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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 (4,135 Views)
Ivordir

Chapter LXXX: The Scales of Judgment

Ivordir closed his eyes, his mind caught in a memory. He stared into Yucalwe's shining eyes, how they pierced his soul. He stared into the crimson of his cloak. He stared into the silken folds, burying himself within them, hiding. Justice......... how did the Elves do thus. Justice..... what the Doom of ancient myths proclaimed. The shedding forth of unending streams of watered sorrow, flowing from countless Elven eyes. And yet they felt so blessed... so good... as if a greater, higher Power ruled them. His gaze pierced Daerfalas' eyes, "I can do nothing, beyond what I have done. Aside from killing him, there is..... the wretched, vile thing, that Ballithor did to his own son and Heir. And what good did it do? It led to the death of an innocent man. How many more innocent men will die, if I mete out harsh Justice? How many more will perish.......... shall I humiliate him, perhaps? Toss him in the mud and make him cake himself and crawl through it..... let the men relieve themselves beside him. Nay.............. what good would it do. I cannot satisfy the whims of scales. If they were for us all, none of us would ever survive........"

Daerfalas lifted a brow knowingly. "It is not in your nature to see a Man humiliated, despite the ills of his actions. No. Let his hands remained bound for now. Let him walk thusly amongst our Men. That will be humiliation enough. He shall have to weigh the consequences of his actions. A guilty conscience is a heavy thing, my friend." And as though he recognized the longing, wistful expression upon Ivordir's face, so too did Daerfalas smile in his own remembrance. "There will be another time for punishment. Right now, Baralinor owes his company his sword-arm. And what of his uncle? Do you think him not to be a danger? Will he not act out in similar rashness?"

Ivordir's eyes gleamed, "He is dangerous. We have to determine our next course from here. We will have to cross the Serni and reach the Sirith south of the Celos, and then our choice is to cross it, or........... there is Pelargir to the south. I know you must miss your mother.......... but Corsair raiders could cause significant damage, even if they were small in number, as those who assailed Dol Amroth...."

For a moment, Daerfalas could not mask his fear; he thought of his mother, and took comfort from her strengths. "I have thought about this at length," he admitted. "I fear the closer we travel to the coast, the greater the danger may be. It would be wise to avoid the city all together, though I wish..." he sighed, and left the thought unfinished.

Ivordir clasped him on the shoulder, "I know............ we will journey toward the Sirith for now, and decide later. It may depend on the condition of the other river-bank."

Daerfalas nodded with the briefest of smiles; the weight of Ivordir's hand upon his shoulder was a great comfort indeed. "Yes, Captain," he said, straightening in his chair. "When shall we depart? Some of them Men are healing still, but we shant overstay our welcome."

Ivordir suddenly raised his hand, "I hear..... something in the hallway..........." He stood and crouched beside the door, "There is running....... quick, armor, leathers, put them on, draw your sword........ and here I am unarmed and stupid. Hurry! Make haste!"
Edited by Ivordir, Aug 10 2015, 07:59 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter LXXXI: The Storm

To his feet Daerfalas jumped. He did not bother with some of his armour, and he grasped his sword and shield. "Stay close to me, Captain," he said, as they listened closely. Was their presence here known?

Ivordir stayed hunched by the door, listening. The sounds had stopped. He motioned with his fingers, and they burst into the hallway, expecting foes. It was empty. Ivordir quickly ran in his room and dressed himself in his gear, leaving Daerfalas to guard the doorway. Ivordir came with his halberd drawn. They crept down the hallway, slowly. They heard raised voices around the corner. There was another hall, that led to the main Great Hall of the rulers of Ost Anglebed. There, before their eyes, was Brastor and Baralinor, swords drawn, with guards at their sides, facing several of their own men.
They hid on either side of the doorway. Ivordir thought, "I cannot see their faces.... but the opposition must be Thanguron's dear friends. What has happened......... and there are lords standing there. Some who I do not recognize.

Brastor shouted, "Yet mutinous lot! I'll have yer heads!"

Then came Orchalon's voice, "We demand justice for our comrade, Thanguron, for his death. A brave soldier of Gondor, he was. And he perished at the hands of that vile hypocrite!"

Daerfalas gripped his sword tightly, and looked over his shoulder towards Ivordir. "Shall we approach them?" he whispered. "They look ready for violence."

Brastor laughed loudly and hoarsely, "You are a fool to speak to the Heir of Ballithor in that tone! I should've drowned yer lot in the Gilrain, long ago. I hope the ivy I led ya through was pleasant."

Tarion shouted, "We will avenge Thanguron's death, vile Castamiran!"

At this, the guards of Ost Anglebed drew their swords. One lord shouted, "Enough! You came to our gates as weary soldiers, so our Barracks Warden reported, and I granted you leave to receive our hospitality. And this is how you reward us? Threats of bloodshed in our halls of leadership?"

"Ivordir..." Daerfalas warned, his whisper growing more distressed.

Ivordir nodded at Daerfalas' words. He noticed several more men on Tarion's side of the impending conflict. Men of their own company. He counted them. Only a few were not yet aroused. He wondered where Sainion and Aegon were, and the fishermen. Ivordir pressed ahead into the chamber, his halberd drawn. He shouted, "I command this vileness to cease!"

Daerfalas followed him a short pace behind, his chin lifted, eyes ablaze as he surveyed the scene.

Brastor spat, "Hail Captain Ivordir! Hail, oh great and mighty Captain. I have been achin' for days for this moment. You will torture those Haradrim curs when we find 'em. And I will torture you until you do."

The lord of Anglebed shouted, "Enough! I shall have you all cast in irons for this outrage!"

Ivordir approached cautiously, "My noble lord........... as I am commander of this force, however small, it is my responsibility. This being said, we had bound the younger volatile one as a prisoner for killing one of our own men. The other, who stands beside him, is the brother of Ballithor, a lord of Dol Amroth with influence. He had suggested that we come here instead of Linhir, but I refused. Then the younger one shot one of our own men with a poisoned arrow. We bound and made for Linhir. We departed from Linhir, avoiding the coast out of concern of the Corsair fleet. I beg mercy, my lord, if these men will but drop their swords at my command, and put an end to this nonsense......"

The lord smiled at Ivordir, comprehending. With a nod, his guards turned toward Brastor and Baralinor.
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Ivordir

Chapter LXXXII: The Reign of Castamir

Brastor shouted, "I can kill the lot of you! I am Brastor of the Silver Swan, bound by honor to serve my city and my noble House. And you, curs, shall not defeat me, defender of a line of purest Numenorean blood, a line that opposed the vile King who dared to wed a northern wretch!" He pointed his sword toward the ceiling, "All hail Castamir the Great! The greatest of all the Ship-Kings, founder of the Throne that sits atop Minas Tirith to this day. May all who fought in memory of their brothers, who served their true King, Master of the Seas..... rally to me now!"

The guards who were descended from the mountain-folk maintained their stance in outrage. But then, several who had stood to the side, emerged facing the center, with their swords drawn. And a lord with the insignia of a Silver Fist stood beside them.

And then, behind them all, another emerged. And his eyes were piercing cold. Ivordir's hands felt limp, his halberd shook.

