They were too tired to charter a night-boat. They changed into drier clothes, resting warmly in the cloaks of the Twilight Brothers. Relieved, they fell asleep in each others' arms. They awoke at mid-day on the next morning. They all kissed each other in the manner in which Gurthbainor had taught them. They sang a hymn of praise to Ar-Pharazon. Then they performed a dance. Cloaks were twirled as they spun. They gathered more supplies, and quickly sailed East along the Anduin, as they dressed in humbler garb, prepared for a long voyage. They had escaped from Malnoron. And Silevren had the remaining phials of bile, secretly attached to a belt beneath his robes. A dark determination had been aroused within his heart, a severe ruthlessness. They would carry forth the plans that Gurthbainor had given unto them. Edited by Ivordir, Apr 20 2016, 02:20 PM.
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| Ivordir | Oct 13 2015, 12:42 AM Post #393 |
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Chapter CCLXXIX: Warriors Back north, deep in the vale of Tumladen, Haedirn spat on the ground, "You're losing focus!" Mithon swung his blade around, "Oh, am I?" Gilorn laughed as he sat on a nearby large boulder. They were down by the river, sparring in turns. Haedirn swiftly parried Mithon's blow, and arced his blade around again. Mithon stepped out of the way and counter-struck as Haedirn deflected his blow yet again. They were wearing their chain-mail hauberks. Haedirn had tied his longer, elder hair in a bun. As they sparred to and fro, they began to speak. Haedirn ground his teeth together, "So, where do you think our journey will lead us?" Mithon smiled as he lunged, "Likely into Ithilien, to my people." Gilorn stared at him quizzically, "And what will that mean?" Mithon sighed as he swung, "Oh, well.... fear not. I believe in Ivordir's Quest." "As do I," Gilorn nodded. His tone was skeptical. "I concur," Haedirn noted, far less skeptical, as he swung again. "But he is inexperienced. Magic cloaks of the Elves or no magic cloaks of the Elves, plenty of ill-turns sure could strike at us." Mithon nodded as they lowered their weapons, "And while such cloaks are bright and beautiful, first for a noble's aged halls....... not so much for the thickets and the bogs and marshes and the fens and forests........certainly not for when a convoy of Haradrim charges through, their tall Mumakil crushing all in their path." Gilorn frowned, "That would be an ill turn. And what of your men?" Mithon heaved a deep sigh as he leaned against the boulder, "That is the trouble.... not all of them are my men, and nor would they want to believe some fanciful tale of Gondorian lords getting shipwrecked up north, just to be rescued by Elves, granted gifts, and returned as safely as they came, to lead a band of men at the behest of a corrupt lord, all the way across Gondor, and all right to fall into our nets........." Haedirn nodded, "Yes....... alas that is so......is there not a way, by honor, to tell the truth, but not in great detail?" Mithon smiled, "There might be. I could tell 'em that we are to investigate a potential shadow, a fell Morgul force or threat, in the hills of Emyn Arnen. It may be dormant and it may be gone, but we must search-out the hills nonetheless. These lords, in their family history, are threatened by it, and they insisted on coming with me!" Gilorn laughed, A truer statement than any I've heard these past few days n'nights. Alright, brave Mithon, its my turn." They resumed sparring as the sun rose overhead. It was now the 24th. Edited by Ivordir, Dec 6 2015, 12:50 PM.
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| Ivordir | Oct 13 2015, 01:11 AM Post #394 |
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Chapter CCLXXX: Eastward Voyage Back south, in a tall ship on the River Anduin, Rildis paced to and fro in her chamber in the noble vessel, as they slowly sailed between Lossarnach and Ithilien. She whipped her cloak around in frustration, flipping her hair. Caldor stood in the doorway, smirking. Rildis sighed, "How did we end-up in this mess?" Caldor laughed, "We slew our enemies, sacrificed innocents, and got betrayed. That is how." Rildis closed her eyes, "And what fate will await us in Minas Tirith?" Caldor blinked, "Victory or death. Did you see how that lightning....." "Do you truly believe that Ar-Pharazon is watching over us?" "Shall we find-out?" "How?" Caldor smirked, "Let me hide with you beneath thy cape...." Rildis smirked, spreading her silken wings, revealing her silver robe, her golden-green cape-lining shining palely in the sunlight through the window, "Come hide with me then, my beauty...." They embraced each other and deeply kissed, turning to gaze out the window at the fair blossoms and trees on the lands to the north. They turned and deeply kissed each others' cheeks, resting in their folds. They only wore their humbler woolen garb when they stood on the deck of the ship. And the ship was bound for Harlond. In the adjacent room, the Twilight Twins stood bathed in the beauty of Silevren's cloak, as Silevren stood between them. The three beheld the same sight out of the northern window. Silevren smiled, "All of this shall be ours one day........my beloved brethren......." Tinnuchon turned, kissing him on the cheek, "Yes, my brother........" Uialchon stared and smiled, "My Prince......" They passed a port-town, and the Banner of the White Tree stood defiantly, tall and billowing against the wind. Silevren scowled and turned away, whipping his Haradric silks behind him. But the Twilight Brothers still stood, mesmerized by the billowing of the banner. Silevren called to them. They turned, to see Silevren's fiery silk billowing from his arms, amidst his silky fair-scented hair and straight beard, all flowing toward the floor. An eighteen year-old, youthful face, was barely visible behind his hair. The twins fell into his arms, his excessive folds cradling their shoulders once more. By now, the ship had passed the banner. Tinnuchon turned around one last time, but then buried himself deep inside the darkness of fiery red silk, nestled as if entrapped within a cave until the end of time. But the banner still billowed against the wind. Edited by Ivordir, Oct 14 2015, 01:11 PM.
