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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 (4,115 Views) | |
| Ivordir | Apr 11 2016, 04:20 PM Post #481 |
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Chapter CCCXXXIX: Mumak of Far Harad "When I became separated from the group, I hid in the far wilderness of southern Ithilien. I wore my cloak proudly, at first, but then I realized the Haradrim would find it strange, or so I believed....... I am not of those people. I am of the Sarajim, south of Umbar..... I knew some of their ways, but sorcerers were ever secretive and mysterious to me. And so I hid my cloak in my pack and pressed-on. I hunted game, built fires at night, and ate berries in the wilds. When I finally thought I reached some sort of a settlement, I realized it was occupied by Haradrim! So I stripped my clothes and lightly scarred myself with my knife, made it look like I'd been wounded in battle, and that I was a lone survivor. I spoke of the attack with Mithon in the wilderness. Then they welcomed me among them. I resumed my Southron accent. They fed and clothed me and told me they had a larger camp to the southeast. And so I journeyed to that camp, it was huge, and it was then I beheld the Mumakil. From there, I was introduced to a team who had traveled from all the way across Far Harad. I rode for many leagues in their tower as they shared tales of the desert with me. They told me of their families, their loved ones, and in some cases, the ladies who awaited them on the long way home...... I heard of far-off, strange forests called "jungles" that have many slithering snakes and wild cats and other dangerous beasts...... Akapor was their distant city beneath strange stars. I learned of their marketplaces called "bazaars" and their vast domed structures, yet strange, not like the Gondorian ones....... and I asked them if they truly wished to serve the Eye. Privately, they wished they didn't have to. So, I told them of my father, risking my life. They were in awe with the story. And so I gave them a choice." Ivordir erupted in laughter, as many further joined him, "Are you telling me...?" Abrazan smirked, "Yes. They will see their families again. I ensured that they were the last oliphaunt in-line before the battle with the rangers. I also ensured the following: since the East is now exclusively Enemy territory, they were to journey as far from the War as they could.... I told them to find the Anduin River and to follow it...... Mumakil are tall, they can wade through deeper water...... they are likely nigh Cair Andros by now. But then I told them to avoid Cair Andros and find the Wetwang, and to skirt along its borders, including the Dead Marshes. They are to rendezvous with us north of the Emyn Muil. And we shall ride atop their towers. They told us that there might be two other Mumakil teams interested. We shall see what we shall see..." Ivordir nodded, "With our recent luck, they'll either be betrayed, or proven to be traitors to our cause.... I'll withhold judgment. Are there any landmarks that they are to find?" Abrazan nodded, "The Argonath. We shall see what we shall see." "Then our route is proven to us. We must follow the Anduin north before we can journey east....." Abrazan clasped Ivordir's shoulder, "It is for the best, my friend...... it is for the best.... While it may prove unwise to journey west to travel east, it is wiser than attempting the other route through Enemy territory." Lerion finally spoke, "That is true. Our lands are vast and hot, and they would slay any Gondorians whom they could find......" "Our course is settled then," Ivordir sighed. "So be it......" |
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| Ivordir | Apr 11 2016, 04:27 PM Post #482 |
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Chapter CCCXL: Proceedings Continue Ivordir smiled at them all, "We will discuss when we shall depart at a later point in time. I fear that we can do little at present, for this new, Dawnless Day, likely signals an attack by the Enemy. None will be permitted to depart from Gondor in such a dire time. I fear.... fortunately for my Lord-Father... that we are stuck here for now. We are weary with travel and sorrow... we must recover our strength." "But what of Mithon's agents in the City?" Sainion noted. "We would have to contend with them in any case, if contend we must..." Arhbaineth smiled, "Well.... what little more is there to say with all this? Glossel stole my words from my lips earlier, and there is little more to do." Lerion closed his eyes, "We will see........ we will see what we shall see, as you all have said......... I....I have nothing to speak." Lerion turned to Silevren, Uialchon, and Tinnuchon, who all shook their heads, as well as Rostiel and Himelon. Melimon and Auron, Daechon, Astaron and Annun, and Alcanon and Farion had little to add as well. Limben and Tinnedir were also silent. Circhon asked of his followers, "Well?" None replied. Sainion turned to Aegon, who also shook his head. "I'll wait until the rest of you have spoken" Amarthandor replied, a cape-less Auravon nodding at his side. Ivordir nodded, "Does anyone else wish to speak? Perhaps the Lady Melimir, or you, Daerfalas, my brother, or Gwainoth, or Naitheg? Arancir? And then, after ye all have spoken, I must additionally ask: Does anyone wish to remain in Minas Tirith and not journey with us into the East?" Edited by Ivordir, May 6 2016, 10:05 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 14 2016, 07:17 PM Post #483 |
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Chapter CCCXLI: Lady Melimir's Decision The room hushed as attention shifted to Lady Melimir. She and her servants had avoided capture in the same manner as Ioristor and Sainion. At Daerfalas’ side sat Melimir. She clasped her son’s hand, wordless for a moment and gathering her thoughts. At Ivordir’s request she stood, solemn, tall and proud, gracing all those present with a smile. “In all my years,” she began gently, and those that would wander at her youthful face would now notice the grey streaking her dark hair, “I never thought I would come to behold such a sight; Men – and Women – of Gondor and Harad, seated together within a Manse of Minas Tirith. Our path from Pelargir has been wrought with tragedy and sorrow. I fear the road ahead may be much of the same. Your plan, Abrazan,” she turned to gaze upon him steadily, “is, I think, a good one, but there are many dangers you would face. Still…” she bowed her head. “My sons, Daerfalas, Ivordir, and all those you two would call brothers…I’ve little doubt that you will prevail upon the path you shall soon set out upon.” She laughed suddenly. “It seems my brood has grown. No longer have I just one child. All of you,” she looked pointedly at all those gathered at the table, “have survived thus far. The skies may be darkened, and all of Minas Tirith may flounder for hope, but I say only this – go forth, and trust in our company. And in each other.” Serenely she gazed upon Gilorn. “I will stay here with Ioristor. Our strengths combined, I think, shall foil Mithon’s men for the time being.” Daerfalas nodded. Naitheg drank from his cup of wine deeply. Gwainoth at his side stirred, emboldened. |
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| Ivordir | Apr 14 2016, 07:28 PM Post #484 |
