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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 (4,137 Views) | |
| Ivordir | May 6 2015, 04:02 PM Post #41 |
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Chapter XL: The Festival of Fish He heard breathing. Gentle motions of air, inhaling and exhaling deeply. He opened his eyes. Ivordir looked around. The room was empty. In his lap was a letter. It read: "Rest well, my brother." Ivordir smiled, So that is Sainion's script... He found his armor carefully laid-out on the floor. He changed out of his robes, returning them to the sack. It will be long before I can wash them in a river... By now, he was used to the stench of men. The halls of the Eldar had fair aromas. He missed them. He fashioned his arms and walked down the hall. He thought of leaving his armor behind. After Tadrent and the hill-town, I cannot take any chances... He approached the main road through Ethring, where a morning feast was being held. It was a day of a Festival of Fish. And there were many platters of sea-food. The men were happy and conversing with the locals. Ivordir sighed, I suppose the men deserve a rest....... perhaps we could spare one day on the road through those long tracks of..... I do not even want to think about it! And at noon, there was a special procession to the beacon, to thank the river and the sea. The sea was barely visible at all from atop the beacon-hill, far to the south. And there were many tracks of wilderness before a land of turning hills of rock and sandy plains, the Dor-en-Ernil stretching down before plunging into the depths of the sea. They all knew where the sea was. It was enough to hear the gulls, if any flew this far north. It was January 6th. After the procession, Ivordir turned to gather his men. They were already gathered and fully-armed. Brastor was busy... "I hope ye don't mind, Captain. I took the liberty of gathering our company." "Thank you, Brastor." "Don't let us get delayed gain'. I know ye long for the north and all its riches. But we have a long road to pass through before we come to it." Ivordir nodded, "Your diligence may yet have saved a lot... forgive me..." "It is not the place of a Captain to ask forgiveness of his men. Remember that." Ivordir nodded, "Let's press north while the others celebrate. I don't want crowds watching out departure. And the road still leads back to Tadrent....." Then, something appeared amiss. "Have you counted the men, Brastor?" Brastor turned to look. There were twenty-five. "Who are we missin'?" Ivordir looked carefully, "Well, you are an astute observer. Who are we 'missin''?" Brastor began counting silently in his head. Then, the thought struck him. He did not know their names, but he knew that Ivordir had traveled with the missing three. And then for the other two..... he remembered: "The outlaws! Our captives! You trusted them too much, Captain, in all due respect. They might be hours away from us by now." The scents of beer and ale reached Ivordir's nose, from some of the men. Where would fishermen go..... on a day of celebration.... celebrating fish......... they would want to hear music.... a song or two........... the tavern! "I think I know where they are, or at least, my three brave fishermen. I believe they are drinking in the tavern." Brastor's eyes twitched, his head nodding, with an angered smile forming on his lips, "Well then! I'll get 'em!" Ivordir shook his head, "Don't hurt them. They didn't know better." Brastor seized Ivordir by the shoulders, "Listen, you-- they took a sacred vow, and they must obey it, or face the consequences!" "And so did you. And you have seized the Captain to whom you vowed." Brastor immediately relaxed his grip, embarrassingly releasing him, "I........." "It is the place of soldiers to ask forgiveness of their Captain." Brastor suddenly laughed aloud, "Oh Captain.... you're better than I reckoned......" He fell on his knee, "Forgive me, then......" "Maybe....." "MAYBE??!!" "Perhaps.... after you have brought the two outlaws and three fishermen to me unscathed, and after you have apologized to them for your dishonor to me, and after you have revealed to me all of those lovely little secrets that you have been hidin' from my ears, yet so willing to divulge to Baralinor..... and I would know of him, his schemes, his father, all of it........ but come now, one step at a time. Bring me those men!" Brastor ran away as fast as his armor would let him, toward the tavern. Edited by Ivordir, Oct 1 2015, 10:31 PM.
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| Ivordir | May 6 2015, 04:37 PM Post #42 |
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Chapter XLI: In the Ethring Tavern Brastor burst bustling through the door of the Tavern, "Aight men! We move!" There was a large crowd of sweaty men in a hot room lined with tables and chairs. They were all full of patrons and the scent of ale was high in the air. There were many mounted fish on the wall, most of which were trout, mounted with their luminous, pale eyes, that could stare at you beyond the sight of death. Brastor did not like fishing. He hated the smell of fish. The men were scruffy, many of them with brown or black beards, long and short, a few greying in old age. They had hairy arms and legs. But one of them wore an eye-patch, was bald as a sailor, and wore a thin sailor's cap, wrapped as he was in his tattered, dirty grey cloak. Nenthor was singin' while Aeg played the lute in the corner, the people were laughing and clapping, and Súldor, Súlchon, and Aegon were drinking and chattering nearby. ~Old sailor was a handsome fellow~ ~Sailin' out from Amroth port~ ~Sailin' to wed the sunrise yellow~ ~Drownin' in the ocean's fort~ ~Down, down, to deeps they go~ ~Down, down, and forward row~ ~Sailin' on the sea's soft face~ ~Sailin' to the storm's disgrace~ ~Down, down-~ Brastor marched up to Aegon, "What is the meanin' of this? I oughtta have ye hanged, ye criminal!" A nearby patron yelled, "Keep quiet, will ya! This song's great!" Brastor turned, "I have a mind to punch ye right into the wall." Suddenly, several patrons jumped-up, baring fists. "You don't insult him!" One of them yelled, "He's the real boss here." Brastor laughed, "Is he?" Another shouted, "Aye. Dropped a hundred bodies in the river last winter." "Did he?" Brastor smiled grimly, "I wonder if Lord Borhador the Old knew what was happenin' here in his taverns, or Arvaethor, his son. So this is how Gondor's glorious fleet was built. Ha! Even old Thorongil in his legends must've taken a bunch of bloody-built boats to Umbar!" The leading patron revealed himself, "Aye. He might have. What's it to ya? None of them would know either way. Some ships, made clean. Others, who knows, right lads?" They all laughed. The patron