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| 16. Wind-Singers Volume II: The Artifact; Ioristion, Cellindien, and others, in the aftermath of The Hunt. | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jul 11 2015, 07:39 PM (895 Views) | |
| Ioristion | Nov 24 2015, 11:13 PM Post #61 |
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Chapter XLVXX: The Host Sets Forth Cellindien stared at him in disbelief, but shock quickly turned to frustration and she dropped the bedding to the floor. "All that, and you thought that a nap was a good idea?" Alcano blinked, "You were tired and hurt........" "The others were not sleeping, were they?" Cellindien challenged him. "There are preparations to be made." She hurried about the room, retrieving a bag from one corner and beginning to pack. "You are as foolish as he is." Alcano sighed, opening a nearby window, and then he began to laugh hard. "What?!" Cellindien spun around, then hurried to look as well. Outside, the horses were already laden with provisions. Auruiron, Melimwe, and the others, had already gathered in their resplendent garb. Melimwe had argued against the impracticality of it. Auruiron insisted that their mere emulation of the glory as incarnated in the verses of old Noldorin poetry and song would make their foes tremble from afar. "That had not worked at Nirnaeth," Melimwe had reminded Auruiron repeatedly. Auruiron stubbornly refused advice of caution. Alcano looked down. He noticed his father was missing. Ioristion burst into the room, "So you have seen it.......... the time is nigh." Cellindien's jaw dropped as she spotted the party below. Several choice words rose to her lips, but she tightened her jaw and turned away from the window. There would be a time and a place for her anger, but it was not now. When Ioristion burst in she did not look up from her preparations. "I have seen and heard. Leave me, I must change for the road." Ioristion and Alcano hurried to their chambers to pack. Rostoriel burst past him, out the door. She was not happy. Ioristion sighed. Alcano worked quickly and was soon standing outside with the others. His horse neighed under the weight of Alcano's armor. Cellindien emerged a short time later, dressed and armed for the road and saddlebags over her shoulders, but her shield she carried on her sword arm. And without a further word, they began their procession toward the paths that wound up toward the High Moor. Edited by Ioristion, Nov 24 2015, 11:21 PM.
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| Ioristion | Nov 24 2015, 11:19 PM Post #62 |
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Chapter XLVXXI: A Rest in the High Moor Cellindien dismounted stiffly, resting the weight of her shield on the ground for a mount before lifting it again and leading her mount to where the others were being tethered. They had come to the first real halt of the journey - a brief rest before continuing on, and she ached in mind and body. Once the horse was secured she walked a few paces away and lowered herself to the ground, removing her helmet and allowing the slight breeze to cool her face and neck. While Yucalwe, Auruiron, and Melimwe, were conversing on the hillside, Rostor passed near Alcano and Cellindien. He did not speak. He gazed at them intently. Cellindien was distracted, disregarding the elves around her in favor of scanning the moor warily. One gauntleted hand rubbed absently at her left forearm and she seemed unconcerned with the fact that her warrior's braids had come loose, allowing her long hair to fly wildly across her face. Both Rostor and Alcano gazed in awe at her hair. In between those flowing silver-strands, Alcano beheld Cellindien, beloved protector of his House. But Rostor beheld Finlos the Brave, of Gondolin, remembering when he had kissed her on that fateful day on a sunlit hillside. Cellindien Finlos was also thinking of Gondolin, and of a more recent journey. It had been darker then, and she had been alone... yet not alone. She shuddered, drawing her aching arm closer to her and closing her eyes. There would be more memories soon. She would need to be strong, but it was hard, and she was already tired. Melimwe was coming towards them, down the hill. He was wearing his azure hauberk atop chain-mail, his golden cloak poured down his back, perspicaciously tied in places for practical reasons, and atop his clearly raven-colored hair, he wore his shining helm. A cloak's-worth of Auruiron's golden hair poured from where it was tied to the helm, hearkening to past Ages, from whence emerged the strands. Melimwe turned directly to Cellindien, "We are attempting to determine where this apparent force might have come from........ tell me, remind me, once again........ what did you and Ioristion do in Moria?" His approach startled the elleth. She jerked upright and hurried to her feet, swaying slightly as her mind tried to come up with an appropriate answer. Then it was dark and cold. Fog was closing in, and in the dark, the sound of a sword! No, no, it was drums. Footsteps? She gasped, as if coming awake or surfacing from a long dive in cold water. The question, the question.... "W-we were chased," she managed. "A host, it seemed... but there was a greater evil, perhaps one roused the other?" She could still hear the drums and fog trailed through her vision, but she refused to acknowledge it, standing tall before Melimwe. Melimwe nodded, "And that was some months ago......many months.......something else must have stirred them from hiding, recently.... at least we know where they have likely come from." Cellindien mirrored his nod. "And we must hope that there are not more yet hidden, ready to come forth. Do we have a stronghold there, somewhere to retreat if necessary?" Melimwe sighed, "Their position is uncertain........ let us hope they reached the ruins of Ost-en-Edhil before they were beset by foes. They are likely nigh ruins or a cave-system, since such vile beasts seldom journey beneath the sun." There was a pause. Then Cellindien raised her head, giving him a wan smile. "The sooner we arrive, the sooner we shall know. Do you have any other questions for me, lord?" Melimwe smiled, "'Lord'? I remember when we first carried you into my manse, in Gondolin so long ago............may I embrace you, with care, for I know of your arm, Cellindien?" "I thought to make a jest," she returned softly, but her eyes hardened at the mention of her arm and she drew back. "The cloak has done it good Melimwe... I will wear it again and that shall be the end. You need not be concerned." Melimwe smiled, "Good. I suppose we should get moving again." He turned and strode up the hill. Edited by Ioristion, Nov 24 2015, 11:21 PM.
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| Ioristion | Nov 24 2015, 11:28 PM Post #63 |
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Chapter XLVXXII: Encamped in Giant Valley By nightfall, they had come to an entrance to a vast valley, for they had thought better of their route. Even Ioristion agreed that crossing the Bruinen twice was not a wise maneuver. They were only halfway across the Moor when they entered, to seek a more direct route into Eregion. They pressed forward for several hours, until they reached a copse of smaller trees. Here, they deigned to rest. Rostor had observed Cellindien and Melimwe's reunion sadly. But he did not pity himself. But he could not help but remember the olden days as they rode. Ioristion had ridden quietly. Rostoriel had kept her distance. Rirossel had rolled her eyes on more than one occasion. Cellindien had fallen silent once again. The red and black cloak she wore almost constantly, wrapping her arm at every pause. But it did not guard against everything, and her eyes never stopped searching the shadows. Alcano sneaked-up behind her, yelling, "Moria!" Alcano smirked mischievously, "Alas, the Sapling hath struck again........" "ALCANO!" The shout that greeted his misbehavior was furious and the blade in her hand sharp and bare. There was a dark look to Cellindien's eyes that had never been there before. "You fool," she snarled. "Go to your mother. This is not the place for this and I have no patience for your games." Alcano's eyes also gained an unwholesome look, "Tell me, who is the greater fool? The fool, or the fool the fool had caught off-guard?" Rostor suddenly intervened, "The fool who clearly does not notice how foolhardy it is to provoke a battle-hardened elleth, regardless of how foolish she might have been." Alcano's eyes grew darker, "Greater still is the fool who spurned his betrothed's deepening love, in the name of base cowardice and unfounded fear..............." Yucalwe suddenly blurted, "ENOUGH! Macil, fetch the firewood. Alcano, you go with him at once!" Rostor and Alcano grumbled as they went to the outskirts of the camp. "Draw your sword-" Cellindien had begun, but as the other had argued her sword had slowly lowered to the ground. As they left she remained standing there, sword drawn, staring out into the wilds. Yucalwe sighed, "Why am I ever surrounded by red-headed princes with fiery hearts and foolish tongues? That shade of hair must be rare for a reason...... do not get me started on how Nelyafinwe got himself captured, then lost his fortress for his incompetence, then lost his battles for his naivete, and then destroyed himself in his madness...........ah yes, Cellindien....what are we going to do with them?" Yucalwe smirked sadly in a maelstrom of emotion, for he still loved them..... even Nelyafinwe..... "Work them harder." Cellindien sheathed her sword and whipped the cloak closer about her, turning her back on the other elf. "Notify me when it is time for us to be on our way, if you please." Yucalwe closed his eyes, "I shall maintain the watch with you, 'if you please.' These are dangerous lands....... and you were right to warn him......." "Two sets of eyes are better than one." She sighed heavily. "I almost look forward to battle." Yucalwe nodded, "I once felt the same way.........." The wind billowed his cloak around him. He was Ranyaro once more, Wanderer of the East. He closed his eyes, "Cellindien.......what concerns you so?" She laughed bitterly. "What does not...? I am traveling in the past, and it is at war with itself. My memories, my past, and my future... all destroyed." Yucalwe kept his eyes shut tight, "Please...... courageously speak further." "You -know- this," she insisted, irritated. Then.... "But perhaps not this: the last time I travelled this path, my father called to me. He was changed. He was kinder... I tried to find him, but I could not..." Melimwe appeared to be asleep, resting by a nearby tree. But he was not asleep. He was listening with his eyes closed. Yucalwe nodded, "Ioristion told me of what befell you.................. You must not allow such shades of the past to consume you.......... as I did for centuries........... for I, too, had a troublesome father........ do you not know?" |
