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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 (4,134 Views)
Ivordir

Chapter C: Not your Father's Son

Baralinor balked at Sainion's definitions, "I know what it means."

Sainion glared, "Even still, I find it necessary to define my terms."

Baralinor glared in return, "And what are your perfidious terms?"

They tried to read each others' minds to no avail. Sainion feared violence, but hid it beneath the visage of his feigned resolve. Baralinor feared his father, and, he shriveled in terror of himself.
Sainion sat in the darkness, gazing into the shining light of day in Baralinor's eyes, seeing something beyond that light, something from within it, something he might hear, like a great Music, swelling high within its notes, soaring throughout the breadth of all that is. "Treacherous? Nay, I do not seek to be. Are you?"

Baralinor waved in mockery of a dismissal, "Enough with this loquacious haranguing."

Sainion folded his arms within his robe-sleeves, "You may be your lord father's son. But you are not he."

Baralinor's face shook, his eyes set in the guise of an impenetrable rage, anger mounting, "Am I not?!"

Sainion found himself standing and stepping backward, "Your cynicism is most insipid. Allow me to help you."

Baralinor did not advance a step: "I do not require aid."

Sainion gravely sighed, "Your entrenched behavior will not serve to your benefit."

Baralinor sat back down on the bed, as if collapsing, his feigned anger vanishing, "I killed four men..................."

Sainion pondered and considered. He thought of the men, remembering their faces. He thought of the conflicts, and what little he had heard. He felt sadness for the men. But then, welling deep, was pity, an empathy, a deep and inner longing to share in Baralinor's pain, to help him move beyond it: "I am not suggesting that this is somehow bereft of meaning. But consider the following. Why not live, and live well, for those four men?" Sainion nodded as he spoke.
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Ivordir

Chapter CI: Reconciled: The Seed Germinates

Baralinor closed his eyes and sighed. They sat in silence for several moments. While all the while, Baralinor continued to tirade against himself within his mind. His tirade was relentless. His anger, proliferated, burgeoned. He repudiated himself in his recalcitrance against the heavens. He repudiated his prodigal nature as a boy. He repudiated his spuriousness toward himself. Though within his inner soul, there was a dearth of hope, the seed remained unfettered. And through all his acerbic, biting thoughts, he relegated himself down, lower than an ascetic mindset. Lower than this, down, in the mud, all the while lower, below the point of piousness. It was not salubrious, it did not benefit his well-being. Deep in the depths of his despair, he pined. He longed for hope. There in a state of penury, beyond the monetary, he drowned himself in his penuriousness, his poverty, his bereftness, of hope, save for that tiny seed within his heart, a seed that awaited germination. He was not as intractable as he believed, mired in his self-grief. His despair was not amenable to himself. His despair was not amenable. Sainion's hope was amenable. As amenable as it was stupid. His thoughts were inchoate, sporadic, disorganized. His thoughts were transient, fleeting. He held queries with himself, in his despair. His doubts plagued him. His self-doubts. He slowly began to realize: that despair was naught but a platitude, specious in its meaning. And then his mind ceased to plummet, and began to ascend even higher. In the lingering light that shined in Sainion's eyes, Baralinor seemed, himself, a fallen Maia. He saw himself, but ceased to repudiate himself, reaching toward that light. He seemed malevolent, in the presence of that light, as the veil was lifted from his eyes. His hope was no longer inchoate. It began to burgeon in size. Ever, as it grew, it proliferated in the magnanimity of its splendour. As it grew higher, it seemed ubiquitous, without bounds. He left the squalid muck of his viscous despair far behind, leaving behind its sticky, odious, rancor. Too long had he quaffed deeply from its goblet. His awakening was a precursor to greater things to come. He realized the perniciousness of his lord-father's teachings. How they seemed good, hiding bitterness. And he no longer flinched at the thought of the whip. He saw that virtue was not an antediluvian thing; and he finally understood the true Numenorean greatness, that was never bound to Numenor. The greatness that transcended Eregion, Gondolin, and Tirion beyond.

And then, he deeply embraced Sainion. And Sainion smiled. Baralinor embraced him deeply. He could not stop embracing him. Sainion returned the embrace, as they became wrapped together in his cloak, streams of wrinkled silk softening along their arms, rems of tattered velvet trailing to the floor. As deeply as they expressed it, they began to feel as if they were one. And they kissed each other deeply their cheeks. And Baralinor's cathartic tears dropped gently on Sainion's shoulder. And deep within his heart, Baralinor felt awakened from his long slumber of despair. He felt he could conquer everything. Undaunted, his heart renewed, he found in Sainion a brother. And he thought of Abrazan, regarding him as well. The light of Sainion's forgiveness flowed through him. And finally, at last, he forgave himself. And he wished he could withhold his draw-string, cast down his bow, and embrace Thanguron. And as his tears flowed as surging rivers, he felt as if Thanguron was there, with the others, watching him. He could see Tarion's resolute expression, Orchalon's beaming smile, and Thanguron's trenchant eyes, as penetrating as the Sun. And then he felt forgiven. He knew they were still alive, somewhere, beyond the Circles of the World. One day, he knew, he would see them again, beyond the rising sun. I am now a full, true man.
Edited by Ivordir, Jun 6 2015, 10:34 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CII: Regret

There was a knock on the door. Sainion opened it. It was Abrazan.