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| Ivordir | Oct 14 2015, 11:29 PM Post #395 |
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Chapter CCLXXXI: Lord of the Dreams As Silevren slept, the bile entranced him into a dream. He beheld himself in a magnificent Citadel, walls and floors of golden beauty, and Amanuiron appeared, his hair shining and streaming behind him, a majestic mane atop his cloak that draped and dragged behind him. Amanuiron outspread his wings, "Come............." And Silevren ran up the golden stairs to him, kneeling, "My Lord....." Amanuiron grimly smiled, "My beloved servant..... now know, thereof, that many whom we once believed..... and trusted.... have become our foes. Amarthon is a traitor, he is no longer fit to rule.................." Silevren muttered, "Then....then who?" "You!" Amanuiron spoke slowly and coldly. "This chamber shall be yours." Silevren gasped with excitement, "Are you sure that this will be so?" Amanuiron smiled, "Yes........" And Amanuiron mesmerized him with a spectacular dance, the gold and crimson cloak billowing, before Silevren fell bathed in it, cloaked inside it, rising supremely as he sat on his golden throne. He awoke and arose in haste, awakening the twilight brothers. Silevren turned and told them of his dream, and they bowed before him. Silevren felt content, pride welling in his heart and spirit, as they exalted him. |
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| Ivordir | Oct 16 2015, 08:00 AM Post #396 |
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Chapter CCLXXXII: A Newer King Silevren processed warmly around the small chamber, as the brothers stared at him on their knees. His long silky hair and beard gleamed. His cloak glittered. And his eyes were shining. He billowed his cloak around them, sweeping it over them, and then he began to spin in his mirth, a sparkling delight to their eyes. His hair flew, flickering in the air as he spun, before he leaped among them, as they rested themselves deeply against his beard, his silken robes, his chest, bathing each other deeply within the shelter of their cloaks. Silevren's voice lapped upon their minds as gentle waves of power, "My beloved brethren..........." Uialchon uttered, "You are.....most beautiful........my prince..... my King......" Tinnuchon smiled, "We will protect you......." He strengthened his grip around them, "Do you know who I am?" Tinnuchon muttered, "Silevren the Wise?" "Not anymore........for my true identity hath been revealed unto me................I am the reincarnation of Ar-Pharazon the Great. And we shalt defeat the pretender, Amarthon." Neither twin questioned him. He outspread the wings of his cloak in silken majesty, sparkling blue lined with flaming, bright red, as the twins knelt before him, staring at him in their reverence. He let their eyes feast upon the apparition of his feigned glory. They stared into the depths of his shining, glimmering folds, as if they stared into the depths of space beyond the stars in the sky. He turned, his hair streaming behind him, "Attend me." They each grasped a lower corner of his cloak, as they processed around the room, tenderly and loyally bearing his feigned majesty nigh their faces. The old, fanatical ecstasy was growing in them. They fawned over him in their devotion. Uialchon's father was a lordly man, a proud and strong soldier. Uialchon had betrayed him and knew it. Silevren enveloped Uialchon in his cloak, as Uialchon plunged into the deep red cloak. Silevren imitated Gurthbainor. Their lips caressed as Silevren's voice whispered, "Receive the Kiss of Wisdom." Then Uialchon stood dazed as Tinnuchon was enveloped, "Receive the Kiss of Majesty." They performed their dance, an implosion of color mounting higher and higher with their silks, as if they partook in savage ritual of the King's Men of old. When their dance was done, they rested side by side within Silevren's folds, cuddling close against him, gently stroking and burying their faces in his hair. Silevren breathed peacefully in his self-exaltation, deep within the depths of madness. Uialchon caressed him gently, "Your Grace.........how shall only twenty of us...... ruin an entire city..... in the most loyal part of Gondor, thy Kingdom?" Silevren gazed coldly at the slowly-shifting ceiling, as the ship gently rocked to and fro on the waters of the Anduin. He gently stroked Uialchon's tufts of hair, "Our true benefactor is not without his allies. For Saelbainor told me of them. He had commissioned us in secret to go first in any case, before Malnoron and Umbar betrayed us. They are lords and princes, tall and proud, loyal to the purest blood of Numenor, that floweth through our veins." Tinnuchon nodded, "We have followed you since we were children, and we shall continue to do so, your Grace." Edited by Ivordir, Oct 21 2015, 12:09 PM.