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| Ioristion | Nov 24 2015, 11:39 PM Post #64 |
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Chapter XLVXXIII: A Dead Past "I did not ask for your advice, Yucalwe," Cellindien replied tersely. "I am wearing the cloak. I shall not run into the darkness in search of one who is.... long dead. I wait for the dead no longer." Yucalwe smiled, "Cellindien......... I merely wish to help you. You cannot fight these internal battles alone............ as I did, to my grave detriment.......... we have more in common than you realize, Cellindien............" "If you wish to help me, be silent." Yucalwe nodded and did not speak. |
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| Ioristion | Nov 24 2015, 11:58 PM Post #65 |
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Chapter XLVXXIV: Macil and Macilon Four hooded Elves were protecting the camp. Neither Rostor nor Ioristion nor Yucalwe recognized them, for their features were concealed. It was assumed that they were trustworthy friends of Melimwe from Imladris. Rostor and Alcano brought them the firewood. They nodded and lit the fire. No one sensed any danger, and Elven senses are keen. Rostor and Alcano laid-out their bedding at the heart of the camp. Alcano bade Rostor to roll closely next to him. Alcano whisked his cloak over them both, covering their heads. He placed the Artifact in between them, as Alcano whispered, "Rostor.......reach out and touch it, and close thine eyes." Rostor obeyed. They found themselves in the crystalline cavern. Rostor longed to weep, he could scarcely believe his eyes as he beheld the vast, dark, beautiful, billowing form before him. The voice spoke, "I have been awaiting thee, my brother........." And Macilon told Rostor everything. Rostor wept, "I, Macil, have offended thine memory............" "Not anymore," Macilon whispered in return. And then Macilon buried his lips in Rostor's right-cheek, as Rostor cried joyously. All three soon embraced each other. There, within Macilon's folds, they rested. And Rostor finally asked, "Macilon....... is there hope left........or is my betrothal ended......................" Macilon smiled, "It is not ended...................................................be patient, my brother............................................be patient." Rostor and Alcano awoke from the dream. Alcano quickly put the Artifact back in its pouch. The interior folds of the cloak sparkled as the fire-light poured through the pours in the silk. And Rostor embraced Alcano deeply as they deeply kissed each others' cheeks, before they returned their faces to the fresh, clean, mountain air, before they deeply fell asleep in each others' arms. Alcano had finally said it: "My most glorious ancestor....................." |
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| Ioristion | Dec 3 2015, 11:04 PM Post #66 |
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Chapter XLVXXV: Silver Starlight One of the cloaked figures unknown to Melimwe walked over to Cellindien. Yucalwe had left her alone. The being stood solemnly by Cellindien's side, not speaking. She glanced at him, but did not speak, presuming that he had been sent to assist her on the watch. She had no desire to speak at the time, and as it seemed that the other felt the same, she did not break the silence. "Finlos......." The stranger uttered. "Oh how you have grown........ you remind me of that young Doriathrim Captain from long ago, stranded in Gondolin with Melimwe in the aftermath of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad........... long years have severed our steps. I am glad to see you, hale and strong." And Saelbainor pushed-back his hood, his long, silver, silky hair glistening in the moon and starlight, an ever-widening smile on his face. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- He had wandered away from the refugees. He had grown cold and distanced from Melimwe after learning of the Fall of Doriath. And Melimwe had pursued him, losing sight of Finlos, after Gondolin burned. And they had fought, gold against silver, in the ruins of the Throneroom. Dior was gone, his wife and children likely dead, and Saelbainor had missed his glory. He had never seen the Silmaril. And now all was ruined and dead. He had lost his home as the Eldar of Gondolin had lost their home. Justice, he had felt tempted to call it. Melimwe's skills did win the day. He spared Saelbainor's life. And Saelbainor fled, far across Eriador and into distant Rhun, where he sought Daeron, the revered singer, who had loved Luthien. And in his fruitless search, beguiled by the influence of the Enemy, his mind had slowly become unhinged. He introduced himself as Daeron to the Avari of Dorwinion, who slowly nursed him back to health. But he drank and drank and drank that red wine that poured burning down his throat. The Avari had saved him from the Easterlings. They struggled to save him from himself. In time, they guided him to Lorien. They learned that a vast war was taking place. And then they followed the Anduin south. In Edhellond, Saelbainor dwelt, under his new eposse: Mistaro. And Mistaro had regained his center through fishing. He drank with greater depths of moderation and control, and sanctity. There he had met Ranyaro, the wanderer, Yucalwe in truth, nursing Yucalwe back to health. And then Yucalwe departed, seeking Himring before he sought the sea once more. Time passed and Mistaro felt lonesome. He had learned that Melimwe had not yet sailed overseas. And Edhellond was winding down, slowly growing further bereft of Elves. Mistaro was not present to witness Amroth's tragedy, and of long-lost Nimrodel. He had sailed along the coasts of Gondor and past the Druedain lands, and he grew sick of not sailing West, the crying and weeping of the sea now becoming unbearable to him, the call that he had controlled through fishing, the call that had not penetrated the marrow of his fea due to his madness. But now the madness was past. And Mistaro escaped along the Gwaithlo, passing through Tharbad as a wandering stranger. He followed the river, and when it split, he followed the Bruinen. And so it was that he had found Imladris. And there, in Imladris, weary from travel and trevail, he dwelt alone in a solitary place in the upper woods. He had never met Cellindien, and he never could get close enough to glimpse who the strange elleth in training was. He was reminded of Finlos, but remained unsure, and did not wish to know, for his past haunted him. He fished in secret, hidden, glistening springs, and trained alone in deep, hidden groves and copses of rich trees, the scent of pine filling all his lungs.It reminded him of Tum Laden. In time, he had met Rostoriel and Rirossel, and learned that the warrior he had seen was indeed Finlos of old. But he maintained his silence, sensing that the time had not yet come. But he had heard of the adventures of Ioristion and Cellindien, mixed with mirth and sorrow. Eventually, Rirossel told him of Auruiron's plan, and Saelbainor felt, deep within his fea, that his time had finally come. Melimwe and Finlos would find him. And Yucalwe would finally find Mistaro. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- So he stood now, beside Cellindien, the wind billowing his long, silver hair in starlight. A chill ran through her at the sound of his voice and as she turned to seek his face she was pale. She looked past him to the camp, where the others had gathered. Saelbainor reached-out and framed her chin gently with his palm, "You are cold....... be not afraid of me, Cellindien. And hush. The others do not yet know that I am here. If not for Rirossel, I would not be here. Yes, long have I dwelt within this vale. But, you must listen to me..... carefully.....He withdrew his palm, "For long years, centuries, I longed to reveal myself to you......... but you were not ready, and nor was I. We both are troubled by the shadow of the fall of Gondolin, and I, also, of my native lands..... Doriath, now lost, vanished beneath the Sea............And when I learned that you were finding peace, alone, I did not wish to disturb that peace....... by bringing-forth the past again, which you and I both know, deep down in our fea'r....... would have been inevitable." Saelbainor sighed, "It would seem that Ioristion has done that damage for me!" He tried to chuckle. Cellindien closed her eyes as his fingers brushed against her face, trying to suppress her shock. "He and many others. Ai... Saelbainor how... I cannot keep this secret, I am over wrought!" Saelbainor smiled, "Oh, the others shall know of me, this night. But first, I wished to reveal myself to you....... even before Melimwe...... and even before Yucalwe, though I love them both.......... Cellindien, I wish to aid you. Long ago, a ragged wanderer came to my cave, when I was Mistaro, when I dwelt along the shores of the sea, recovering from a madness of my own. The Call of the Sea aided me, for a time, till I regained my senses and could hear its piercing wailing as the gulls would cry along the sea-cliffs. We fished together in Belfalas Bay and slowly, and deeply, we sipped our wine, and quietly, we rested, coming to terms with our past grief. Yes, Yucalwe had come to me. He knew not of me. But I knew of him........ and my point is simple. I served you once, in Gondolin so long ago." He genuflected out of respect before her, "Let me serve you again." She wavered, tears coming unbidden to her eyes. "If you have traveled with us, then you know what has happened among us. I am no longer Finlos of Gondolin." Despite the words, as he knelt she looked into his fair face, seeing the same earnest kindness from so long ago. She felt young and lost again, afraid and in pain, and she wished for garden walls and magical draughts that would ease her pain. Saelbainor smiled, "I never said you were, beyond our first greeting........ Cellindien. Yes, Rirossel was a good teacher, regarding her..... acute observations of you. And all the better. I am no longer the Captain of Doriath, nor the envoy of Gondolin, nor the prince of a shattered Kingdom. I need no realm. I need only a strong, firm spear in my hand and fishing-line. A grove in which to meditate. A place to read, and to write, and to dream in peace. And, if I might add, a chalice and a wine-bottle. I have long since changed since I last saw you..... though my face has changed little. Beautiful Wisdom. My name is funny........ but I do not dwell in the past. I dwell in the present moment......" "Of course." Gondolin burned again, and in her mind's eye Cellindien saw Melimwe's house crumble into smoking rubble and ash. There was no refuge to be had there, she reminded herself, straightening and schooling her expression into one of calm. Saelbainor continued, "For long, long ago, when I was young and shy, and not quite as long-winded, I depended on my Realm to sustain my passion. Doriath in all its glory, and soldiers at my young command. But I no longer dwell on my superiors' displeasure at my work with Feanorians. I no longer dwell on Lamaean and Muinor's treachery. I no longer dwell on Tears Unnumbered, and the horrors I beheld there, though admittedly I am briefly revisiting them, and quickly moving along, and in short, I do not dwell on any of it, and when the thoughts arise, I maneuver past them, into the light of the present moment. And I can teach you to do the same," he smiled. "Now come, embrace me before the others overhear us. For long.... have I dreamed and thought of this moment....................Cellindien of Imladris." Cellindien scoffed. "It would be a simple matter to dwell in the present if the past did not yet walk before me." A second passed and she softened, regret weighing heavily on her shoulders. "...I apologize... that was poorly said. Come then, if you must." She managed a half-smile, opening her arms to him. Saelbainor smiled, deeply embracing her, "Cellindien........ I would tell you to call me Mistaro, but that would only serve to confuse us. I am Mistaro. And I am Saelbainor. But I am Saelbainor of Imladris. Now, listen carefully..............I hear the winds on the hill-side, coming down from the Hithglaer. Do you not hear them? And in the morn, we shall hear the sparrows singing. Should we not hear them? And the leaves rustling through the trees. Smell the scent of pine in the air........ borne on the wind in the heather. And now.......... feel our embrace. Feel it, deeply. It is the now, the present. Do not allow your thoughts to slip away. Remain here........... with me............... now, in this moment. And let your mind rest at ease................" And Cellindien, feeling almost as a child again, surrendered, closing her eyes and doing as he bade her, breathing deeply. She felt the cool air and the familiar, reassuring weight of her armor. Saelbainor's voice washed over her and as her mind relaxed suddenly she slumped bonelessly against him, free of the bitter determination that had been keeping her on her feet. Saelbainor shouldered her weight, armor and all, maintaining his gentle embrace with grace. He gently, deeply, kissed her on the cheek, chastely, and then whispered: "I have something for you. I have heard that you are rather fond of cloaks," he lightly laughed in his sarcasm, "And at least they are light-weight when folded and packed on your back. I have a third one for you. And I must tell you, that it is very special. Now, this cape will neither protect you from fell visions and nor from terrible dreams. Nor shall it caress and heal your wounds. For this one was woven by me, recently, neither dripped in supernatural springs nor multiplied and bathed in power. But I washed it in a special, normal spring, and I prepared it for you. It's main power............ is to ground you in the place, in the present moment. To protect you from falling away into the past. Nothing more, and nothing less." A hint of fear struck her as she began to fall, but as Saelbainor caught her she laughed and hurriedly caught hold of his robe at the shoulders, helping to support herself as she tried to regain her footing. "A-Another cloak? Soon I will have more cloaks than dresses, you realize..." Still, she listened to what he said, and as he finished she was able to release her grip on him and stand on her own once again. "Thank you, Saelbainor." He reached into his side-pack and pulled-out the folded clump of embroidered fabric, meticulously designed, glimmering and bathed in starlight. "It was made by the silk worms of the West, brought to Lothlorien by the Lady of the Golden Wood. Some travelers from that land aided me. But the West is alive and well today, not of the past. And it was woven fresh and new in the Vale of your home. And so, let it remind you not of the past, but of the now." He gave it to her. He smiled, "I know. My pleasure." He stroked the black and red cloak that Cellindien was wearing, "Yes..... I can feel the power of the cloak you are wearing now. Do not forsake it. There is a time and a place for each one." Saelbainor smirked with that youthful gleam in his eyes as he saw her wear the pale-green cloak, lined with bright silver, that he had woven. And then, knowing that this would more than likely attract the others' attention, he unclasped his plain, blue, velvet traveling cloak, which fell to the ground, revealing his deep-green robes, and a vast pale-golden cloak of his own. Yucalwe's eyes darted in their general direction, and he could not believe his eyes, for there stood Mistaro, whom he had long since thought had crossed the Sea, Mistaro, who had saved his life in Edhellond. Yucalwe pinched his own cheeks, and found he was not dreaming. Cellindien's smile grew as she watched him, and as she turned to watch the other's reactions, she murmured. "I must say, it is pleasant to be watching rather than being surprised..." And Melimwe's eyes grew wide. He had not seen Saelbainor since they had fought in Doriath. Saelbainor laughed, "Oh I know........" The resulting commotion even woke Rostoriel and Rirossel and Rostor and Alcano from their sleep. And Rirossel laughed, "Well, the 'time finally came.' And it could not have 'come' soon enough!'" A gentle tear fell down Ioristion's face as he stood beside Rostoriel, recognizing the significance of it all. And Rostoriel finally forsook her coldness, warmed by the scene, and kissed Ioristion, ever deeply. And Rostor also wept of -joy,- for he had remembered Saelbainor's kindly face, and long past thought him dead or lost to the West across the Sea. And Alcano, knowing the tale full well, behaved likewise. And Yucalwe and Melimwe were on their knees before Saelbainor and Cellindien. "Mistaro.........." Yucalwe uttered. "Saelbainor..........." Melimwe uttered. Saelbainor turned to Cellindien and laughed, and turned back and said, "Oh stand up already! You fine Elf-lords will scare away the fish!" Yucalwe fell backward in his heavy laughter, the first time he had laughed thus since his time with Mistaro in Edhellond. Melimwe also could not help himself. He, too, was laughing. Saelbainor turned to Cellindien, "And where are you, right now, at this fine moment? If you're in the past, get back here laughing with us now!" She raised an eyebrow, smirking at him. "I say now, as in the past, elf lords and their finery are nothing but foolishness." She crossed her arms and turned to stalk away, but her eyes were laughing merrily and a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. And as she turned to go, she passed by Rostor and smiled, rolling her eyes playfully before returning to find a seat of her own near the fire. And Rostor smiled in return. Estel had been kindled anew within his heart. He knew, deeply, that somehow..... they would be together in the end. Saelbainor shot a glance at Rostor, thinking, "And if what I have heard is true..... I shall need to have a word with him, too, about the past. If this is ever to be mended....... he, too, must learn to see Cellindien for who she is, now, in the present moment....................." And Saelbainor deeply embraced Yucalwe and Melimwe. A lingering thought crossed his mind, "I must sleep in the gold anew.... and beneath the red and black............to perceive what Cellindien might perceive, when she wears those cloaks................" And so he rested between Yucalwe and Melimwe, the three all wrapped together. And Saelbainor slowly inhaled, exalting the fresh, free air. And his eyes beheld the stars before he drifted away into the realm of dreams. Edited by Ioristion, Jun 13 2016, 02:10 PM.