Abrazan sat beside Baralinor, who embraced him deeply without a word. He sat to Baralinor's left. Sainion sat on his right. And Abrazan smiled, "I can tell... things have changed... for the good..."

Baralinor smiled, "There is something I always wondered............... my father became so cold, so.......... cruel.......... he did not talk much about his youth, or why he despised Yucalwe...."

Abrazan frowned, "It was Yucalwe's grave regret... his deepest regret......... it seemed as if it was wisdom at the time....... I do not know if I should tell you........"

Baralinor closed his eyes, "What did Yucalwe tell him?"

Abrazan shook his head, "I cannot, my brother.... I cannot........ and it happened long ago. Very long ago."

Baralinor sighed, "You have to tell me."

Sainion shook his head, "My brothers, if it be inadvisable, then I would suggest..."

"Tell me!" Baralinor demanded.

And Abrazan closed his eyes. "Very well. But first, let me tell you another tale. Long ago, on the coasts south of Umbar, I was born. Very well, not so long ago. But I remember vaguely the heat of the sun upon our village. I remember the sight of oliphaunts, with their riders atop their majestic towers. I remember the tribesmen and their differences. Many backgrounds. They wore many sashes of many colours. And I recall the fishing, the fair, tranquil waters of the streams, and the thrashing of the waves upon the sea. I recall walking amongst trees that you would find strange to you, beneath stars that you do not know. And then it all ended. My parents told me to hide. I hid behind my bed. The village was assailed. The sounds of women screaming filled the air. And the wailing scent of death subdued my nose. And the flames forced me out of hiding. And I ran, ran far and fast, before anyone could catch me. But no one noticed me, they all had gone. I came back to the village. The bodies of the slain were left behind. And the carrion birds picked at their remains. And the buildings I had come to know and to love so long were smoking in their ruins."

All of this brought tears to Baralinor's eyes.

And Abrazan nodded, "As I stood and wept, a shadow arose out of the sands nigh the coast, a mysterious figure, his flowing robes billowing out onto the sand, his cloak bellowing brightly in the sea-winds. It was dirty and yet beautiful. And he whipped back his robes and cloak, revealing his leather tunic, his weapons. But I was not afraid. His eyes came upon me; they pierced my inner spirit. And he beckoned to me. And I wanted to follow. I stumbled ahead as I could. But my fatigue stopped me, and I fell down, losing consciousness. The last thing I felt was when I was lifted off the ground, wrapped within his cloak, as he carried me with his great strength. When I awoke, we were far away from the village. He pulled fish from the sea with his bare hands. He was very precise. And we ate and spoke little. For days we traveled along the coast. We came to the bay. He found timber, near at hand, that men had already cut. He built a raft. His sword flashed in the light of the sun as we crossed the sound. Down below, the gaping maws and cold eyes of sea beasts gazed at us, their fins circling around our raft. But as they came to surface, their jaws were pierced. And, eventually, they ceased to attack our raft. We saw black sails on the horizon, but we eluded their search for us once we had landed. And we continued along the coast, avoiding sight from the sea, save where necessary. Then, in time, as the weeks past, we learned each others' names, and I only knew of my lineage what little my parents had said. That, long ago, we came from Umbar, and from an Isle across the Sea, shaped like a pointed-star. That these words had passed, generation by generation, down to us, in oral stories around campfires. Whether they are true or not, I do not know. But I learned of this being. An elf of greatness, from an Age unlike any Age of this Earth. But he spoke not to me, what I must tell you. Not for years later. And he told me gently. And I was angered, when I heard it, but remembered what he had done for me, and considered him, his kindness and generosity. If he was truly the demon he claims he was, he never would have saved me from the death I would have endured, a death of slavery or starvation, or both."

Baralinor nodded, "You have presented your case. Now, tell me, what he did...."

Sainion felt it coming, not knowing what it was. He clasped Baralinor on the shoulder. And Abrazan deeply sighed,

"In the Age of Timelessness, before the First Age of this World, there was a powerful Elven Prince, and his name was Feanor. He crafted three Jewels, that held Light. When the Enemy destroyed all Light, only the three Jewels remained. They were stolen, and Feanor's father, their High-King, was slain. Feanor swore a terrible oath, along with his seven sons: to kill any who would keep the Jewels from them. They believed that the Jewels belonged to them alone. And their people followed them. And Yucalwe was among them. When they reached the harbor, Alqualonde, the Elves who lived there refused to give them ships. So, they shoved and fought over the ships, swords were drawn, and...... for the first of three times in total, Elves slew Elves."

Baralinor shuttered, "And are my feelings of their divinity a lie?"

Abrazan shook his head, "No. For they are not evil. Not in their nature."

Baralinor sighed, "But they have killed. And so have I........"

Abrazan quickly clasped Baralinor on his other shoulder, "Listen.... and listen to me carefully. Do not vacillate back to despair. Hear my voice...................... Yes, Yucalwe has killed others of his own kind, a crime unspeakable to his people............... but would such a horrid being, if he remained so, would such a being who despaired, have cared for an abandoned child in an abandoned, ruined, Southron village? Would he have dressed himself as he did, penitently, for his crimes, wearing colors that the Enemy is known for? Would he have cared for you, or for your life?"

Baralinor nodded, shaking his head, "........you.....................you are right......................................................................................he has known what I have known................ and he has become different, better........................ I could sense it in our brief moments together with him..................................................................but it is hard......... so hard to fathom....................I had dreamed that he.............was.............."