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| Ivordir | Oct 21 2015, 11:34 AM Post #397 |
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Chapter CCLXXXIII: The Birth of Madness Their fathers had been lordly knights, tall and proud, with expectations of their Heirs, to grow in martial prowess as themselves. All three of them had failed miserably at sword-play, gravely offending their lord-fathers, who had lamented that their only sons were weaklings. Their mothers were more supportive of their true desires, often aiding their secret departures, much to the displeasure of their husbands, who at times would beat them in bouts of madness. These Ladies loved their sons, sacrificing their safety for their sons' welfare. Even as children, they'd run into the libraries, fancying themselves as sorcerers, wizards, or sages. They were ever quiet and solemn. They would wear colorful robes and cloaks, and read, only in the sections that were not forbidden to them due to the newness of the texts. They were prodigies, and they learned from several patience scholars, who conducted their education. Whenever they'd leave the library, poorer children, street urchins, would harass and attempt to rob them. But they'd carry no money. Once, a book as tossed into the river by several of them. This made their ire grow, madness borne within their souls. By the time they reached their adolescence, they directed their new energies into deeper studies, falling away from the ways of men. They continued to fail in combat, endure reproaches and even beatings at the hands of their fathers, and they continued to remain bored in their roles as suitors. No young Lady ever desired them, beyond their looks, due to the strangeness of their minds. The three friends who had grown-up together, bonding as close as brothers, never desired marriage, save with one thing: knowledge. And so they refused to cut their hair, and so they hid their longer tresses beneath their clothes, ever growing in their lordly beauty and majesty. And now they had become two princes and a King, reveling in their new-found "power." Uialchon remembered when they had sneaked into a forbidden lower section, as children, and how Silevren had cloaked them, even then. Silevren was ever their leader, and ever had they followed him. They had ever taken pleasure from playing with their robes and cloaks in childish games. Silevren had stood at fourteen years old on the dais, and had proclaimed, "We will learn everything, my dear brothers......... and we will defeat our fathers!" "Yes, and they will never order us into combat ever again!" Tinnuchon had declared. Uialchon had nodded, "We follow you!" They never had to defeat their fathers. Tinnuchon and Uialchon's lord-father had marched away to war in Osgiliath. He remained on the front-lines. Silevren's father was on commission in Dol Amroth for several months. And neither their fathers nor their mothers had learned of Saelbainor. |
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| Ivordir | Oct 21 2015, 11:59 AM Post #398 |
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Chapter CCLXXXIV: Allies They had processed with him through many different streets, libraries, and they had goaded the urchins, who had grown into young, poor beggars, who were starving. And Saelbainor had whispered to Silevren, "Thou hast a pretty choice before thee. They may yet be converted unto our noble Quest, our glorious cause, or they shalt perish before the Altar!" They had lured the bullies into a trap. They had offered them food, clothing, and riches, in exchange for an end to their enmity. The few who had refused, including he who had drowned the book, were murdered before the Altar in a twisted sense of justice. Those who had agreed on the basis of their undying loyalty had found a blessing in their charity. But their charity had been corrupted by a darker purpose: to convert them to their ways of shadows. Their new allies were richly clothed and fed and sheltered, and in return, they gave their service. And the food and wine, the sumptuous feast, had been laced with the bile, enabling Silevren to perform his illusions, his feigned magic. Their new allies had come to their aid at last. Saelbainor had ensured that they would be waiting on the ship, before Saelbainor had been betrayed. The ship's captain and crew had also been chosen among the devoted, by Saelbainor. There was a knock at the door. Melimon and Auron. Astaron and Annun, Alcanon and Farion, and Lerion, all entered their chamber one by one, all kneeling on the wooden floor before Silevren. Edited by Ivordir, Oct 21 2015, 11:57 PM.