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Chapter CCCXLII: The Once and Never King Amarthandor stood with his brothers at his side. His cloak was folded over him as if a robe. He stared at the assemblage. "In truth, I ought to have died, and others ought to have lived. But I cannot change this. None can. Whatever Power may govern us, It has seen fit that some of us might live, and others perish, regardless of merit, or of honor, or of justice. I cannot pretend to explain it thus. Forgiveness is the brighter road. Whatever we have done or failed to do, it does not matter as much as our courage, our strength, our fortitude. And none should doubt your courage, Maidens of Gondor. A darkness lieth overhead. The time for decision is nigh." "My Lords...." Sainion swiftly spoke, "It is with great sorrow that I must tell you that the Great Gates have been shut. None may enter, save the highest of authorities, and none may depart. We are lesser nobles. We are trapped here, for good or ill, we must weather the storm." Ivordir heaved a deep sigh, "It is so. The Enemy marches on this City. Gilorn, Haedirn, do you wish to join the garrison at Osgiliath?" "I've heard rumors........Captain, I'll put me grudge aside..... may it wither and perish. Forgive my conflict........ it is not easy for old soldier dogs like us." Haedirn nodded, "I fear we would face treachery by Mithon's men if we dared the garrison..." "Ever have we held those shores, my brother...." "And what shall our lives be worth if we toss them in the river, blindly against hordes of foes?" "Aye, the skies are an ill omen........ no mere skirmish will this battle likely be." Ivordir nodded, "It will not. I fear that to depart from these walls will be our deaths...." Gilorn smiled, "Well, I'll let you decide. Grudges or no grudges, suspicions or no suspicions..... what do you think? You can be rid of us now, or you can dare to trust us to keep within your Company until the steppes of Rhun nigh its sea...... go ahead. Decide." Ivordir smiled, "I'll trust you. Do not throw your lives away at Osgiliath. There's no honor or glory in it." Gilorn closed his eyes for several long moments. Then, he nodded. |
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| Ivordir | Apr 17 2016, 06:52 PM Post #485 |
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Chapter CCCXLIII: Dark Horizons There was movement in the grass far beneath the Mumak as she trod through the northern route of the Harad Road, and a chill air blew from the Morgul Vale. Mithon's eyes gleamed coldly in the moonlight. He aimed for the Mumak's eye. Saljuk gazed down from his small rampart, "Ota! Rangara! Fira!" Mithon missed the Southron's arrow. Mithon pulled another arrow to his bow-string, pulling it back precisely, but Saljuk yelled, "No fira! No fira!" "Ha!" Mithon yelled, "I'll fira till I draw last breath!" Saljuk yelled again, "No! No!" There was a crack of thunder, and the ground itself seemed to shake, rippling beneath their feet, outward from the Morgul Vale. A red flame had erupted from Orodruin. And as they gazed up toward the sky, a bright, blue, hideous light charged into the upper darkness. "Bah!" Mithon yelled. They are coming.... and fast... it isn't worth it! I evaded death by treachery once, I can evade it again... When Saljuk turned toward Mithon again, Mithon had vanished into the shadows of the brush. Saljuk shouted to the others, "Mova! Mova noa! Far Abrazan ya Ranyaro!" And the caravan of Mumakil and their Haradrim retainers continued north, breaking away from their ordered route to Osgiliath. They were not a large force, about 50 strong on seven large oliphaunts. Their host was large compared to Abrazan's initial estimation of how many they might sway to their cause. Saljuk closed his eyes, the brisk wind surging past his sweat-laden cheeks, thinking in his native tongue, It is done, Abrazan... We've turned from the route and become traitors to the Eye... let them try to find us, let them try! We'll veer to the west north of the river.... so a river won't be in our way.... the planned Host from the Black Gates will notice our treason if they see us...... well let 'em come, we'll stomp 'em if they try! And the Mumakil stomped onward into the shadows of the night that heralded the rise of March 11th. |
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| Ivordir | Apr 17 2016, 07:04 PM Post #486 |
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Chapter CCCXLIV: The Darkened Swan "Hahaha! Once a Lord and now a pauper, eh?" The men spat on Ballithor. Ballithor gazed at them angrily, "I still own my estate and lands. I may be bereft of command, but not of lordship! Listen here, you scum! If you dare insult me again, I'll have your heads!" They laughed and some turned away, heeding the threat. Sainon placed his left-hand on Ballithor's shoulder, "It won't be like this forever, my Lord." Ballithor laughed coldly, "Do not think to sway me to your interest, Sainon. If I have anything left in this world to take pleasure from, it is from your suffering, you and your dead son's." Sainon said nothing. Ballithor turned to face him directly, "Yes, snake! Be silent in my presence. You do not merit my respect. You overheard words that cannot be taken back. You threatened to blackmail me with them. Well, not today, Sainon. Not today." "I never sought to blackmail you, my Lord. You presumed." "Yes, and I presumed wisely." "Suppose I do tell Lord Angbor of this?" "Then you shall surely die, before this war is through." "No........ no, Lord Ballithor. You are not worth my time or my life." Ballithor punched Sainon clear through the jaw, knocking him down. Sainon could not speak. His azure robes were caked in mud. They were in the marketplace of Linhir. "Sir, the Enemy is making another assault!" One man yelled. And the horns of battle sounded. Ballithor marched coldly with his men, some of whom had remained loyal to him, despite his loss of command. They charged into the Corsairs and Bartuk laughed cruelly, "Make 'em squeal! All the Gondorian swine!" And the air grew colder. And Angbor called for a charge, his Lamedon loyalists flocking to him. And the air grew colder. And Ballithor and his men pressed ahead into the Corsair ranks, which had begun to waver. And the air grew colder. A chill wind blew from the north. There was a rousing shout. A grey-clad Ranger could be seen, standing on the hill nearby, with strange companions nigh. And beneath the silhouettes of Elf, Dwarf, and Man, a Grey Host loomed, of grey-clad men, as pale horses and their riders, pale spears and pale banners, and pale soldiers, all glowing a deathly glow, surged from the hill behind them. And even cold Ballithor's cold heart could not withstand the cold. Cowardice coursed through his veins. His face grew sweaty and his eyes bulged wide, as if the long, cold arm of Yucalwe coldly reached for him from the cold North, the long grasp of Ranyaro finally arriving, to take his vengeance, his final justice. Ballithor turned cold and ran, his men swiftly following him, while all the while, only Lord Angbor stood alone to face the Grey Host before him. The Siege was lifted and the battle won, and Ballithor steered clear of Aragorn. When Lord Angbor bade -all- his men to follow in their wake, Lord Ballithor had little choice but to follow, as the Dead loomed ahead of him. |
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| Ivordir | Apr 17 2016, 07:17 PM Post #487 |