Abrazan sighed, "Perfect........................ and he is not alone. All the Noldorin Exiles are held to that guilt. And all the Elves of this world, for their refusal to journey, or to remain, in the West.................................but they are still good.............. for this may have been allowed for good reason, by a Power greater than we can ever hope to fathom...................................................................................................Yucalwe told one other, of his guilt. And that guilt destroyed the one who heard it. This is why I was loathe to tell it to you............"

Baralinor did not even bate an eye, "It was my lord father................... wasn't it?"

Abrazan nodded, "Yucalwe regrets it to this day............................ it seemed as if it was wisdom at the time................. he had no ill intentions. But he realizes now, he should have known better. Come down, recover your strength...................................................... you will need it, in days to come."

But Sainion's face was pale.
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Ivordir

Chapter CIII: The Doom

Sainion shuddered as Abrazan and Baralinor stared at him. He shuddered. "The Elves of legend.......... they were ever good......."

Baralinor sighed, "Are you telling me that you are feeling this, after your whole haranguing diatribe on the avoidance of despair?"

Sainion closed his eyes, "I am surrounded by the blood-stained. Is my hand also to be stained by blood?"

Abrazan placed his hand on Sainion's shoulder, "Listen.......... all of our hands are stained. The good, the true, and the Enemy..... all of them. Every soldier of Gondor, every warrior of Harad. Every Rohirric master of horses. It is...... inevitable............. but I believe what I have heard........ we do not enjoy it, we are forced to do it........... and we do it only for what we must defend....... do you understand?"

Sainion nodded.

Abrazan smiled, "Be strong, brother........... that we may yet see through to the end.......... there is much to do."

And the three clasped each others' arms firmly, unified in their cause.
Edited by Ivordir, Jun 8 2015, 07:05 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CIV: The Cloak of Dreams

And Abrazan brought forth the cloak that he had revealed to Baralinor back in Linhir. The cloak that Yucalwe himself had sewn. And the three wrapped themselves tightly in it, as it billowed on the bed and on the floor around them, black and crimson, shining in their silken beauty, ravishing to their eyes and souls, and all the while flowing around them as if a cycle of waves. They felt bound together. Bond by blood and brotherhood. And bound within their purpose. They billowed folds of the cloak above their heads, pressing their faces into the fair elven scent of the cloak, that seemed supernatural to their eyes, to all their senses. It was an elven enchantment; a prolongation of beauty. And then they felt within: that this would last for their entire lives. And as they bathed in its beauty, Sainion suddenly pulled at the edge of the cloak, where deep black met blood-red crimson, and nearly instinctively, despite his shock at observing, as he felt his hands move as if they were distinct from his body, he pulled at it, pulling at it tightly, and suddenly, as if in a flash of luminescent wonder, the cloak severed: and then there were three cloaks, lightly bound together by something that they did not understand. They felt they were in the presence of the Divine- of the West. And the cloak remained as large as it ever was. And now there were three of them- equal in their size and length and beauty.

Sainion reflected. As he was forced by a cruel lord to march with strangers, far in the distant, rugged, painful wilderness, he kept his feelings to himself from Ivordir, hiding all. And Ivordir's words slowly swayed him. But he was ever cynical. He ever felt self-pity. And when an opportune moment arose for him, to reveal something of his prodigy, he used it, solely to benefit himself. He never told another soul. At times he felt, I must be dreaming.... a terrible, nightmarish dream...

But now, the cloak that once was one, brought into three, three from one, sharing the same fabric, yet never ripped nor torn from the whole: it daunted him. It destroyed his logic. And it assailed his cynicism. He did not know why he spoke to Baralinor of despair. He had begun to try to persuade himself of this. Ever since Linhir, since Lord Arodon let them go, ever since they escaped from yet another calamity, as his cynicism was faced, full force, against the currents of the reality that he himself had lived. The reality that he had experienced. The real reality, as real as the passage of time. It was the passage of time. He watched as his realist view of the world became unhinged by the fact of his escape. By the facts of how many men had still survived.

But then, another man would die, or fall behind imprisoned, and the dark tendrils of cynicism would rise again. The only thing he ever feared was despair. The belief in nothingness after death. The belief that consciousness was nonexistent, or worth nothing, that all the feelings, emotions, memories, experiences, friendships, sundering, offenses against nature, against others, relationships, love and loss, that all of it had never existed, that it had never counted, and that it would all be swallowed whole in the dark abyss of nonexistence that supposedly followed death, as the decaying meat and bone of the body was left, rotting in the soil of the earth. Some saw it as an indisputable fact. After all, it was all they could see, from the vantage point of living life in Arda.

But some felt something, as keenly as their senses, as real as touch, taste, smell, hearing, and sight: they felt a Power greater, higher than themselves, a Power that was not impersonal; a Power that worked with them. A Power that would come to define their lives. A Power that would n'er erase their consciousness. A Power that would take them from their bodies. The Eldar could see evidence of this Power, as Yucalwe had noted to Abrazan. Those who were born in the West could see at once in both Realms: the Seen and the Unseen. It was a dimension that ran parallel to their own, equally real, but imperceptible to earthly senses, senses of physicality in and of itself alone. It was set against the dimension of the world that their senses lived: which would have been naught but a physicality without spirit; without love, hope, or compassion, or pity; a physicality that never truly mattered in and of itself, as nothing mattered in that dark view, pouring forth something vile within mortal souls: a poisonous seed, wrought forth before the start of Time, in a time of discord.