spat, "Go back to ye men and rejoin yer princlings runnin' around Dol Amroth!" "What's yer name?" "What's it to ya? Go on ahead, we're celebratin' the fish. We've got a big one right here, we just might toss him back in the river, see...... if he doesn't get out of here." Brastor drew his sword, "I would know a man's name before I kill him." "All me to dishonor you, then!" "Yes!" One of the other thugs shouted, "You tell him Bruidor!" Brastor laughed, "Loud and Noisy, eh? Allow me to shut ye trap! Men!" Without the others noticing, the fishermen and the outlaws had drawn their weapons. Bruidor shouted, "I told you not to let 'em know my name!" They engaged in combat, blades swinging at blades, shirts being ripped, pantaloons notched, hats falling on the floor and being trampled, scrapes and scratches, forming gashes, as several men fell weakened, others trampling their bodies, stamping their necks, finishing it. Bruidor pulled a dagger and Aeg fell backward. Aegon shouted, "NO!" And he turned furiously on Bruidor, beating his head, until he fell namelessly and quietly down on the floor. Brastor wiped his blade with a rag. The bar-tender came out with his servants, "Get OUT! Before I sick the watch on ya! That man ensured my business!!!" The bar-tender began to fall to the floor, weeping, his tears wetting his grizzled grey short beard. Brastor looked down at Bruidor. The features of all who had been felled were near-unrecognizable. It was over. Brastor turned to Aegon, "See what happens when ye disobey orders? See?! Now all the fiefdoms will hear of this, every cut-throat and outlaw from Tadrent to Pelargir! Even Dol Amroth will hear of this..... oh you fishermen. Oh..... I outta!" He remembered his promise to Ivordir, "Come on! Before the Watch arrests the lot of us. Here!" He tossed a golden coin at the bar-tender, "For the mess. I serve a lord of Dol Amroth. You will not call the Watch on us. You will receive a lot of business. When I get back to Dol Amroth, we'll patronize it for yer trouble. Guaranteed." The bar-tender looked up and nodded, "Thank ye, sir.... thank ye...... you.....you've saved us...... not only our business......." He pointed at the floor without looking, "That man...... lorded over us as if a King!" Brastor nodded, "It was my pleasure." He helped the man stand-up, "Now, I wish we could aid ye with the cleanin'.... but we don't want no one askin' questions. Tell 'em some Gondorian soldiers did it, nothin' more, nothin' less. Understand?" The bartender nodded. "Good. Come on now, ye fishermen. The Festival's over." They filed out of the tavern one by one, save for Aegon, who was still caressing his father. Brastor walked over to them, keeping his mouth shut. Aeg was still coughing and gagging, "My son.........." Aegon's eyes began to fill with tears, "Dad....." "Listen, mi son......" His black, short beard was sweaty. "Listen..... you go now with those men..... they can change yer life, mi son........... they can..... bring glory to our line..... your line............." They had always joked around as if their blood was noble. Aeg coughed, "...... make me proud, mi boy.......... that Captain could save yer life................ go........... they'll bury me here. Better here than on that cursed Tarlang!" He coughed again. "...........by this, you'll avenge yer mother's death..... at the hands of outlaws......... who impoverished us, left us to starve, forcin' us among their ilk............. and you'll bring glory to my death............ my life......... with as much meanin' as any noble lord's.............. survive, my son, live on.............." Aegon kissed his father's forehead, all the while weeping, washing his head with his tears......... Brastor came up behind him, "Your dad sounds like he was an honorable man.........." He turned to the bar-tender, tossing him another gold coin, "Give him an honorable burial for us." Edited by Ivordir, May 26 2015, 10:04 PM.
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| Ivordir | May 13 2015, 10:17 PM Post #43 |
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Chapter XLII: The Fatherless Son Aegon walked slowly, his head downcast, his eyes still watery with tears. He walked past the markets and the feasting, the smell of ale still high in the air. It was reaching mid-day when they left the road. Brastor marched to Ivordir sternly, taking him aside, whispering in his ear. Ivordir was struck with sorrow. He turned to Aegon, who said nothing, glaring at him with a stink-eye. Ivordir tried to place a hand on his shoulder, but Aegon jerked away, striking back. Daerfalas stood alert. Some of the Men whispered amongst themselves, to see their Captain treated thusly. Brastor swiftly grabbed that of Aegon, "I know you're grieved son. But I should cut off yer hand for darin' to-" "Enough, Brastor. Aegon son of Aeg, you stand before us, an outlaw who tried to strike a lord of Gondor. You have a choice before you. You may leave this company, and go wherever you will, till another lord or knight of Gondor catches you, and does far worse than anything we would do. Or, you can march with us, a free man. Make your choice." Edited by Ivordir, May 30 2015, 05:38 PM.
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| Ivordir | May 13 2015, 10:18 PM Post #44 |
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Chapter XLIII: The Outlaw Against the Noble Aegon fell inside himself, divided against himself. These -fine- lords! Dad............ my dad............. he told me to go with them. He told me to................why....... I hate them! Why............. these princely lords with their princely silks and their princely........ I...I....... Then he spoke aloud, "I'll do as my dad told me, his final breath. I'll march with you........." Daerfalas remained watchful. Both murmurs of approval and anger rose up amongst the Men, but they quieted quickly, waiting for Ivordir to speak. Then, suddenly, Aegon's gaze turned angrily at Sainion, "You princely lords and nobles! You think you're so good and just! My dad lies dead in a dungheap of a tavern, while you dare to command me?" He shouted, hurtling himself at Sainion, who fought and struggled to defend himself. The other men did not intervene. Save one. He had seldom spoke with Ivordir and Daerfalas, despite his newly-found kinship with them. He had struggled when Yucalwe had so willingly invited them into their midst, daring to even treat them as if they were his sons. And so Abrazan withdrew into himself, gradually bonding with them on the ship south. But he did not speak often, he did not want the others to hear the Sarajic accent, to know he was not fully Gondorian, despite his attempts to mask it. He did not want the others in his company to suspect him. Edited by Ivordir, May 30 2015, 06:07 PM.