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Chapter CCCXLV: A Deathly Signal "What in the name of Sorcery was THAT?" Lerion had shouted in the waning hours of March 10th, with Angolhel at his side. It was now the evening of the 11th. The couples had dispersed to their chambers and said what couples would always say in those circumstances, of how they missed each other and feared each others' deaths, a universal response to the chaos in which they had found themselves as a result of Mithon's treachery. And they had seen the deathly pale, cold, bright blue light jet-up from the distant Morgul Vale, the same old fears cowering in their hearts. Lerion could not believe it. "THAT," Ivordir had retorted, "Was -real- sorcery..... and not the peddling that you Haradrim have interwoven among your ranks." "I would.................. wrathfully agree that our sorcery was proven false. But what of your Elvish sorcery, Dunadan? What of your magics?" And Angolhel had nodded. Ivordir had smiled, "Well, we are alive, are we not?" "Gilorn might dispute this." "Now do not trouble yourself with old Gilorn. Let me handle him. It is best to keep you separated from each other for the time being. I'll even have Auravon and Circhon guard you, all three of you, including your sister." "The Tumladen noble? Can we trust this Circhon?" "I suspect that we may, based on what Sainion has told me." "I trust him more than I trust Circhon." "Be that as it may, we must learn to trust each other, lest we are torn apart and ripped asunder by the Enemy. And they are coming... we saw their signal... and hither are we, trapped hither in my own home........." ".....and I on the wrong side...." "Your side would see you dead, as the result of your actions..... be rid of them." "Then what side may I be on, if none will accept me?" "Be on -my- side and you'll live through this war. I promise you." They were standing on the balcony, gazing toward Harad. Lerion's cloak whipped and surged about them, the wind swirling its red, gleaming folds around Ivordir's shoulders, the deep-purple lining concealing them. Angolhel's cloak flowed likewise, as Ivordir stood between them. Lerion tried to smile, "Very well....... Captain...... and I promise you my loyalty............" They clasped each other on the shoulders once more. Then they turned away. Ivordir whispered, "I'll keep you away from your people, and the battle to come.... for now....." Edited by Ivordir, May 3 2016, 08:38 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 22 2016, 07:12 PM Post #488 |
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Chapter CCCXLV: Beneath a Dawnless Sky The next two days were uneventful. Ivordir calmed and tried to appease Glossel, who continually rebuked him, slowly gaining control in return. Fingaereth and Isenadin-Ninniachon and Malfinseron plotted escaping from the City and back to her Lord-Father's home in the vale, only to realize that the Main Gates were shut for good. Then they cowered and cut each others' hair out of grief, believing that death would soon approach them. They hid in each others' cloaks and kissed, and had many a bad cry together. Saelbainor and Duvaissel hid in the corridors, now bereft of their powers and wondering whether they had made the right decision in changing sides. Melimon, Alcanon, Farion, Annun, Astaron, and Aurion all plotted on whether or not to disguise themselves in armor, pose as reinforcements for Osgiliath, and make for the Quays of Harlond before stowing away on any remaining ships or boats. The Dance had ended and they thought to save their own lives. Colhel remained watchful over her sister and comforted Auravon. Rostiel and Himelon plotted each others' suicides in the event of Orcs conquering most of the City. Of the others, Ivordir did not know, for he had spent most of his time with his wife: but he supposed that Daerfalas was with his mother, Lady Melimir, who was oft to confer with Ioristor, and that Gwainoth was off cowering somewhere in terror of the coming storm, and that the sellsword, Naitheg, was set to calm him, and that Arancir was conferring with his brother Amarthandor, along with Gwathron. Amarthandor had become suspicious and cynical toward the blatant flamboyant behavior of himself and his comrades. He had ordered that no one should wear their cloaks, feigned magic or no magic, and that the time for absurd behavior was over. He would not tolerate the performance of any Southron dances or rituals of feigned sorcery within the White City. Nor would he tolerate any Elven interference from the North. For he had come to believe that such times and tidings were alien to the realm of Gondor, foreign and uncouth, and he did not want to re-alert the spies of Mithon, particularly not by accident, and with certainty, not on purpose. Circhon had demanded a similar order of his own men. Many a chest was closed and locked, the gleaming fabric hidden within. Daechon did not do so willingly, but after Isenadin finally persuaded him to do so, Daechon spent his days drinking and storytelling with Limben and Tinnedir. And Aegon continued his studies of writing under Sainion's tutelage, while Arhbaineth observed, growing ever more protective of her husband, fearing the days to come. Only Ivordir, Daerfalas, Auravon, and Lerion kept their cloaks upon their shoulders, for the brothers were loathe to cast aside their northern gifts so needlessly, much to Amarthandor's chagrin. Silevren, Tinnuchon, and Uialchon remained with Lerion, Angolhel, and Alagossel, guarded by Circhon and two of his companions. Duon, Gilorn, and Haedirn deigned to place aside their differences. Soon, they went missing, along with Melimon and his companions. Edited by Ivordir, May 6 2016, 10:14 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 23 2016, 05:00 PM Post #489 |
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Chapter CCCXV: Nightfall on Pelargir Throughout the plains of Lebennin, chaos ensured when the forces of Marduk and other Corsair Captains stormed the shores, laying entire villages to waste. The fleet had pressed-on with terrible speed from Linhir, poised to strike at Umbar's Sister-City, Pelargir of the Sea-Kings. It had been sacked twice before. Gondor's fleet did not make it out of harbor in time. Malnoron and the new Gurthbainor had worked to ensure this, among many other agents. The nobles of the City rallied their forces to hold the quays. They did not hold for long. Marduk and his men cut a swath through the shield-line and pressed forward up the grand stair toward the House of Melimir. A fire burned, reflected, in Malnoron's cruel eyes as he saw the manor raised to the ground with pleasure. The courtyard, the chambers, the founts, all were laid to waste, and the Corsairs sought to rejoice in their ever-growing plunder. But there were no women in that manor to oppress, and no men to slay for sport, no children to enslave. It was all empty. The Corsairs' plunder did not grow. They did not rejoice. Malnoron and his remaining followers remained save in his manor, the remainder had journeyed north to be ended before Tumladen, and no tidings had come from Dochon. Malnoron had lost track of his three wayward sons since their defection at Glaniath. Malnoron's wife had died of a broken heart, unable to reconcile her love for her lost sons and their supposed treachery. Old Malnoron, sick of his old wife, had aided her breaking with an ounce of old lace in her wine. Such was the ending of their adolescent marriage. He sat coldly on his throne within his manor. His servants had painted the bleeding crossed blades of Umbar on his main door and windows, to ensure their safety, and then the sound of heavy knocking could be heard at the main door. Malnoron bade his servants to open it. Bartuk marched proudly into the chamber, "My! My! What a charming gathering! I'll see ye..." Malnoron raised his hand in protest, silently sliding his sigil of Umbar forward in his left hand, holding it aloft: "I stand for the glory of Umbar." "Drat!" Bartuk barked, "No plunder for me men then." The Sorcerer revealed himself, "Not for thou beneath this roof, not thine at least! Continue in thy desecration of this city!" "Ha!" Bartuk yelled, "I don't fear ye, Sorcerer! I'm no superstitious tribesman!" The Sorcerer laughed, "Thine comrades art stealing ye plunder from ye other manors! What speakest thou to this!" And Bartuk stormed away without a word. |