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| Ivordir | Oct 24 2015, 11:01 PM Post #399 |
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Chapter CCLXXXV: A Plot Revived Melimon had been born to a wench in the East-Garth poorer Quarter, where roofs were filled with loose slats and holes, infested with various bugs. He had lived in a tiny hovel where rodents were heard running on a daily basis. His mother died of food-poisoning from one of the rats she ate. His father lost his leg in a fight near one of the taverns. He screamed in pain and agony. His son was no healer. Melimon's father's wound got infested, the smell of death began to fill the hovel on a daily basis, and soon his father died, leaving his son coinless. Melimon begged for work of any sort. He found nothin'. No one wanted to hire a street-urchin. He turned to theft. He was once caught by a guard stealing an apple. The guard imprisoned him. Life in prison was better than on the street. He preferred moldy bread to stealin' fish from barrels and eatin' it raw with that salty, sea taste and that foul, fish-ridden stench. He had been forced to gather with other urchins for survival, and he bullied Silevren and the Twilight Brothers. When Silevren deigned to sumptuously feed and richly clothe him, Melimon could not refuse. Melimon drank bile-laced wine and found that he could read. And now, Silevren outspread his blood-red silken wings, commanding Melimon to come forward. Melimon obeyed, finding himself vanishing into the deep, dark, red silk, as he kissed Silevren, and then received the voice. Melimon received the kiss of magic. Auron had suffered a similar fate as Melimon, only he had been born on the West-Garth. He was less naive, more sly and slippery than Melimon. His mother had drank herself to death, stealing ale from one of the taverns. His father had died in the service of some lord at war. And he received the kiss of love. Astaron and Annun were twin brothers. They had been born into a family of merchants. When the trade-routes fell-through, and Gondor and the South were at war again, no stately lord had intervened on their family's behalf. They squandered their remaining wealth on drink in their despair. And then they lost their home. Their father had been arrested without parole. Their mother had fallen in the river and drowned. Astaron received the kiss of wealth. Annun received the kiss of power. Alcanon and Farion were also brothers. They never even knew who their parents were. They had been adopted by a charitable noble family that wished to increase its reputation in the city. It had run afoul of Lord Denethon and the Silver Fist. The nobles and their family had all been poisoned at a wedding at the behest of Lord Denethon. Their possessions and manse were seized by Denethon's agents. Alcanon and Farion had been forced to vanish from the premises. They tried to make a living as fishermen and dwelt in a small hovel near the Wharf. In the dead of winter, they joined the urchins in the streets, for it was ever difficult to preserve a catch. And they had kept to themselves as fishermen. They did not want Lord Denethon to learn of their identity and who had raised them. Alcanon received the kiss of waves. Farion received the kiss of water. Lerion was born Salagostri, a sorcerer's son. He was the most beautiful and effeminate of Silevren's followers. It was a communal myth among his tribe that a true Sorcerer who wore the longest, vastest capes of silk, woven from the nests of the mystical worms beyond the wastes, could transfigure himself into the Black Serpent of Harad that flew powerfully atop many a blood-red banner. His tribe bred oliphaunts not far from the fertile lands of Umbar. But Lerion's father rode atop an oliphaunt, his silks flapping triumphantly in the breeze, as he felt determined to lead a convoy to Mordor itself. The sun had been shining through Ithilien trees, as the sounds of arrows quietly being set to the string filled the air. All that remained of Lerion's father was a trail of torn silk leading from beneath the stinking corpse of a Mumak. Lerion vowed revenge. He was discovered by Gurthbainor, who had Lerion sent to Gondor on one of Malnoron's merchant vessels. Lerion was further raised by one of Malnoron's closest allies in the city, to the point in which he spoke many dialects. And he disguised himself as an urchin, to learn more of Gondorian ways, ways he had come to loathe. When he ultimately learned of Silevren's true associations, Lerion felt ashamed, devoting himself completely. The Sorcerer had been aroused within him. He received the kiss of beauty. And all of Gurthbainor's original scheme to sabotage Minas Tirith from within was finally reinstated, as the vessel continued to sail past Lossarnach. Silevren spoke, "My brethren....." They all continued to kneel, grasping hold of his cloak. They all deeply, and richly, kissed the cloak, as was their strange custom. And they felt unified in every breath, in the completeness of their purpose, a purpose that they had come to believe was good and just and heroic. They all bowed their heads beneath the silk, pressing their faces into his folds, maintaining their kiss. Silevren continued to gaze, for their cloaks now flowed from beneath his own, as if he himself was spread around the room, touching every hair on each head. Many colors converged upon him. Ecstasy was mounting within him when he spoke, as capes of silk were all illuminated by shafts of sunlight through the windows: "Beloved Brotherhood, we are one. I, Ar-Pharazon, thy Highest King, Prince, Lord and Master, declare: victory shall be ours. Neither the Steward nor his heirs shall hinder our deep and powerful resolve, the endless wellspring of our endless beauty." Resolve burned brightly in them, brighter than any small and flickering flame. Their dance then spread throughout the lower decks of the ship, that rocked to and fro as it sailed along. Silks shifted, billowed, twirled, and blew in a maelstrom of colors, as the White City drew nearer and nearer on the horizon. It, too, was filled to the brim with colors, beneath its uniformity. |