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| Ivordir | May 13 2015, 10:20 PM Post #45 |
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Chapter XLIV: Sarajim Abrazan pulled Sainion and Aegon apart, pushing Aegon to the ground with his brute strength, holding his arms steady against the earth. And he said: "You must force yourself to march away your grief." Abrazan turned to Ivordir, nodding. Ivordir nodded to Brastor. And Aegon's hands were bound again with rope. Abrazan tied the knot himself, "You must now prove yourself worthy, to see these bonds removed." Daerfalas took a step towards Ivordir, speaking in a hushed voice. "That may only fuel his resentment," he whispered. Abrazan hoped the other men didn't hear him. He hoped his accent remained a secret. He had regained it on the corsair ship on the journey north. He had spoken as if a southern Gondorian all his life, till his mother-tongue was ripped forward through his soul, forced through captivity, and then he could not bear to speak as if Gondorian again. Ivordir nodded at Daerfalas, "True, but this requires a moment of strength. Besides, I do not intend to keep him bound. He needs to work through his grief. I would not have him cause greater violence to Sainion, or others. We are never at fault for the beds in which we're born. Only for what we choose to do, when we wake up at sunrise." Brastor tapped Ivordir on the shoulder, "We best get goin.' Word's likely reachin' the town authorities of the tavern-fight. They might not let us go. And there might still be Bruidor-loyalists, wantin' to avenge his death." Ivordir nodded, "We march!" Edited by Ivordir, May 26 2015, 10:05 PM.
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| Ivordir | May 13 2015, 10:21 PM Post #46 |
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Chapter XLV: Across the Ringlo Vale They marched north through the wooded Ringlo Vale, knowing they would need to make the crossing again. They camped and arose on the 7th. It was late-afternoon by the time they reached the river, having trekked through vast tracks of woods and shrubs. They camped and awoke on the 8th. They scrambled through the rocky hillsides, maintaining their course along the mountain-feet. They were now far north of Ethring, and the mountains rose again before them above the fir-trees. They camped and awoke on the 9th. They stopped for a brief rest, eating what rations they could, climbing higher into the vale. They began searching for a place to cross the river. And they found a place where the water was chest-high, the current gentle. But the men were loathe to drench their gear. They needed dry boots. And the water was freezing to the bone. They maneuvered carefully along the reeds and fens, They reached a waterfall. There, the river was strewn with rocks, many large enough to cross as if stepping stones. Crossing forward, they crossed the river in a straight and narrow line. And they walked on the stony, opposing shore, till they reached higher lands stretching away from the river. They camped and awoke on the 10th. They climbed a stony rise and beheld the upper Ringlo Vale. There, they broke their fast. It was now Midnight. They camped for the night, setting the watches, and several of the men shot-down wild beasts that threatened their safety. These were cooked right after sunrise on the next morning. And now it was January 11th. After an hour, they began their march again, heading south. They kept as close to the mountains' feet as they could, the day's weariness weighing heavily on them. By early evening, they were parallel with Ethring. "Nearly an entire wasted week, filled to the brim with aches and bruises and rashes, stinging bugs of various sorts, and, no progress," Ivordir muttered. "And not far from Ethring." Many of the men seemed tired and sullen. But Brastor suddenly beat his chest, yelling aloud, "So now you're tired, you lot! Do ye want to spend yer days in an Ethring jail-cell?" The men suddenly, as if a trained unit, shouted: "No sir!" "Do ye want to pay for the death of a common crook?" "No sir!" "Do ye want to fail this mission, to which yer bound by sacred vow?" "No sir!" "Then tonight we march, till we're far away from this stinkin' traitors vale. The Mother of Ships, they call her. No wonder the Corsair fleet's sinkin' ours, off Belfalas now I guess. Tell me lads, do ye want to loiter up yonder, only to creep south, to get caught n' enslaved by some stinkin' rattin' corsairs?" "No sir!" Ivordir suddenly laughed, "And do ye want to stand here till the sun goes down? I said MARCH!" Brastor laughed. It was the first time Ivordir had ever heard him laugh. Edited by Ivordir, Oct 1 2015, 10:34 PM.
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| Ivordir | May 13 2015, 10:22 PM Post #47 |
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Chapter XLVI: On Southern Slopes They made their way through the southern wooded vale, filled to the brim with ash, spruce, oak, and beech. It was a strong forest. They camped and awoke on the 12th. As they marched, Aegon strained and twisted at his bonds, to no avail. He avoided outright yelling, fearing fast fists in reply. The men were breathing heavy, but maintained their march, carefully across the forest-floor, through thickets, and many jagged, large boulders and rock-formations. And the sun had long since set when the Ered Nimrais began to bend again. They climbed up to a high and safe plateau, setting the watch. And then most of them fell asleep. Even Aegon gave-up straining at his bonds. As the moon dwelt high up above the canopy, only a few lingered in wakefulness. Gwainoth was one such amongst them, tending to the low fires for warmth. They were safe from being spotted in such a dense forest, and the Men slept soundly. When he was finished with his duties, Gwainoth wandered over to where Aegon slept. The rope remained twisted around his hands, yet he had finally succumbed to exhaustion. Kneeling at some distance from him, Gwainoth studied him. Was it strange, he wondered, that he sympathized with the poor son of a poor Man, now dead? His own family was low born; they had toiled hard for what little they had. If things had gone worse for them, perhaps he too would have been in Aegon's position. Lifting a stick from the ground, Gwainoth began to pick at the dirt listelessly. He was not satisfied being a simple laborer amongst these high-born Men. He would seek to improve himself. That is why he was here. Perhaps in time he would gather his courage and speak to Aegon. Perhaps they would even find a sort of...kinship. None of the other Men spoke to Gwainoth freely. They were not unkind, and some like Sainon and Daerfalas had even offered him smiles, but none had sought out his companionship. He and Aegon were of the same age. Perhaps, perhaps... Sighing, Gwainoth began to tend to his bedroll. He kept Aegon in his sight as he lay down, and tried to sleep. It was a difficult thing to do. His muscles were weary and he was hungry, their meagre rations not enough for the stomach of a young Man of his size. Instead he listened to the sound of the Men on watch duty. Finally, he too succumbed to his exhaustion. The moon continued its trek along the sky. Edited by Ivordir, Oct 1 2015, 10:35 PM.