Daerfalas sucked in a breath. The air around them stilled.

And Lord Ballithor declared: "As Lord of the Silver Swan, I declare this skirmish concluded. I re-assume command of my men. I release my son from his chains. I restore my brother to his honor. And you-"
His boots echoed terribly on the floor, as he seized Ivordir by his leather collar, "Give me one good reason, why I should not have your head mounted on a pike! Our mutual friend is not here to save you now. He is far away and long since out of sight and back where he belongs."

A collective gasp from the company broke the stillness. Daerfalas growled, to see Ivordir handled thusly. He burned to hear Yucalwe spoken of in such a manner. But there was little he could do, but keep a strong hold upon his sword.

Ivordir declared, believing that whatever happened next would never have mattered, "And what myth burns in the East in its horror, as we fight here?"

And at these words, Ballithor relaxed his grip.

And Ivordir shouted, "Who holds the eastern shores of Osgiliath, most of Ithilien? Who dwells in Minas Ithil, Tower of the Moon, City of Isildur the Great? Why did Boromir and Faramir, our -true- Captains, destroy the bridge? Who commands the storms that rise above the Mountains of Shadow? What fires pour forth from Orodruin? They are coming at us, now. It will not be long."
Edited by Ivordir, Jul 28 2015, 01:44 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter LXXXIII: A Greater Threat

The lord of Ost Anglebed spoke with aged wisdom, "He speaks the truth. I have heard tidings of the Ithilien Dunedain. They are pressing forays against entire movements of the Haradrim as we speak."

Lord Ballithor released Ivordir, but then he suddenly grabbed him close, whispering in his ear, "We will talk more later." He turned to the lord, "Yes, it is true, alas. Gondor is in its time of greatest peril, a time equal to that of over three thousand years ago. Pray now, order your men to sheath their swords. This treachery is over."

But Preston shouted, "It is not over until yer son pays for his crimes!"

Ballithor's voice thundered, "Take that man away, imprison him. He is no longer fit for our company."

Ballithor turned to Ivordir, "I will give you back your command, provided that my son walks free. Do you understand me?"

Ivordir sighed, "Yes, my Lord. I understand it perfectly. We were going to press to the Sirith next-"

Ballithor shook his head, "You will go to Pelargir. You will follow the river, gain any supplies from Lossarnach as necessary with my seal, and then you will cross into Ithilien. You still have time to find the whereabouts of our foe, who I have little doubt will seek vengeance upon my House, for what happened years ago on Tolfalas. But understand, the beacons will likely be lit soon, and then, you will make for Minas Tirith. Try to make for it beforehand, if you can."

Ivordir bowed reluctantly, wondering what the lords and guards of Ost Anglebed made of all of this, but his brief glance revealed their distracted chattered, to his relief: "And what of the men?"

Ballithor grinned, "Do with them as you see fit. Except my brother and my son. They are not to be harmed. In fact, I have a mind to not let my son continue on this journey."

Ivordir knelt before Ballithor, "We need him. I do not know how, but we -need- him. For reasons I cannot yet fathom."
Edited by Ivordir, Jul 28 2015, 01:43 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter LXXXIV: The Quest

Ballithor gazed into his eyes intently, "Very well. Your life is forfeit, if he is harmed. Do you understand? If he dies, then you will not live long."

Ivordir nodded gravely, "I understand, my Lord."

Daerfalas held back a growl; what he wished to say to this Lord.

Ballithor scoffed, "I still should clasp you in irons. But I am now in a merciful mood. Good speech... Now leave me to deal with these lords. You should reconcile with your men." Then Ballithor nodded coldly. "And one more thing... to add weight to the scales of your responsibility, I need my brother now to remain with me."

Ivordir nodded, attempting to mask his joy, "As it shall please you, my lord."

Ballithor scoffed, "Now get up, and act like a captain again. Excuse me."

Ivordir nodded to Daerfalas, "Come, let us go."

Daerfalas quenched the fire of his expression, and stood in line with Ivordir. "At once, Captain," he said, his voice low.

And all Ivordir could see, was Preston's haunting eyes, as they led him away.

Ivordir and Daerfalas found Sainion and Aegon in Sainion's room, performing writing lessons. Ivordir motioned to them, and to their other three comrades, and they all convened in Ivordir's room. Of the original council, Brastor was the only one absent.

Ivordir sighed, "My men......... Ballithor is here."

Sainion's eyes grew wide.

But Ivordir persisted: "He prevented bloodshed in the Great Hall. And Preston is now his prisoner. And...... Baralinor is now free, completely."
"Our mission will still continue. I believe that the only thing that protected us, if not his fear of Yucalwe, is his fear of our foe."

Daerfalas rubbed at his temples and frowned at his mounting headache.

Ivordir charged forward through his speech, "And the only thing that could have possibly unified that room, with all of its Castamiran treacheries and long and stubborn memories, was successful: our Enemy in the East. I do not know how Ballithor got here before us. He likely arrived in Linhir shortly after our departure, and took the main roads. And who can know what became of Lord Arodon? Ah...... and our road is still long. He is using his son as his measure of control over us. Should anything happen to him, my life- and all of our lives- are forfeit."

Sainion nodded sullenly, "Ballithor is a master of extortion, and of feigned loyalty, nobility, and honor. The sooner we depart this city, the better."

"He would have us make for Pelargir," Daerfalas said sternly.

Ivordir nodded, "Yes. We have no choice. And we must make for Pelargir. I believe that we should, instead of our original course, now simply take the main roads down. The men are weary and treking across the fields of Lebennin would only serve to cost us more time. We can rest in Daerfalas' Estate, I hope......... and we can plot our next move there. Any objections?"

To the fishermen, the thought of being near the sea again brought -joy- to their eyes. The river that flows to the sea......

Daerfalas crossed his arms, and shook his head. "No. My mother would welcome us, though I wish I could send word ahead. There we may find great respite."

Ivordir nodded, "Good. We have to pretend to be Castamirans, men, as much as we might disdain it. It is our only chance of surviving these lands. When we reach Eastern Gondor, we will return to where men are saner, and know of the great threat of the East far more urgently. I, for one, wish we could simply make for Minas Tirith. But it would imperil our mission, and we cannot risk our foe aiding the Enemy's assault. Our men have nightmares and horrors enough. Fortunately, Brastor is returning to his brother's side. My main concern is for Tarion and Orchalon. Preston is now Ballithor's captive. And who can say what will be done to him.............I wish there were some way to free him, to regain the trust of the other two....................... but turning all of Gondor into our enemies would only aid to not only our, but its destruction........"

Sainion nodded, "We should move now, re-gather our strength in Pelargir. We should judge the time, and see if we have more time to stay there, and if it is wise."

Ivordir smiled, "We depart within the hour. Prepare the men."

Daerfalas agreed, "Aye, captain."
Edited by Ivordir, May 30 2015, 05:32 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter LXXXV: The Long Road Southeast

They gathered their men and supplies, and parted from the city's eastern gates. He saw lords standing on the ramparts. Baralinor trodded not far behind Ivordir. Tarion and Orchaldon were marching at the rear. They began their long road south. It was still the 25th. And Ivordir ensured that any who had supported Thanguron would not touch a single hair on Baralinor's head. They took several rests beside the road, and they encountered little others. For the rumor of war had spread throughout the land. All the southern fiefdoms were bracing themselves for the coming storm.