And Sainion finally reasoned, as he felt the cloak's soft, smooth, cool texture, that if the physical world, that he could see, taste, hear, smell, and touch, was the only thing that had ever existed, then, the mind would have thought naught but a chaos, a flood of instincts, incapable of reason, and filled to the brim with emotions that did not matter: emotions that had no force of spirit, of intention, of meaningfulness behind them.

Such things were not limited to advanced creatures. And then, he reasoned, if a bird or beast, such as Thorondor of the old legends, could feel compassion, it would only prove his point all the more: that these things are palpable, they are real feelings, thoughts, and actions, and they matter: they are not accidents of nature. And the race of men is not an accident of nature. And death is not an ending, but a conversion, to a new form: of Being. Of a physicality that never, ever mattered, in and of itself. It ever mattered in how it was part of the majestic whole: a totality that existed far beyond matter, space, and time: Ea, the Infinite Void, where the Flame Imperishable pulses with an ever-beating Heart, in the Infinite Spirit, the brightest Song, of Eru Iluvatar.

Sainion had never known the elven stories of how the universe was formed. But Abrazan knew them. And all the while as Sainion had spoken to Baralinor, lecturing him on the matter of despair, Sainion was not only trying to persuade him: but himself as well. And as he reasoned through it, hoping to move beyond his temptation to despair, the answer came before his eyes, in the majestic cloak of a penitent Elf, that was now his own, part of the three, unified with the young men who were now his brothers. He gazed at it, dazzled by it, and smiled. He finally had the answer that he long had sought. The only answer to the only question that ever mattered: Is life worth eternity, or nothing? And the answer came as resounding as drums that toll in the deep: eternity was everything. And he was part of it.

And Baralinor's eyes gleamed with joy, as were Abrazan's, and Baralinor thought: If only my lord-father... had not betrayed this.... and I wonder if it truly is too late for him....

Then they realized something. They were hungry and thirsty. And all three folded the cloaks properly in their drape, their trains folded neatly, draped on their arms, and then they left the room in search of Ivordir.
Edited by Ivordir, Jun 10 2015, 08:49 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CV: Three Reds of Black

There was the sight of red. Red under black. It swished and flowed gently along the marble floors of the intricate hallways of the manse. They did not see many servants
near at hand. They began to follow the scent of food.

Ivordir sat calmly in the dining hall. They ate and drank more than their fill. The long, hard days of rations had starved them. But the better meals in noble houses: it
made Ivordir happy. He wished he could return to study and cease the arts of war. He missed his father. He gazed across the table at Daerfalas. They had jested and enjoyed
their first true respite since the House of Rolanir. And Ivordir missed old Rolanir, and was sorry Rolanion had died, but he tried not to think of the fallen as he stirred
his spoon within his dish. He smiled restfully.

In his mother's house Daerfalas was well comforted. Her presence stilled him, and gave him hope that they might endure upon their venture. For her part, Melimir watched
them eat with a pleased smile. She picked only sparringly at her poached fish and vegetables, and encouraged Ivordir and Daerfalas to indulge in what they could, despite
their full bellies. Wine, cheese, sweetmeats, and the spoils of the sea, plentiful and fresh. There was, when they were finished, more than enough to feed many more Men.
They looked up to see the strangely-clad young men approach, their heads held up high, triumphant, as folds of their strange cloaks billowed down their backs, and draped,
folded on one arm of each man.

Sainion could not put the shock of it all out of his head. Per usual, he approached first, bowing to Ivordir, and to the Lady of the table.

Melimir lifted her brow, but said nothing as she returned the bow with a slow incline of her head.

Ivordir sensed a change in the air. It felt good, elvish... but it also felt unwise.

Sainion then realized exactly the sort of situation they had stumbled into. He felt awkward and odd. He felt tempted to quickly remove the cloak, folding it under the rim
of the table, setting it beneath his chair. But something held him back. This felt even more odd. He sat down, letting the folds fall off his arm and onto the stone floor,
while he flipped the rest of the cloak behind the rear of his chair as he sat down.

Baralinor and Abrazan followed suit. It was all they could think of doing on the spur
of the moment.

Baralinor knew his lord father would have scolded him.
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Ivordir

Chapter CVI: A Precarious Situation

Abrazan kept silent, watching Ivordir's eyes.

Sainion smiled, "Forgive me, my Lady. I have not yet properly introduced myself. I am Sainion, son of Sainon, a nobleman of Dol Amroth."

Melimir cleared her throat, and looked not to her son, nor Sainon, but Ivordir, their Captain. "Welcome to my table, Sainion son of Sainion. Welcome, to your companions.
Share my wine and bread. Rest yourselves. Then perhaps you may tell us what troubles you."

At this, Daerfalas frowned. He knew there was something was missing, and he wanted to ask Abrazan, Sainon, and Baralinor why they had entered so close together, clad as
such. But he kept silent and leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his full belly.

Ivordir nodded, "Yes, please dine. Then we can discuss certain other matters........."

Abrazan, Sainion, and Baralinor all tried to eat politely. But their stomachs felt voracious. Even still, they took care. Abrazan had been taught well by Yucalwe of
matters of court. So, too, had Sainion and Baralinor. They ate and drank with precision and taste, enjoying every morsel. Then, when they had their fill, Sainion gazed
across the table at Melimir. "My Lady, I thank you for your gracious hospitality. But I wish.... I mean, I could attempt to explain..... why, our appearance, it is...."