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| Ioristion | Dec 14 2015, 10:45 PM Post #67 |
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Chapter XLVXXVI: Survival Saelbainor dreamed. He felt a presence. A watchful force. It cried from the soil of the land. He felt oppressed. Fear ensnared him. He summoned forth all resistance. Then, as if in a flash of light, the shadows had dispersed. Saelbainor opened his eyes. He stared into the sunlit heather, the scent of pine filling his lungs. He felt the warm folds, of Melimwe's cloak with his right hand, and of Yucalwe's with his left. He felt the peaceful contrast to the nightmare. He stood. His back ached when he shed the cloaks. Slowly, the camp awoke. Rostor and Ioristion yawned. Rostoriel's eyes suddenly grew wide. For the three companions of Saelbainor had shed their hoods. Rostor could scarcely believe his eyes. Yucalwe, by now, woke-up, and he, too, stared wildly at them. Amarthon smirked, "Oh you poor f'ear........ you thought we were dead!" And Ioristion fell backward in the heath. Rostoriel helped Ioristion back up, "If you didn't have that cloak, your back would......" Ioristion still pointed and stared enraptured, "......yes....." he stammered, "We thought -you- were dead............." And there were tears streaming down his cheeks. The last anyone had heard or seen of them, they were standing tall and proud in their golden mail, their swords and shields raised high, as the Dark Lord of Mordor raised his mace. The last they saw, was when the Shadow fell upon them. Auravon and Amarthon could no longer conceal their tears now. And before they knew it, they were shrouded in Yucalwe, Rostor, and Ioristion's arms. Yucalwe's tears seemed as if starlight as they shined in the sunlight on his cheeks. He had blamed himself for all their deaths. He had near-despaired throughout the centuries. If not for Saelbainor Mistaro, he would have died. And he felt -joy- anew, reliving it for the Ages. Rostor turned to search for Cellindien. He did not see her. He sighed sadly. |
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| Ioristion | Dec 14 2015, 10:46 PM Post #68 |
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Chapter XLVXXVII: A Watchful Hour Saelbainor gazed upon the scene, smirking in his mirth. He had known they had survived for quite some time. Indeed, they had sought the Havens at Edhellond, a year after Yucalwe left. They revealed that they had rested in Lorien and spent years, trying to decide. But Saelbainor Mistaro had ended them. He told them of Yucalwe, and they listened eagerly and patiently. Eventually, they found Imladris, and it was for that reason, alone, that Saelbainor found a home, when he journeyed North. The hope of Yucalwe's survival was enough. And they had searched and searched to no avail. But Saelbainor kept strong their watch. He, too, now noticed that Cellindien was missing. He smiled, thinking: "She must still be on watch. Still.... I must find her..... these wilds are nothing to balk at." And as he walked around the camp's perimeter, his concern began to penetrate him, deeper and deeper. Large boulders dotted the landscape, and, after leaving her shield and eye-catching cloaks at the base of a large rock formation, Cellindien had decided to try her hand at a bit of climbing. By the time Saelbainor came looking for her she had hidden herself in the rocks, using the height to help keep watch into the distance. Saelbainor sighted the cloaks. Swifter than a scythe in the grass, he drew his sword, examining the ground for signs of animal tracks or worse. But he saw no tracks. Confounded, he called aloud, "Cellindien!" "Hush!" The voice sounded immediately from above him. "Here. Stand clear." She waited until he had stepped back, then jumped easily to the ground. "I apologize, my climb had poor timing it seems." Saelbainor deeply sighed with relief, "My heart is glad to see that you were not mauled to death by some beast. I should tell you....... we will likely press onward soon, and.... my companions, the three hooded elves who came with me.......... they once served alongside Rostor and Ioristion, under Yucalwe's command long ago....... you missed quite the reunion." He was still breathing heavy from his run-and-search, and sighing with relief. His senses were still keen and alert, watchful for any signs of movement in the brush. "I have been throuh too much to meet my end in the face of an angry boar," she replied blandly, but she could see clearly that he had been concerned. "Again, my apologies for worrying you." She bent down to retrieve her belongings. "I am glad they have been reunited, but perhaps it was best for me to miss it. Rostor would do well to have familiar friends, I think." Saelbainor smiled, "......we will see. Let us swiftly rejoin the others." |
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| Ioristion | Dec 14 2015, 10:47 PM Post #69 |
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Chapter XLVXXVIII: The Return to Eregion By the time they rejoined the others, the time for joyous reunions was past. Auruiron had stared blankly at it all, not knowing what to think, but he was glad that some had survived the war, though the memories of his son's madness stung even deeper. He wished his son didn't have to suffer for nearly an Age. The horses were fed and the provisions gathered and packed, and they set out anew, as the sun rose in the sky, higher and higher. Steadily as they traveled, the Misty Mountains slowly grew taller and taller before them. Days had passed since they had left Imladris, when they came to a winding, stony pass that wound southward. The pass of Daergil opened onto a wide view of the Hollin Ridge. Alcano girded his heart as they beheld the sight, as the groves of red, ripe holly trees glistened in the evening sunlight. Throughout the journey, Rostor spoke little. There was an awkward silence among the now reunited remnants of the Contingent. They never thought they would ever have beheld the sight of their old homeland ever again. "If only Finlos still loved me," Rostor thought. ".............It would have been perfect................." But Cellindien's mind was set quite determinedly in the present, or she intended it to be. Despite the cloaks and presence of her friends and family about her, even the cheery crimson berries of the holly trees seemed sinister. Yucalwe smiled as he stared at Ioristion, Rostor, Amarthon and Auravon and Sainion, as their cloaks billowed in the breeze in the sunlight, as they gazed like solemn statues, as if part of that long-forgotten Realm that stretched before them. He had never seen them, standing thus, and thought he never would. His smile grew wider. At dawn on the next morn, they set out again. They descended into the deepening woods. Rostor could not help but recall when the road was paved with cobblestones long ago. The old scent of holly filled his lungs. Melimwe and Auruiron reasoned that it was best to look abroad. They followed the road as far as they could, until it veered away from the Hollin Ridge. They camped in that vale for a couple nights, until they finally reached the ridge. It had been over 15 days since they had left Rivendell. Rostor girded his fea, for he knew where they were going. They would camp in the old place where he had meditated, where he had met Ioristion for the first time in his life. Cellindien recognized it as well, and as they rode onward she withdrew Saelbainor's cloak, drawing it close over her shoulders. They climbed the stony heights, the winding passages. It was nearing sunset when they reached the pinnacle of the Ridge. |
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| Ioristion | Dec 14 2015, 10:49 PM Post #70 |
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Chapter XLVXXIX: A Restless Edge They gazed at the wide lands stretching before them in the sunset. Melimwe began searching the distant hills and bluffs with his farther sight. The others tended to the horses and then prepared to rest, their limbs aching from the harsh climb. But the old horse-trails still existed on the Ridge. Rostor found the old spot where he used to meditate. The ground felt weathered, but very much the same. He felt as if the soil remembered his touch, hundreds of years later. A part of him even had to admit that he had missed it. Cellindien finished her tasks as they prepared to rest, then began to walk, almost unconsciously, towards the place where she and Ioristion had stood before. She had taken Saelbainor's words to heart, but though she tried to dwell in the present, even the recent past kept rising to her mind. She looked up and almost fell in shock. "Rostor!" The cloaked elf sat in meditation, just as Ioristion had said he had done... in the very spot they had stood. She stumbled back, tripping over loose stones and falling clumsily backwards in a clatter of armor and loose rock. Saelbainor slipped behind her, bracing her so that she did not fall. Rostor remained silent. Her cheeks burned in embarrasment and she quickly regained her balance, brushing off Saelbainor. Even his face suddenly became unbearable and she closed her eyes, dropping her head and raising her hands defensively. Saelbainor grasped and tenderly cradled her right hand, attempting to calm her. He whispered, "Calm yourself. Breathe. Live the moment." The realm was dead, though living. Lifeless, though still drawing breath. Dying, and yet not dead. "Live the moment." Rostor heard those words echo in his fea. His fea shrinked in fear and cowardice. He sought for the old words, grasping them, cradling them in his fea: "March, soldiers, Eregion cries......... " He could not help but allow the words to continue their deafening echo. Cellindien took in several shuddering breaths, eyes still closed. "It is too much, too much..." The words continued their relentless echo, to the point that Rostor was mouthing them under his breath, "march, soldiers, Celebrimbor dies...... March, soldiers, golden domes fall....... March, soldiers, once proud and tall...... Fly, the banner, to war and woe....... Fly, our arrows, against the foe........... Let us return a newer gift......Send it unto the 'Giver of Gifts'........... Wear proud oh Ring and Jewel and Sword, oh Order............ March, we march, away to Mordor..." "Stop right there," Saelbainor spoke in a gentle, yet firm, word of command. Saelbainor spoke soothingly, "I, too, know how it feels to lose a Realm. But I do not pity myself that all the groves and glades of Neldoreth have perished beneath the foamy seas. It might be for the best. Do not allow your sense of place to drown your fea, wallowing in sorrow for an Age long past, that is as dormant as the stones upon which we stand." Cellindien appeared to relax as Saelbainor spoke. Her hands dropped and she slowly stepped away, unspeaking. Breathe, Saelbainor told her, and so she did. She breathed in the scent of holly and opened her eyes to a dead realm, a ghost, and a doomed quest. It was all too much, far too much. The cloak could do nothing. She walked a few paces away, then turned back, approaching the nearby cliff. Below stretched Eregion. Rostor laughed vengefully, "Yes..... I should ignore this Realm of mine lordship that stretches before me................." Saelbainor blinked, staring directly at Rostor, "Do you not see what lieth before thine eyes?" Rostor stood and turned, not noticing Cellindien, "You did not dwell here........... you did not know........." Saelbainor closed his eyes, "Did you not hear one word from my lips?" Cellindien swayed, took a step closer to the edge. She picked up a stone and held it over the edge for a minute before watching it fall... so far, so slowly, to the dead world below. Then she took another step. Rostor retorted, "I heard....... and I do not call it wisdom." Saelbainor began, "Wis-" he sighted Cellindien. "MAKE HASTE!" Her boot now rested on the very edge of the cliff. She closed her eyes and reached, leaning forward, falling... Rostor turned, and without thinking, he rushed upon Cellindien, curling his arms around her, pulling her away from the edge. He was careful not to hurt her. Saelbainor had rushed over as well. He stared directly into Cellindien's eyes. And he proclaimed, "Look at me........ Cellindien. Focus on my eyes............." They had opened in shock as Rostor had caught hold of her, at the last possible second. They were dull now as she stared up at Saelbainor. She did not speak. The others were encamped further away on the pinnacle of the ridge. They did not interfere. The sky was pale-pink fading into orange-glimmer as the sun set in its final downward slope. Saelbainor spoke softly, "The past is done, and not forgotten. Cellindien........ Rostor, do you hear my voice? Her name is Cellindien.................and you must aid her." Rostor stared down at her dull eyes, nodding, "You are right........... and one fell moment further of my stubbornness would have killed her.............................and I am no longer Rostor. I am Macil.............................................................." Saelbainor's voice spoke as if a gentle song, borne upon the wind, "Cellindien.....................let Macil rest with you. Let him comfort you. Let him protect you. Do not fear him........................." Cellindien shuddered and swayed, her eyes finally focusing briefly on Saelbainor. "Dead. All dead...." Then, slowly, confusion began to mix with regained awareness. "Macil....?" Macil smiled, gazing into her eyes, "Cellindien.............................she does not need protection from any foe. She is strong and able. But even the strongest should not stand alone." Rostor relaxed his arms, but he still held her, longing to protect her. "Macil..." It was barely a whisper, then Cellindien gave a long sigh and turned towards him, leaning wearily into him. "Macil?" "Yes, Cellindien........." Macil replied soothingly, "I am here.............rest and be not afraid............." "I..... do not wish to be here. Cold........ it is too high." Her voice was returning. "Come........... with me.....?" She looked up to where the others had camped. "Yes," Macil gently replied. "Lead on." Saelbainor deeply smiled. She lead the way then, slowly, unsteadily, but surely, up to where the others had encamped. Saelbainor aided their steps as the light of campfires grew brighter and brighter. Melimwe had found a dell that would reduce the range of the light of their fires. Macil's cloak whipped in nightly winds, flowing behind him, as he followed Cellindien. Saelbainor found a place to rest nearby. Macil assisted Cellindien with her armor. Saelbainor was certain to prepare a makeshift place to sleep on the soft grass in the starlight. She did not speak again as they prepared for rest, not until the armor was carefully set aside. She reached into her pack and withdrew the other cloaks, gazing at the combined colors before returning her eyes to Rostor. Gold draped gently upon raven-black and ruby-crimson, cradled in Saelbainor's deep evergreen embroidery. She smiled softly and gestured for him to lie down, then did the same, carefully spreading the trio of cloaks over them both. Rostor smiled in return, obeying, as his heart sang joyously, triumphantly. He gently cuddled next to her beneath the folds, pressing his face sweetly within them, before uplifting his head back into the world of air beneath the stars, as he slowly drifted into the most chaste and peaceful sleep he had ever slept. He did not think further on the past as he closed his eyes. Edited by Ioristion, Aug 20 2016, 08:48 PM.