They awoke on the 26th, the terrain not changing much throughout the day. The green hills and fields still seemed cheerful in the light of the afternoon sun.
The clouds flowed briskly overhead. The White Mountains, far to the north, were dimmed in a white and misty haze. The men spoke little. Ivordir said nothing, but gazed at the beauty of it all, and it reminded him of the Elves, and how beautiful they were, and he wished that, if only, the hearts of men could be as beautiful, unstained, preserved from all corruption.

They rested at the fords of the River Serni. The river flowed beautifully, sparkling, trickling in its well-springs and ebbs and flows, lapping on the stony shores. After dawn on the 4th of February, it glittered brightly in the light of the sun. And Aegon's eyes gazed at it in wonder. He thought of how he would tell about it in a story, deep within the cave that was his mind. Abrazan watched Baralinor closely.He sat beside him in the manner of a protective brother.

Tarion spat into the river, "Preston behind bars.... Thanguron dead and abandoned on a mountain-slope...."

Orchalon shook his head, "We've held this grudge too long. Look at what its doin' to us. We'll be next......"

Tarion sighed and said nothing.

Abrazan overheard them. His perspicacious ears missed little. "I will talk to them in Pelargir," he thought. "I will reason with them."

Baralinor kept silent the entire time.

And far to the south, the sea gave-way to the Anduin Delta, which surrendered to the currents of the river. They rested in a dell in one of the hills not far from the road. They marched onward, and their legs and feet were numb from the constant pressure, but they still felt the pain when they stopped. The men spoke little, there was nothing to be said. And not a complaint was heard. Not even from Sainion, who was tired of hearing himself complain within his mind throughout most of the journey, of the muck and the mud and the northern snow and ice on his fine boots, of the long nights of aches and rashes, and of his painful feet and fatigued legs, how he had to call on his will-power to keep going, to refuse to faint and die. But through it all, he desired only one thing: a bed of silken sheets to curl himself into, a glass of the finest wine, and a chair to sit in.

It was nightfall on February 1st when they finally reached Pelargir. Their journey along the painful road, through wind and rain, had taken them nearly another week. They passed through Pelargir's majestic gates, Ivordir bearing Ballithor's sigil. The guards nodded with gratitude, and gave them directions to the Barracks.
Ivordir smiled and thanked them graciously, and told them that some of his men may choose to go there. And Ivordir took the men to the barracks, and gave their choices. Some of the weary men went through the barracks, and Ivordir obtained leave for them. Among those men were Tarion and Orchalon.

Abrazan, however, took both of them aside. "We will summon you. We will talk soon."

Then they vanished into the barracks, Tarion trying to hide his scowl.

For the rest, Ivordir turned to Daerfalas to lead the way. He followed right behind him. They passed through several districts, courtyards, and winding alley-sized passage-ways. They came to the great forums, and crossed the bridge, through the richer streets of the Angle. Then they crossed again, along the Wharf and piers, up and down many step-bridges. Their path was brightly lit by the night-torches. Then they climbed a high stair, and they came to the familiar courtyard of Daerfalas' Estate.
Edited by Ivordir, Oct 1 2015, 10:45 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter LXXXVI: Heir of Silver, Heart of Iron

Ballithor had remained as a guest of Anglebed for a week, cementing his influence. There was a knock on the doors, back north in Ballithor's room in Ost Anglebed. It was evening on the same day Ivordir and his Company reached Pelargir. The knocking sound turned rougher, angered.

"Enter," Ballithor glanced up from his desk coldly.

Brastor marched into the room, the light of the sun glancing off his breast-plate,
"Permission to speak, my Lord."

"Granted," Ballithor leaned heavily against his chair.

"I suppose that I should be grateful, that you have relieved me, my Lord."

"Speak freely, brother. There is no need for formalities here. We know and trust your loyalty."

"Well, we don't like it that you have allowed that runt to take charge again over those men."

"Careful, brother. Do you doubt my judgment, the faith and trust that I have placed in him?"

"In all due respect, I do... my brother..."

"I nearly had the mind to hang 'em, or chop his head off."

"And may I ask what changed your mind?"

"Listen closely, brother," Ballithor leaned forward with an intense gaze. "I detest this runt of a leader as much as you do. Nor do I take pleasure in forcing my son and Heir again beneath his command. But he is our sole bargaining chip, for us to get what we want: the plots and webs of Elves to be blown far away from our own influence and sovereignty. That is all this has ever been about. If I executed him, then that dreadful Elf-lord would know of it. They are magicians, such Elves. They know and see what happens, and foresee, long before we do. If I kill him, it will arouse Ranyaro's anger, and force his hand."
He grabbed Brastor's hand, "And he has slain Men before, brother. It is not new to him. I have even heard that his hands are stained with the blood of his own kind. If he comes south, and finds our pesky 'Captain' dead, he'll destroy us... brother... do you understand?"

Brastor nodded grimly.

"Good. My son is the key to ensuring that our 'Captain' will not overstep his bounds again. If he does, word will reach me, and I will make him rue the day he ever set foot beneath my roof. It is good that I have other sons, but I doubt that Baralinor has much to fear. All will be well...."

"You place a hard, tough gamble on 'em, brother. If I may ask, why are you riskin' the life of yer own son, my nephew? Is it worth it if he dies?"

Ballithor gave him one, long, hard stare, slowly shaking his head, as his face was shadowed while the sunlight darkened his figure. "No, brother. It isn't. But nor is it worth it if that scum of an elf comes down to kill us all. We do not have time for this, we have a war to fight."

Brastor nodded grimly, "And why did you send them to Pelargir?"

"I still have friends there. In fact, I sent a courier in advance. When you sent me that letter south from Calembel into Belfalas, I knew something would occur. When your note arrived from Linhir, I knew I had to act. And the roads were faster. Far faster than the tracks of wilderness nigh the Gilrain. I am glad I caught them here at Anglebed before they did worse."

"And what will yer friends in Pelargir do?"

"They'll wait, like patient arachnids. If something happens, if Ivordir thinks he can deceive me yet again, then they will intervene. If not, then no one will know the wiser."

"And who is involved?"

"Well, I have left the mercantile Ministers to their own affairs. You know I have nothing to do with them. Dol Amroth is a far greater investment."

"Right, so obviously not the monetary powers, we know their titles."

"We use a subtler means of influence, per usual. Not high lords or masters or ministers, but those who are of our own ilk."

"I know of whom you speak," Brastor caught the glare in his brother's eyes. "Very good. And if Ivordir evades them, or follows your orders?"

"We shall see, brother. We shall see. But let us turn our attention west."

"I'm worried for Baralinor..."

"He is the worst of my sons, and worse, he is my Heir. What better for me to do?"

"You're a cruel, hard man. How honorable is that? He's your son."

"His killing of a dissenter has impressed me. There may yet be a man in my son, waiting to be born. If this birth is his manner of return, then I shall be glad for it. If he does not return, then he did not become a full man, and was not -worthy- to be my Heir."

"So that's what this is. A test."

"Do you disapprove?"

