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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 (4,116 Views) | |
| Ivordir | Dec 8 2015, 12:19 AM Post #461 |
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Chapter CCCXIX: The Wings of Shadow Amarthon had indeed returned. And he had danced and rested with Auravon. And he had slipped the bile into Auravon's drink. And the fanaticism had slowly grown. But Amarthon was different when Gwathron first beheld him. He was no longer reading. He swept his cloak around Gwathron, binding them closely. And then Gwathron felt a strange taste in his red wine. Gwathron had taken to spending far more time with his surviving cousins. He kept close to Amarthon, remaining wary of his oddities in behavior. He wished to understand, to learn, to find-out what had changed, and why. And when they were asleep in their chamber, he had overheard Malnoron's deep, cold voice stammering, and the serpentine reply that followed. They spoke of sacrifices. As the days passed, Gwathron himself began having strange thoughts. Amarthon is so brilliant....... my King.......no, wait. We do not have a King. We lost him long ago. But Amarthon is King! No................. how can this be? Talk sense to yourself, Gwathron. You have known him since childhood, how can he be........... But he is King! Enough, he cannot be King, but he is! Oh, my Lord and Majesty! Gwathron had struggled to control his own sense of reason. But that struggle finally came to a halt, when he beheld the odd dreams that disturbed his sleep, dreams of magic and grandeur that besotted his youthful mind. He had followed Amarthon through the halls at night. And Amarthon had huddled himself into a corner, his cloak concealing his mouth and nose, enshrouding him in mystery. Gwathron spoke. He stared at Gwathron. Then, Amarthon declared, "Behold thy King!" as he outspread his cloak that appeared as if it were wings of shadow in the darkness. By the time the blood was shed on Malnoron's altars, when Gurthbainor revealed his inner terrors, it was too late. The bile had beguiled Gwathron. But then it all broke-down. Saelbainor rose from Gurthbainor's death, sun miracles burned inscribed images in Gwathron's mind, images of hope and renewal, as he felt the black influence of the bile nearly choke him, and feeling it, he resisted it anew. He resisted it despite Daechir's assault upon their company. He had beheld the trial quietly in Tumladen. He had wrestled with all the changes that sought to unhinge his self. He breathed, slowly and deeply, centering himself, despite all that sought to destroy his mind in madness. Now was the first time he truly felt at peace since Amarthon's departure. As Amarthandor had returned home, so had Gwathron. The sunlight felt warm and peaceful as he closed his eyes. It was the 4th of March. Edited by Ivordir, Dec 8 2015, 12:33 AM.
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| Ivordir | Feb 12 2016, 01:40 PM Post #462 |
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Chapter CCCXX: For Gondor Angolhel was stroking her hair when she gazed at the window behind her, her piercing eyes staring blankly into the eyes of a Gondorian soldier, who turned away and resumed his watch. "You're joking," the commanding officer replied. "But Sir, I saw her..... a Haradric witch!" "Did you now...." "Yes Sir!" "It is the greatest embarrassment for the people of Gondor since the Kinstrife..... I hope you are wrong...." And the squadron of Gondorian soldiers arrived at the manse of Ioristor, several climbings of the sun later. Ioristor answered the door. They told him that if he was harboring Haradrim spies, he would be executed for treason. The soldiers pressed past him and stormed the cellars. They found that Angolhel had tied her hair in a bun and braided it. They found that all within were wearing typical noble garb of Gondorian-make. They found that all within appeared to be southern or central Gondorians, their complexions varied, but no signs of Southrons could be seen. The guard who had made his vainglorious charge for Gondor was severely reprimanded and relieved of his post. He was posted in the alleyways on the First Tier, where they thought him of better use. But the commanding officer reported to a cloaked spy in the Court of the Green, "We have them under watch." Edited by Ivordir, May 3 2016, 07:50 PM.
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| Ivordir | Feb 12 2016, 01:55 PM Post #463 |
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Chapter CCCXXI: The Aftermath The repetition varied. For many weeks, they had concealed themselves from the harsh winds, thoughts of desert sands, and the phantom fears of arrows firing from Ithilien's trees. They had danced within their ship most foolishly. They had danced in their arrogance and pride, or so it seemed. They had kissed each other, slept beside each other, and danced with each other, raising their cloaks unto the winds as if they were great banners, signaling their arrival within Gondor. For some of Malnoron's spies in Lossarnach had seen them, and reported to their master, whom deigned to reply after the ides of March. He wished to gamble, believing his sons had had enough of journeying in the wilderness, and that they would be most eager to rejoin their allies within the White City. He would have them where he wanted them. But he did not send his spies, fearing the inevitable: that somehow, the authorities in Minas Tirith would discover his treachery, and so defeat it. And thus he kept aloof. And he did not tell his new Sorcerer of his discovery, knowing it would be most unwise to displeasure the Emissary of the Eye. And Angolhel called a meeting. She spoke to all present, "So ends our Dance. But now we know, for certain, that we are being watched. This was my plan. I saw their lord-commander conversing with someone who appeared to be from the Lands of the Moon. And I suspect we must be watchful. This was why I allowed our absurd behavior. This is why I permitted our public displays: to lure our enemies out of hiding! But no more shall we dance. We have indulged too long." For traveling in the desert was hard, and oils hard to come-by. Angolhel once looked haggard, her stringy hair swaying in the wind, and often times she'd cut it off. She once wore simpler robes of lighter cloth, not silky, and not flamboyant. She once carried a simple stick for her staff. She once prayed in silence, gazing at the stars. But Amanuiron had brought her dancing. And the discovery of wealth in the mountains had brought her riches. And riches had brought her oils and silks. And her hair grew. Her cape grew. It grew more flamboyant, brighter, of greater shine. And she dazzled the men of her tribe to loyalty. And many of those men perished. They died horrific deaths. They perished in a misunderstanding in the vaults of Minas Tirith. Their blood stained the dirty marble stone. They had died in the forests to Mithon and his men. They had died with arrows piercing their legs and hearts. They had perished in the shadow of the Mountains of Shadow, for, by, and beneath the Eye that never saw them. Such was their end, without hope or mercy. And it stung Angolhel to the core. For she ever knew that the Dark Lord was a sham. The old sage woman atop the pyramid had warned her, that Amanuiron was Guldrambor, a liar, and a thief of spirits. And she had turned her tears to dancing, her pains to mesmerizing those around her, for it was all she knew. And now, at long last, she and Alagossel were crying, and Silevren and Lerion struggled to comfort their wives. But down in the First Level, Gilorn had remarked: "It's for the best. Yes, now we need not fear further retribution, or the law," as he had long been pondering the sad fates of the Haradric sailors who had perished in the vaults, for honor bade him to. And then Sainion came and told him about the need for watchfulness. He told Gilorn about the spies. Gilorn slammed his fist on the table and said nothing. Edited by Ivordir, May 3 2016, 08:07 PM.