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| Ivordir | May 13 2015, 10:23 PM Post #48 |
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Chapter XLVII: Sons of Tarlang and Saraj Hours after the sun rose on January 13th, Aegon stirred. He woke to find his hands were still bound. He felt a warm and gentle hand on his shoulder. He shivered in fear, turning to see those piercing, brown eyes, that tan skin, that melancholy smile. "Tell me, son of Tarlang. Are you yet -worthy- to lose your bonds?" Aegon spat on the ground. Abrazan laughed, "Apparently, not yet. Tell me, lord of outlaws-" "Don't call me that." Abrazan nodded, "Why did you strike at Sainion?" "Because he is a pampered princling. Because he- "You speak of what you do not know. Listen--" "When I was a boy, a wee lad, I saw my parents butchered, my village raized to the ground. There was nothing left but shambles. I was left to starve to death. And then, one day, my bones bulging to my skin, I heard a sound. It was a voice, the fairest voice I had ever heard. And I was nourished back to health. This being became my father, I was his beloved son." Aegon nodded curtly, "And did you also lose yer dad?" "Worse. I watched him descend into madness. He ascended from it, very slowly. It took over a year to make him recover. And me? I lost my accent, my main tongue. Look. Do you hear it?" "Hear what?" Abrazan whispered low, under his breath, into Aegon's ear: "Ever speak to a Haradrim?" Aegon shook his head, "Never saw a Southron." Then, it dawned on Aegon, who gazed into Abrazan's eyes speechlessly. Abrazan laughed grimly, "Yes. I was born on the shores of Saraj. It was there my village burnt. You hear it now?" Aegon nodded, "So that's why you've been so quiet among the men." "I love Ivordir and Daerfalas as if they were my brothers. But our bonds don't require speech, not in excess. I whisper to you now, so the others don't know. I gave you power over me." "Why?" "Because only virtue can set you free. Because you know, by tellin', they'll be no hope of bein' set free." Edited by Ivordir, Oct 1 2015, 10:36 PM.
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| Ivordir | May 13 2015, 10:25 PM Post #49 |
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Chapter XLVIII: Dol Brannor Aegon nodded, "Aight. So what next?" "You prove your worthiness. I'm gonna set that man over there to watch ya." He pointed to Gwainoth. "When he wakes up, he'll walk behind ya. And I'll be near at hand." Aegon's stomach grumbled. Abrazan heard it acutely, reached inside his pack, offering it: "Today's morning rations. Take it, brother." Aegon did not even take the time to thank him first. He grabbed at the ration, he ate it as if it was the main course at a high-lord's feast. Abrazan smiled, patting him warmly on the shoulder. Aegon scoffed down the entire ration without being hindered by his bonds. His fingers were still free, although his hands were bound. He held the ration between his fingers, bending over, reaching down with his mouth. Then Abrazan held it till it was completely gone. Abrazan nodded, "Good. Now the others are beginning to wake-up. We'll talk when we rest again." Gwainoth stirred, and immediately sat up. There was no time for him to enjoy the cool breath of the morning and the smell of the warm air. He stood, and got to work, sparing Aegon a single glance. It was not yet time to march, yet there was much to do. They broke-camp an hour after sunrise. Ivordir marshalled the men, and they began to march southeast. One man was bit by a snake, but another sucked-out the venom. Several men were itchy. A rash had broken-out throughout the camp. Warily, they geared-up, despite their discomfort. Others were still cold from the night drafts and drifts of wind. And some had heard the howling of wolves, far in the distance to the west. Their journey took them from January 13th through 16th, as some of the men murmured, while others kept silent, and others still hoped only for survival, as they fought bears and other wild creatures in the wilderness, at a steady pace of twenty miles of hardened terrain per day. They climbed up behind the Beacon Hill of Dol Brannor by sunset on the 16th. Brastor greeted the Beacon-Guards, distracting them. They did not have the authority to ask for a seal or sigil, and wanted no part of it. They were honorable men, loyal only to their duty. They looked down to see the sandy plains and hills of lower Dor-en-Ernil stretch before them, to the lighthouse of Barad Rill on Toldil, standing tall and proud far in the distance. It was barely visible, a several days' journey at least. In fact, it was only visible inside their minds. The visibility of the sea was covered with a morning haze, as the sun continued to set. And if an Elf like Ranyaro had stood there, he would have told them about the black specks in the distance, approaching around the crest of Belfalas, sailing down between it and Tolfalas: the Corsairs of Umbar. But they had heard the rumors out of Belfalas from the Beacon-Guards. They knew the fleet was approaching. It would reach Pelargir in only a matter of days, depending on their speed and purpose, and on how much coastline they chose to sack. Brastor bade the Beacon-Guards not to reveal their passing, judging them to be honorable men. Then they resumed their march, back north off the Beacon Hill, and then east toward Lebennin. Edited by Ivordir, Oct 1 2015, 10:38 PM.