"He's still your son, full man or not."

Ballithor leaned forward, hunched across the table, eye to eye with Brastor: "Yes, he is my son. What do you want me to do? Sit here and cry in fear, lest he die? This is war, brother. I thought that you would remember that fact, most of all. Go now, your place is on the field. Not in these intrigues."

Brastor scowled, "Fine, my brother. But if yer son dies, mark these words: you'll regret it forever."

"Come and talk when you're in a saner mood. Now get out of my sight!"

"As you command, my Lord." Brastor's angry words hurled a wad of spit on the floor. He turned and marched away, slamming the doors shut behind him as he left.

Ballithor scowled, "Insolent nonsense. Gods, I am surrounded by insolence. A brother who can't know when its safe to shut his mouth and stand aside. A son who can't take the discipline of becoming a full, true man, and when he tries, he gets himself arrested. A commander who can't lead his own men. You all disgust me... and you!" He pointed toward the northern wall of the room. "You, filthy Elf, disgrace me most of all. Can you hear me? Ha! You'll die a terrible, horrid death, the worst of deaths, for what you have done to my House. I swear it!"

He stared at the wall in anger, then collapsed back into his chair, ignoring his words, and frantically grasped at his notes and maps. Then he shoved them all off the table. And then, he broke-down and wept.
Edited by Ivordir, Oct 1 2015, 10:46 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter LXXXVII: The Boy and the Elf-Lord

Young Ballithor climbed down the stoney path, in his lord father's train. Lord Celebon was a wise man, his grizzled snow-white short beard framing his chin, his eyes were as bright as sapphires, and his spirit blazed as if inflamed. But hope blazed, most of all, within his heart. And he came down the path with his son and brothers. They reached the mouth of the cave. It was time.

It had become a Rite of Passage for the Silver Swan to bring its Heir before the Elf-wanderer who hid in the caverns nigh the ruins of Edhellond. Yucalwe warmly greeted them, and led them to his fair chamber that overlooked the bay from beneath a ledge of stone. The opening in the stone served as if a great and natural window. Sailors could not see anything within its darkness. But some ever felted watched, by something. Some wondered if the cliffs themselves had eyes.

Yucalwe had dwelt here for one hundred years, undetected. Such was his skill. But on one fine morning, an inquisitive man of the Silver Swan felt something awry about the slope that fell down from the road. He found the place, discovering a trailing figure, who darted to the left. When Yucalwe relaxed his grip on the man's throat in the cave, he gasped and coughed. Then he sighed of relief, in awe and wonder. And Yucalwe gave him the name 'Ranyaro,' and told the truth. The Silver Swan was in awe of the Elf, and worked to aid him ever since, a bond of friendship reaching toward the House and its descendants.

And so it was that Lord Celebon brought young Ballithor before Yucalwe on one fateful afternoon.

And Yucalwe smiled at the boy, who felt himself transfixed in awe and wonder of his presence. They became even closer as the boy grew into a young man. And then, in his prime, Yucalwe began a fateful discussion.
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Ivordir

Chapter LXXXVIII: Kinslayer

As Ballithor paced to and fro in front of his desk in Ost Anglebed, he gasped and coughed, remembering the fateful day.

By now, Ballithor was a strong, young man. He had fished with Yucalwe, and slept in peaceful nights within his cave. Yucalwe still had his jar from Aman, containing silk worms from the Gardens of Lorien, which had bred and died and bred again across millennia. Yucalwe's habit was to bury the previous worms in the soil, which then felt sanctified. Ballithor had rested in the cloak that Yucalwe had sewn for him. He had bonded closely with him.

But now when they entered into this discussion, Yucalwe poured the wine at the table. It was as red as blood. As was the interior of his cloak. Ballithor gazed at him intently, "You wished to speak?"

"Yes. You must sit down. There is something that I would tell you..."

Ballithor nodded.

Yucalwe sighed, "We have a grievous foe."

"I know. My lord father told me."

"And...... I have a grave weakness against him. And my heart is feint....."

"Your heart? You are the most noble, the most beautiful being I have ever known! What is wrong?"

"Ballithor..................................................................................... I once was forced into conflict with beings more beautiful than I.............."

"............................................................and?"

"Have you ever wondered why I drink red wine, why my cloak is black and crimson.............?"

"Yes..... you look best in silver....."

"Do you know why I cannot wear silver?"

"Why?"

"Because I -slew- my own kindred.......... thrice......................... three different battles, I can still see their faces............. their eyes.......... that turned pale and lifeless when their spirits were forever wrested from their bodies.....................the black is for my guilt, the red in memory of their blood..... blood that I have shed.................... blood through which I am forever doomed............"

Ballithor spat the wine back on the table. His glass fell to the floor, shattering in countless pieces, the wine staining the stone blood-red. He ripped the cloak off his shoulders, tossing it on the floor.

And then he shouted: "You LIED! To me, to my lord father, to all of us! You are a servant of the Enemy indeed! You truly are a horror! How dare you breathe the air of Gondor!"

He stammered and he ran back through the caves, back out to where his guard and horse were waiting. But his lord-father did not believe him, and sternly commanded him not to utter such lies in his ears again. And he made Ballithor swear to obey Yucalwe in all things. He threatened his son with disinheritance and death. Ballithor swore the oath, all the while, cursing Yucalwe within his mind.

And Ballithor's hatred fermented and grew to guide him. He could not stand it. He could not believe it. That the greatest being he had ever known had committed the worst of crimes. It wracked his mind. It wrecked his mind. He wished Yucalwe had not told him. He wished the confession had never happened. But then he was glad for it, to know the criminal exposed before him. And yet he hated it. He hated it and loved it. Hating it, he wished for more of it. And so his mind burst asunder. He lost all hope.

He did not care anymore, who and how many people he had tortured and killed. He longed for only one thing: power. He would force the scales of fate to suit his own terms. He would break Doom itself, before it could break him.

And there, in Ost Anglebed, clutching his frozen heart of stone, he gazed coldly through the eastern windows. I will destroy you, Yucalwe Ranyaro.............................. and all who have ever followed you..............................
Edited by Ivordir, May 31 2015, 02:56 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter LXXXIX: Of Ballithor's Journey to Ost Anglebed

Ballithor wished to reflect further on the past, after his hateful thoughts and oath. He remembered how Ivordir and his Company left from the bottom of the Keep of the Swan Knights in their ships. Ballithor watched coldly as they rowed across the sound. A messenger arrived. It was so important that he had climbed down all the flights of stairs to find him. Ballithor took the note and nodded. He followed the messenger up the slick, damp, cold stairwell that wound higher and higher, delved in the limestone rock of the spire of the Keep.

As he marched up the stairs, he reflected on a conversation with his son:

"You were ever weak, Baralinor. A shame on your House and on your father. Remember when I caught you with that slithering Yucalwe? How I caught him, that he would dare, to manipulate you against me! How I whipped you, boy... how you whined and cried and squealed like the infant you are! And that is why I am sending you. What's wrong, have I offended you?"

But Baralinor stood defiantly, with an equally cold gleam in his eyes: "No, my lord-father. I will prove myself to you. I swear it by the Gods."