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| Ivordir | Mar 24 2016, 10:17 AM Post #464 |
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Chapter CCCXXII: The Serpent Among the Ashes That night, Lerion dreamed. He dreamed that the men had stormed the manse. He dreamed that purple and crimson silk had lain on the floor in blood-stained shreds. He dreamed that his wife and sister-in-law were pierced by Gondorian swords, chopped into pieces, and burned, their ashes tossed to the western winds, never to return to the sands of the South. He dreamed that they had given their lives, courageously, as they would have done, to save the rest. He dreamed they had aimed their spears and blood had flowed from Gondorian necks er they, the sisters, themselves had perished. He dreamed that he had been a coward. In the midst of the chaos, Lerion's courage had faltered. He could not bear the thought of dying, as his father had perished, at the hands of a Gondorian. He had whipped his cloak around as soon as he had heard the metallic footfalls of the guards, methodically marching, as his heart had pounded in its terror. He had shared one last kiss with Angolhel and attempted to drag her into hiding, but she shoved him away as the guards entered the chamber. Lerion vanished in haste through a rather convenient passageway behind a curtain. Ioristor's design of his manor was acute. He had many enemies in the White City and he had an ever increasing paranoia of assassination. And in the chaos, Lerion fell down the stairway, veiled by shadow. He nearly choked to death on his own cloak. He knocked a sword off the wall as he fell. It scraped against his back and side, sheering away the upper flesh. The wounds were not fatal, but he bled in the shadows. His blood vanished into the red silk of his cloak. He had unclasped it. His body was sore everywhere. He wondered if he had broken bones. He was spared such a fate. In time, he smelt the smoke from the flames and the ashes of the dead. Silevren wept as he sat in the doom-filled chamber. He had returned. He had severed himself from the whole. He did not know why. He could not cease from weeping. His tears poured down his cheeks. He wept and wept and wept. Sainion had already departed to inform the others in secret. A footfall fell behind him. It fell with difficulty. He heard the sweep of fabric. He turned to gaze into Lerion's eyes. Lerion stood haphazardly, bleeding, with his cloak outstretched. "My bat...." he uttered. "No." Silevren muttered angrily. "I am no bat. And you are no serpent.... we are men. And you are...........alive......" His mind was still processing the reality that unfolded before him. Lerion began to collapse and Silevren quickly grabbed hold of him, and Uialchon and Tinnuon aided him. They laid Lerion on a nearby blood-stained place of rest and inspected his wounds. "We need a healer," Silevren gasped. "No one will dare enter this room again," Uialchon noted. Auravon was walking in the hallway. He had sought to avoid gazing into the chamber, but he had heard voices. His eyes grew wide at what he saw. He girded himself and ran within. He gazed at Lerion's wounds, "I am no healer, but I shall seek for aid. Here," he unclasped his cloak from his shoulders, "Bathe the wounds in this until I find aid." Auravon ran cloak-less from the chamber. He did not know where the healers had gone. He ran frantically. The gold gleamed as it shrouded Lerion. It gleamed in the veiled sunlight that fell dimly red through the veiled curtains. Silevren lifted a fold, "Look!" Tinnuon peered beneath. The blood had clotted. Uialchon ran to find Auravon. When they returned, Auravon stared astonished. But the wounds did not vanish, and nor did they cease to scar the body of Lerion. Lerion awoke several times in the night from his nightmare and wept. He thought of Auravon, Silevren, and the others, as they were presented within his strange dream. The air was cold and threatening. He shivered in the cold shadows. No longer would Angolhel bear warmth to his heart. He clenched his teeth. I have shed my final skin........ and the manhood beneath is horror.... It was as if the serpents had arisen from the ashes, with cries of vengeance, haunting their essence. At dawn, Silevren found Lerion shivering on the floor beside his bed. It was now the 5th of March. Only five more days of sun remained. Edited by Ivordir, May 3 2016, 08:56 PM.
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| Ivordir | Mar 24 2016, 10:28 AM Post #465 |
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Chapter CCCXXIII: Death of the Serpent Lerion ranted from his rest, "It was all lies! All of it! We were doomed from the beginning!" "Hush," Silevren spoke softly, "No, we were not doomed. You are alive..." "And she is dead! DEAD I tell you! DEAD! And all of them! My poor apprentice Malagi.... all of them! All lies! Salagost lied! The old magic did not save my father then, it did not save my wife! It did not save us... lies, lies, all lies..... all vain....... moving in vain, speaking in vain, dancing in vain, kissing in vain, all of it in vain..... and the animals we personified..... fell beasts in the wilderness............. we were beasts, we behaved as beasts............ and the dreams, oh how they lied!" "Indeed they lied. But the last one...." "Oh yes.... with that being...... this Guldrambor we have heard so much about..... this Amanuiron the Great......... he is a liar!" "He is.................. and in my waking nightmares, I, Silevren, have discerned a prophecy..........." "NOT MORE PROPHESIES! THEY TOO ARE VAIN! THEY ALSO LIED!" "The Black Serpent shall fall. The Lord of the Haradwaith shall perish, and the land will change." At those words, Lerion fell silent, sensing a truth to them that seemed strange. "Silevren.........." he tried to utter. In time, he girded himself, "We should burn our cloaks, lest they discover us." "No....... many a Gondorian noble has worn the red and the purple, and some have worn the gold........." "You are no Steward. You are no King." "No, I am not a King. Calm thyself..." "Calm...... CALM...... when we were viciously slaughtered?" And Lerion broke-down and cried. Silevren knelt by his bedside, and did not depart. Not when his knees ached, and not when he collapsed on the floor beside him. And Angolhel burst into the room. She seemed to know that something like this would happen. Her eyes betrayed her. She nodded, "You are having terrible dreams, aren't you, my husband?" Lerion nodded as he wept, "Wait.... you are ALIVE!" And Lerion told her everything. Silevren stared at Lerion in cold horror. Angolhel sighed, "This is because we have betrayed the Master...... the bile........ we burned it, but something is wrong.......... are we prone to our foe's attacks? I fear that we may be............. be watchful, Lerion. Remember that you, too, are a Sorcerer of Sahadmaradi. Remember Salagostri. Remember your blood-line. Remember that you, too, can contend with this Spirit of Eastern Shadows. It was wrong for me to allow you to sleep alone last night. I shall not make that mistake again." Lerion rubbed his eyes, "Where were you?" Angolhel smiled, "I wandered through the street alone last night, counting all the guards. Not desiring to disturb you, I slept on cushions in one of the common-rooms............" Lerion screamed at her, "THAT WAS...." Angolhel placed her finger-tips on his lips, "Bold and dangerous? Of course it is. But it is necessary. Look to the world around you, Lerion, and you may yet survive it." Edited by Ivordir, May 3 2016, 08:17 PM.