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| Ivordir | May 13 2015, 10:26 PM Post #50 |
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Chapter XLIX: The Mason and the Outlaw's Son They reached a high land of rocks and plateaus, far to the northwest of Linhir. It was now the 17th. Here they paused, to consider their next course-direction. It was mid-evening now, and the men eagerly broke their fast. Aegon had marched-on warily, wondering what his watcher felt behind him. Their journey had been a strange one. Abrazan, of whom Gwainoth knew nothing, had given him the task to trail behind Aegon closely and to keep an eye on him. A strange task to give to one such as he. He was no warrior. If Aegon should choose to try and escape, what would Gwainoth do? Yet he resolved to do as he was bidden, and kept in close proximity to the son of Tarlang. They had no time to speak, nor had Gwainoth yet gathered up the nerve to approach him directly. Instead he kept always several paces behind the others, pausing only to adjust the heavy load he carried upon his back. The beacon had been a sight to behold, but the lands before them he did not know. It was rather like walking into a strange new land, though he knew this was still Gondor, he could not help but feel a sense of apprehension as they crept further away from the place he had always called home. When the company came to a halt, he forsook his usual duties of tending to the others. Instead he lingered by Aegon, feeling rather awkward and out of place. He squirmed when the other boy looked at him, and ate his rationed food silently. Aegon gazed strangely at Gwainoth. He regarded him with both longing and irritation. The irritation of being forcibly watched, and the longing to talk to someone his own age, someone who might understand him. Someone who knew toil and loss. The words came forth from his mouth, as if unbidden: "Did you ever lose someone close to you? A dad or a ma?" Gwainoth looked down at a rock by his foot. He kicked at it with the tip of his boot absently. "...no. My parents...they live in Dol Amroth. My ma - mother was sick last winter. Thought she wouldn't make it. But she pulled through." He looked up at Aegon, squinting shyly. "She's strong. Y'ave to be, to bear six children." Aegon nodded, "So you have many siblins'. Ever get annoyed bein' surrounded by so many? Ever feel you didn't have enough attention?" Gwainoth shook his head hesitantly. "No. That's just the way it is, isn't it? The way I see it, I'm one of the lucky ones. I've got me health, and me head. Plenty of people without either of those things." He smiled suddenly. "Not that I'm the strongest or brightest of this lot, but there's no harm in tryin' your best, is there?" Edited by Ivordir, Oct 1 2015, 10:38 PM.
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| Ivordir | May 13 2015, 10:27 PM Post #51 |
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Chapter L: Uncertain Roads Aegon shook his head, "No harm." Suddenly, Ivordir interrupted everything, calling all the men together. They all assembled below him as he stood on a tall plateau of rock. Ivordir spoke confidently and clearly: "We have to choose which way to go. We could make for Linhir, or for the forest to the east. If we risk the forest, we risk running too low on rations, to the point where we'll need to hunt along the Gilrain, and fish. The other choice is to risk another city: Linhir, far to the south. We heard that the Corsair-Fleet is nearly done with Belfalas. They will sack the rest of the coasts of Dor-en-Ernil, then make for Linhir. If we delay, we risk being caught in a large battle. If we starve in the woods, it will not matter. We could, if rationed carefully, reach Ost Anglebed." Daerfalas listen intently. Again, some of the Men began to speak amongst themselves in low, speculative voices. They hushed after a few glares were sent their way. Ost Anglebed. It killed Ivordir to say it. He knew it could be a rat's nest, filled to the brim with rats, men and women loyal to the reign of Castamir and his sons of old. He knew that men as dangerous, or worse, than Ballithor might dwell there. And part of him felt loathe to even mention taking that road. The men of Linhir might be in a similar boat, he thought on the spot. Oh Eldar.... how I hate uncertainty. Baralinor smiled in a cold and unseemly way, "I vouch for the forest-route. There are good men in Ost Anglebed, if we ration our way there. And it was the way favored by my Lord-Father, in his orders to you." -And- he thought, -Men who are loyal to my father- Brastor spat on the stone, "Good men, ye say? I vouch for this as well. There are many impure ones bred from hill-folk, but there are also good, strong Numenorean men, like Castamir of old." "Castamir was a foul Usurper!" A man yelled. "Aye!" some of the Men agreed, while murmurs of dissent arose. Daerfalas, ever the historian, frowned at the thought of being within the lands of those loyal to Castamir's line. He craned his neck to look upward towards Ivordir. Edited by Ivordir, May 30 2015, 06:08 PM.
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| Ivordir | May 13 2015, 10:28 PM Post #52 |
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Chapter LI: Thanguron Thanguron was his name. He was the true-hearted man who sucked the venom out of Tarion's strong arm. There was the sound of a bow-draw and a sharp twang. Thanguron fell backwards, the arrow mired in his chest. Several of the men nearby cursed. Ivordir turned: Baralinor held the bow. Brastor turned toward Baralinor with a cold gleam in his eyes. Ivordir and Brastor approached Baralinor, wresting the bow and quiver from him in a short scuffle. Ivordir turned to Abrazan and nodded. Brastor muttered to Baralinor under his breath, "Bad move, boy. Your father would be displeased at this imprudence." He shook his head and tied the knot tight around Baralinor's bound hands. Meanwhile, Tarion had pulled the arrow out of Thanguron and worked to staunch the wound. "Do we have a healer?!" He shouted. "We need our healer NOW!" Aeglos the healer rushed forward and knelt by Thanguron's side. "Move aside!" he barked, as he began to cut bindings from a pouch at his hip. "This wound is grave. Very grave indeed." Thanguron began to cough and gag, gasping painfully. Doing his best to staunch the flow of blood, Aeglos lost himself in his work. His hands moved quickly, but there was little he could do. The arrow had pierced Thanguron through; it seemed as though Baralinor had sought not to merely harm him. He frowned grimly. "I will not be able to do much for him here." Ivordir frowned at the scene below, "Baralinor, if you were not Ballithor's son............ if you were not of the Silver Swan.... I......" Baralinor spat and mocked, "Are too weak to do what my father would have done, Captain!" Ivordir grabbed Baralinor's collar with both hands, strongly, "Do not tempt me to.........." Baralinor grinned mischievously and darkly, mockingly. Ivordir slapped him across the face. Baralinor laughed cruelly, as if deranged, menacingly, and with a cold gleam of horror in his eyes. Ivordir raised his hand to his belt, but paused, remembering what had transpired with Auruiron in Tinnudir, in Evendim so far away. He relaxed his grip on his belt and turned, "Keep him bound and watched." Edited by Ivordir, May 30 2015, 05:44 PM.