Ballithor balked, "You're going to prove yourself -worthy- of your House? Good. Then go forth, and prove yourself worthy. And tell me when you've finally killed a man. That will mark your first step toward glory, toward redeeming yourself of your shame. Now, go on. Get the boy forever out of my sight, and come back a full, true man. I may have failed you, but this mission won't. Go."

They had spoken not long before the speeches to the men in the hidden chamber of the Keep.

And now, as Ballithor reflected, he thought: I have placed my son and Heir in harm's way. My other sons are stronger. Gods, why am I so cursed?

He followed the messenger through the forums and marketplaces. They tread a whole league through the city, and then they climbed the high stairs, toward the Court of the Prince, where all the nobility was assembled. He sat near his closest allies, in the seating for the vassals. And Prince Imrahil came forth, shining and gleaming with his half-Elven blood in his veins, addressing the matters and issues of the day. But Ballithor frowned as he gazed upon him.

Several weeks had passed, and Ballithor thought of his son, and of the hapless 'captain' he had placed in charge. So he decided to make his next appearance in Ost Anglebed, to ensure that his will was accomplished. It was January 15th when he set-out, remaining in the Belfalasan climate, with several of his strongest men, and they remained on the main roads, making their way across northern Dor-en-Ernil, before riding down to Linhir.

By the time they reached Linhir, they questioned the lords of the city. Arodon refused to speak, and so Ballithor forced it out of him in extortion, having his men hurt him in a dark room of the Barracks, whipping his elderly back. And he finally confessed to all that he had witnessed: including the fact of Baralinor's imprisonment. Then, he chopped off Arodon's head himself. He sped to Ost Anglebed in haste along the road, with his loyal men. A close friend of his, a Lord of Pelargir, was visiting Linhir at the time, and he came as well. The journey took him a couple days. They arrived shortly after Ivordir and his men were sleeping. But they were ready at early-morning, prepared in their positions.

And so it was that they were present in the Great Hall chamber, at its rear, in the shadows. They awaiting Ivordir's arrival and then they caught him.

And Ballithor spoke with his son,

"You have passed the first test, to becoming a full, true man. You have killed this- Thanguron, was his name? It sounds so strangely familiar..........."

And Baralinor bitterly reminded him of who Thanguron was.

Ballithor balked, "Good! You have not only killed your first man, you have killed a man you once tried to befriend. Now, if Ivordir ever threatens you again, kill him too. Then, you shall have proven your worth to me."

Baralinor nodded, "Father......................................................................................... never mind. Farewell for now. You will see your true man by the time he returns."

And now, Ballithor thought of his harsh words to Brastor, and frowned: "He better return a true man....."

There was a knock at the door of his room in Ost Anglebed. He turned, "Enter."

It was Brastor, "Sir, Prince Imrahil has called for another meeting. Our Lord has called us back."

Ballithor nodded at him, cold as ice: "We leave at dawn tomorrow."
Edited by Ivordir, Jun 2 2015, 10:42 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter XC: A Reckoning

Baralinor had chosen to remain at the barracks in western Pelargir, far from Daerfalas' Estate. Ivordir had not noticed. As Abrazan performed the head-count in front of Daerfalas' Estate, he immediately entered into a sprint.

He ran among the quais and docks. He ran through winding city streets, through many passages he did not know. Ivordir had turned and begun after him, leaving Daerfalas in charge of the others. He ran as fast as he could. Then they crossed through the Angle district. Ivordir began to gasp, but kept running. One of his muscles spasm-ed, but he charged ahead through the pain and toil. It was worse than his long shifts of standing guard-duty. All of it was.

Baralinor found himself approached by Tarion and Orchalon.

Tarion was a soldier's son, of a long and noble line of honorable men. His ancestors had fought for Eldacar against Castamir and his sons. His ancestors had fallen at the Crossings of Erui. His line marked a certain nobility, although no noble ever knew his family name. He was fiercely devoted to the White Tree, in the belief the King would one day return. He had fought the Orcs in skirmishes at Osgiliath, before he was deported back to Dol Amroth, for insulting one of his superiors in an argument over the merits of the lives of his fellow men. He was forced into Ballithor's service when it was revealed that the noble that he had insulted in Osgiliath was one of Ballithor's dear friends. In fact, it was the same noble of Pelargir who had come with Ballithor to Ost Anglebed, who noticed and remembered, scowling as Tarion stood with his sword pointed at Baralinor. And now, Tarion of Gondor stood once more, as resolutely as he had went he stood alongside Boromir's Men. He had been deported days before the bridge was destroyed in the wake of the Enemy's conquest of the eastern shore.

Tarion balked, "You vile wretch! You think you can escape Justice!!!"

Baralinor muttered, "I cannot bring him back."

Orchalon frowned, "What was that again?"

"I said I cannot bring him back. What do you want of me?"

"To do to you all of the terrible things you and your father did to many."

"And what will that make you?"

Orchalon slapped Baralinor heavily across the cheek, knocking him down,
"I ought to bled you........... I ought to gouge your eyes, slowly..........."

Orchalon was the son of a cook, in a line of cooks who had served the upper nobility of Dol Amroth, catering to their needs. They were responsible for plucking the dead fowl, plucking their brilliant soft feathers, to serve them to the drunken lords upstairs. They were responsible for bringing wine from the casks in crystalline bottles to serve their higher masters. And then, one day, one of Ballithor's adversaries had tried to poison him. But Orchalon's father did not know that the wine was ineffectively laced. Ballithor coughed and gagged at the table, ordering the guards to fetch the man who brought the wine, who knew nothing of it at all. And then Orchalon was drafted into Ballithor's service, in retribution, to punish his father and his long line of respected cooks and butlers. And so it was that Orchalon, ever since that day, longed for a Justice, that was really vengeance in disguise, a vengeance that consumed and cooked his heart, hotter than any bird or beast his father had skinned, cooked, and served to any noble.

Suddenly, Abrazan intervened: "Listen, my friends. This will no do good. No good at all. You kill him, you kill yourselves, you kill Thanguron's memory, any hope of revealing meaning to his life. You kill him, you kill everything."

"And every single one of us if Lord Ballithor finds out," Ivordir added.

Tarion drew his sword, "It is either me, or him. I am a Man of Gondor. Thanguron died a treacherous death. And I will bring justice to his demise!"

Orchalon stood by his side, his sword drawn.

Ivordir revealed his halberd as Abrazan brought forth his mace.

The Warden of the Barracks overheard it all. He and his men only stood by and watched. They did not intervene.

The next moments were filled with the sounds of metal on metal, the clanging of blades, and the gasping of dying breaths. Orchalon fought valiantly, to no avail, and as he sank, the world spun around him, faster and faster in a cycle, as he tried in vain to pierce it with his sword. Then, his eyes went black, and his spirit passed away, as his final breath warmly filled the air around his corpse. Tarion yelled and charged, dislocating Ivordir's shoulder as he fell. And then his eyes shed their final streams of tears, before they were shut.

Abrazan wept in the sight of the fallen men, as did Ivordir. And many minds in the Barracks were filled with sorrow. The Warden clasped Ivordir on the shoulder, "You had no choice.......... it had to be done.......... I could see it................. men who refuse to follow the orders of their commander all suffer such fates, in the end............."