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| Ivordir | Mar 25 2016, 06:55 PM Post #466 |
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Chapter CCCXXIV: On Familiar Tides The fleet had reached Belfalas. Echon and Glamron held the beachhead nigh Toldil. The Corsairs brought fire and Echon's cloak caught aflame. He attempted to run toward the shore and a Corsair arrow shot clean through his eye. Many had perished on the shores. Glamron called for a retreat. Sainon's men fired a volley, but it was no use. They fled back to the fortifications. The sands were drenched with blood, and the banners of the bloody crossed-blades were raised on their dark-purple folds. The Scourge had come. Ballithor slammed his fist hard into the table as it shook, "How many..." Glamron noted, "We have lost nearly half our men. The Enemy brought some fiery weapon aboard their vessels." Sainon sighed, "Toldil is lost. The lighthouse has collapsed and they have taken the ruins, and they brought black-skinned troll-men with 'em." "My lord," Glamron interjected, "They have also brought a considerable number of Haradrim. Endil and Mechrast have fallen as well..." Ballithor sighed, "We held-out for well over a week... their Captain is clever. We shall double-back to Linhir and strengthen the garrison there, with what remains of our men. We must not allow Linhir to fall, for it is Pelargir's final defense. Send a rider to Lord Malnoron in Pelargir and warn him of the fleet, though he knows of it already, I do not doubt. He was ever treacherous with his Southron merchants..." Sainon stammered, "Such treason should have been brought before higher lords!" "I ever suspected, but I have little proof. Where do you suppose our silks and other finery have come from?" Sainon grimly nodded, "Many do indeed have such connections." Ballithor balked, "Our trade-routes to the South have ever remained extra-political for those involved." Sainon paused and then continued, "Do you suppose that there may yet be Gondorian sympathizers in Umbar and the like?" Ballithor laughed coldly, "Do Orcs spy for Lord Denethor? We have no allies in the South. Ever have they despised us." "And what of the merchants?" "Every great nation has a black market." "Then we have allies in the South. The merchants." "They know only money. They have no care or concern for us. They despise us, but they love our coin. They use it against us in the wars." "And our lords love our finery..." Sainon felt his own velvet apprehensively. "Then we are all traitors, one way or another. All that remains is war..." "Sir!" A guard demanded entry. He saluted, "Enemy sighted!" Ballithor nodded, "Prepare to retreat. We shall rally further in the highlands and then regroup at Linhir. Assemble your men!" The lords all stood from the table in the azure war-tent. They bowed and proceeded to inform their men of the retreat. The men swiftly took-down the tents, loaded the furniture onto carts, and a rear-guard pressed the defense while the lords retreated. And blood poured into the soil, blood spent for coin, finery, and chairs. |
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| Ivordir | Mar 31 2016, 05:39 PM Post #467 |
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Chapter CCCXXV: Fallen Shores Bartuk laughed. It had been ages since he had first dreamed of setting foot in Gondor. He had raided the southern coasts from Saraj to Bellazon and he had acquired some measure of respect as a pirate captain. His slaves had rowed hard at the oars, teeming with sweat, some falling away from their oars as they coughed and gagged. These were thrown into the sea and swiftly replaced. The brutal whip-masters cracked their lashes at the rowing men, barking at them to row harder. The drummer drummed and called aloud for speeds. But now Captain Bartuk had landed and planted his standard. He gazed at the burning azure-tents of soldiers and laughed. He set fire to the banner of the White Tree personally. "Sir, we've taken the beachhead." "Chase 'em inland. Make 'em squeal like the Gondorian swine they are. Make 'em hang like dogs." "There's several fishing villages Captain." "Burn 'em." "And the women and children?" "Leave the women as sport for ye sailors. The kids we'll raise as slaves. Take 'em all." "And what of the inlanders?" "Roast 'em all.........roast 'em all..............." his eyes gleamed coldly as he fingered his belt-buckle and whipped back his cloak. The ground stank when he turned away. He never heard the screams of the inland-dwelling women and children as they were set aflame after they had been tied to spikes set deep into the soil. He did not see the trails of blood pooling away from the corpses of the men. He did not hear the death-throes of his own mates, Corsairs all, as the Lord Angbor of Lamedon intervened, his forces sweeping across the upper hills, embarrassing the Silver Swan forever. But Bartuk returned to his black sails and continued with his small contingent of the fleet, as they set fire to the coasts on the long road to Linhir. And Bartuk laughed grimly as his ship sailed away, the port-towns roasting on the shores, "Leave it to them sorceress female dogs to fail. Leave it to their port-holes, them sorcerers. Starboard bow, ye..... them prophesies. Darkened skies..... where are 'em darkened skies.....eh? Darkened skies shall ye see........... I've got tidings for 'em. Dead men are a-tale-tellin'. Dead men tell a tale. Let 'em see their blood n' ashes. Make 'em squeal at 'em. Let 'em sorcs keep their fancy capes n' fancy wears n' fancy tents. They ain't foolin' me. No sir, no horse-dung! They ain't gettin' in my way. This is far better then n'any proph-es-ies. Ha! Better to see men hard at wearc!" Edited by Ivordir, Mar 31 2016, 05:48 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 1 2016, 12:02 PM Post #468 |
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Chapter CCCXXVI: One Ill Turn... Far to the East, in the midst of the Emyn Arnen, Ivordir gazed upward at the stream of light passing through the narrow-slit of a ruined window far above him. The room felt as if a tomb, weathered and broken. Baralinthor stirred beside him, "How's the wound?" He had forgotten the wound. "Its aching a bit, but I am fine. Where are we, exactly? I began to lose my sense of things as we approached this place...." "You are in Bar Hurin." The cold, gentle voice of Mithon replied. "You are hither in our custody, we Dunedain of Ithilien." "Custody?" "You are now where I have wished, where no lordly noble can protect you." "Protect us from what?" "We are going to learn the truth of this matter, oath or no oath. It is for the safety and security of Gondor." "Safety and security? Tell me, Mithon of the Dunedain of Ithilien....... why have you mislead me throughout these days?" "Mislead? Mislead....... it is you who have mislead me. Those Haradrim knew precisely where we were, do you expect me to believe that I should trust you?" "But....but everything you have witnessed........" "Haradric parlour tricks. I've seen them before. Do you think me devoid of cultural knowledge, of the sorcerers and sorceresses of Harad? And you, who deigned yourself an Heir of Numenor, flashing your vainglory so flamboyantly, when you knew that you were signaling the attack.......?" "And did you, most honorable Mithon, knowingly lie to me throughout these days, feigning trust and aid and friendship?" "And you, "Captain Ivordir," tell me..... for I did not lie..... indeed I was at awe of your parlour tricks...... particularly that Amarthon or Amarthandor fellow's survival of an execution...... he knew precisely what to do, did he not? Its all a matter of where to move and how to move...... we Dunedain know these things. How do you think we have ambushed so many Haradrim on the road, oliphaunts and all? But tell me, "Captain," tell me.... precisely how you sought to lead me and my men into a Morgul trap...... all planned in advance to end our campaign south of the Morgulduin..... by leading us to that bridge.........." ".....you are clever, Mithon. I suppose that you must make such considerations for your men. I...I can respect this. But I am not in league with any Haradrim." "My scouts saw several of your party boarding a ship...... in Lossarnach...... wearing cloaks as flamboyant as your own....... and Haradrim were among them..... I recognized their eyes, their faces....... and the Mumak-trial you made me witness in Tumladen....... oh Ivordir son of Ioristor, they will not survive...........consider the Gates of Minas Tirith to be their prison...... where they shall await their final execution. Do you truly believe that I, a loyal man of Gondor, did not warn my comrades in the City