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| Ivordir | May 13 2015, 10:29 PM Post #53 |
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Chapter LII: The Testimonial Tarion motioned to another, Preston, who affected the situation: they prepared to carry Thanguron, while lofty Orchaldor aided them as well. The life of brave Thanguron was beginning to slip away. Aeglos did what he can. Several paces away stood Daerfalas. He was angered greatly, and wished to mete out justice, for Baralinor had betrayed their company, had acted as a coward. But as they prepared to lift him, Thanguron struggled to speak, ".....it was my greatest honor................ Eldacar............ my King............." Thanguron had been born and raised in the Pelennor, on a good farm before the White City. He had fought in Osgiliath, but his detail was recalled, before Boromir and Faramir led the counter-assault. He was re-assigned to Dol Amroth, where he was forced under Ballithor's command against his will. He had missed his farm, his homestead, the rolling fields of green that lapped gently on the hard, obsidian stone of the outer wall of Minas Tirith, Minas Anor of old, the Queen of Numenor. He had borne Ballithor's insults with patience, and watched Baralinor carefully. He sneered at the thought of working for Castamirans. And he knew nothing of Yucalwe. Now, leagues away from home, his final thoughts stretched east and north, stretching... hoping.... yearning for his native soil. He felt flushed, the creeping shadow reaching up his thighs, rendering them cold, then up his chest, and then finally, to his last breath in the light of the afternoon sun. He turned his head, and kissing the earth, he died. Tarion, Preston, and Orchaldor gazed in wrath and rage at the now-bound Baralinor. They drew their swords. Daerfalas tightened his grip around his sword's pommel. Edited by Ivordir, May 30 2015, 05:44 PM.
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| Ivordir | May 13 2015, 10:31 PM Post #54 |
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Chapter LIII: The March of Justice Ivordir approached the three warriors, "Your hearts are rightfully grieved....... as is mine....." Tarion yelled, "We -knew- him. You never spoke a word to him. How dare you stand in our way. The lording's ours." Ivordir sighed, "I cannot legally....." Orchaldor shouted, "HE COULD NOT LEGALLY!!!" Ivordir waved his hands, "Listen. It would give me great pleasure to stand aside, but I must tell you. Baralinor was good once, a friend to me whom I trusted. I know not what malice has seized his heart, I suspect his father has something to do with it. But you must listen. If Baralinor is killed, then Ballithor will find us out. Then we'll be forever outlaws, hunted and hounded by every man of Gondor from darkest Ithilien to the fisher-folk of Andrast! Justice will be served, rest assured. But Justice -must- be served, where authority higher than ourselves may dictate Baralinor's fate. Have patience and wait, the appointed time will come." At Aegon's side Gwainoth watched the proceedings with large, fearful eyes. It seemed that the Men would truly begin to fight amongst themselves now. The tension within the air seemed all too tangible. Orchaldor gravely sighed and slowly put his sword away, Tarion and Preston following suit reluctantly. "Very well, you better be right, my Captain. You better be right." "I will be," Ivordir retorted against the threat. Then Brastor, who had watched the whole scene with an even colder gleam in his eyes, laughed snarkingly and said: "Yeah, you -will- be. I guess Baralinor's answered the question. To Linhir it is." The men found a spot where the light shined brightly through the clearing. And there, the men took-out their shovels and dug the grave. Words were spoken. Words of kindness and regret. And Talion vowed on Thanguron's grave that his death would be avenged. They slept and then awoke at dawn on the next day, and the men solemnly resumed their march southeast. It was now January 18th. And they marched slowly throughout the day, climbing down out of the highlands. Then they rested in a dell formed on a rocky hill. Then it was January 19th. And after nearly another day of painfully marching down the rocky, sloped hills, lined with tall, spired trees, they reached the gates of Linhir in the mid-evening. To their surprise, they were allowed to enter without a word. It appeared as if the city was bracing for a storm. Edited by Ivordir, Oct 1 2015, 10:39 PM.
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| Ivordir | May 13 2015, 10:31 PM Post #55 |
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Chapter LIV: In the Barracks of Linhir Sainion now walked silently near Aegon. They were in the barracks now, he had changed back into his noble attire. Aegon gazed at him furiously, "What do you want? To torture me?" "I would not have such violence between us. We have a long journey." Aegon gazed at him, puzzled: "What message will not pass through your princely head? I want nothing to do with you..... leave me......" Gwainoth was in another room at the time of this conversation. Sainion sat down in a nearby chair, "I will not go, until there is peace between us." Aegon scowled and sat down on his bed. They stared at each other, pupil into pupil. Aegon looked at him: his pretty hair, his flowery robes, his soft demeanor. His knuckles tensed. But Sainion's gaze was equally piercing, into those cold, sad eyes, the scar right above Aegon's left eye, his shaggy hair, raven-black, dripping down his shoulder, and those quivering, tense lips. He was still wearing the saggy, old, worn tunic that they had caught him in, his fading pantaloons, his worn buckled-belt. Aegon, staring into Sainion's gaze, was surpised. He did not see fear within those eyes, those incandescent orbs of black depth, a depth he had never truly contemplated nor understood, a depth that he had felt whenever he saw a man cut down before his eyes. Something stirred within Aegon's soul. Something he had hoped that he would never understand. He had preferred the simpler way of life, the casting of nets into the river, the hauling of trout to shore. He had missed those days of his early childhood on Tarlang, when he would sing to the birds and smile at the daffodils on the hillside, when he and Aeg would fish in mountain streams, where he would learn how the fish were cleaned, gutted, how the meal was cooked, and how nature worked. He remembered the cold, lifeless eyes of the dead fish. He saw this same gleam within his father's eyes in the tavern. And, it struck him, that within Sainion's eyes was something of that same gleam. Edited by Ivordir, May 26 2015, 10:07 PM.