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| Ioristion | Dec 14 2015, 10:50 PM Post #71 |
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Chapter XLVXXX: A Golden Brotherhood Melimwe's golden tufts of hair billowed in the nightly breeze, pluming from his hood beneath his helm. The plumes of Auruiron's hair were attached to the hood beneath the helm. Beneath the hood was a rich length of raven-black hair. He likened the strands of his hair to the strands of Vaire, woven in time. It was the hair that Auruiron had cut when Makalaure was lost along the shores of the sea. Auruiron sat hunched in meditation, his cloak billowing behind him on the moonlit grass, the pale, blue-golden folds gleaming in the light of the firmament. The Void was present behind the stars. Auruiron was searching, desperately searching, for some sign of life. Melimwe did not speak aloud his thoughts: it was impractical to search at nightfall, unless campfires were lit. But there were no immediate signs of fire. "Melimwe..... sit with me......" Melimwe willingly cuddled next to Auruiron, beneath his cloak. "Look at me." Melimwe turned. Auruiron's cheeks were wet with recent weeping, "I ordered them to folly..... to their deaths....... my own sons who I saved from Doriath's Fall........ how dare I!" "You thought the lands were empty, barren, without foes aside from wildlife. How could you have known? And what makes you think that they have perished?" Auruiron pointed at the plains of shadow, new streams of tears forming on the crest of his moon-pale cheeks, glittering in the moonlight as they fell. Then, Auruiron embraced Melimwe, "And I have failed you......... all these Ages.......... you wanted to be my brother, and I..................I.............." Melimwe clutched Auruiron tightly, now teary-eyed as well, "Oh Auruiron........................" And as Auruiron wept on Melimwe's shoulder, Melimwe spied a fiery light, as several were lit, deep in the distant darkness, in the heart of the ruined Realm. Melimwe pointed, and Auruiron turned. Auruiron heaved a deep and heavy sigh. Melimwe smiled, "Someone is alive down there...... come.... fall asleep in my arms..... my brother........and place your fea at ease. We shall travel there on the morrow." For one of the few times in his life, Auruiron finally obeyed the words of a friend. Melimwe stroked his golden hair, until Auruiron fell asleep. Melimwe stared down at Auruiron with a deepening smile on his face, hope blossoming in his fea. He had finally had his way, thousands of years in the making. He would protect his brother, acknowledged as his brother, even to the edge of death. |
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| Ioristion | Mar 1 2016, 05:48 AM Post #72 |
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Chapter XLVXXX: A Storm Approaches Rostoriel gazed at the gentle bundle of Macil and Cellindien as they rested. She gazed at her silver hair flowing gently onto the damp grass. There were storm clouds now, and it would be raining soon. She hoped they would not have a rude awakening. Brave Cellindien was a strong fea and Rostoriel knew it. It was worth it, all the waiting and tears and sleepless nights beneath the stars. Rirossel also gazed at the intertwined Elves. Her heart was warmed at the sight. The sisters stared at them watchfully, prepared to prevent any more attempts along the cliffs. Macil opened his eyes. He did not dream of Macilon that night. He felt the warm comfort of Cellindien's folds. Embroidered green flowed onto silken glimmering, gold, and, black, and red. His eyes darted to his right. He remained still and quiet, waiting to see if Cellindien had awakened. Cellindien was turning restlessly, a slight frown on her face. At first, exhausted, rest had come easily. Then, the memories of what had happened returned. Her eyes opened and she sat up quickly, covering her face with her hands. Macil sat-up beside her, "Cellindien............." He found the voice still raging within his head, "She is Finlos!" But he had recognized Saelbainor's wisdom in the midst of a real crisis, and he had tried to forsake his self-pitying attempt to restore the past. It was better to cling to timeless things, than the world that perished long ago. And if something ancient survived.......then it was timeless. She groaned softly. "What have I done..." Macil fought to stay in the present moment. She was once Finlos. Findelos. But now she was Cellindien. And he was no longer Rostor of the past, of Gondolin, burned and broken within the vale, now lost forever beneath the sea. He heard her speak, understanding her precisely. "What I nearly did to myself...... we have saved each other. Saelbainor was right...................Listen.......Rostor always tried to guide Finlos, looking upon her as some lost child with a cruel father. He bedazzled her eyes with dances and feigned eagle-flights, he wrapped his arms and cape around her, and over her. And then he lost her..... for whole Ages of this world........... but: Macil is now staring at you, Cellindien, not up on some high, vain, pedestal. And he sees a strong elleth, brave and true, with fortitude. He does not need to bedazzle her with trivialities. He sees her, for who she truly is. If courage had a name, then her name is Cellindien." And it took Macil a ton of courage to utter those words, as he fought himself, the ghostly spirits of the past within."Cellindien........ Finlos once found a wounded ellon, a terribly foolish ellon, standing on the doorstep of death, lost in a cave, fodder for the shadowed beasts. By light of crystal, and through her strength, we came out alive. With some help from Sararwa, of course. But now.......Let Macil help guide you, out of this cave. The cavern of despair that is haunted by shadows of the past. The daylight shines anew. And we have no need for crystalline lights. For all we need is hope." Cellindien laughed softly. "Some help? We did nothing. Brave, foolish, young Sararwa was the only one who could see the light. I... Finlos... truly was a lost child, and I am no longer lost. But I am weary, so weary..." "Normally, Cellindien...... Rostor would tell you to come unto his arms. But Rostor is gone, buried forever in the past. Embrace Macil, Cellindien........ that we may both feel strength to cure our weariness." Saelbainor sat nearby, having awakened. He did not say a word, for he watched them in silence, impressed. Her hair was quite long now, and it hung loose and tangled from the night's rest about her shoulders and back. The absence of armor, unusual on their weeks of journeying together, softened her appearance even further until she seemed nearly as young as Finlos had been. But there was a hardness to her jaw and shoulders that had not been there even through the trials of Gondolin. "I have hope that the war will be won, Macil," she said quietly. She turned, looking him steadily in the eyes. "It is not for the war that I despair. Will you help me, Macil? For I have a duty to fulfill, and I fear my sword will falter." Macil nodded, "Yes. It shall be mine as well." And the sun beamed on the dell on the Ridge. And Macil's long, fiery hair streamed gently on gusts of wind. And Macil smiled, "And I will protect you, my strong, enduring friend." Then they deeply embraced...... They would bond as brother and sister, until the Quest was done, for now. Thunder clapped in the distance. Auruiron and Melimwe had gazed at the distant fires amongst a land of stone that was roughly one day away from the Ridge. Dawn began to approach, but the thunderheads now thundered above them. Then they began to ride toward the land of stone, where they had spied signs of battle.... and life.....and Macil and Cellindien rode side by side. Edited by Ioristion, Sep 4 2016, 07:15 PM.