Ivordir nodded, "Thank you............I am sorry for this......."

The Warden shook his head, "You did what you had to do. They gave you no choice. You did nothing wrong............... go, my men and I will handle the rest."

Ivordir bowed, all the while nodding, and Abrazan grabbed Baralinor. He had wet the floor with his tears, but Abrazan seized him, "You come with us now. This was not your fault."

Baralinor broke down in bitter weeping, "I killed him.... I killed Thanguron..... and in now I've killed them........ his comrades.......... and my father.... my.....he'll torture and murder Preston........ I killed them all, I killed them............."

Abrazan shook his head, "You are reacting in part rightly. But you did not kill the other three. These poor souls....... could not let go of their grief. They let hatred rule them. See, now, what has become of them. Their own anger led them to their graves.................. but you, my brother, need not take their path............. think on this. They loved their friend, then they despaired when he was gone. They despaired, to this. To dying a violent death against their own sworn comrades. What make you of this?"

Baralinor nodded, as a sudden surge of strength entered his arm. And hand in hand, he and Abrazan left the Barracks. And Ivordir followed them, his dislocated shoulder shooting excruciating pain up his nerves. But he kept his mouth shut, leaning on his halberd with his strong-arm as he walked.
Edited by Ivordir, Jun 2 2015, 10:44 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter XCI: Melimir of Pelargir

They limped their way up the long, hard steps. Their feet and knees were painful. Ivordir's shoulder was the worst of all. When they reached the top, they saw that Daerfalas and the rest of the men had vanished inside the Estate. They pressed forward, Abrazan knocking on the doors.

The door opened, and upon the precipice stood Daerfalas. Behind him there was a woman clad in dark hues of grey and blue, and beside her a servant. Immediately they rushed forward, the three of them; Daerfalas caught Ivordir within his arms, and pulled him within the hall, even as the woman bade her guests entry beseechingly. The servant closed the door behind them, and the call of the gulls quieted, the sounds of the toiling merchants disappeared behind heavy iron and stone. "Come, this way!" she said, pushing past the Men quickly and beckoning with a hand. Her name was Melimir, and she was Lady of the House, mother of Daerfalas. "When last I saw you, Ivordir son of Ioristor, you were in better shape," she continued, and her voice was chiding, but gentle.
She led them into an open courtyard which held a spanning garden and many stone benches. In the middle there was a bubbling fountain. The rest of their company was settled within it, in various states of rest. They rose to their feet at the sight of their Captain, who Daerfalas carefully deposited amongst them. "Ialon," Melimir gestured to her servant, "bring me more wine, and food. Who here is a healer?" Almost immediately, Aeglos rushed forth to examine Ivordir's shoulder. Daerfalas stepped back, and grimmly eyed Ivordir. "What happened?" he asked him, his voice flat, even as his Mother and her servants bustled to and fro to bring sustenance to their Men.

Ivordir gasped in pain, grateful for aid. Gasping, he gazed toward Daerfalas: "There was fighting in the barracks........ Tarion and Orchalon are dead........."

warmth of the sun seemed fleeting, and Daerfalas closed his eyes, and bowed his head. "Dead," he repeated. "How has this come to happen?" He looked sharply to Baralinor and Abrazan, the former of which he fixed with a glare. "Two more Men, gone. Why? And in Pelargir! We should have all been safe here."

From behind where she toiled, Melimir paused. She glanced towards her son, having heard his raised voice, and she observed the five Men with a keen eye.

Ivordir gasped, "Do not blame Baralinor. He made the error of going into the Barracks, instead of coming here with us. The twain drew swords on him, refusing to back down. They raised swords, not only on him, but on Abrazan and me, refusing to obey my orders. As the Warden of the Barracks declared, we had no choice....." and he spoke sorrowfully and sincerely. He closed his eyes.
Edited by Ivordir, Jun 2 2015, 10:44 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter XCII: Aeglos and His Patient

Daerfalas quieted. He observed as Aeglos attended to Ivordir's shoulder, the older man humming in disapproval under his breath. He sighed deeply. "They were foolish to act as such...yet I understand their passions." With a dark frown he stepped away. "Yet it was foolish to go to the barracks. What shall we do now?"

"First, I must set this shoulder," grumbled Aeglos in return.

Melimir approached suddenly, her long skirks whispering about her. "I think we should let Captain Ivordir alone for now!" she exclaimed with a smile. "Daerfalas, you have introduced me to this company, but I do not know these Men," she said of Abrazan and Baralinor. "Come, let me get them a spot of wine, and we may speak." And carefully she sought to steer them away, so that Aeglos might tend to Ivordir with some semblance of peace.

Baralinor withdrew inside himself. He felt trapped, imprisoned. Trapped in this estate with his Captain. Trapped inside himself with no escape. Trapped by the ghosts of the four men, who now sought to subdue his soul. The Lady said something. He missed everything she said.

Abrazan nodded gratefully, "I would love some wine right now."

Begrudgingly, and with one last, pointed look to Ivordir, Daerfalas allowed the Lady of the House lead them away. "Mother," he said, dipping his head with some hesitance. "This is Abrazan...and Baralinor." Their voices faded within the gentle hum of conversation.

"Finally," Aeglos grumbled. "You had better get yourself out of this armour, Captain. I'm going to need to set this, and it's not going to be pretty." He lifted a brow, the rest of his expression stoic and unmovable.

Ivordir struggled to remove his own armor. It felt humiliating, but he understood the need for it. Painfully, he untied the leather straps, rung by rung, and pushed and pulled the leather tunic away, revealing the bare flesh of his arms and chest beneath it.

Noticing his discomfort, Aeglos clucked his tongue. "No one is looking, Captain," he said, with some reassurance in his otherwise steady voice. "They are all resting, or looking at the Lady of the House. It's odd, isn't it? We have been made to be soldier for too many days. Nobody knows who to trust anymore. I don't, that's for true. You may want to clamp down your jaw, if you don't want to bite your tongue. But me? I'm looking forward to some good wine, and warm meal." He began to rotate Ivordir's arm slowly and gently. "Forgive me for speaking my mind. I'll be shutting my mouth now." He pushed up suddenly, and with a resounding crack set the humoral bone back into its place. He sat back suddenly; many Men he had treated in the past for the same injury had taken an instinctive punch towards him in their pain. He bit back a chuckle.

Ivordir clenched his teeth, enduring it in stoic patience. He felt relieved as soon as his shoulder was repaired. "Thank you, healer. You are a good man. I feel..... we should join the others."

Aeglos nodded once, and rose to his feet. "Aye, we should. There is much to be said. Let me know if the pain doesn't go away." He turned, and drifted off.
Edited by Ivordir, Jun 2 2015, 10:44 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter XCIII: A Needed Rest

Introductions having been made, Ialon returned with a pitcher of wine and three glasses. He handed one to Daerfalas, Abrazan, and Baralinor, and began to pour each a hearty filling. Melimir clasped her hands, and waited patiently for all of them to drink. "I have already invited your friends to make use of the spare rooms," she explained gently. "They are all settled now. Food and drink I have a plenty, and those that need healing will be futher tended to. Though I wish you had sent me word of your coming arrival," she examined her son with a lifted brow.