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| Ivordir | Apr 23 2016, 05:04 PM Post #490 |
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Chapter CCCXVI: The Cold The air was cold, the night bereft of warmth, and Ballithor clenched his teeth from it for the first time. It was the dead that did it. Sainon huddled inside his azure velvet and tried to gaze at the stars, but the stars were gone. But not all was dark. Ever still, the looming pale apparitions of the Dead loomed nearer and nearer, as they passed silently in their terror across the plains, the Host of Gondor following the Dead and the grim, grey Dunedain who marched before them. Sainon could hardly believe his eyes, for he had studied the Arnorians and the lost North Kingdom and its successor states, and there marched its last vestige before him, in the flesh: the northern Dunedain. But the Sigil on the great Banner was veiled, concealed from his watchful eyes. The plains, too, were a dark-some grey beneath the cloudless black above their heads. Rations were meager, the winds blew coldly, and fires were not lit against the ever-deepening gloom that surrounded them, enshrouding them in grim countenance. |
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| Ivordir | Apr 24 2016, 01:46 PM Post #491 |
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Chapter CCCXVII: Honor's Pride On the afternoon of the 12th, Ivordir later learned that Gilorn and Haedirn and their followers had bought horses at the City Stables and charged across the fields toward Osgiliath. Melimon, Aurion, Alcanion, Farion, Annun, and Astaron had taken their leave from Silevren, despite the latter's protests, and pressed onward toward the beleaguered ruins before them. They had decided not to flee to the Quays of Harlond, for Gilorn had roused their spirits with old tales of honor and glory, and they deemed they'd rather not be cowards. Their inner courage arose, and with it, folly. They left their cloaks for Silevren to remember-them by. And Angolhel, Alagossel, and Lerion had sternly warned the youths not to go, and Lerion's blood had churned in terror, when he thought his nightmares were attaining their fulfillment, and the youths all disregarded the warnings, and marched away. It did not make sense to Silevren. For now, only Tinnuchon and Uialchon remained at his sides. Now, all whom had followed him, had abandoned him. They had followed him in the belief that he was meant to be their King. And they were denied the validity of that belief, when Angolhel unseamed the mysterious Amanuiron from it all, rendering all the prophesies of Silevren as the new Ar-Pharazon dormant, dead, and deficient. They needed something. Anything. They needed anything to satisfy their longing for meaning, for significance. And Gilorn's older, and seemingly wiser words, gave a renewed hope and inner strength to them, a deepening sense of loyalty. They came to believe Gilorn's words concerning the Haradrim. They had, after all, un-crowned Silevren, before any crown could crown the crown of his blessed head. They would not fight any longer for their supposed King. They would fight for the dream that their King would one day return. They remembered brighter days when they'd make their way through Pelargir's streets, when they'd meet with Silevren nigh the Library, and when they'd hide themselves from the City Guard. They remembered the horrors they had witnessed in their complicity, beneath the halls of Malnoron's manse. They remembered the false magic of the South, the vain kissing and the vain indulgences and the vain dancing, the vain drinking and the vain hiding, and they were ashamed. Gilorn and Haedirn wore only their woolen cloaks for battle. They wore their coats of mail and strong weapons. They pressed across leagues of field and farm, through several villages, and eventually they reached the Causeway Forts, where they enlisted themselves and were sent as a unit to one of the stronger quays near the ruined, broken, formerly Great Bridge. Nightfall came, and the tired men gathered round their fire. An arrow was set to the bow. A soldier fell from the ramparts, vanishing beneath the black abyss of the Anduin's surface. Swords were drawn, men huddled behind buildings and pillars, girding themselves. Then the vast sound of collective barges, hatches busting, burst through the dark night, the Orcs charging into the breach. And Gilorn turned to the others, "I am sorry for you all. I have led you away from some valiant Quest, bridging boundaries, all due to the marrow of my prejudice. But let it be that on this day, thieves and orphans were no longer thieves nor orphans, nor sorcerers, nor worshipers of the Black Serpent, nor any evil. This night, we shall fight, and we shall die, as defenders of the White Tree, brave Gondor, shining 'neath the morning sun!" And their hearts were emboldened, and they charged against the barges, and soon, only Haedirn and Gilorn were left standing, a heap of Orcs about their feet. They huffed and puffed, sweaty from the fight, their old, valiant bones aching, and yet still onward they fought, when the next barge landed, and soon, they were surrounded. And in the end, their weathered bodies were trampled by a thousand marching Orcs, who scowled at the smiles on their near-unrecognizable faces. Edited by Ivordir, May 6 2016, 10:06 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 24 2016, 02:24 PM Post #492 |