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| Ioristion | Mar 13 2016, 10:37 AM Post #73 |
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Chapter XLVXXXI: A Cheerless Dawn At dawn, it rained. The slopes were filled with the muck of mud. Ioristion slid down the slope. Gold vanished beneath caked brown. And their clothes were sopping wet. The crystalline drops flowed like waterfalls down their backs. The Ridge sloped around until gradually it fell gently toward the vast fog-ridden plains below. They had walked their steeds down the slope. Some of the lighter-toned horses were also drenched with mud from where they floundered and stammered their hooves into the deep mud of the muddy slope. When they reached the bottom, they remounted their steeds and slowly meandered through the fog together. Faint wisps of holly trees jutted forth from the fog. Gone were the days of mirth and splendour. It tore at Ioristion's heart. Endless dancing and flamboyancy fluttered through his mind, as faint as the winds that brushed chill against his damp garb. Gone were the days of mirth and splendour. He thought of his mother and how her bones were resting in the southern cradle of soil that used to be his dwelling place. He thought of her reaching desperately from the soil, desperately to embrace her son, as desperately as any dead elven maiden could. He wished he could slay the Yrch that slew her, but the Yrch was long dead. The Yrch also stained the soil, but the Elven battle cries whirled from the heart of the desperate land, a land now bereft of life, a land enshrouded in fog. No lightning struck. Auruiron had felt similar thoughts concerning his late wife. He also felt the pains gripping at the marrow of his fea. He felt the soil crying in its desperation. He also felt how blessed the land was. The touch of the Eldar also remained in the soil. He hoped the mortals would feel that touch far more than the desolation of the Lord of the Rings. In time, the rain ceased, and the sun pierced the clouds. The clouds gravitated toward the Misty Mountains and shrouded their peaks beneath their shadows. But now the sun was hot, the rain displaced by their sweat. Edited by Ioristion, Mar 13 2016, 10:41 AM.
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| Ioristion | Mar 13 2016, 10:38 AM Post #74 |
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Chapter XLVXXXII: Beyond the Riverbed By mid-afternoon, they came to what appeared to be the remains of an old, dry riverbed. Melimwe had noticed this riverbed from afar, and that it led directly to the conflict. And so it became their road. They reached the place they sought by late-evening, as the sun was beginning to set again. "Halt!" Yelled an ellon from atop a boulder, his arrow drawn from the quiver and set tightly to the string. Auruiron revealed himself, and the ellon yelled, "My Lord! Quick! Get all of you in here, before they come again!" They quickly entered a complex of strangely-shaped boulders, some of which concealed caverns. They took refuge in the planning-cave. "Ada!" Fareon yelled. Father and son embraced. Auruiron inquired, "And where are these fiercesome foes?" Then Fareon went-on to tell them that they had lost five good men, brave warriors of the First Age. Auruiron's head fell downcast. Fareon continued, "The truth of the matter is that we're surrounded. Lerinon is likely with Inheroth and several of the others, attempting to find where the orcs and wargs are coming from." Auruiron stammered, "Is he mad? Are they mad? They could be surrounded!" Fareon stammered, "You know how rash the Prince Heir of Doriath can be!" Auruiron rolled his eyes, or tried to, betraying his inner grief and terror, "I know..... What is the current status of our position?" Fareon nodded, "These caverns are smaller, not deep. We have searched them thoroughly. We have used the stones to our advantage, and we lite barricades of fire from the old, fallen branches. We still have a stock-pile of them gathered in the caves. These Wargs and Orcs fear fire, "Ghash" in their foul tongue. Ioristion approached them, "My sister.... good brother...... what have we done.................. I have allowed our father to lead us into a rout." Auruiron's eyes glared, "I heard that, son. Tell me..... would the Heir of Amath Naru abandon all his followers for doom, carrion for the birds and beasts?" Macil turned to Cellindien, sighing, "I am beginning to think the Ridge was safer for us........" She was pale. "More than you know...." She hurried to Ioristion as he neared them. "Fire, Ioristion, they fear fire! I know what I felt... we cannot fight this..." Ioristion's face fell pale at the mere mention of it. Auruiron glared, "Felt what?" Ioristion suddenly began to laugh loudly, "Oh it was nothing but darkness, we were very afraid and lost in shadows, do not worry yourself about it. I am more concerned for the wargs." Ioristion's eyes dropped the hint. Cellindien glared. "You cannot intend........you do. You still intend to keep your silence? Ioristion, there are lives at stake, and you worry for your pride!" Saelbainor yelled, "HUSH! Listen............." There was a sound of howling. The winds were wailing. Fareon's eyes gleamed in terror, "To positions.......... MAKE HASTE!" They drew their swords. The Noldor had already prepared the fires. The blood-churtling snarling came from beyond the blaze. The stench of Yrch came with the wind. |
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| Ioristion | Mar 13 2016, 10:39 AM Post #75 |
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Chapter XLVXXXIII: A Land of Stone The Elves had taken their positions. Their limbs were sore from the sour days of long, hot riding beneath the sun. They were tired and weary when they arrived at the camp. And they had lost sight of their quest. For now the night was young, and the wargs were many, howling and chilling their warm blood that churtled in their veins as they heard the fell howls drifting toward them on the wind, the gnashing of teeth and grunting of Yrch beyond the flaming wooden barricades before them between the stones. Auruiron had made his strategic error, for the world had been his feasting ground, his land to trod, without a whim or concern for the harshness that bred in the deep, dark places of the heart of Arda, rising to consume and wither all the green world that grows. The wargs had not tasted elf-flesh, the tender, pale, soft skin, the warm blood and strong bones, in an Age. The land of stone had become a fanged maw that slowly began to close, to gnash and consume the Noldor within. But they were strong as they stood in the ruined land, against the shadow, the Noldor of legend rising from the broken, ruined stones. They had suffered broken bones before, attaining scars from the Doom, in the darkest of nights in the old downfallen West, Beleriand, lost forever beneath the glimmering, sunlit sea and churning foam that lapped lightly on white shores before the green world that stretched before it. They had seen the terror of the coming of Glaurung, and the rising of all the Balrogs. They had fought beneath the stars and beside the sea and in the passes and mounts and vales, fen and forest. They had endured the Shadow. They had stood through the worst of defeats before the Gates of Angband, on the plains of Ard Galen, the great, green grass smothered in ashen soot and smoke, chocked in poison beneath a dawnless day. They had endured the treacheries, including their own, the deepening, fruitless, unending pain, of having slain their own sisters and brothers, sons and daughters. An Age had ended, as another Age began, as they were deceived yet again by a Gift-less Lord of all the Rings, breaking their final bastion of greatness forever, leaving the ruined land behind. Yet the memory of the Eldar was upon the land. And the fertile land grew despite their absence. And the vestiges of torture remained, while the vestiges of strength grew, taller than the Three Peaks of Hadhodrond, higher than the clouds, brighter than the Sun. They clenched their teeth on this shadowed night, they gripped their blades, stern and stout. Their armor was unloaded from where it had been tethered to the rear barding of the horses. The Eldar never liked putting barding on any steed, preferring to ride, fair and free in the steady, strong footfall of natural hooves without the clanging of iron horse-shoes. But the time had come when the practical overcame the ideal. The horses were panicking, as their masters spoke soft words. A hundred horses and ninety-five Elves. Some of the Noldor had gathered them in a herd, speaking softly and sweety in their Sindarin. But the sweet song of gentle words was harmed by the rising tide of demonic howling breaking on the stone. The Elves had made a makeshift gate to protect the horses in a stone canyon nearby, while the entrances to the Elves' position were barricaded further, bolstered, and set ablaze. Some of the Elves remained on wood-duty with the stocks, to replenish the dwindling supplies. They had ranged at daylight for hours, collecting and dragging the wood: strong, sweaty backs beneath a hot, baking sun. They could not flee. The plains stretched forth for days. Lerinon and his party had barely escaped their foes on a four day's journey to the East, and back again, while the wargs followed the trail of their scent. They knew the wargs moved twice as fast, ahead of the Yrch. They knew they would've been surrounded on the plains on one fateful nightfall, if they had tried to flee with no means of defense. And they had slain many as they held-out, night after night, for twenty days. And on each day, they had scoured more wood, ranging farther through the woods, till they could travel half a day away, and half a day on their return, using makeshift carts. Lerinon had aroused the wargs when he had been sent in advance, with others, to scout the Redhorn, to see if they could reach Lothlorien. It had ended in disaster. Five Noldor had perished in ambush, fighting valiantly to the death, granting Lerinon and the others the chance to escape. They had told themselves that story. That the wargs would have outrun them, even with them on horseback. But the real truth was Fareon's inexperience, and the others' respect for his command, knowing the real truth: Auruiron had ordered them to hold central Eregion and to await his arrival. They held-out, following his daft orders. It was ever a disaster. They tried to sing to Elbereth at nightfall, gazing at the stars. All they could do was cling to hope, despite the folly of it all. The reinforcements were few, and the night was young. Edited by Ioristion, Mar 21 2016, 06:49 PM.