Ivordir nodded carefully, "Our good Lady has already heard the full tale of our journey, including the one Daerfalas and I took with the fishermen. But still......... I
think I can explain. Remember when I spoke to you of the woven fabrics of the Elves, my Lady?"

Melimir sipped of her wine and waved her free hand, an imperious gesture meant to invite Ivordir to continue.
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Ivordir

Chapter CVII: The Enigma of the Eldar

Ivordir nodded, "Yucalwe wore a cloak of silken black and red. Baralinor did not journey north with us. And Daerfalas and I received our own cloaks, among other things.

Sainion did not know us then. Which brings us to you, Abrazan."

Daerfalas looked to Abrazan, curious. He wandered at their cloaks, and marveled at their splendour.

Abrazan sipped his wine slowly, with care, as the warm, velvety liquid burned softly down his throat with a strong hint of grape. He ever loved wine. He gazed at Ivordir,
"Yes, my Captain. It was part of the secret that I spoke with you of, back in Linhir."

Ivordir nodded, "I did not know that there were three of them."

Abrazan smiled, "Neither did I."

Ivordir shook his head, "There are either one or three. How could you not know which?"

Abrazan's eyes gave Ivordir that old Southron glare, "Once there was one. Now, there are three in one."

Sainion bowed, "I confess it. It was one, but then...... someone two more came from it. I cannot explain how......"

Melimir smiled from where she sat upon her gilded chair. "You speak in riddles, good Men. First there was one, and now there are three. For the three I see seated before
me."

Baralinor was tempted to speak, but he kept silent. He knew his position was still precarious.

Sainion nodded, "Then a riddle, it will need to remain for now. My Captain, I beg pardon. But when will we continue our mission? I should think on it, to prepare."
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Ivordir

Chapter CVIII: Proof of Loyalty

Ivordir bowed, "I do not know...... for I fear for Ballithor's allies, wherever they may hide. And what of you, Baralinor? Perhaps you know who those allies are. But I
know you will not tell me. For they are your last hope, if you should fall into danger again."

Baralinor sighed, "I...............I have changed, my Captain. I no longer support my Lord Father. His deeds are cruel, and his hand directed mine toward cruelty. No more.
I cannot bring back the four good men we lost. But I can live for them."

Daerfalas glared at Baralinor. He had not come to forgive the Man yet of his past misdeeds, and judged him harshly still. From across the table, Melimir noted the
suspicion with which her son regarded Baralinor. Her expression remained impassive.

Ivordir did not wish to believe him, but he gazed into Abrazan's soulful eyes across the table. He saw virtue in those eyes, trust. He thought of the Elves, of their tales
of Kinslayings, versus who they came to be. He wondered if a mortal could change as well.

Sainion broke the silence, "He can be trusted now. Take the word of a man he nearly killed, who survived his near death-blow. He has changed, and I have not lost my
senses. The cloak divided into three, miraculously, shortly after Baralinor found forgiveness, repenting of the lives of those whom fell to their deaths as a result of his
actions. And if there is anyone to blame for it, it is Ballithor. For Ballithor dared to torture his own son and Heir, attempting to harden his heart to the same despair.
But you, Daerfalas. I do not blame your distrust. But to whom shall we agree? A witness to murder, or a near-murder victim? Yes, I see that distrust within your eyes. But
remember what you and our Captain have claimed to experience in the North. I believe it, now. Remember, after all. Your noble Elves had quite difficult pasts to overcome
as well...."

Averting his eyes, Daerfalas tightened his jaw.
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Ivordir

Chapter CIX: The Grave Regret

Sainion smirked, pretending not to notice the tightened jaw, "We have a choice before us. We can destroy the son, the extension of his father. Or, we can turn him against
his father, and his father's allies. Which would you choose? After all, he has already made his decision. But what of you? And does not my voice have credence, after
'Lord' Ballithor in all his high nobility, had my lord-father flogged, brutally, before my young eyes, and all because he overheard something that 'Lord' Ballithor did not
wish for me to know? Never-mind that his son tried to kill me only days ago, and now, apparently, we are deeply-bonded brothers. I stand by Baralinor, now. Not by an old
and angry soldier in his grave atop a lonely mountain."

Abrazan sat in shock at Sainion's last sentence, "Be careful, my lord Sainion. This fervor is good, but only to a point. Thanguron was a good man......"

Baralinor deeply sighed, "And I do not doubt the lingering presence of my guilt, the guilt that nearly led to my self-inflicted death......... you have no reason to trust
me now, I understand. This bickering will accomplish nothing. But mark my words: without my aid, my lord-father will destroy you......... all of you...... and all that you
hold dear........... it is not a matter of threats. It is a matter of fact. My lord father is one of the most dangerous minor lords in all the southern fiefdoms, if not
all of Gondor. I alone know how his mind functions, how he thinks, how he will most likely act. I wish I could go back in time and stop myself. I truly do. I would take
the poisoned arrow myself, if I could, to have saved the lives of those four men......." And there was no hint of a lie in Baralinor's eyes.

Daerfalas remained silent. He stared down at his hands, resting upon the table. Melimir studied the little lordling with shrewd, narrow eyes. Mother and son seemed to be
thinking alike.