of your plot?" "You rangers are spineless cowards. Why did you not just shoot us down where we stood?" "Oh, it would not have been appropriate. We need not upset the general safety and security of the Realm. Indeed, we act quite quietly...... but we victor, in the end......" "And how do you explain this, Captain Mithon?" Ivordir pointed at his wounds. Mithon laughed, "Ever a desperate so-called Captain may feign his wounds or death, or suffer lesser wounds so as to avoid greater ones....." Baralinthor stood, "My Lord-Father shall hear of this....." Mithon laughed again, "Oh yes..... precisely your Lord-Father, who abandoned you, hoping for your death..... your tongue was rather loose, Baralinthor of the Silver Swan. And in fact, Baralinthor, you have incriminated thy Lord-Father...... the Lord of Lamedon shall like to learn of this, I believe......... a messenger has already been sent." Baralinthor was seething, "The Haradrim attacked US! How can you deem us to be traitors so rashly! No wonder Captain Faramir is in charge, and not you.........not you, Mithon......" Mithon set an arrow to his bow-string, "Speak again, son of Ballithor." Baralinthor fell silent. Mithon grimly smiled, "And you have nearly died, have you not, Ivordir? Have you? It was naught but a minor wound, not cut deep......." "Some wounds cut deeper, Mithon of the Dunedain." Ivordir stammered, "What is to become of us?" "Your choice. You are going to lead us precisely into thy trap. Only it shall be we who do the trapping. I am quite curious to see how many Haradrim are awaiting our arrival on that bridge........ but it shalt be our victory, not thine!" Ivordir oddly laughed, "It is not much of a choice, Mithon." Mithon returned his arrow to his quiver, "No, it is not. And after we have sprung thy little trap, you shall return to the White City, oh yes...... but not in glory....... no...... you shall arrive bound in chains and be sent to a proper executioner....... and thy Lord-Father shalt beyond thy treason, if he is not a traitor himself...... no one shall protect you from the Master of Laws. Recover while ye may, son of Ioristor. It shall not be long........" Ivordir nodded, "And how do you explain the sellsword and the mason's son?" Mithon's eyes glowed coldly, "A man with knowledge of masonry may collapse a bridge. And a sellsword shall sell his sword to whoever pays him. Prepare thyself, for we part on the morrow." And Mithon stormed away and locked the door to their section of the barracks. Edited by Ivordir, Apr 1 2016, 12:02 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 1 2016, 12:03 PM Post #469 |
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Chapter CCCXXVII: A Captain's Failure Ivordir turned to Daerfalas, "I am sorry..... my brother..... I have failed us all......." Daerfalas scowled deeply, and rose to pace, his arms crossed over his chest. "No," he said finally, turning to face Ivordir. "That I cannot believe." He was angry. Frustration was apparent in every line of his face. "War clouds judgement. Mithon has branded us enemies because he is afraid. The fault is none of your own. But our men...Ivordir..." his voice broke, and he sank to his brother's side. "We have faced so many obstacles before now...we have faced treachery. Yet our purpose has never wavered. What are we to do now?" Baralinthor was seething, "No.... I should have known better..... was it all lies, Ivordir? The magic and the beauty..... all vanity....... perhaps my Lord-Father was right about everything after all, and I....I have failed him as his son..........oh if only I could please him!" Ivordir stammered, "Calm down, both of you. You are right, we have never wavered my brother. And you, Baralinthor.... know that it is too late for that and Ballithor would have us all hung until dead, including you......... oh my country.... my beautiful, brilliant, country.... what has become of you? Is this the discord and terror that the Enemy has sewn among us, as one noble Elf once warned me? Is this thy decline, oh Gondor? Is this what all of the true, brave men have perished for? Oh country...... my country............ it needs a miracle to restore it. I was foolish....... I felt immortal, that nothing could hinder me...... yet hither are we now, hindered....... we should have hidden or disposed of all the cloaks long ago, and not engaged in ways flamboyant......... they are naught but clothing, blessed or not blessed, it does not matter......... we were all foolish. It all fell apart from Saelbainor's appearance onward....... as soon as he reached Tumladen...... oh there is no help for it now, none..... what's done is done......Daerfalas, we have no choice, but to wait. We cannot escape these walls..... we shall have to endure what we must, and hope that Mithon does not find what he seeks......" “Are we to be ashamed of our gifts, then?” Daerfalas whispered. “Are we to hide them in fear, that our own brothers-in-arms should think us cursed enemies?” He shook his head grimly, and released a shaky sigh, willing himself to dispel doubt and despair. The movement calmed him somewhat, and he looked up at Ivordir, took his brother’s hand in his own in a gentle clasp. “Yes, Captain,” he said, and his voice was unwavering. “For now we must follow Mithon’s lead. Any attempt to sway him will be met with suspicion. I suspect that we must now let fate guide us. We will endure.” And the sun rose higher on the 6th of March, but they did not move until the 7th. And Mithon spoke little with them. He allowed them to keep their belongings, for it would have been suspicious for their supposed Haradric allies to see them marched as slaves or prisoners. He even armed them, with a stern warning, "If thy hand shalt but touch thy hilt........ an arrow shall pass through thy skull." And they passed onto the solemn road, and several paces out, they veered away from it, passing into the deep brush and the hills beyond. |
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| Ivordir | Apr 1 2016, 12:04 PM Post #470 |
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Chapter CCCXXVIII: Northward and Upward They meandered through several glades of trees with their emerald-green leaves, oak, ash, and fir, and the scent of pine filled their lungs. There were flowers throughout the glades of various shapes and hues, hyacinthes and roses and tuleps. The air was fresher than their states of mind. “Bloody typical,” Naitheg growled. “What is?” Gwainoth whispered his reply, struggling to keep up with the sell-sword’s quick stride. “What do you think, fool?” Naitheg bit back. “We’ve survived battle with the Haradrim, only to be deemed enemies by the Men whose side we’re supposed to be on. And on top of that, if we even think about trying to fight our way out, well…let’s just say I don’t fancy getting run through the heart before that thought is even finished.” Gwainoth paled. “Surely our Captain - ” he began, only to be cut off by Naitheg spitting upon the ground. “Quiet,” a masked Ranger stalking behind them hissed. “Do not speak. Move quickly.” Grimly Naitheg continued on the path. He could see Ivordir a few paces ahead; the man walked as though he was being dragged down by invisible chains. Despite his previous ill feelings towards their Captain, Naitheg could not help but feel fury for him. Ivordir was honorable. It irked that these Rangers could not see that. Of course, Naitheg had not an honorable bone in his body, but he was still quick to offence. The thought of punching Mithon’s face in was a pleasant one. Later, as they paused for nightfall, Gwainoth came to him again. “I am afraid,” the young stonemason admitted. Naitheg let out a gruff sound of assent. It was the closest he would come to admit the same. So ended the 7th of March. They were high-up in the Emyn Arnen now, and the lands would begin to narrow as they shrank down between Osgiliath and the Mounts of Shadow. |
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| Ivordir | Apr 1 2016, 12:28 PM Post #471 |