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| Ivordir | Oct 25 2015, 12:05 AM Post #400 |
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Chapter CCLXXXVI: The High-King's Sorcerer Silevren summoned Lerion to speak with him alone. The Twilight Brothers remained with the others. Lerion was instructed to wear his true garb. Silevren sat in his chamber with his eyes closed, feeling the subtle motions of the ship. He heard the door open, followed by several motions of fabric. "You summoned me, Your Grace?" Silevren slowly opened his eyes, which began gazing at the floor. A train of near-black purple silk billowed on the floor, circling around, winding, like the body of a long, vast snake, until it billowed-out wide anew, only to converge at Lerion's shoulders. The cloak was glittering, gleaming, shining, as many streams and rivers and waterfalls of light diverged and converged throughout the folds of the cloak. Lerion smiled. Silevren smiled in return, commanding, "Prophesy for me!" Lerion nodded, "Then enter, we must, the deepest heart of prophecy." They had drank bile-laced wine of late. Lerion's face was golden-bright, his hair long and billowing around him. He raised his cloak aloft as it glittered brightly, and then he leaped toward Silevren, his vast cloak gliding on the air behind him. He wove it around them as if a serpent's tail, as if they vanished beneath the folds of a cobra's head. Silevren felt comfortable in the shadows, staring into the dark fusion of purple and red silk that gleamed, illuminated by the sunlight. He deeply kissed the folds. He felt Lerion's warm breath flow through his ear as he spoke, "And thus, I prophesy. A great victory shall you have........" And then Lerion switched ears, "A great power shall you find............" And then Lerion came before him, close to Silevren's lips, "A great, vast fleet, shall come, and aid our victory...................." Silevren closed his eyes, for it was ever a strange custom, as he felt Lerion's lips and then heard his voice: "Behold the kiss of triumph." They deeply kissed each others' cheeks, tightening their embrace beneath the folds. Their faces reemerged for air. It was mid-afternoon. They fell asleep. And as they slept, they shared a dream. They dreamed that they were standing on the deck of the ship, as the sunlight grew brighter and brighter, it's rays pouring on their faces. They found that they could stare at the sun. A great rush of wind uplifted their cloaks, flapping and curling and spreading each cloak around them. Silevren felt a great weight lifted from his chin. He felt it. It was shaved clean. He felt beneath his nose. This, too, felt smooth. They both outspread their arms, feeling as if they could conquer the West themselves. Then they found themselves in a lofty, golden throne-room, that struck their eyes. Lerion sat Silevren gently on the throne, and then processed to the center of the hall. His long cloak shifted and slithered behind him. There was a rising Haradrim drum-beat. Lerion danced, shifting his cloak to and fro as he twirled, glittering brighter and brighter, his momentum increasing with the speed of the drums, doom, doom, doom. As Lerion dreamed, he felt himself dancing faster and faster, and suddenly, he outspread his arms, rising higher and higher. There was a great flash of light. Lerion watched the throne grow higher, the floor wider, and the walls, taller, as he heard himself hiss, and felt himself slither around the throne. My father.... my kin.... they were right..... it is true........ Silevren gazed at the vast, black serpent in awe, watching it in awe and caution, mesmerized by gazing into its eyes, as he slithered up the stairs and around the throne. The serpent arose to his height, and in yet another flash of light, Silevren found Lerion on his lap, the cloak cocooning them, welding them to the throne. Lerion sat on the floor beside the throne. They gazed abroad to see all of their allies filling the hall. They noticed that Amanuiron was standing triumphantly at their side. When they re-awoke and told each other their dreams, they gazed in each others' eyes in awe. Hours later, they re-emerged from the chamber. Silevren had shaved his beard. The Twilight Brothers gazed in shock, for beards had adorned many a King of Gondor. But Silevren maintained his return to the old roots of Numenor. His hair was as long as ever. The Twilight Brothers took the remnants of his beard, braiding them, and tied them to hairs of their own heads. Edited by Ivordir, Oct 25 2015, 07:38 PM.
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12:43 AM Jul 11