Then, Ivordir broke the silence. "It is true......... Yucalwe spoke to me of a grave regret. And he warned me of something he had seen in Ballithor........ I did not wish
to believe it. I did not wish..... but then I saw it. And he told me the tale of what befell you in his cave, Baralinor........... why do you think I have not executed
you? I know that your father is ruthless, not befitting of the title of a lord of Gondor, no matter how influential. But you, may yet be. I feel a feeling in this room I
have not felt since the North. Have any of you noticed it? Daerfalas....... should remember how we felt in the presence of the Elves.......... I can feel that there are
elven powers involved with that...... cloak.... and I believe what you have told us, Sainion..... even if it is difficult to comprehend. Most Elves are........... or at
least, those whom I have seen....... hardly a common experience in these later days of Gondor...... Daerfalas, we have not yet heard your opinion on the matter. And you
are a member of our Council. Please, speak. Shall I bind Baralinor's hands again, or shall they remain free?"
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Ivordir

Chapter CX: Wisdom

With some hesitance, Daerfalas nodded. He looked up at Ivordir, and regarded him with a smile that softened his features. "Aye. You speak truly. I have felt it, I
recognize it..." For a moment it seemed his eyes would close, that he would drift into his own memories, but slowly he shook his head, and his mind cleared. "I trust
Abrazan. I have since we left the Elven refuge. Sainon, he is yours, and he follows you loyally. Their words I would trust. Perhaps, in time..." he cast one final look to
Baralinor, and while his gaze did not hold anger, there was a semblance of wariness to his piercing eye, "I will trust you again. I will keep my doubts to myself, if this
Council should deem him worthy."

Ivordir nodded, "Have we any words of wisdom from our dear Lady?"

Melimir stirred the wine in her glass with an elegant twirl of the stem. "I confess I understand little of what you speak. I cannot say I have any knowledge of the Elves,
yet I recognize a change in the air. In my ignorance I would call it magic. If indeed this is what binds you all together, than I have no better wisdom to share.
However..." she paused, and she sat straighter. "Baralinor. Little lordling. You say you have changed. If these Men believe it, I will not argue with them. But your
warnings bring me great unease. Tell me. What shall we do now, to protect these Men that call you brother from your Father? What may I do to prevent further ill upon them?
Have you names to share? How many Men does Lord Ballithor command in this city? I would know."

Baralinor nodded, "My father commands influence over several minor nobles. I have names. Raedor of the Fisher's Net. Ravrion of the Azure Sails. Taethron of the Silver
Rope. Langlion of the Steel Blade. Gannadron of the Silver Harp. Calardor of the Tall Lamp...... Camaen of the Silver Fist as well, it was Camaen who we saw briefly in Ost
Anglebed........."

Melimir frowned deeply. She glanced to Ivordir, troubled. "That is more than I would have thought," she admitted, "but knowing of their existence, we will be less hindered
by them."
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Ivordir

Chapter CXI: The Web

Ivordir sighed, "There are hundreds of minor nobles in this city........ their names do sound befitting to their loyalties........ especially the Silver Fist..."

Sainion's ears perked, "Are your servants trustworthy, my Lady? Forgive my presumptuousness, but.......... I am concerned. Suppose there are spies within these very
halls?"

Melimir scoffed, her nose scrunching in distaste. "My servants have been with me since before my Lord Husband passed. They are loyal to me. Worry not, you and your mission
are safe within these halls at least."

Sainion nodded, "Very well. Now, brother. You must tell us where these nobles can be found."

Baralinor nodded sadly, "The Steel Blade dwells by the northeastern gates of the city. The Fisher's Net, Azure Sails, Silver Rope, Tall Lamp, these dwell in the central
triangle nigh Tol Ciryarani and in the harbor districts to the west. The Silver Harp dwells near the western gates. The Silver Fist dwells in the high western district nigh
the gates. They, of course, stand amidst many other noble houses of the city, in only noble quarters, away from the alleys and slums. But they are set in strategic
locations. He has planned to try to turn our House from minor to major......... to slowly climb the ladder of influence....... He even has..... loyalists.... in the White
City itself, in minor positions.....Only the threat from the East can distract his attention. If you wish to know, I believe he wants all of us dead, and the Elves
returned to the myths of history............but I can see him for what he is.........."

From across the table Melimir sighed heavily. "We cannot, realistically, avoid all such places in the city without casting suspicion on yourselves. If we do, they will
know that we have knowledge of them. The same goes for Minas Tirith. So. How may we confront this matter with pragmatism? I will of course always have Men loyal to me
trailing you while you remain in Pelargir. That way, if you come into some semblance of trouble, you will not be blamed. An incident will be seen as a mere squabble,
unrelated to you and your Men. What other precautions can you suggest?"

Ivordir sighed, "We have to pretend that all is orderly, and as Lord Ballithor commands. And speak to that language. We will be required to pretend." The men bowed to the
Lady, and Ivordir smiled, "Men, you are free to return to your rooms, until this evening. That is all." The three rose, bowed in gratitude, and left the room.
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Ivordir

Chapter CXII: The Brothers Three

The cloaks billowed softly behind them as they returned to Baralinor's room. They brought their refulgent trains inside and shut the door.

Sainion sighed, "Well........ you still have your hands free."

Baralinor smiled, "That Daerfalas.... I do not blame him........ I certainly would not trust myself after what I had done....."

Abrazan placed his hand on Baralinor's shoulder, soothingly, a halcyon touch: "Do not despair, my beloved brother........... live for them."

Baralinor scoffed, volatile as he paced across the room: "How can I live for them........... with that way of thinking, we might as well set every murderer in Gondor free, to 'live for their victims'- and I wonder how many victims would perish, so they could 'live' for them?"