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Chapter CCCXXIX: The Reckoning of the Silver Swan Lord Ballithor stormed out of Lord Angbor's tent. His face was cold, yet sweaty. His fiery eyes gleamed icily. Sainon came beside him, "How fared you?" Lord Ballithor was grinding his teeth, "My no-good son whom I've long wished dead has fallen prey into the hands of the Dunedain, who now know everything." "And how fares?" "Your brat of a son? He is likely dead by now. Executed in Minas Tirith." Sainon nearly collapsed onto the ground, but Ballithor did not stop to aid him. He pressed onward icily into his azure-tent, closing the flaps behind him. Sainon struggled to regain his footing. His heart was racing and his face was drenched with sweat and his eyes were flowing with tears, "My son........ my son.............." Deep were his chest-pains as his heart wrenched. Soldiers carried him. And Ballithor was relieved of his command and threatened with court-martial. They did not have time for a trial. The Corsairs charged in their counter-assault, following their surprise defeat on the slopes between Toldil and Linhir. Lord Angbor took command of all the men, and the nobles who had served Ballithor were permitted to participate. But many men, women, and children perished, if not sold into slavery, as the bloodthirsty Corsairs swept the southern plains of Dor-en-Ernil. But they did not stay in the lands they conquered. They pushed forward, looting and filling their ships with their plunder. They pushed along the rocky shores, and Tolfalas stood solemnly in the distance, hearkening to Ballithor's memories. And even he began to wonder if he made the right decisions. But the thought of Yucalwe continued to vex him. He was little more than a soldier now and forced to march with neither banner nor heraldry, save for that upon his breast, the gleaming Silver Swan. Only his cold countenance commanded him to move his limbs. His face was scarred in combat along the shores. He was forced to seek treatment with the other men, who jeered and laughed at him, while some mocked and spat on him. The Enemy was pushed back and the Gondorian forces retreated for two days. They were still delayed and would not reach Linhir until the 11th of March. Edited by Ivordir, Apr 2 2016, 07:09 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 6 2016, 06:32 PM Post #472 |
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Chapter CCCXXX: The Surviving Nobles Throughout the past several days, they all lay low. Of the old, severed Companies, there were Alagossel, Angolhel, Malagi, Circhon and his men, Tinnuon and Uialchon and Farion, Auron and Annun and Astaron, Fingaereth and Isenadin, Glossel and Rostiel and Duvaissel, and Saelbainor, as well as the Lady and her train, and Ioristor, Sainion and Arhbaineth, and Duon and Daechon and Colhel, as well as Gilorn and Haedirn and their men. There also remained Amarthandor, Auravon, Arancir, and Gwathron. The Gondorians had not yet bothered them, for they were deemed on-sight as citizens of Gondor. They did not have the darkened eyes of Haradrim. Mithon's men were forced to seek for excessively extravagant and gaudy nobles. Many in the White City of noble bearing seemed to fit that description. For decadence shall bring decline. Edited by Ivordir, May 3 2016, 08:20 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 6 2016, 06:43 PM Post #473 |
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Chapter CCCXXXI: In the Depths of Shadow Lerion shifted in his nightmares yet again. "Silevren," Lerion whispered as they hugged the walls, stumbling deeper in the dark, "I...I'm afraid. Why are they haunting us?" "Shush! I do not know." They heard the thump of a heavy boot echoing in the halls behind them. Someone had found the hidden passageway. Uialchon gasped quietly, "They are coming...." Tinnuchon whispered, "They mean to kill us on sight." "No," Silevren whispered, "Not we nobles. But if we are found harboring a Haradrim..... there will be trials...." "No," Lerion gasped, "They do not want trials.... they want our deaths....." "Make haste.... this way......" Silevren whispered again. They groped even faster along the cold, dark walls. They nearly stumbled on several crates. They continued around them and found the walls again. They suddenly began to drop lower on a stair. Then after they crept around a corner, they found themselves trapped in a dead end. The light of a torch slowly flickered its way in the hall behind them, its light growing dimmer and dimmer as it fled from the torch. And the light grew brighter and brighter as it came closer and closer. There were several crates in their room, their prison. Silevren quickly barred the door and they began stacking crates. The heavy boots grew nearer and nearer. Then there was darkness and silence. They remained there for what seemed an eternity. Lerion was in deep pain and Silevren had to hold his mouth shut as he wanted to cry and scream. Uialchon pressed Auravon's cloak against Lerion's wounds. Lerion's breathing became more regular. Time did not exist in that darkened space. And yet in truth, Lerion's body was not wounded. He dreamed continuously of his wounds and pain, the deaths of his wife and sister, and the ruination of their cause, as if the tendrils of Guldrambor's bile sifting through his blood had slowly begun to gut and unhinge his mind, unfolding a horrific tragedy in some unending tale of an unknown end. Edited by Ivordir, May 3 2016, 08:23 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 6 2016, 07:00 PM Post #474 |
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Chapter CCCXXXII: The Sly Spy Now men of Gondor, on the morrow, had come to question Ioristor. Sainion had seen them coming. He had begun to suspect that everything had worked-out far too well for them. Amarthandor's Company was able to pass Six of Seven Gates without being asked for passwords. Everyone had to give the passwords and wait on long lines at times at each Gate, unless they paid to get ahead. They were able to reach the House of Ioristor with hardly any questions asked. And yet, he had studied the eyes of the men as they had passed through each Gate. He had studied their scowling, suspicious eyes, and their unfriendliness betrayed their hospitable tones of voice. He even noticed rangers eyeing them. And he thought back to Mithon and remembered that he, too, had gazed at them with those same scowling and suspicious eyes. And so it was that Sainion had attempted to disperse the lot of them to various guesthouses throughout the City. As a group, they were vulnerable. As separate persons, they were undiscernible, blending-in majestically. They knew the House of Ioristor was no longer a place of safety. Even Ioristor knew it. But Ioristor was forced to remain at his manor, for it would have been suspicious if he, too, had vanished. Ioristor knew what fate would have befallen him. He would have been dragged to Court and forced to answer for his supposed crime of harboring traitors in his Manor. He would have been placed on a mockery of a trial, for a mysterious disappearance in the final sight of rangers would have brought suspicion upon the rangers, and he would have been whipped, tortured, slowly, blood trailing down his aged, wrinkled body, and he would have died from his wounds. Sainion and he had plotted. Sainion would answer the doors, dressed as a humble scholar, under the alias of Mithion. He would say that he was a scholar from Dol Amroth who was present in Minas Tirith on study, who often frequented the Sages Tier of the City for many months of his life, and who often drank at The Thirsty Seer. He would say that Ioristor was not at home, he was in one of the Archives, and Mithion could not say as to which, for Ioristor keeps his secrets and never advertises where he goes, for such is his way as a Noble Elder, and so on and so forth, and the guards would be sent away baffled. They were baffled because all they could do was search the home. They could not risk accusing a potential son of Mithon of such crimes, and Mithon was away. And even the new commander could not gainsay this, for although he had worked with Mithon, he never once inquired into Mithon's family life, because they were not close friends, and Mithon was ever secretive. Thus the guards, who did not know the face of Sainion, and who only knew the face of Mithon, deigned to neglect their search for the time being. They would search the Sages Tier and find no sight of Ioristor, and its tough to find a face that is not known. Ioristor would sneak into the hidden vaults and passageways, climbing down to the Sages Tier, where he would reach the House of Lore or the Thirsty Seer or any such establishment. The soldiers did not find the extent of such passageways, for their doors were made to appear as if normal walls, which were pushed inward in order to pass through them. Sainion would follow such passageways in order to find Ioristor, warning him of the impending arrival of soldiers, and together, they would slip back up through the corridors to their Manor. In time, Ioristor knocked on the doors of the chamber where Silevren and the others were hiding. They recognized his voice and removed the crates. Ioristor had a kindly torch in his hand and metal boots. His metal boots, he reasoned, would make the same echo as other soldiers, so as to avoid suspicion were he ever pursued in the shadows. He would remove them in the hidden corridor before entering the House of Lore. He ever kept a pair of noble shoes nearby within that corridor as well. In time, an even greater superior, who did not know of Mithon's hidden quest to destroy the Company, ordered his subordinate to cease pestering the manors of old nobles. The subordinate, sworn to secrecy, was forced to obey. Then, the members of the Company gathered once again in safety in the Manor of Ioristor. Edited by Ivordir, May 3 2016, 08:22 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 7 2016, 07:02 PM Post #475 |