Daerfalas bowed his head, soundly chastised. "Forgive me mother," he replied softly, "but I could not. May...we speak privately soon? There is much to be said."

Melimir sighed softly. "I suspected as much, of course. I trust the good will of the Men you have brought here, because they are in your company. And I will care for them as such, whilst they dwell under my roof. Yet I would know your purpose here. And theirs. We will speak in the morning. It does not take a sharp mind to recognize that you all require rest. Ivordir as well. I will have the servants ready a room for each of you. That much and more I can spare. And Ivordir," she turned to where he sat, and noted his pained expression, the lines of weariness heavy upon his brow. "Daerfalas, would you make sure he is well? Ialon will escort you hence. After you and your Men have broke fast, we will have further words. Gentlemen." With a graceful curtsy, she stepped away.

And Ivordir wearily entered the room, when Daerfalas led him there, his eyes now near-delirious. Resting his shoulder, he swiftly fell asleep, and slept through mid-morning on February 8th.

But Abrazan walked beside Baralinor behind the servant, sternly ordering him to rest. Fatigued and ridden with guilt, he nodded off as well.
And as he slept, he dreamed sweet dreams of Yucalwe, of the life that might have been, if his father had not ruined it.
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Ivordir

Chapter XCIV: The Merchantress of Pelargir

And Ivordir dreamed he was back in Minas Noldorion, that he would awaken to the sight of Auruiron's shining eyes, and find it was all a dream.He heard the sound of the songs of gulls when he reawoke. The light of the sun pierced the cracks between the shutters of his window. He looked abroad. The room was richly-furnished. He wished his mission was over, his Quest fulfilled. But there was no time for further thoughts, he dressed in clean linen for the first time in weeks, in wealthy finery for the first time since Linhir. And he found his way through the hallways, back to the main chamber where they had sat the night before. He saw Melimir and Daerfalas sitting there, and approached to join them. He did not see Abrazan, Baralinor, or any of the others, and it concerned him. But he decided not to think about it. And he told Melimir everything, from the moment they sailed from her sight in Pelargir to the moment they came knocking on her doors.Then, after the long tale was over, and hours of intensive listening had passed, he paused, waiting for signs of a response.

Melimir listened with great care, her still hands folded upon her lap. Daerfalas had not spoken so plainly with her, no doubt in order to keep safe the secrecy of their mission. If she was troubled by the tale told, she did not show it. It was with a kind gaze that she finally regarded Ivordir. She knew that he and her son were close, bonded as those in blood and toil. Such a friendship she would not easily disregard. "Captain," she said finally, choosing to honor his title as her son did, for indeed Daerfalas had named him such. "These are strange tidings to hear, and yet I cannot say I am very surprised at them. Let me say that I am glad your road has led you to Pelargir. Perhaps I may even be of some assistance towards your endeavors. First, may I assure you that your Men will be well looked after here? I did not, at first, comprehend the reasoning for their presence. Forgive my ignorance." She sighed, and her shoulders seemed to droop as though a weight had been placed upon them. "You speak of death, betrayal, and war. What am I, a Lady-merchant of Pelargir, to make of it? I have heard whispers of course. Black sails seen from afar. This is not strange, of course. My ships have caught sight of them from time to time over the years. Yet your tidings distress me. And to think that a Lord of Dol Amroth might seek ill upon you, upon your Men? That is very grave indeed. What can be done? Continue to speak plainly. I will offer you counsel and aide where I can."

Ivordir deeply sighed, "We have no choice now. His son, Baralinor, must survive, or his father will execute the lot of us, your son, my brother, included. But he cannot stay here. He must remain ever in our sight. We also have to determine when and where we will cross the Anduin and into the Ithilien wilds."

Melimir shifted in her seat, and tapped the arm of her chair with nimble fingers. "Seek rest here," she said finally. "You are injured. Your Men require it as well. In the meantime, I will have the most trusted of my servants watch over you. They will report to me as I see fit." Her smile, when it came, was serpentine. "I imagine Lord Ballithor wanted you here, so that he could track your movements, hear your words, press you under the strength of his thumb. But this city is mine. I know its very foundation, every alley and crevice. Let him reach. You are, after all, merely...regaining your strength for the rest of your long journey." She shrugged lightly, and leaned back in her chair.

From across the table, Daerfalas stared at his mother. "You are showing off, mother-mine," he said, but his smile was full of humor.

Ivordir smiled, "There is one detail, we would consider. Treat Baralinor as you would treat me. I spoke to you of Abrazan, and what he told me, concerning how Yucalwe regarded Baralinor. I believe that...... he may yet surprise his lord-father, in ways his lord-father would not wish. I thank you for this time of rest. I will have words with him, soon. To probe his mind, but I would trust Abrazan with my life, and I value his words. I think we should now speak of lighter matters..... I have long missed a refuge of safety."
Edited by Ivordir, Jun 29 2015, 09:44 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter XCV: The Sons of Noble Lords

While Ivordir sat in the courtyard, conversing with Melimir and Daerfalas, Baralinor stirred from his sleep in his chamber.

It still all seemed as if a dream. His poisoned arrow, Thanguron's death, the recent deaths of Tarion and Orchalon, and whatever horrors Preston was enduring at the harsh, cold hangs, sharper than claws, of Ballithor. He turned to his side. There sat a familiar and discomforting face.

Sainion opened his lips to speak.

Baralinor cut him off, "Are you not afraid of death?"

Sainion gazed at him confidently, "You will not kill me."

Baralinor sat on the edge of his bed, his head downcast: "Why are you here..."

Sainion smiled, "To reconcile. If we are going to continue this journey together, I would not have such tension between us."

Baralinor's left-hand formed a fist, as he stammered: "You cannot make peace with a monster such as me."

"But you are not a monster."

"Am I not? AM I NOT?" His left hand dropped beside his right, not as a fist, but he held his hands aloft, his fingers facing the ceiling, as if he saw stains streaking across his palms, "These hands..... these hands killed four of my own comrades...... all four of them.......... do you not see the blood! Your heart should churl in great fear, you should run from these hands while you still can."

Sainion sat there silently, saying nothing.

Baralinor continued to harangue him, "RUN! Why do you not run? FLEE from ME!!! Flee from these hands, before they destroy you!"

And Sainion did not move.

Baralinor was ready to seize him when, instead, he seized himself, thrashing himself on the floor, his fists turning on himself.

But all the while, Sainion sat there, saying nothing.

Baralinor assailed himself until he had no strength left in his arms. Battered and bruised, he looked up to see Sainion's hand, reaching toward him. The hand did not tremble. He grasped the hand, sitting painfully back on his bed, tears streaming down his face.

And then Sainion sat beside him, as Baralinor wept on his shoulder. He sat there weeping for what seemed to last forever. And Sainion, remembering Ivordir's words, suddenly kissed him on the cheek. Baralinor gazed at him, stunned, for he had seen Yucalwe make the gesture long ago. He gazed into Sainion's eyes, silently. Sainion wrapped him in a fold of his velvet cloak, laying him back down on his bed. He tucked him in gently, tenderly. And then Sainion said: "Rest for an hour or more. I will return." Then he stood, quietly closing the door, while all the while, Baralinor closed his wet and weeping eyes, as he fell asleep.
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Ivordir

Chapter XCVI: Not of Numenor

When Baralinor we-awoke, Sainion had returned. And the air seemed fresh and new, and the sun brighter. He rested himself on the edge of the bed. And Sainion smiled, his face as bright as sunlight, beaming with hope. Baralinor smiled, "Why did you forgive me?"