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Chapter CCCXVIII: The Battle of Pelargir Sainion had silently observed the return of the sortie from the Causeway Forts. He did not see Gilorn or Haedirn or any of their men among them. While Ivordir and the others mourned, the Grey Host had pushed the Haradrim far across the plains of Lebennin. Then, they besieged Pelargir itself. The sky was dark and the chill winds blew through the winding streets of the City. The Corsairs felt the chill of the cold, fear slowly creeping, slithering inside their hearts, as the pale spirits swept throughout the City. Bartuk had boasted of his victory along many other sea-captains of Umbar, and they had been drinking in the ruined taverns, emptying the City dry of all its goods. And then they saw the shapes. At first they thought they were mere apparitions of their minds, toying with them in their drunken fervour, but then their spines grew stiff, their skin crawled, and they began to flee. The Dead flowed through the ruins of Melimir's manse, through ruined walls and across broken corridors, shattered courtyards and empty fountains. They reached the manse of Malnoron. Centuries earlier, Malnoron's ancestor had been present at the swearing of the Oath at Erech. He had befriended one of the men of Dunharrow, Thalbuk, a tribal soldier in the service of his King. Thalbuk's home had been nestled high in the Ered Nimrais, and Malnoron's ancestor had visited him there, often, giving him gifts of chainmail and other crafts of Numenorean-make, but then they fought when they heard of the broken Oath of Isildur, and Thalbuk swore to take vengeance on the House of the Lord of Gondor who had condemned him. His own Oath could only be fulfilled if the present Lord of that House had sinned against his own kin. Thalbuk remained, regardless, bound to the Oath of Isildur, along with the rest of his King, kith, and kin. Malnoron sat on his throne in his great hall. He was still grieving over his wife, who had died from grief over her lost sons, despite all her dreams of glory concerning them. His last shred of warmth and mirth and love had perished with her grief. A pale spirit passed through the main door, hooded and cloaked, a ghastly mantle of mail set beneath it, with pale, fiery eyes of pale flame, his skull visible through his chain-mail. And Malnoron remembered his family legend, a tale that had frightened him most often as a child, and then he stood and laughed mockingly, "Sorcerer of Umbar.... contend with this wretch of Dunharrow." The Sorcerer came forth, his cloak sweeping behind him, black and silver. He drew his staff and challenged, "Thou dost not knoweth thine own peril to enter 'neath this roof!" The spirit did not speak. It advanced forward. A great wind billowed through the door, billowing the Sorcerer's cloak that still dripped of blood, flapping it behind him as he chanted in Adunaic. This did not avail him. For lo, the spirit nestled itself within the Sorcerer's body, overlapping his visage, as the Sorcerer began to scream. And then the Sorcerer's heart ceased to beat. He fell forward onto the floor in a heap. Then Malnoron sought to run. He ran throughout his corridors. He ran through his bedroom to his balcony. The spirit still followed him. Lord Malnoron's men had all deserted him. His back was to the balcony, when the spirit began to chant: "Thine Way art Closed, thine path forsaken, thine House art ended." Malnoron had but one small relief in the midst of his peril: the spirit had no knowledge of his sons or of their survival. For once, he hoped that Amarthandor and his brothers had escaped their Lord-Father's clutches. The spirit approached. The last sight Malnoron saw was of the balcony rising above him, and the waters of the Anduin enclosing themselves above his head, before all went black. Edited by Ivordir, Oct 25 2016, 02:18 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 24 2016, 02:31 PM Post #493 |
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Chapter CCCXIX: The Lord Downfallen Ballithor had observed Malnoron's death from across the causeway. He sighed, Now I may never learn of my son's fate... He turned to see Brastor standing at his side, as he always had, even when Ballithor had lost his commission. Brastor had followed his liege all the way from Dol Amroth. Brastor sighed, "I've nea'r seen a battle like this... it chills me to the bone." Ballithor turned, laughing, "For once, I've encountered something far colder than me! Come, we must press ahead, if we need fight any Corsairs amidst the chaos that these Dead have conjured." And the Corsairs were driven to the river, drowning themselves in the Anduin's dark currents, as the spectres of their pursuers pursued them to the brink. The Grey Host did not even need to draw a single sword from their many sheathes. Pelargir burned in its brazen ruins. Only the tall Corsair ships, their black sails flowing in the breeze, remained standing tall. And Bartuk had met his end when Ballithor caught him. Bartuk had barked, "You! You're of the House that joined Castamir! Lord Malnoron told me! You should be sidin' with us!" And Ballithor said nothing. He now realized that Bartuk had never realized who his opponent in Belfalas truly was. Ballithor grinned coldly, and Brastor bound and tied Bartuk to a lamp-post, and Ballithor set Bartuk aflame, who screamed loudly in his final death-throes. And the last sight of the apparition, Thalbuk, was his mail-coated, cloaked form, fading in the dusty breeze, a gleam of cold satisfaction in his ghostly eyes, his oath and vow finally fulfilled. Such was the ending of March 13th. Edited by Ivordir, Apr 25 2016, 03:31 PM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 24 2016, 02:45 PM Post #494 |
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Chapter CCCXX: The Siege of Gondor As Ivordir gazed outward from his lord-father's balcony, he heard many horn-calls faintly wailing upward throughout the White City. He climbed to the wall of the sixth level and observed a vast Host of foes marching across the Pelennor. He faintly saw the shapes of Mumakil and siege-towers advancing across the plains amidst swarms of Orcs, while the towns and villages of the fields were all set aflame. Baralinthor gazed beside him, Thanguron could not have borne the load of watching his ancestral farms burn........ alas........alas......alas..... Soldiers were all running down to the main gates. Ivordir and Baralinthor quickly hid themselves before anyone might press them into service. They saw projectiles being flung into the First Level of the City, which began to burn. The trenches were made, the City encircled in a wall of flames. The Enemy assailed the walls as countless soldiers defended it. The Nazgul swooped-down on their fel-beasts throughout the City. Ivordir and Baralinthor returned to the manse and informed everyone of the current situation. He kept most of them away from such a view, save Angolhel, who demanded to observe it in her courage. Then Ivordir returned with Daerfalas and Angolhel, and they watched in horror as Grond, the hideous war-machine of the Enemy, came to the Main Gate, guided by the Witch King of Angmar himself, the Black Dread, Lord of the Nazgul, wearer of the Chief of the Nine Rings of Power for Mortal Men. The Gates burst. Then they heard the horns as vast winds began to slowly unveil the Dawnless Day. The Sun began to shine anew. And down came the Rohirrim in their glorious charge, led by Theoden King himself, all pouring onto the northern-half of the plains. Ivordir turned to see Ioristor watching alongside him. Lady Melimir observed as well. And the Rohirrim reached the center of the field as the hours passed, and the Lord of the Nazgul swooped-down on his fell-beast, and so fell Theoden King. They could not see the challenge that occurred below, but they heard the surprising echo of the Witch King's demise. They hid themselves when a wounded Captain Faramir was brought past them beneath the wall toward the Houses of Healing, the Wizard and the hobbit walking with the Steward's servants. Ivordir shouted inside his head, AURUIRON! YOU HAVE CURSED US! YOU HAVE FORCED US TO WATCH HISTORY ALONGSIDE YOU, AND N'ER PARTAKE! YOU HAVE DEPRIVED US OF OUR GLORY! As soon as the gates of the Houses of Healing were shut, Ioristor peeked-out from their hiding place nigh the Pier, "Come, we must return to the manse before our presence is exposed to any who might call us cowards or traitors!" They returned to the manse and to their chambers and fell asleep, for they had ceased to eat, sleep, or drink, caught in their observation of the chaos so far below. At dawn on the 16th, they had to quickly empty their chamber-pots. Then, they re-assembled their Company. Edited by Ivordir, May 4 2016, 11:56 AM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 25 2016, 03:48 PM Post #495 |
