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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
Topic Started: Apr 5 2015, 04:14 PM (4,111 Views)
Ivordir

Chapter CCCLXVII: The Silent Toil: The Final Quest Fulfilled

And unbeknownst to them all, Ivordir and his Company still traveled atop the Mumakil, from the southern borders of Mirkwood to the long, winding steppes of uncharted lands, fertile lands of streams and small forests, once home to the old Kingdom of Rhovanion, where the ruins of old hilly mounds, temples, and barrows, dotted the landscape where wooden palaces and cities once stood tall and mighty, to the grasslands of the River Running, and not much had changed for them, save for when the rangers and Haradrim took the time to get to know each other, trying to put their varied war experiences behind them, even if temporarily, to unify their current efforts.

They suffered and toiled together, and as they toiled, all their bonds grew stronger. They had been running low on water, parched and rationing excessively, when a cool, spring rain touched their mouths along Mirkwood's borders, and they refilled their flasks in the land of streams that once kept the Kingdom of Rhovanion brimming with life. And the grasslands were flowing with wild horses. By now, even the rangers and Haradrim trusted each other, and Orel had dared to bond with Saljuk. Angolhel and Saelbainor and Amarthandor had attempted sorcery to little avail, while all Ivordir and Daerfalas could do was laugh at it all secretly. The twins of Ost Rimmon had been guided by the wisdom of Orel, who counseled them to realize that they were there for a reason. Orel had long reflected on the fall of Mithon and realized that fate or something greater had brought him there, atop a Mumakil, a creature he had long loathed and feared.

And Ivordir and Daerfalas gazed joyously when they saw Melimwe, on April 30th, standing tall on a hill on the borders of the vast forest that covered Dorwinion. Ivordir and his Company had followed the river. They did not know if it was the River Running or the Carnen, but they followed it nonetheless. Melimwe had camped with several Sindarin and Silvan Elves overlooking the river's entrance into Dorwinion itself. It was not quite the bend in the river that Yucalwe had designated, but Abrazan had forgiven his father, for it had only been a guess, based on a then-unknown journey.

And Ivordir and his Company followed Melimwe and the others deep into Dorwinion, the Elves leading the Mumakil on wider stretches between the trees, safely, day by day, from refuge to refuge, till they reached a large Sindarin complex, delved by Dwarves descended from different Dwarf-Clans that hailed from the original Seven Dwarf Houses, from Clans that were not of the House of Durin. These Dwarves had once dwelt in the southwestern mountains of Rhun, until they were driven away by an invasion made by Easterlings in the service of Sauron, and as with the Blue Istari of legend, the Dwarves vanished far into the south and east, their whereabouts unknown. But long had they traded with the Elves and Edain of Dorwinion before the Easterlings came. These Elves had supplied the Dwarves with food and wine. And the Dwarves, in return, had delved their halls, that had great windows overlooking the Sea of Rhun.

The Elves took-over, tending the Mumakil with the Haradrim who alone knew how to tend them, and the Gondorian and Haradric Lords and Ladies were brought into the Halls with their companions. They were presented to the Elven King, and Ivordir embraced Auruiron as Abrazan embraced Yucalwe, and then Ivordir felt, deep within his soul, that his Final Quest was finally near its end.

But as he reflected, falling asleep, he realized that his Quest had been to see if Guldrambor still lurked in the south after all. His Final Quest had been to discern this in Ithilien and to lead his Company back to Yucalwe in safety. Their journey from Minas Noldorion, through Gondor, to Rhun, was finally over.

"It is not my Quest anymore," Ivordir repeated softly to himself, "It is not -our- Final Quest. Now it belongs to the Elves. And if Guldrambor retreats south to Harad by way of Khand, I am going to be an unhappy man, who wished he had died in Gondor. I hope you are safe, my dear father, there with Daerfalas' mother. I hope no one will discern the foul play at the egress. And you, Lord Ballithor, Master of the Silver Swan, I hope you have found some peace, you and Malnoron and Mithon. And you, Thanguron, and you, Aeg, and you, Dolthor... I will make you living legends on the page, if I ever survive the fights to come. And if not me," Ivordir slowly smiled, "Then Aegon will."

With that, he felt content that their Final Quest was over. Their Final Quest had been to join in the Elves' Final March all along. And now they had. And before Ivordir fell asleep, he realized something else: his Final Quest had been to discern his destiny. And now he had. He had begun a young adventurer who wanted to find truth to an old legend about a wanderer who gave his House Sigil to a Keeper of Horses atop the pass of Cirith Ungol. He had found that truth, and more: he learned more of true history than most of his fellow countrymen. He learned of what had appeared to be greater destinies than many of the Eldar themselves had known. He had braved the tides of the Belegaer on his odyssey, he had returned to Gondor and met the hardships of politics, of treacherous lords and nobles, he had endured the hardships of the long leagues of wilderness between cities, he had toiled and suffered, communing with many voices, voices the lords of Gondor seldom heard, and he had found his woman, his bride, as she had slowly discovered the true significance of her life, at times painfully, and at other times, with magnificence. He had saved his father from all the intrigue and the plotting, he had begun to close gaping wounds between warring nations, and he had done all of this, he, Ivordir, a son of a minor lord, who would never sit on a high Throne or rule as any King, who had received a destiny as magnificent as that of any King, and who had learned hard lessons as any King would have to learn. Soon would mark the Song of Warring Dreams, a battle unlike any battle that had ever been seen, nor would be known, in the annals of Arda. For now, Ivordir felt content to have played his role, a fiber in the fabric, of the larger cape that bound them all together.

But many things had happened that Ivordir did not know. Melimwe would explain it all, and Ivordir and his Company would join it: The Final March of the Eldar, of their flowing, singing, voices on the wind.

And then Ivordir awoke to realize something obvious: his Quest was far from 'Final.' It was far from over. He had wanted it to be over, but it was not over. And he laughed. He laughed. He laughed.
Edited by Ivordir, Jun 7 2016, 06:24 PM.
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