Sainion gazed at him with gleaming, beaming eyes, "If only you could forgive yourself..."
He folded his arms within his maroon, velvet robes, sinking them into the deep, red silk within.

Baralinor bowed low, his head downcast in sorrow, "I almost killed you... I am unworthy of life..."

Sainion shook his head, still gazing at him: "That does not imply that you should not live. My, you are querulous this afternoon."

Baralinor slightly laughed, "So now I have complained... how perspicacious of you to notice."

"I am ever precise, my friend. My pulchritudinous, beautiful friend."
Sainion swerved onto the bed, sweeping his cloak, so that it covered both his and Baralinor's shoulders.
Baralinor's back shook, he flinched, but then slowly attempted to relax.

And Baralinor balked, "So now we are to discuss aesthetics?"

"Not quite, my dear friend. Let us consider the matter transparently. Why did you fire the arrow?"

Baralinor shook his downcast head, "I was angered, irascible."

"And, if I might add, rancorous."

Baralinor closed his eyes, "My long and bitter grief..."

Sainion stared down at the floor, "You killed him when he mocked Castamir."

"He was not a usurper... he was one of our greatest Kings..."

"For not wedding himself to a Rhovanion princess?"

"Of lower-blood..."

"How so? How is it lower?"

"It is not of Numenor."
Edited by Ivordir, Jun 6 2015, 10:33 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter XCVII: The Insights of the Son of Sainon

Then, Baralinor's head was no longer downcast. He stared into Sainion's gleaming eyes. He stared into those incandescent orbs, that struck him more voraciously than teeth, as if they longed to sink into the ether of his being. He looked at Sainion's smile, his subtle grin, his deep complexion, and his once-lordly, well-groomed hair, that had been so shaggy and un-kept throughout their journey, that now flowed lordly down his shoulders, well-groomed again. He smiled, wondering at his own condition. And he looked at the red lining of Sainion's cloak, how it reminded him of Yucalwe, how he longed to bury himself within that red that he felt longing to blossom within his soul. But that was only a seed, not even a bud.

And then he heard Sainion:
"These feels of yours, can be rescinded, you know. And you can rescind them."

Baralinor answered instinctively, hastily, "How?"

Sainion smiled, "Through a certain recognition, of how specious these feelings are..."

Baralinor balked again, "How are they superficial?"

Sainion suddenly laughed, "Now, now, let us avoid another diatribe. I have received enough haranguing for this morning. No, no need for anything bombastic either."

But Baralinor's tone was deep, "You are the one who sounds bombastic, Sainion. Have you come to harangue me?"

There were several moments of long silence between them.

Sainion smiled within himself, He nearly killed me, and here I am forgiving him......
And then Sainion thought he became too intelligent for his own good:
"Harangue? I have come to burgeon the few good feelings you have expressed so far, as we passed through many a bucolic setting. But now we are in a city, and you would know of whom we should beware. I do not intend to be loquacious in my speech, prattling forever. But I do intend to reveal something to you. Those feelings... are those of your Lord Father. This is why they are quite specious. You have inherited the feelings of your father. In fact, I heard tale that they were whipped into your back by him. You are not solely responsible for Thanguron's death. In fact, if I may suggest, the guilt lieth chiefly with your Lord Father, perspicaciously with him, for he created them, and passed them into you. Now, it is true that we all have choices, and we can choose whether or not to accept such views, but they were coerced, beat into you through tortuous methods of torture. Now, if we might prove apt, let us suggest that you now have a choice, because I have now made you further aware of these dynamics. Choose wisely, aptly, and the weeks that follow shall proceed well for you."

Baralinor moved away, unsheathing himself from the cloak: "Did our 'Captain' send you to me?"
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Ivordir

Chapter XCVIII: The Murderer

Sainion suddenly lifted a fold of his cloak, folding it gently on his lap, resting his hands:
"No. In fact, he remains unaware of our current conversation, our dialectic. Now, enough with your insipid despair. It is quite boring. In fact, it is an ennui. Be not implacable before me, for I seek only to appease thy own success. This is not a grandiloquence. Do not exacerbate the problem with such despair. It is noxious. Let it become evanescent, vanishing as swift as an evaporating cloud, as ephemeral as a shade of shadow. Do not allow the shadows of the past to torque around your life in swift rotation. If I may now prove ingenuous, your despair will destroy us all."

Confusion mounted in Baralinor's soul. He closed his eyes, and saw the shadows. "But what else is there?"

Sainion muttered, "I have heard tales of the Elves. You met one; I did not. Should I not be the one despairing?"

"You are only filibustering the inevitable. I am my lord father's son. He desires for a 'true, full man' to return to him."

"And how can you return in such a manner, when you are fallacious toward your own self?"

"You are making me capricious."

"Yes, I did suspect some measure of erratic tension."

"Your eloquence betrays you."

"Does it, truly? Am I such an anomaly to you, a person who would dare forgive one's own attempted murderer?"

"But I have murdered..."

The blood was on Baralinor's hands as he alone could see them, hiding in the marrow of his mind. The blood marked him. And the shadows rose to take him.

Sainion pondered his next response, and mistakenly spoke it aloud: "Yes, and you will again, no doubt. But you do not have to enjoy it."

Baralinor turned and stood, tempted to reach for his sword: "You will be the catalyst of your own death."
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Ivordir

Chapter XCIX: The Price of Espionage

Sainion shut his own eyes tight,
"And you of yours, and if I may add, since your despair is so dogmatic, your own lord father's intended efficacy will betray him. For effectiveness has its limitations. You long to emulate him, when, in truth, I believe that he longs to emulate you, of who you were, when Yucalwe took you beneath his wing."

Sainion heard Baralinor's voice reply: "How know you of what my lord-father longs to emulate?"

Sainion sighed, "I overheard your conversation with him."

Then, he heard: "You enervate me......."

Sainion shook his head, expecting another blow at any given moment: "It is not my intention. No, indeed. I proceed without your lord father's preferred chicanery. In fact, I view you with great magnanimity, or if not you, then the person who I believe that you shall be."

Then he heard: "Your lord-father was punished for his spying."

He was tempted to seek for a weapon of his own. Sainion felt the temptation to fume. His 'lord-father was punished for his spying.' It was an accidental occurrence of overhearing, and Sainion knew it, and he also knew, that the Yucalwe he had hear tale of from Ivordir's flowing, vibrant lips, would have despised Ballithor more for his coercion of Sainon, and he thought of his father and missed his father and hoped that Ballithor was not torturing his father, that his father would survive, and that one day, he might dare to take revenge for his father... but then he paused, recognizing the inconsistencies of his thoughts versus the motions of his words... and shadows of his own came to haunt him, and he replied: "Ah, yes. My subterfuge. But mine is not accidental, or purposeless; perfunctory."
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