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Chapter CCCXXI: Of the Osgiliath Fallen Silevren had cried his eyes out, his fingers were pruned from wiping his tears from his cheeks. "They died noble deaths," Circhon tried to counsel. "They were noble enough!" Silevren barked in return. "They gave....." "Their lives for Gondor. They did not die worshiping the vain gods you worshiped." Lerion smirked, "And what are your petty Valar if not gods?" "The Valar have spared your life, and all our lives, Lerion," Auravon retorted, "And you would do well to remember that fact. I have heard from our Captain that they are not in fact gods, but that they are Beings of great power, who serve One Highest Power alone, the Power Who Sang Arda into existence." Lerion fell silent. Angolhel rubbed his right hand, comforting him. Silevren wept, "They, and He, did not save my brethren....." Circhon smiled, "They saved themselves, and far more, though you believe it not....and will none weep for Gilorn, and Haedirn, those brave Knights who gave their lives to defend the western shore, who gave your brethren the courage and steel of mind and strength of heart to endure that final battle for them?" Lerion shook his head, thinking of his father's death upon the Mumakil, "You know nothing of war, Lord of Ithilien. You know nothing of war." Circhon eyed him darkly, "Speak carefully, Sorcerer of the Haradwaith. Speak carefully..." Lerion barked, "I shall do so, when your father is slain on the battlefield." They nearly came to blows, but Auravon quickly got between them: "Enough. Both of you. Ithilien and Harad are forced to labor together, in this strange instance, for their mutual survival. You will do so, or you'll all hang high from a crow's gibbet! Come to me, both of you... come and rest by my side.... and you may find yourselves in pleasant dreams." And they obeyed, and dreamed, indeed. Angolhel and Alagossel slept beside them, comforting their husbands in more subtle ways: a gentle touch, a gentle smile, a gentle rub on their cheeks. And when they awoke, they wept in each others' arms: Circhon for Lerion's lost father, and Lerion for Circhon's long-lost home. And then they all wept for all the fallen on the fields. And Angolhel and Lerion parted for the balcony. She restored her cloak from hiding, and it billowed in the breeze behind her, along with her golden-brown tresses, as they awaited a sunrise that never came. And Lerion's cloak billowed behind him, and the cloaks' seams licked each other, whipping into each other, and around each other. And Angolhel kissed him deeply on the lips, "This is the real.... the true kiss of love, not the false........and seek not to worry yourself. For I will never die............." And for a brief moment in time, Lerion felt persuaded. But the battle was far from over. Edited by Ivordir, May 4 2016, 11:56 AM.
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| Ivordir | Apr 30 2016, 07:36 PM Post #496 |
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Chapter CCCXXII: Greater Mischief Ivordir and Sainion had long prepared for troubles. When it was clear that Mithon's watch had reached its pinnacle, and action was now imminent, they summoned Circhon's thirty nobles and Duon's thirty soldiers back from the guest-houses where they had been staying, gathering the entire Company into one place. Sainion knew the test: they would either defend the City as honorable men should, or they would take the distraction of Mordor's forces and use it to spin greater mischief on the Sixth Tier in Ioristor's manse. Sainion burst into the room where Silevren was staying, shouting: "Hide! Hide! Make yourselves aloof! Make haste!" THE DREAM! Lerion shouted inside himself. My wife and sister.... they will perish! Angolhel and Alagossel held their husbands' hands strongly. Silevren dried his tears and rubbed his eyes, "What is the matter?" Sainion stammered, "Mithon! He has returned to the City! He and his guards are making their way hither as we speak, even with the battle raging far below!" "Oh would that he had perished in the rout from Osgiliath!" In the foyer, Ioristor saw them coming as he gazed through the main window. He sighed, grabbed Lady Melimir's arm, giving her little time to speak, "We must make haste. They will not let us live this time! Quickly!" They and the servants make their way hastily toward Ioristor's study, as some of them barricaded the doorway with furniture. Ivordir burst into the study, "What has happened?" And Ioristor told his son, "Is the Sigil safe?" Ivordir nodded. Ioristor smiled quickly, "Good. It is all that we shall require. I am old, and I may never see the comforts of home, the piles of knowledge of the archives and studies, and all that I have worked for, ever again. But it is -you- who matter most, my son. You are my blood and our line shall continue...... I should very much like to meet this Ranyaro, who gave the Sigil to the Master of Horses. Come, let us go. I die for the White Tree." Ivordir stammered, "You are NOT going to DIE!" Ioristor nodded, "We shall see. Let us hope that Sainion gathered the others. There are hidden passageways throughout the Fifth and Sixth Circles that connect to the vaults. We shall hope to take refuge in there, and if possible, find an egress. Come!" And one by one, they ran through the rooms and passageways, as the ramming of the doors grew louder and louder. They emptied all the rooms of any provisions they could carry on their backs. They knew they had to make for Crithost and then Ost Rimmon if they ever managed to escape to the north. Baralinthor nodded to Naitheg and Gwainoth and they marched through the corridors, and Circhon and his men prepared themselves. But then the great doors burst and not everyone had vanished through the passageways. "Mithon! You are a coward!" Ivordir burst aloud. A hail of crossbow bolts and arrows swiftly followed. Several of Duon's soldiers fell in the front as others fired back. The halls of Ioristor's manse were dripping with blood, which gathered into pools where the men had fallen on both sides. The halls were narrow and there was little room for rangers to maneuver, nowhere to go but forward into the line of fire. "YOU ARE WASTING BLOOD!" Ivordir shouted. "WHAT OF THE ENEMY ON THE FIELDS!" "You are the foe that stains this City. You are the blade that cuts the Tree. I spit at thee!" Mithon shouted. "Traitor!" "Seal the door!" Ivordir shouted at the servants. They barricaded the door. They were in the chamber of Lerion's dream, in which Lerion had dreamed that Angolhel, Alagossel, and Malagi had fallen. Malagi stayed near his master. They had conversed in secret for some time throughout the past week. But Malagi, at present, had little to say in public gatherings. This world was new to him, bright and terrible, and only Lerion could help him steel his nerve to endure their final quest together. Edited by Ivordir, May 3 2016, 09:33 PM.