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| Ioristion | Mar 15 2016, 07:04 AM Post #76 |
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Chapter XLVXXXIV: The Assault Deepens Macil clenched his teeth as Amarthon, Auravon, Sainion, and Yucalwe united in their ancient battle-formation from the Last Alliance. They placed themselves between Ioristion and Cellindien and the flaming gap between the stones before them. The boulders were cliff-like and towered above their heads. Feral eyes peered from beyond the flames as the chilling howls grew nearer. The rest of the Host had prepared their positions. The boulders formed a ring with two clusters in the middle. There were four major gaps to defend. The sound of arrows pierced the air and several wargs fell. The Yrch began to fire deadly poison-tipped arrows over the flames. Yucalwe and the others dug deep into the soil in their phalanx as their shields protected them from such deadly darts. Strong were the crafts of the Eldar. Several Yrch suicidally ran forward with a large stone slab that gang-wayed across the flames. Yrch and wargs poured across the slab and Yucalwe called for a measured retreat as they stabbed and swung at the approaching Horde. Other Eldar entered the fray beside them. One of them yelled, "Get back, Macil! We'll hold this front. Protect the Prince!" The Eldar closed rank and formed a strong barrier. Yucalwe and the others remained nigh the front as Macil retreated toward the planning cave. Several Yrch had run past the barrier and Macil struck and swung as his star-dimmed rusty hair flew behind him. He held his ground. The phalanx closed the gap. Macil stumbled back into the planning cave. Ioristion sat there cowering as he was oft to do. Macil snapped, "Is this the brave healer who defended our encampment in Gorgoroth?" Ioristion peered outward from his cloak, "Forgive me, brother! I have lost my taste for battle... I lost it with my mind long ago." Macil glared, tossing a nearby sword before him: "Arm yourself or you will lose far more than your mind this night!" Macil turned to Cellindien, "What hope have we......." She emerged from a side chamber, helmet under one arm. Her face was grim. "Do you see smoke?" Macil sighed, "The flames were lit, but the Yrch have stone slabs and they have crossed the thresholds. We are holding them back but they seem endless and the shadows are deep." Ioristion muttered, "What folly is this...... we sealed the door! This is impossible!" Macil stammered, "Have you forgotten the fact that Dwarf-doors open from the inside?" Then he noticed Lerinon cowering beside his brother. Macil stammered again, "And you are even worse!" Lerinon wimpered, "This is all my fault..... my vain fault..... we needed provisions and......" Cellindien gasped and glared at Ioristion. "...From the inside?" She shook her head and murmured to herself. "But no smoke. Not yet. Perhaps...." She raised her voice. "Enough! We fight!" Macil finished the sentence: "And you managed to muster an entire Yrch and warg army to throw down on us. Congratulations! Now where did they come from? Hadhodrond? Were you snooping-around for treasure, brothers?" Ioristion wimpered, "...................yes!" Macil sighed, "Yes, Cellindien, we must fight. Now you keep guard at the entrance, and I'll............ "I'll return to the front. I hear it getting closer....." She had stepped off to one side, tying her long hair out of the way before settling the helmet on her head. She listened quietly, hearing him out before shaking her head. "Stay towards the rear. We guard our brother together... if you are at too great a distance you will not be able to hear if there is trouble in the cave." Macil nodded to Cellindien. She turned towards Ioristion. "If you will not fight, keep the sword close. I will wait near the mouth of the cave should any parties come this way. Call if you have need of me." Ioristion nodded shamefully. Outside the cave, Yucalwe rallied his troops and prepared to make his stand. The wargs weighed heavily upon them and several Eldar had fallen, their blood staining the soil, dark and deep in the light of the stars. "Endless tears shall ye shed." The defense wavered. "And none shall hear thy cries." The Enemy began its advance. By now, the fires were out, and they found themselves relying purely on their nightly senses, their keen wits and eyes. They had fought beneath the stars before. |
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| Ioristion | Mar 21 2016, 09:33 AM Post #77 |
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Chapter XLVXXXV: A Forced Retreat Cellindien drew her sword, nodding for Macil to go first. "Now, hurry! You are right, I hear them coming." She was in motion even as she spoke, hurrying through the cave and towards the greater darkness without. She paused at the cave's mouth, sparing a glance at the stars before focusing her attention on the battle. Macil nodded and ran ahead through the shadows. He smelt the stench of death and heard the scything of swords and the twinging of bows, the brisk sound of arrows amidst a whirlpool of chaotic sound: roaring amidst howls and death throes. He bumped into Amarthon. There was a great gash and blood dripping faintly from his forehead. Yucalwe sounded the retreat. But the Enemy had not yet touched the horses and they had not yet breached the other gaps in the land of stone. Cellindien saw the same shadows, smelt the same scents, but from a distance that could not solely be explained by her vantage point. The struggles of the past weeks had not yet left her, and her sword and shield felt heavy. She shifted in place, trying to ease the ache in her shield arm, and it was then that she caught the first sound. Footfalls, rapid and uneven, were approaching. She turned towards them, raising her sword. A second later her heart began to pump fiercely and she stood absolutely still, hoping that the enemies would simply pass by. A second more and she knew better. She shouted just as the first foul creatures came into view. "Macil! The cave!" She braced herself, managing one more shout, and then she was overtaken. Yrch spilled from about the rock formations, pressing towards the cave. Not a full wave... a scouting party, perhaps? But there were too many for one sword and she found herself being surrounded, pressed away from the cave's entrance. "Macil!!!" Macil was lost in the turmoil. He was dragging Amarthon back toward the horses and the healers, and then the front two forces combined. They were wedged-in now between both enemy forces. Several more fell in the chaos. Yucalwe called for renewed formations. The Enemy was thinning, but they could not discern this fact in the deepening shadows. Cellindien's arm was aching. Her broken shield arm had yet to heal fully, and with each blow upon the shield she fell back a step, unable to brace against it. She was weary, but with each step back the enemy came nearer to Ioristion, all but defenseless in the cave. She grit her teeth, then, with a fierce howl, charged forward. Her sword smashed through the hilt of a spear. The following shield thrust sent an orc crashing to the ground. Another thrust and another enemy fell, but it was not enough. Now Auruiron's wrath was stirred. He lost sight of time and space in the midst of the chaos. He had watched Yucalwe's lines from afar, as he had observed Macalaure's forces as they had marched in various campaigns. But now the old Fall of Eregion became fused within their current plight. And he imagined, and for a time believed, that Annatar stood over the crest of the hill beyond the stones. As centuries earlier, Auruiron charged rashly into a horde of Yrch that attempted to waylay the healers in the rear. The horses stamped their hooves and some rose on their hind legs and some neighed wildly while others sweated in their terror. Melimwe hastefully leaped in front of Auruiron and shoved his shield into the horde. His spear gleamed like Aeglos in the moonlight. The horde was small. They did not survive the wrath of the Eldar. |
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| Ioristion | Mar 21 2016, 09:35 AM Post #78 |
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Chapter XLVXXXVI: Risen from the Ashes Macil dimly heard Cellindien's call and rushed back toward the caves to find her waylaid by another horde. He charged. Cellindien's brief charge had been effective in causing damage, but she cursed as she realized that it had cost her control. Several orcs separated from the main group, sprinting for the cave and the scent of elf-flesh. "NO!" She cried, trying to turn, but it was no good. She felt a blow to her side and had to look away, struggling to stay on her feet. It was only seconds now. Ioristion heard the clanging of metallic boots landing harshly on the damp floor of the cave. Lerinon whispered, "Hush now." Ioristion was wimpering. Lerinon smiled, "I smell them." He swiftly embraced his brother, "Hold on tight and do not look at them." But Ioristion turned wildly, "No, my Prince." He grabbed the sword and stood, and with a loud cry, he vanished in the shadows. He stared directly into the fell eyes of the Yrch. The eyes were bugged-out wide. Ioristion could not see Macil's blade piercing the Yrch's chest. Then Ioristion beheaded it. Macil turned without a word, destroying the other Yrch around him. "Cellindien," Macil thought. He ran toward the cave-mouth. She managed two parries. Then a mace landed with fell strength upon Cellindien's shield. She felt the arm beneath yield and collapsed. By the time Macil reached the cave-mouth all the yrch had fled or fallen. Their foul carcasses reeked, dark stains spreading from them into the dirt. No elf or yrch remained standing. Macil quickly gazed among the corpses as terror seized him. There was movement. Among the fallen, a figure rose to its knees, a dark cloak fluttering in tatters about it. It was bent over something, examining it, and when it straightened it bore a familiar helmet in its hands. Macil upheld his sword before him, gripping it tightly. The figure looked up sharply, face obscured by the hood. "You!" The voice was painful harsh, unrecognizable as Elven though the speaker spoke in Sindarin. "A healer! She lives." Ioristion observed the scene and quickly ran for a healer. For Macil charged violently toward the figure, poised to strike. The figure made no move to defend himself. Instead, he reached for his hood, pulling it back. Beneath was the face of an elf... but only half. Half of the face was pale and lean, marked with shadows and crossing scars. The other was destroyed, dark, ropy scars twisting from forehead to chin, wrapping viciously down and underneath long dark hair that was tangled