"Only a penitent, repentant man, can live in reparation for his crimes," Abrazan smiled.

"Southron dribble. So garrulous are you with your glib, loquacious in your wise prattle, Abrazan."

Abrazan laughed, "Careful, brother. Prodigious words- I've been taught my letters well."

Sainion smiled, "And now, tell us of those traitors. We were quite fortuitous to escape Linhir and Ost Anglebed, but I fear it will not last forever..."

"Oh, I do not want to discuss danger right now, my brothers. I am relieved to be alive," Baralinor smiled.

Sainion laughed, "I agree. We will discuss it later... we need more discretion about these cloaks."

Abrazan nodded, "Of course we do, in public..."

Abrazan stretched his arms aloft, holding the cloak as it draped across both arms, the flaps of his lining glimmering, refulgently, in the sunlight of the sunset that streamed luminously through the western windows. Without a word, the others did the same, to the point that their hands met, forming a triangle in the center of the room. And courage bloomed within their hearts. They all entered into a deep embrace, their mirthful tears shining in their faces. Despair was naught but an obsolescence. They sat down beside each other on the bed. They felt aggrandized in what they could do together. Sainion smiled, preparing his urbane wit. It was as if they had a telesthesia, gazing brightly into each others' souls, beyond the normal operations of their eyes. They did not even need a holophrase, a singular explanation, to describe how they felt. Despair was as valueless as the word 'floccinaucinihilipilification.' For centuries, the ancient demons of the past were thought to be the cryptozoology of eccentric sages in their marble towers. But deep inside themselves, they knew that their foe was real. Abrazan had ever known. It was as if in the stygian night of shadows, of the abyss of despair, a moonbow stretched across the heavens, across the firmament, before the light of the midnight moon. And they were no longer afraid. Abrazan was never afraid.
Edited by Ivordir, Jun 16 2015, 10:56 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CXIII: The Tale Begins

But Baralinor began to extemporize, suddenly, as they sat there, spontaneously beginning his tale, of what truly happened on Tolfalas. Sainion was agog at first to hear of it. But Abrazan closed his eyes morosely. It was not a middling event. No one gainsaid him as he spoke, as he was certain no quidnucs were at hand, awaiting this as if it was banal gossip:

"I had not seen Yucalwe since that fateful day,
When he was wrested from my sight,
He who would eternize my hopes and dreams,
Only for my lord-father to crush them into the dead dirt.

And I had met with Yucalwe in secret,
In what was then yestreen, the evening of yesterday,
And he spoke to me in strange apothegms, terse and witty sayings,
Far better spoken than the crazed lines from sudser plays at theatres:
'Your life shall geminate into two paths,
A schism within the skies awaits.
A tatterdemalion shall come to the City,
Grey his beard, his garb, his pointed hat.
He will have come
From a bucolic land, far away, where halflings play.
This I have foreseen; times anew shall come.
But your part shall have, a Quest of your own.
Do not rubberneck at me; listen with care.
Great legerity shall come within thy limbs.
It will sound as if a scroop, harsh and grating,
Within thy soul.
You shall be cynosure one day, glorious to behold,
Free from thy lord-father's wrath.
The syzygy of brothers three shall then arise,
Higher than the skies.
Have I foreseen, or have I guessed it so?
I do not know.
But linger long you shall, neath moonlit skies.
The Lord is hidebound in his cruel resolve.
Some you'll find with bibliomania; they shall aid you.
Many shall find you frabjous when you dance,
Give credence to these words, and to thy bride to be.
Your lethargic logy shall vanish.
Volitant men beside you.
Fears shall ye defenestrate
Beyond thy spirit.
These words may seem
Bafflegab to thy noble eyes.
Diurnal is the light that shall shine.
Not lunar.
I aver I felt a moppet,
Playing in flowery fields.
A rhapsodic, ecstatic smile, gazing toward you.
This may sound as if piffle to thine ears.
Or cacophonous to thy soul, discordant in sound.
I see you writing it all down, within the light of this torch.
Good, you will need it later.'"
Edited by Ivordir, Jun 11 2015, 11:15 AM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CXIX: Yucalwe's Tortuous Tongue

Sainion looked down to see that Baralinor had the paper in his hand, crumbled and crinkled, but not ripped or torn to pieces.

Baralinor continued to read,

"'Yours is not a maudlin tale,
Foolishly sentimental.
Loss and grief await,
To mark thy steps.
Hear then, these veridical words,
Veracious to thy ears, with truth,
You shall face thy simulacrum,
Thy doppelganger.
Culturati
Shall ye meet,
Sang-froid shall ye be,
Halcyon, calm, tranquility.
A bolide shall fire across the skies
Above the Mounts of Shadow.
I foresee great gatherings, with
Vegetative dishes, diced with mirepoix,
An ambrosial flavor.
Thy gauche shall be repressed,
By greater senses, tactfulness shall endure,
With atticism, elegant language.
Vivacious vigor, brio, shall endure within your soul,
Within thy fea.
Seek for the asafetida,
From the Southron groves,
If noxious poison yet subdue thee.
No, this is not bunkum.
Thy lord-father's grubstakes shall falter,
His business shall not prevail,
For its cruelty.
Schlemial ways shall return schlemial,
Ne'r fulfilling what must be fulfilled.
Our argot of special tongues,
Remain between us.
I foresee great derring-do
For you.
Beware the Master's caseous cheese,
For it hath more than dearth of death for thee.
Find the polyglot that hath many tongues writ.
Beware galenical herbs, not well-prepared.
Beware the brume, the foggy sea.
Be not caustic in thy sarcasm when in danger.
Badinage is a good release, playful banter.
Let not thy apparent fates diddle you into a hoax.
Let thy mind and wit be thy panoply, thy greatest armor.'"
Edited by Ivordir, Jun 11 2015, 11:16 AM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CXX: The Recalcitrance of Baralinor

And I replied, 'Enough with your fabulous stories about my fate.
I am my lord-father's son. That is my fate. I should leave,
Lest he whip me again.'