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| Ivordir | May 1 2016, 03:01 PM Post #497 |
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Chapter CCCXXIII: Blood in the Upper Tiers One of Mithon's lieutenants turned and stammered, "We've slain blood in the upper Tiers! The Lord Steward will have our heads for this!" Mithon smirked slyly, "His Lord son shall vouch for us, once he comprehends the situation." The lieutenant stammered again, "Did you not hear? Our Lord Steward was last seen headin' to the Hallows, his servants carrying our unconscious, wounded Captain!" "No! This cannot be....." "Were you not in the return rout from Osgiliath?" "I returned before that rout, to seek tidings of Traitor Ivordir. Why? What became of the rout? How was our Captain wounded?" "Did you not see him return to the gates?" "I am beginning to suspect that you are delaying us on purpose, lieutenant. Keep still thy tongue, or more blood shalt be spilt on this floor. Now break down that door!" The rangers began taking their small rams and ramming the door to the lower levels. Ivordir gathered the others in the lower chamber, "They mean to slay us and our City's Laws shall not protect us. It has been ages since I've navigated these passages. Lord Father, where shall we turn?" "Down the stair, behind the tapestry! Then we shall veer to our left!" The blows on the doors grew ever louder. Ioristor continued, "Make haste!" They all passed behind the tapestry in single file. Lerion was the last to pass. He turned behind them and mentally pictured his sorceress wife, twirling her hair and cloak and dancing. It was all a dream.... a vain and tragic dream... Then, he turned away. They ran down the stairs to the first turn, and there were harsh cries in the halls as Duon's soldiers advanced. Duon had not traveled with Gilorn and Haedirn to Osgiliath, and nor did Saelbainor's other guardians, whom had protected them on the road from Pelargir to Tumladen. These guardians had thought to protect the front, but Duon re-ordered them to protect the rear once more, pushing past Lerion in the chaos. The door burst and Mithon and his men poured through, a certain subordinate at his side: it was he whom had sent the spies to watch Ioristor's manse and all who departed and entered it. No longer would they pursue the waiting game, attempting to catch Lord Ioristor on either tier. Now was the time for action, now that the City Watch and all their garrisons were distracted with protecting the City from the Enemy. And they ripped the tapestry and Duon gave a call for battle. Men on either side stumbled in the dark. The nobles ran. And Baralinthor and Naitheg ran to the right, not realizing their mistake. Edited by Ivordir, May 3 2016, 09:22 PM.
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| Ivordir | May 3 2016, 09:19 PM Post #498 |
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Chapter CCCXXIV: Battle in the Halls As Duon and the others held the rear, blockading the inner passageways with furniture, Angolhel held Lerion against a nearby wall. Lerion whimpered, "All vain.... all tragic....... all our kisses and dancing and rituals and flamboyancy has done nothing but land us here, doomed to die....." Angolhel slapped him hard, but it was a slap of tough love: "WE ARE NOT GOING TO DIE! Listen to me. The Enemy is distorting your mind....... as he did all of our minds........" She had her cloak in her pack regardless. In truth, Ivordir had indeed been shrewd, as had been Sainion: they had prepared their departure far in advance, provisions, belongings, all of it, in case Mithon's spies should strike. Lerion's recurrent nightmares had heightened their levels of concern. There was shouting as Duon sounded a retreat. Circhon's men were their front-line, marching forward ahead of Ivordir. They were too inexperienced to risk perishing at the hands of rangers. They retreated back along the halls. Duon held his grace throughout the pressure of seeing some whom he had known since they were boys perish before his eyes. And Ivordir himself was shaken in the retreat. I have failed them all........ and all due to my pride....... We have to move, now. This blood is on my hands now. And he, too, held his grace beneath the currents of pressure that washed him over, threatening to drown him. Edited by Ivordir, May 3 2016, 09:27 PM.