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Chapter CCCXXXIII: The Bridge It was the 8th of March and the men trudged onward. They trudged through fen and thicket, tree and bush, shrub and flower and fern. The bees stung and the birds sang and the bugs bit and the flies flew. They passed overhill and underhill, as the Emyn Arnen swept beneath and above them. They traveled onward for leagues and leagues. The land rose steadily, swiftly, sharply, as the surfaces became more rough, rocky, rigorous, as the trees grew taller and grimmer. They passed the ruins of Rolanthir. Mithon would not tread there. He claimed that it was haunted. The wind was brisker and chills ran down their spines. And the haunted Morgulduin flowed far below them, dark and poisonous. They found an old road leading closer and closer to the Mounts of Shadow. The Ephel Duath rose high before them, bleak and dark and terrible. They came upon the ruins of an old tower nigh the Harad Road. The old bridge was far below them to the northeast. Mithon turned angrily to Ivordir, "Hither shall we meet thy destiny. We shall learn of thy trap....... Rangers of Ithilien, Dunedain of the Moon.... prepare your positions." The men swiftly hid themselves in the trees and brush below. The bridge was still several leagues from the Walls of Mordor. Ivordir laughed inside himself, "They will find nothing. There is no plot." But then the ground began to rumble as the sounds of Mumakil became more noticeable and threatening. "Ha!" Mithon yelled. "And now we're ready for them!" "Oh no......" Ivordir gulped. "No....no...no.....they are no allies of mine......." The Mumakil arose as tall as the trees, their roped forts upon their backs. The dark eyes of Haradrim were visible as arrows were notched. Beside Ivordir, Daerfalas paled. Their men shook with apprehension. Mithon prepared to order them to fire. Ivordir whispered, "Mithon of the Moon..... these are no allies of mine. Remember this, and remember the greatness of which you have deprived yourself. Farewell." Then Ivordir shouted, ruining the ambush. Ivordir quickly beckoned to his men in the chaos that ensured. Mumakil were charging into the trees, arrows were flying in every direction, and there were harsh outcries in several tongues. Mithon aimed an arrow in Ivordir's direction, but it was too late, for a Mumakil now stampeded toward him. He ran through the brush as fast as he could. They trudged up and along the hills till nightfall. They traveled west for several leagues and camped for the night. Baralinthor gasped as he ached. He huffed as he sat down on the hard earth, "You should've warned us...." "No time to do so," Ivordir gasped. "Are we all alright? How is our dear mason and the sellsword?" Gwainoth trembled, sweating and wiping at his forehead. Naitheg fared better, for all his experience in running from an enemy. He heaved out a laugh. "So, captain, you have led a daring escape and we come out unscathed. I am impressed." Ivordir tried to muster a laugh, "We aren't out of the woods just yet, Naitheg. Mithon apparently has contacts in Minas Tirith itself. We can make it to the White City, and perhaps evade Mithon and his allies for a time, but...... we do not know what we will find when we get there." Baralinthor grunted, "We can hope that the Haradrim killed them." Naitheg agreed heartily. Daerfalas fixed a stare upon them both. "Those are Men of Gondor you speak of," he chided sternly. "They may have falsely believed us traitors, but you should not hope for their demise." Ivordir smiled, "You are right, brother. Regardless, even if he did survive...... he will have some explaining to do about his failure of a foray. He will likely keep quiet about it. The faster we get to Minas Tirith, the better." He took a brief inventory. They still had the gifts of the Eldar. And Ivordir held-up one more thing, "This is Mithon's Sigil. I snatched it from his belt as the Mumak sighted him." Daerfalas looked fondly upon Ivordir. "Clever," he said softly in reverence. "Foresight indeed." Baralinthor laughed, "Are you a Captain or a Burglar? Alright. Now we have a fighting chance of making it through Osgiliath." Ivordir's eyes grew wide, "We may have another problem......... the eastern shores of Osgiliath were held by the Enemy ever since our illustrious -real- Captains destroyed the Great Bridge in their retreat." Baralinthor smiled, "How many of us are there now? Five? Let's hike straight to the river and build a raft!" Naitheg turned to him with a sneer. "Build a raft, you say? It is hardly so simple a task. Osgiliath may yet have been retaken by your Captains." Ivordir nodded, "Its not worth the risk. We cannot take-on an army of Orcs, not this few of us. Rest now, we leave at dawn." |
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| Ivordir | Apr 7 2016, 07:03 PM Post #476 |
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Chapter CCCXXXIV: A Final Dawn At dawn, they reached the bottom of the ravine in the final slopes of the Emyn Arnen. And Ivordir noticed that the currents of the Anduin were too powerful, save where they flowed into the City itself. Begrudgingly, they built their raft. They aimed it straight through the middle of the City and reached the western docks. They remained out of arrow-shot of any Orcs on the eastern side of Osgiliath. They passed through the winding corridors and streets of the ruined city, past ruined domes and complexes, past pillars and old archways, and they were not questioned by many of the men. They displayed Mithon's sigil to one of the lieutenants, who let them pass at the Gates of the Sun, and they made their way through the Causeway Forts, claiming that they were to report to a superior. Ivordir did not mention that the superior was his own father. They marched across many miles of the Pelennor. Lush, green fields, filled with many farming towns and plentiful wheat and barley fields stretched before them along the road. And the White City towered above them. They marched through the Main Gate, the old Kings gazing from their stone reliefs in the Gates. Ivordir leaned against the nearest wall, sighing with relief, as the Pier towered above them. It was now late-afternoon on the 9th of March. Edited by Ivordir, Apr 7 2016, 07:03 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 7 2016, 07:20 PM Post #477 |
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Chapter CCCXXXV: Lurking in the Halls Sainion ran toward Ivordir. He had seen rangers approaching from afar. He had climbed down to the Main Gate to be sure. He did not know who he would find on arrival. Sainion and Ivordir conferred, telling each other everything. Ivordir nodded sadly, "What doom shall befall us? Mithon's treachery was deep...... but come, we must not talk of such things here." They saw the lord-commander approaching them. Ivordir smiled, "Good day to you Sir, what brings you hither?" The Commander smiled suspiciously, "Where is your Captain, Sir?" Ivordir upheld the Sigil, "We came upon a dreadful foray of Haradrim. We escaped. My Captain bids you to accept this as a token of his favour, and to cease all attempts to hinder Ivordir or his Company, for his suspicions were false." Sainion smiled, "And I, Mithion, most assuredly agree." The Commander nodded, saluted, and marched away. Ivordir turned to Sainion as soon as the Commander was out of sight, "That was too easy......" "You would be surprised," Sainion smiled mischievously, "For oft the most honorable of soldiers can prove the more eager to falter into traps...." "As we have learned throughout this hideous journey." "And well-played, my lord, most well-played, for you did not even tell a lie. Each part of your statement revealed some truth......" "There was no need to. Come, where is my Lord-Father?" "Oh, we have kept him safe from harm." "It is well done," Abrazan's eyes gleamed. Ivordir stood at him in shock, "......Abrazan? What happened to you?" Abrazan laughed, "You did not even notice that I was gone, did you? Well, during the attack by the Harad in the wilderness, I became separated