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| Ivordir | May 13 2015, 10:32 PM Post #56 |
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Chapter LV: A Test of Wits Aegon shook his head, "Why won't you leave me alone?" Sainion smiled, "Because none of us will ever survive this task, if there is tension between us." Aegon still shook his head, "I still don't understand. What is this task? Why am I here? Why did my father, on his dying breath, force me to be here, rather than on Tarlang, where the fish glitter in the sunlight on the hillside in their captors' nets, where the trees form the fresh scent of pine, where the bark glistens with its sap, where....." Something stirred within him. What was this power of makin' words? Sainion heard his words with awe, "You are a natural poet." "I'm a hard, workin' man of Tarlang." "Yes, son of Tarlang. And, you have a gift for words." "What good or use is it?" "Think of it. 'Where the fish glitter.'... do you not realize, this is how you can bridge the gap that you hate so much? Say it to all the courts, all the lords and ladies. And let them hear -your- story. Then, just then, just maybe... things will change in Gondor for the better." "So you're on our side all a sudden, after I tried to kill ya?" "It is not about sides or choosing them. We are Gondorians, we are on the same side." "I am descended from the ancient mountain-folk, not the great, exalted, Men of Numenor, oh princeling." "And the Men of Numenor, it is told in our myths and legends, descended from Elros, Earendil and Elwing, Dior, Beren, Barahir, and the line of Beor, and of Hador, and of Haleth..... strong men who dwelt in great Taur-en-Fuin, now sunken beneath the sea save for one island. And they were great mountain men, great plains men, great men.... who awoke in Hildorien so long ago." "Sure, you'd know of these things in thar books of yours." "And what is wrong with books?" "Somethin' to occupy idle hands." "What makes you say its idle? Tell me, do your folks write songs?" "Aye, we have bards." "Sing me one. Sing me a song." Edited by Ivordir, May 26 2015, 10:07 PM.
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| Ivordir | May 13 2015, 10:33 PM Post #57 |
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Chapter LVI: Song of Tarlang And the words poured forth as if honey from Aegon's quiverin' lips: ~"Old Jackjaw was a handsome feller, Singin' on old Tarlang's slope, Old Jackjaw, his face was yeller, His eyes never knew how to cope, When old Slim came a-raidin' Up old Tarlang's northern flank, Caught old Jackjaw in Neck a-ridin' Found him a-walkin' on his longshank. And one day, Jackjaw's young son, Grew strong and tall that day, Found old Slim beneath the sun, Drew his axe and made 'em pay"~ "Very good. Now, what did you just do in that song?" "Are you deaf? It told a tale of revenge and justice." "'It told a tale.' Understand?" Aegon shook his head. "Listen, a book is like your song." "How?" "Both the song and the book can tell a tale." "Why does it matter?" "Why do you listen to songs?" "They make us understand our lives and those of others a bit more." "And is that idleness?" "I guess it ain't. But it ain't the same as minin.'" Edited by Ivordir, May 26 2015, 10:08 PM.
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| Ivordir | May 13 2015, 10:34 PM Post #58 |
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Chapter LVII: The Deep Secret of the Power of the Quill "Do you think it is easy to writing a story about 'minin''?" "I reckon not...... how could you tell a tale about the deep shafts, the rickety boards creekin' beneath yer legs, the shadowy abyss far below, where the 'Doom of Men' awaits those who stray or lose their foot-hold. How can you talk about the sawdust in your lungs, the coughing and the gasping, the yearning for the fresh, spring air, in the heat of the rays of the sun, rather than being trapped in the cold, dank, darkness, tryin' to halt the marble and other rock lodes up, heavy trips, to the old conveighter system, pulling hard on the ropes, hopin' they won't break, makin' the lodes fall far into the abyss, killin' a hapless man as he walks across the bottom cavern..........." "You did it. One moment," Sainion quickly grabbed a quill and ink bottle from his pack that he had placed beside him on the floor, and a parchment. There was still light coming through the windows. "Say that again. As much of it as you can. Slowly." "All of it? Really?" "Yes. I'll write it down if you can't." Aegon shook his head, "Never learnt how to do it." Sainion's smile beamed, "I'll do it for you then. And I'll teach you how to do it for yourself. But tell me about those mines again!" And somehow, a smile crossed Aegon's face, a smile he had never, ever believed he would ever shine at a princeling. He nodded and began to recite. Edited by Ivordir, May 26 2015, 10:08 PM.