And he: 'I do not seek to demonstrate thy fate through words.
A boodle, pack of wargs is worse... you shall not find them.'

And I, 'I have heard enough of thy malarkey, you will not mislead me
From my path.'

And he: 'You shall not suffer paramnesia; these words, you shall remember.
But you shall suffer it, when you see thy doppelganger, thy simulacrum. Beware
Of Guldrambor.'

And I, 'Guldrambor is a myth, created by you to cow us into fear, into bending the knee
Unto thy whims and will.'

And he: 'I did not seek to rule, nor to rule thy fates with fear.'

And I: 'But thou hast done so, Elf.'

And he rose to a brilliant height, his cloak billowing around me in the wind,
'Thy lord-father shall not succeed in his attempts to destroy thee.'

And I was reduced to silence, and to tears, not knowing what to think
Or how to speak to him.'"
Edited by Ivordir, Jun 11 2015, 11:18 AM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CXXI: Hope Endures

"And he: 'I do not know what thy fate shall be. Of these words, there are but three.
First, of what I feel may be,
Second, of what I guess shall be,
And third, of what I know shall be.
You shall not know, till they occur,
Between these three.
Nor shall I ever know.
Here then, examples three:
Some may attempt to poison thee.
I do not know, if by caseous cheese, or velvety wine,
Beware all feasts, crafted by they who know,
Thy lord-father's worse design.
Here then another,
Feasting ye shall attend,
This is not a portent,
Only a guess, of what I have seen
Of thy society.
It is most likely.
As for the third,
I have no doubt...
Our foe shall try,
To destroyeth thee.'

And then he knelt before me,

'But you, my son, can make thy choices,
For good or ill, they are yours alone.
Ever is there loss,
Ever events beyond our power,
Ever, choices, that must be made.'"

A tear dripped down Baralinor's cheek,
"And he told me to choose rightly, clasping my shoulders,
And without my lord-father knowing, I embraced him deeply,
It was all that I could do.
But then I returned to my cold, hard shell,
That made me feel safe in the presence of my lord-father."
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Ivordir

Chapter CXXII: His Beamish Eyes

"And he gazed at me with beamish eyes,
Even after I had returned to my mad fate.
Abrazan was with me, but I cared not for him,
Shunning him, cruelly staying away
From his half-right Southern brogue
Of Gondor"

Both Baralinor and Abrazan laughed mirthfully; Sainion chuckled.

Baralinor continued,

"I know now that Yucalwe forsooth my fate
In this globular Arda.
I needed this pepperupper to my life."

They laughed.
Edited by Ivordir, Jun 11 2015, 08:30 PM.
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Ivordir

Chapter CXXIII: Beloved Father

Baralinor smiled,

"Yucalwe.... Ranyaro.... beloved father,
How you incantillated........ those verses....
How you read me, like the dendrochronology of the
Stump of a tree......
The furtherance
Of greater destiny...
N'er a nonevent...
How long I gibbered my tongue,
Gibbering in despair, nonsense..."

Abrazan's eyes beamed at him luminously.

Baralinor's eyes returned,

"I felt mal de mer on that day,
Seasick when we finally reached Tolfalas.
My Lord-Father suspected something,
But fortunately for me, he forgot.
A rare occasion.
I feel the anthesis now, expansion of my life
As if a flower's maturation.
We charged amain toward the isle in our ship,
The winds whipping the sails aloft,
My heart floundering in the collywobbles of nervousness, of fear.
As the skies darkened above our eyes,
Great clouds billowing, a storm at sea,
Yucalwe's once-refulgent cloak became sopping-wet and dirty,
As I ground my teeth and my dysphemisms, bad expressions,
Were clear."
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Ivordir

Chapter CXXIV: The Storm of Tolfalas

Baralinor continued,

"His words had then failed to intenerate my angered soul,
I was not softened.
I thought his behavior as that of my mother,
Her momism, her incessant care and concern.
My Lord-Father's magniloquent speeches
In their grandiose, bombastic fervor
Awoke our senses as the rain poured
And surging waves threatened to
Capsize our vessel.
Several men felt formications,
As if worms were crawling inside their armor.
Our primitive chronometer went off the dial,
The wheel spun round and round
And our devices from Pelargir
Could not tell where we were
In that foggy sea.
Our vessel began to circumvolve,
Round and round, it spun in circles,
It was not an eyesome, pleasant sight.
If the waves became frozen,
They would have turned into the sastrugi,
Ridges of snow that one can found
Atop the Ered Nimrais.
This may prove yet another variorum version of the story,
Since we have many different accounts, or in this case,
Yucalwe, Abrazan, my Lord-Father, Brastor, my brothers, and all,
Could annotate a copy with several different versions."

Sainion laughed. He got the joke.
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