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| Ivordir | May 5 2016, 07:44 PM Post #499 |
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Chapter CCCXXV: The Winding Trail Minas Tirith contained several different trails beneath the stone, many of which were private vaults, basements, or other means of storage. Ioristor's manse cut deep between the levels of the City. His manse was low enough for him to have his servants erect the hidden gate between the Tiers. Many noble houses utilized a similar method to their advantage. For within each Tier were hidden rings of tunnels, which converged into a vast network throughout the City. Their gates were few and well-hidden. An opposing force would not think to search each noble manse with hidden doors. In times of need, soldiers would commandeer noble houses into headquarters, barricade the doors of the manses, and utilize the hidden defensive tunnels to maneuver troops throughout the City, particularly if under siege. The oblivious Enemy would be forced to climb all seven Tiers from exterior Gate to exterior Gate, whilst the soldiers could undermine their efforts through usage of the tunnels. The doors would open inward. If a door was discovered, storage rooms were near at hand, and within them were the barricades. Ivordir and his Company stumbled into the vast complex. This complex also included even more hidden doors, which led to the forbidden vaults of the Stewards. In times of need, in the event the City was captured, the Steward could order his men to smuggle valuables from the vaults through the tunnels, and eventually they would reach hidden exits along the mountain slopes. These doors were few, but they were also heavily guarded. Goods and supplies could be smuggled within the City during a protracted siege. But no goods flowed into the City during this, their worst of sieges, for much was taken by the women and children and needed to sustain them during their diaspora into the vales of Tumladen and Imloth Melui. The southern fiefdoms were preoccupied with battles of their own. They could not afford to send supplies. But the Enemy knew not of the hidden doors. They did not breach them. Nor did they advance far into the City, far enough to discover this network, which could only be found within the higher Tiers. For nobles of the lower Tiers would be expected to flee higher, before anything could be done to provide means for their escape. The tunnels were also narrow. It was more effective to evacuate the City beforehand than to usher tens of thousands of civilians through the hidden tunnels. Journeying down the mountain slopes was also treacherous and difficult for armies to navigate. |
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| Ivordir | May 5 2016, 10:43 PM Post #500 |
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Chapter CCCXXVI: Beneath Cold Skies Baralinthor and Naitheg ran aimlessly through the dark passageways. Every now and then, their path was lit by open windows in the great walls of the Tiers through which they passed. But the windows were of thick glass and impossible to see-through. They climbed down several stories. The clash of battle slowly parted from ear-shot. Then it slowly grew, as the Pelennor grew nearer. They followed a long tunnel for a league or two, and found themselves in the sight of several guards, who were as astonished to see them as they were likewise. Baralinthor declared, "Which gate is this?" The guard replied, "The South Gate. We do not want the Enemy coming through here." Baralinthor gazed through a little hole in the door. He saw a black fleet of ships approaching. Baralinthor turned, "We have to get out of here." "No," the guard replied, "We cannot let you pass." Baralinthor sighed, "These have ever been foes to my people of Dol Amroth. I demand that you allow us to pass. I must know what has happened! They would have had to sack Pelargir to reach here!" "Orders are orders," the guard replied. Swords were drawn. Baralinthor gazed out of the hole again. The ships were barely visible through the trees. A path steadily wound toward Lossarnach. But then he saw a host of Gondorians disembark the ships into Harlond. The guard came and gazed through as well. He was in shock, "What..... allies? On Corsair ships of Umbar?!" The other guards entered into a formation, the foremost among them declaring: "Come. Our commander is likely dead. I don't follow orders of dead men. Let's have at 'em, they'll award us medals if we triumph!" The fervor of battle was too great. The guard opened the gates and locked them behind them all, once they reached the road. They followed the road for a time, and then shifted, down through the fir-trees and mountain slopes, until they reached the Pelennor. They had re-disguised the door with its foliage yet again. The road was narrow and of dirt, and dotted with shrubs, difficult to see by enemy eyes. They reached the fields, the battle growing into full-view yet again. The Nazgul shrieked in the skies, causing panic in their hearts. Those who could covered their ears. By now, hours had passed, and the Gondorians had pushed-back their foes by the Harlond. Baralinthor and the others ran to join them, but their commanders had pressed their advantage, forcing the Enemy northeast. There was battle afoot in the scorched fields of the farms of the Pelennor. And a certain division came upon those lands, lands once owned by the family of Thanguron, before they fled. And Baralinthor remembered. And Baralinthor beheld a counter-charge made by a whole squadron of Haradrim, their Mumakil charging toward the Hillock. And Baralinthor noticed several men in Swan-Knight armor battling alongside several Linhiran soldiers. The foremost among them charged at the Haradrim, slaying ten of them before he fell on his own. Baralinthor cried aloud in a charge. And they struck at the rest of the Haradrim. Another fell, speared in his chest. Baralinthor looked-down at Brastor's face, still angered in the heat of battle, and gone forever. A hand reached-up and grasped Baralinthor, who turned. The winds were cold in the cold sky, as a chill and powerful wind blew from the West, billowing the Dawnless Day away. And Baralinthor knew well the cold eyes that were beginning to warm, as they stared up at him. Sainion ran over, but it was too late. He knelt beside them. "....remove my helm.........." the Lord of the Silver Swan demanded, his last command. Baralinthor obeyed. Ballithor's bleeding face now gazed upward at him. Baralinthor knelt as Ballithor grasped his shoulders. Ballithor tried to smile, but his smiles were ever cold. "You've survived........... under normal circumstances, I would have tried to stab you, here so weak and vulnerable, as you always are.....................but now you are the last of my house. Your brothers had led their forces.... in Belfalas....... and I never saw them, since I was deprived of my commission............. they are likely dead and gone by now..... slain by those accursed corsairs!..............so follow my last command. Live. And tell that terrible Elf, if you ever see him again....... that I did not die, in his miserable campaign! ................tell him that my spirit will haunt him, wherever he wanders, if my last son and heir should die................I no longer fear death...... I have marched with death.......... and Brastor, and all the Dead, await me............... their Oath fulfilled! ............and know our debt is long-since paid. We fought our brothers for Castamir........ and then we fought to save Pelargir......... our House....hath cleansed....its stain............the Silver Swan...... lives on......." And throughout his long-winded, gasping words, Baralinthor looked him in the eye, not with malice, nor with hatred, but with pity. Lord Ballithor's breathing had grown worse and worse as he spoke, rapid, and he had felt chill winds cease him, the battle around him fading into cold light, as his limbs grew more numb as the moments passed. And Ballithor finally looked at his son warmly in his eyes, and said: "....my son........... I am sorr-" But his breath passed from his lips before he could end his speech. His eyes rolled back as he collapsed forward in Baralinthor's arms. And Baralinthor forgave him in that moment, and held himself together. By now, King Elessar and his forces had pushed the Enemy back enough, for Baralinthor to slowly walk back toward the mountain slopes, with Naitheg and Sainon at his side. He turned to Naitheg, "........I........" But he was rendered mostly speechless as he walked. Baralinthor girded himself as they reached the hidden gate, "We likely walk to our deaths as well............... but now my House lands on my shoulders." Naitheg too was greatly shaken by the events that had transpired. He was not a man keen on showing sympathy, but for the moment, his hard expression was softened. "Your father died an honorable death," he managed, swallowing thickly. "If we meet our ends here today, let us follow in his stead." Baralinthor removed his black and red cloak from his pack, remounting it on his shoulders, "Then let us meet our ends, whatever they may be. Come, for Mithon waits for us. And I would take him er we part this Earth." And so it was that they passed back into the hidden gate, sealing the doors behind them, lest the Enemy might follow. And they did their duty, barricading the door, hoping the old Guards might find another way to safety. They ran back through several miles of winding passageways, back up to the upper Tiers, and then they found the route that Ivordir and the others had taken. It was littered with blood and corpses, of both Duon's men, and those of Mithon. They traveled far, until they could see the light of a torch in the distance. They paused, allowing the torch to vanish, believing it to be that of Mithon. Baralinthor drew his bow and took arrows from his quiver, the same bow that had struck down Thanguron. |
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12:43 AM Jul 11