from you and chased. I defeated my foes, hid my cloak in a Haradric pack, and overtook their garb. I joined the foray in disguise, and as soon as you made that reckless yell, I ran away from the fighting. I waited till the conflict was done. Several rangers have escaped. I do not know if Mithon was among them. But I do know this: I took the garb of a slain ranger as soon as the army pressed-on. I then tracked you as far as I could. I crossed the river on a raft of my own downstream of the heavy currents nigh the City. Then I simply crossed to the Bridge of the Gates of the Sun, through the Causeway Forts, and got here." Ivordir stared at him in awe, "How in the world did you survive all of that on your own?" Abrazan's eyes gleamed even brighter, "I am Yucalwe's son. He trained me well to survive in the wilds, as he did for millennia." "You have spoken little since we parted from Tumladen." "What is there to say?" Abrazan whispered, his head turning to and fro to ensure his secrecy, "I kept my mouth shut beside those rangers, I know never to trust enemies of the Harad. I learned of them in Dol Amroth. I did my part in the battles, but what can a man say? When he is asked to kill those who should be his brothers?" Ivordir nodded, "Fair enough. Your discretion has kept you alive, and our Quest........" Sainion smiled at them both, "Come, let us speak with the sellsword and the mason and Daerfalas, and maneuver to the Sages Tier, where I know a place where we can vanish...." Ivordir laughed, "I am the lore-master's son, Sainion. I know full well what you mean." And they ascended the many Tiers of the White City, they came to the House of Lore, and sneaked their way through darkened halls, until they reached the lower reaches of the Manor of Ioristor. And Ioristor embraced his son for the first time in several years. They did not watch a sun dial as they embraced. Edited by Ivordir, May 3 2016, 08:24 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 8 2016, 07:11 PM Post #478 |
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Chapter CCCXXXVI: The Accounting As they reached the dining hall, Daerfalas parted in search of Melimir, and Ivordir stood solemnly against a pillar. "Well..... it is about time!" Glossel stormed toward Ivordir. Ivordir tried to smile, "Were you not waiting for me, yearning for my safe return, weeping in horror of nightmarish outcomes?" She slapped him across the face. "Wha...?" She slapped him again. Her tears betrayed her, "You make such light of it! You skulking 'Captain.' Leaving me behind in such danger. Well... I can take care of myself. You think you are so manly and ever so strong and that I am ever so weak.... you louse of a man, you artist of deceit! Coming down from the north with supernatural powers.... ha! We are surrounded. How do you suppose we shall escape from them, THIS TIME!" "My dear, I..." "Ah! Do not throw me any of those tall-tales of yours now. It is all an act...." "Parlour tricks, as my former friend once called them. Do you know that I could have been -executed- for treason?" "I am not surprised. Consorting with Haradrim. All I could do was to merely go along with it, at least temporarily, until I...." "You did WHAT?!" "I will admit it. I was going to inform the guards. But I did not wish for Fingaereth or Colhel to be harmed, and so I kept my mouth shut. I do not know how the guards found-out, but oh, how convenient!" "Who is the treacherous Sorceress now, witch!" "Ha! He called me a "witch"! Did you hear him? What is a witch? An old fairy tale that we tell little girls and boys to be afraid of?" Ivordir felt tempted to slap Glossel across the face, but he didn't, because he wanted to be a good, kind husband, and a gentleman. He glared at her instead. "OH! How dare you!" Then Ivordir suddenly dove-in with a kiss on Glossel's lips. Glossel quickly fought him off, pushing him away, "How dare you kiss me, you.......!" Then she dove-in. It was not long before they were crying on each others' shoulders...... As Sainion walked-by a dial-shift of the sun later, he saw them lying on the floor beside each other, Glossel's head resting on Ivordir's shoulder, their eyes shut tight. "Why I am not surprised..." And then the two realized how dirty they were, for Ivordir was filthy, and his once-clean chin had continued to grow his beard. The servants attended to them not long thereafter. Edited by Ivordir, May 6 2016, 04:39 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 11 2016, 02:17 PM Post #479 |
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Chapter CCCXXXVII: The Next Horizon Their hair had been long by Gondorian standards. Their flamboyant garb had glimmered in the light of the morning sun. Now they were ashen by sunset. Ivordir listened attentively as he beheld the strange tale of what had befallen those whom had initially remained behind in Pelargir before their ever stranger voyage up the river. Now a new stage had been set. Now Mithon's plans had partially reached fruition. Ivordir stood on the balcony as dawn had begun to approach. Lerion stood beside him. There was a stroke of thunder. Deep in the distance, the fiery red clouds surged over the land of Mordor, and from them, came a protruding darkness. The clouds charged as if set into the fray. Ivordir placed a strong, firm hand on Lerion's shoulder. Lerion nodded. Dawn did not appear upon that next horizon. It was now the 10th of March: The Dawnless Day. They had seen the clouds approaching the day before, swallowing the clear blue skies, drowning the sunlight as if a surging sea of shadow. Ivordir smiled at Lerion, "Come. You may yet reveal your courage." "You.....you do not think ill of me?" "No, not now. I would have in Pelargir, but no, not now. Now, you are different, for your wounds have changed you. As they have changed me..." Ivordir revealed his own wounds. They clasped each other on the shoulder, as Ivordir declared, "Come, let us face this Dawnless Day together." Lerion smiled for the first time since the massacre, "Yes, we shall." Edited by Ivordir, May 3 2016, 08:26 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 11 2016, 03:42 PM Post #480 |
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Chapter CCCXXXVIII: The Long Report They all gathered in the dining hall, seated at several long tables. Ivordir bid that each member of their Company should come up to a podium that Ioristor had erected for public gatherings in his private manse. They should each come up and speak their story of what had occurred. Ivordir deemed that this was necessary in order to fully reunify the Company in the wake of the myriad of tragedies that had befallen them. They began with Nenthor, who had remained quiet throughout his journey. "Well," Nenthor began. "Since me sons died, I thought of abandoning the Company and its cause. I even ran away into the wilderness one night, not afraid of any Haradrim that might hound me. But then I learn that sawlemn voice a-comin' in the back of me head, the vawice of that brave Elf-lord whawm we met in the far nawrth." His accent was more pronounced. He was no longer afraid to conceal it in the presence of nobility. "The vawice said: 'Daw not abandon yawur cause and shame yawur sawns.' I paced back and fawrth in the wawods. And the vawice inside me head spake again: 'Daw not abandon yawur cause and shame yawur sawns.' And I sang me a troubled lay as then I went to sleap. And I heard again: 'Daw not abandon yawur cause and shame yawur sawns.' In the end, I came back, and I thank ye for ye pardawn, Captain......... I wawold have braved the fawrests of far Ithilien with ye, were it nawt for the deaths of me sawns....... I've spent mawst days in the guesthawse or at the bar with Gilawrn and Haedirn and Duawn and Palanelawn and the rest of ye men......" There was a round of applause and Nenthor stepped down. He did not want to play anymore lays or ballads. Then Ivordir asked Gilorn, Haedirn, Dúon, and Palanelon if they wished to speak. They confirmed Nenthor's report. They had spent the past few days drinking. And Ivordir then questioned why they did not aid the victims in Ioristor's manse. To which Gilorn stood and spoke: "I was ever loyal to Gondor." He pointed at Lerion accusingly, "When he and his ilk came to our shores, traitors all, they were welcomed most merrily by my most noble lords of Gondor. Why did you bring snakes to the slaughter, I ask you, most noble lords of Gondor. For if you are indeed, most noble, why do you insist in bringing the Enemy, in secrecy, beyond the City Gates? At the same time, I also could not deny the powers of the almighty West that I have seen. I ask ye: Why did not the powers of the almighty West intervene? I let it all to them." There was no applause. Gilorn continued, "I speak for the rest of us, Captain. In the beginning, our cause was marred. Then I came to believe that it had some measure of nobility, until you welcomed a brood of snakes among us. The Serpent serves the Eye. Nothing more and nothing less. It is the Dark Tower for which they stand, not of the White." Ivordir rebutted, "Yet here he stands, this apparent Sorcerer of Harad...... his father murdered." Angolhel and Alagossel nodded sadly. "Traitors' words," Gilorn retorted. "His father fell on the field of battle, as shall we all..." "Then you agree with Mithon. Every single person dwelling beneath this roof ought to have been slain, save you and Haedirn..." "I...." "Forgive me, brave and noble servant of the White Tower.... for I must relieve thee of thy sword." And Gilorn moved to draw his sword, but his sword was gleaming in Dúon's left hand. Dúon's eyes gleamed, "No..... permit me first to speak, sir. For I have witnessed evil, I am complicit in the foulness of it all...... as murky as Mirkwood, as dead as the Dead Marshes... as ashen as Gorgoroth............ but have I not since proven my undying loyalty to Gondor?" Gilorn nodded sadly. Haedirn spoke, "I shall not raise my sword." And Palanelon spoke, "For all that I have witnessed beneath this roof and other roofs...... this quarreling shall be of little use to us, Sires........ for are we not all marked as traitors? Were we not hindered merely because we blended-in? Because we did not appear suspicious, we who drank ourselves sick in the Wheel and Cask and Splintered Shield? What are we, savages, poised to turn on each other? Shan't we prove Mithon right by all of this?" And Gilorn nodded, saying nothing. And shall I not redeem myself by turning-them-in to Mithon? Shall the West not strike me down if I should do so? Ioristor spoke from the rear, his aged, wise voice speaking melodically, "And shall we not all perish, if naught but one of us should falter, revealing us to the authorities? Can none of you see what a misunderstanding all of this amounts to? I raised my son, your Captain, to be ever and undying-ly loyal to our countrymen.... to kith and kin, to the White Tree, of whom we are its branches..... Are we so withered as that solemn Courtyard above? So wretched and bereft of life.... and love... and kinship?" Gilorn finally surrendered. And Dúon smiled, "You know..... I kept watch on these fine, brave, most honorable men for you, Captain." "I knew it!" Haedirn scoffed, "But of course we would not brawl in a bar.... there's plenty of that in taverns, even hither in the White City.... I...I am more forgiving than my comrade here........ but let me tell ye this. A dark cloud has come forth from the East, shrouding all in shadow..... we no longer have time to determine who's a traitor and who is loyal..... for all shall be revealed in time. I counsel this: let's all swear a sacred oath, and woe unto the betrayer of it....." Ivordir smiled, "I have learned of such things from the lore of the Eldar.... and I tell you, Sire.... that would prove a grave error. The Eldar of old all did the same, and their Oath swallowed them, one by one, into the Everlasting Dark beyond the Sun....... for the one spark of hope that remains among them, I plead with you: let the White Tree alone stand as our vow. And if it falls, we fail." Haedirn nodded, "That is good and just....." Palanelon smiled, "Here, here!" There was a round of applause. Sighing with relief, Ivordir commanded Dúon to return Gilorn's sword. Gilorn acknowledged inside himself: It would prove wrong, now... to betray such friends..... who ought to have slain me here on the spot...... I'll trust in the White Tree, as our Captain suggested........ the Tree shall not betray me....... Then Ivordir called-up the next speaker, Colhel. Colhel had folded her azure cloak around her as if a robe, as she approached the podium. Colhel smiled, "I am relieved that our dear Sire Gilorn has relented hither. Let me tell you all. I speak now for the Lords and Ladies of Gondor..... Let it be known throughout our lands: the Haradwaith is not our enemy........ many of the Haradrim are our enemies..... but not their whole people, not all of their tribes, not all of their men, women, and children, oppose us....... they were called the Men of Darkness in our lore, for ever siding with the Enemy..... but must they all be deemed as such, without a choice? These brave women made their choice............. they choose to protect us. They choose to risk their lives that we might have life......... I do not believe that will one day perish in the Void, in the Everlasting Dark, I will not! They did not slay our rangers..... they did not make the ground burst asunder with their heavy feet crushing the soil......... they did not take Osgiliath for their own, or Cair Andros, or any of our settlements....... they came to us on their own free will, from their own country, from a far and distant land that we will never know.........." And Fingaereth stood on one of the tables, with Isenadin Ninniachon at her side, "For who will stand for us.... the weak.... the vulnerable......... they do. Their ways are strange to us, but we have come to know them...... they are intimate, close, alive......... and they bring meaning to our lives, and our land longs to slaughter them before our eyes..... is this our great country? Our majestic land?" Isenadin interjected, "I have witnessed horror...... grave horror........ the horror of it all........ speak not of treason again, Sire Gilorn.......... for there is no reason for it." And Duvaissel added, "It is true, we have engaged in treason........ the canals and quays of Pelargir are rank with it....... and, perhaps, we should die.......... yet why do we live?" Glossel contributed, "And why should our feelings be tossed aside so eagerly, and forced to silence? Is it because we are merely 'women,' forced into households, and away from battle and woe? If we were assailed, Angolhel and Alagossel, you would have held their spears....... bravely to the last. Is this our final fate, to wait, for our brave and valiant men to slay us, and I mean no offense to you, my Captain and my husband, for I speak on behalf of us all? Is this what awaits the brave citizens of Gondor who put their lives on the line to seek awareness, greater understanding?" "I'd hate to disagree with ye, mi Lady," Gilorn replied, "But the Haradrim archer who rides the Mumak with his poisoned arrow set to the string would not hesitate to shoot you...... nor would the spear wielder hesitate to place his lance within ye heart......." Glossel retorted, "And must I then hesitate to fight such men?" Duvaissel's eyes gleamed, "Or to defend those brave women who dare to stand proudly?" "Fine, fine, I'll agree, to that, but still........ they are Haradrim." Angolhel and Alagossel rolled their eyes. "They are women first," Fingaereth pouted. The room was forced to silence when Angolhel demanded to speak with Alagossel at her side. Angolhel smiled, "While I thank my fellow ladies for their defense, I can speak for myself. I am Haradric. I am Gondorian. I am both. I belong to both and belong to neither. I know great tales that you may never know. I know vast powers that you will never find. And yet I know you, your land, your culture, for they are both wedded within the sinews of my being, within the depths of my heart. Think what you will, Gilorn of Gondor. But know this. I know the cost of war. My husband's father died a terrible death. Yes, he served the Enemy, and perhaps he was misguided. But death claims us all, a doom and a gift. But who can give it? Who can willingly bestow it? We will all perish into corpses, before all is done. I would.... that my people.... were not of the Darkness, not beneath the Shadow...... I would have them live bright and free, with Gondorians as their brothers.............. so let we few who do not serve the Darkness have, at least, the courage to defy the Enemy together....... for he has wrought this discord. And he must end. And many must die in the process......... and, for this, I weep........" Gilorn solemnly nodded, considering her words. Ivordir continued, "And Mithon, for all his talk of loyalty and honor, ought to be flung into a dungeon cell for what he did to us! Attend now, my tale..." And Ivordir told them of everything that had befallen them in Ithilien. Lerion's eyes gleamed at the thought of the treacherous Haradrim, whom Angolhel had sent into Ithilien, being slain. When his tale was through, Abrazan began his tale. Edited by Ivordir, May 3 2016, 08:35 PM.
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12:43 AM Jul 11