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| Ivordir | May 14 2015, 05:54 PM Post #59 |
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Chapter LVIII: Memories of the Wanderer Baralinor paced to and fro in his newly-appointed cell. He shook his head, his mane of raven hair falling down his neck. He cut his eyes. His hands were still bound; the door locked. It was the unpleasant wing of the Linhir Barracks. He sat down on his cot and began to think. He had killed a man. One of his father's own chosen. For insubordination. Or was it? A view of history... now he was dead, his eyes shut from Gondor forever... and it was all his own fault. He felt the cold mirth in the pleasure of his power. Then, the warm fangs of guilt began to gnash at him. He sought to escape. His mind, at least, could flee from his cell. And he thought back to that fateful, first day, when his father and their guards were on a training run. They were to practice climbing down the rocky paths of the cliffs to the northeast of the Wharf of Dol Amroth. As they followed the winding path, the crooked trees pointing, their leaves brushing against the wind, they reached the mouth of a small cave. Baralinor felt something different this time, "Must be rum-runners.... outlaws of some sort. Let us investigate. Men, draw your swords." They drew their swords and passed beneath the mouth of the cavern, entering into a long stream of passages, the sound of rushing water echoing through the vacant halls. In places, many stalactites and stalagmites barred their path as if gnawing fangs. Their path wove through the shadows. Finally, they came into a large cavern, recently occupied. There was a fair scent on the air. There were bags and belongings. And there was armor of a kind they had never seen before. It glimmered bright red in the light of their torches. They were always prepared, even for a daily training run. And there were furnishings. Chairs, a table, a place of storage for food. Bookshelves lined with texts. And in smaller adjacent caverns, there were curtains forming doors. And there were beds for rest. There was also a forge hidden at the far end of the cavern. And there were bottles of wine along some of the shelves. Some of the spires had intricate, unnatural carvings. "Who dares enter hither?" The voice seemed to chill the hearts of many of the men. But Ballithor was not afraid, "I should dare to ask you the same question, whoever you are. Come out, and your life may be spared." "You are of the Silver Swan... I had wondered when I would receive guests again. The last time I saw one of you, it was your father." The minds of the men were tossed into confusion. Ballithor laughed, "Yes. I first saw you when I was a boy. You have not changed. And tell me, is your friend well-provided for?" "He is southern and he is Gondorian." "You Elves are clever with your wit. Very clever. But I know a Southron accent when I hear one, no matter how masked." Abrazan revealed himself, "I am Yucalwe's son." He was naught but a small boy. Ballithor laughed, "Do Elves give birth to men now? Where did you find him, Ranyaro, on the coast?" Yucalwe Ranyaro nodded, "I have returned with him quite recently. I demand for his education." Ballithor gave Yucalwe the coldest gleam, "You are in no position to demand anything, immortal being of the Eldar or not. You are hither in this realm without the leave of Steward or King. You are hither in the realm of the House of Imrahil, I care not if Edhellond predates his line. They are gone from those Havens, and so are you. You are now in the realm of Men. Without our aid, you will have neither luxuries, nor food, nor clothing, nor wine..." "Yes, you have reminded me well of these things. But tell me, have you ever beheld what men mistakenly call Elvish magic?" "You cannot bewitch me. Choose thy words carefully, Elf. Lest you find yourself in the bowels of Dol Amroth in chains, in a far less pleasant cave." Yucalwe suddenly, in a matter of seconds, whisked his sword out of his sheath, knocking Ballithor's sword from his own hands, the blade clattering as it hit the sharp stone-floor of the cave. Ballithor stood stunned, staring at him with wide eyes, "Impressive. You could teach my men many things. Let us.... make an arrangement then. I will continue to keep the secret of our House. But know this. My father was a sentimental man. His awe and wonder in things that were impractical nearly cost our House's dignity. Because of you, we nearly lost everything to our rivals, because my father's heart was calmed and stayed by his 'love' and 'compassion,' neither of which make profit, save perhaps for love, in so far as wise marriages are concerned. We are not of your people, and you must respect, or at the least, accept the existence of our ways." Yucalwe laughed, "Yes, oh yes, of course. I know more of -your- ways than you can fathom. For how many times did I evade the Easterling ships on the Sea of Rhun, or the fisher-folk of what is now Far Gondor and lower Minhiriath, or of the King's Men in Umbar, or their Haradrim descendants, or of Ulfang and Uldor in the far northwest, in the now-sunken land?" Yucalwe's figure became tall and powerful; the men were prepared to toss their swords and shields on the floor, all save for Ballithor, and his son, who hoped to see his father stand triumphant. Ballithor smiled, "We will need to get you some older vintage, then. And some more clothes." Abrazan sighed with relief. Ballithor's eyes glared at him, "And yes, your 'son' may study in the Library of Saphadzir. But know this. He may pretend, all of his life, to be a man of Gondor. But he will never cease to be a Southron. I pray you are there to restrain him, on the day he dares to betray us. All Southrons are traitors." Yucalwe's eyes glared even harsher in return, "I found a lonely, abandoned boy, sobbing by his slaughtered kin, in a burning village. The Men of Umbar burned it all. I sincerely doubt that he would side with them. If he is of traitor's blood, then let him betray Umbar when he grows, in Gondor's favor. Umbar served the Enemy. To them, traitors are traitors. To us, they are redeemed. I tend to believe in the latter. For I know the darkness, the Enemy, and his Master before him, who was far worse. Remember this." Ballithor spoke slowly and tactfully, with thought, "I am certain that you still have much to teach us. It must get boring for you, surely. Generation after generation of 'House of the Silver Swan' journeying hither to barter goods for the same knowledge." Yucalwe laughed politely, "I never mind attending the same tale. It is, after all, my history." Baralinor smiled, "Father, can we give him a ship?" Yucalwe and Ballithor smiled at once. Ballithor turned, "Perhaps, my son.....perhaps...." A guard passed by in the hallway. The sound of his boots woke Baralinor from his thoughts. He wished he was that child. He wished he was that child again. He wished he had never been complicit. And he wished he had never shot Thanguron. Edited by Ivordir, May 26 2015, 10:08 PM.
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| Ivordir | May 15 2015, 07:12 PM Post #60 |
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Chapter LIX: Hidden Insights Ivordir slept soundly in the Linhir barracks. It was a relief to have escaped the Ringlo Vale. At dawn, he awoke to Sainion's beaming eyes piercing his own, as if rays of sunlight. "Good morrow, my Captain..." Ivordir stared at the ceiling, "Has the bird crowed yet?" Sainion smiled, "It has. The sun is rising." "Good, we will need an early start." "We have matters to settle....Thanguron's death........" Ivordir nodded, "I should have Baralinor hanged. I am tempted to leave him here, a prisoner." Sainion shook his head, "He would prove more dangerous left behind." "How?" "My Captain! His father would have him released! He is likely in Belfalas now, if not closer. Do you truly believe that Prince Imrahil allowed his forces to remain in Dol Amroth, when Dor-en-Ernil is under siege?" Then, it dawned on Ivordir. It was all a trap. Ballithor was not far away from them. And, in time, he would have them: in a condition of complete vulnerability. His mind spewed colorful metaphors. He could not stand it. "I.....I thought he would have remained in Dol Amroth. My father never left Minas Tirith-" "-Your- father is a scholar. Not a soldier. I mean, of course... in all due respect, my Captain." "It is true....... I should not have underestimated him. Hopefully, the Corsairs are keeping him busy. Which will give us time." "But what will we do about Baralinor?" Edited by Ivordir, May 26 2015, 10:08 PM.
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12:43 AM Jul 11