from neglect. Macil halted his advance, "I recognize thy face...... Luingil. I'll never know how you escaped from Gondolin. You, who wished to slay me. You, whose oppressive steel dared to offend thy own daughter! Oh that is right, you desired a son. She is far greater than any son or heir. Give me a good reason as to why I should not have you thrown from the peaks of the Hithglaer!" Ioristion came back with Rostoriel and Melimwe. Melimwe's eyes glared, "You!" Melimwe turned to Macil, "Rostor......... do not be hasty. Do not seek to sully your blade and become a kinslayer. I am already counted among them, even if wrongfully. Beware!" Macil laughed, "Yes, by all means, let him live so that he may yet torment us, as his visage, a ghostly memory, hath haunted us for nearly two Ages of this world!" Melimwe advanced, "Stay thy blade. Rostoriel, Ioristion, take Cellindien to safety." Melimwe turned to Luingil, "I suppose that we should prepare ourselves for quite a remarkable story. But first, there are Yrch to contend with. Quick, we must make haste to Yucalwe and the others!" Luingil remained on his knees, the helmet held in his hands. He did not speak. But before Rostoriel and Ioristion could approach, Cellindien groaned. Immediately Luingil turned, the helmet falling from his limp hands. His lips moved soundlessly and he reached one hand towards her, hesitantly brushing her shoulder. She stirred, and cried out softly, and the elf spoke again, his voice pained. "Healer!" Ioristion and Rostoriel obeyed. Melimwe seized Macil by the shoulders, "She is in good hands. We must survive the night!" And Macil kept gazing back reluctantly as Melimwe marched him away. |
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| Ioristion | Mar 22 2016, 06:57 PM Post #79 |
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Chapter XLVXXXVII: Broken They carried Cellindien back into the side-chamber of the cave. Lerinon said nothing as he saw them carrying her. He felt naught but shock, the guilt slowly rising. They carried her to a place for her to rest on the hard, cold floor of the cave. Ioristion grabbed her cloak and swathed her in it, believing in its healing qualities. She had sustained damage to her ribs and she was clearly unconscious, a deep bruise visible on her head. Her arm was broken anew. Rostoriel called for wood for a fire and Lerinon suddenly appeared in the doorway, volunteering to find wood. He gave a wooden nod and ran, terror rising. He was ever a coward and he knew it. The sounds of battle rose in haste as the main lines grew closer. The Enemy was thinning and Yucalwe had called for a charge. Luingil remained near the cave's mouth. He had risen to his feet as Cellindien was lifted, followed a few paces, then turned, taking up a silent vigil outside. He stood, not tall and straight as was common for elvenkind, but to one side and stooped, leaning on the hilt of his spear. Amarthon Amarthandor slept silently on the precipice of death as the healers struggled near the horses. They struggled to revive him and his breaths grew fainter and fainter. Melimwe and Macil arrived to tend to him, but failed to account for the depth of the gash in his forehead. And Macil cradled him as he died. But Melimwe suddenly bathed Amarthon in his cloak and began to pray to Elbereth beneath the stars as he chanted. And Amarthon's blood began to clot and his swollen face began to calm as his breath gently returned. Macil then demanded to return to the front and Melimwe said nothing. Now Lerinon reached the front for a fiery brand, but it was hard to reach. Yucalwe kept the lines intact. Lerinon then turned to look among the archers. "Inheroth! Where are you, Inheroth!" Inheroth let loose an arrow, and lowered his bow the moment Lerinon's voice rose above the sound of battle. "Here, brother!" he exclaimed, rushing towards Lerinon's side, taking in his expression with a keen eye. "What is wrong? What has happened?" "It's all wrong," Lerinon heaved. "And it is all on my account..... cover me whilst I grab a flaming brand. We need fire for the healing at the cave. Cellindien has been injured......" Inheroth nodded, even as his own face grew pale. "Yucalwe's line holds. I will go with you. Hurry! You are protected for now; but I cannot linger, for we are in need of archers. Go!" Lerinon made the mad dash to the front, grabbing a brand and singing his hand as he ran. He ignored the pain and continued to run back towards the cave. As he ran, he barely heard Yucalwe announcing the defeat and withdrawal of the Enemy forces. A watch was set as several Noldor labored to re-barricade the gaps, dragging the corpses of the slain away from the flames. They had been one hundred strong Eldar and now they had lost twenty of their ranks, including the five who fell upon the Redhorn. Some of them had been born in Beleriand while others had hailed from the West itself. Now they were dead, forced to retire to the soil, after thousands of years of false dreams. Lerinon beckoned to Inheroth as he ran toward the cave. Inheroth followed quickly. He heard the sound of the Enemy's withdrawl distantly, and though his heart was gladdened that the day was won, he felt the urgency of his brother's footsteps, felt the fear surrounding him like a thick fog. He would not keep Lerinon from his sight, and into the cave they went. Luingil was crouched on the ground as they approached the cave. He rose, lifting the spear, then let it settle and slowly moved to the side to let them pass. They ran into the side-chamber and Rostoriel had prepared a pot with water from her flask and athelas herbs. She cradled the pot above the brand and endured the heat, ultimately burning her hands and fighting through the pain. Ioristion took a fold of his cloak and carefully draped it into the pot, and then removed it, turning it into a salve for Cellindien's head. Cellindien had begun to stir as the pot heated, roused by the scent of the athelas. When her eyes opened, she immediately tried to sit up and fell back with a gasp. "Ior...brother..." And Lerinon broke-down and cried. Edited by Ioristion, Mar 22 2016, 07:01 PM.
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| Ioristion | Mar 25 2016, 06:49 AM Post #80 |
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Chapter XLVXXXVIII: The Catalogue of the Fallen Calandil had been born beneath the silver eaves of Telperion. He had dwelt in the northern half of Tirion, and he had followed Macalaure to the East. His eyes had shined like silver, and melodic was his voice, strong and stern. He had dwelt in the belief of the Prince's return. He had dwelt with his family under Auruiron's auspices. He had followed Auruiron through grief and woe. Now he was dead, his silver-grey eyes still gazing upward at the stars. Now he was dead, his neck torn asunder by warg's jaws, his blood pouring into the ancient grass, to become dust among the soil. Now he was dead, slain by folly. His brother, Eldacalo, suffered a similar fate at his side. Of the other eighteen, there were Elvion and Fairo, Hellon and Ilco, Ilmo and Ilon. And there were Iton and Itano, Lauron and Nalto, Rillon and Rilmo and Rilyo. And of the five who perished on the Redhorn, there were Rigelemo, Sildo, Tino and Tinwion, and Winyaro. They had been born on the slopes of Telperion and Laurelin, in the mountainous lands of Himring and Nevrast, in the caverns of Nargothrond, and on the central plains of Beleriand. They had all dwelt as they waited for the lone bard on the shores of the sea. Their prayers were answered, and death was the day's ending. Ripped necks and shorn chests and flayed limbs, blood pouring as if libations beneath the stars. The voice of Mandos wailed with the howling on the wind, the fell voices through the air that chilled their hearts. Now they were dead, and folly killed them. Thousands of years of life and love and joy and dancing and sorrow and waiting and weeping had all vanished in an evening. Yucalwe set the survivors who were not on the watch to the burial of the dead. They prepared funeral pyres on the lower, flatter stones, and great and terrible was the smoke that rose toward the stars, the endless firmament that alone proclaimed their hope in the midst of despair. Lerinon had wandered to the mouth of the cave. He did not dare come too close to Luingil. He remained in sorrow, silent tears still streaming down his cheeks as the smoke arose amidst the flames. "Cellindien," Ioristion whispered as she awoke. "The battle is won." "Good..." She looked confused and tried to sit up again, more carefully this time. "Where is he?" Ioristion's eyes grew wide, "How could he have.......... he is standing watch at the entrance." Inheroth canted his head, his eyes questioning even as he remained silent. The atmosphere around them was thick with sorrow, but as Cellindien woke, the mood abated slightly. "He is hurt. I must..." She winced and pressed her uninjured arm to her ribs. "Tend to him, he has saved my life..." Ioristion sighed and prepared to leave, but Rostoriel stopped him: "No. Let me go, my husband. Let Luingil suffer with the fact that he was healed by our House, the House he loathed." She took a cloth and wet it in the athelas and maneuvered toward the entrance. Rostoriel said nothing as she passed Lerinon. She waited to be acknowledged before she would dare approach Luingil. He did not move as she approached, perhaps did not see her or even Lerinon. His eyes were distant, and from time to time he swayed. His side was wet with blood. Oddly, the once-swordmaster bore no blade. No sword at his waist, no knife at his belt. He bore only the spear on which he leaned. "Luingil," Rostoriel spoke. "You are injured....." He looked at her. "I am Aegnil. It will not bleed much more. My daughter...?" Rostoriel paced slowly around him, eyeing him curiously, "So you have acknowledged her as your daughter and sought to change your name. She lives." Rostoriel held-out the gauze. "She was overwrought." He watched her, eyes unreadable. After a minute he took the gauze with a nod of thanks, opening his garment and pressing it against the wound. "What duty bound her there?" Rostoriel did not speak, for she did not desire to implicate her husband. She turned and returned to the side-chamber. Lerinon turned to his right, seeking Inheroth. Slowly Inheroth approached Lerinon's side, where he remained hovering, unwilling to break the strange silence between them. Aegnil was unknown to him, and Inheroth stared, for he could clearly see that there was history between this Elf and the others. He would ask Lerinon of the Elf in private, later. Lerinon glared, his eyes growing wider. He did not speak. His tears remained veiled within the shadows. Aegnil was silent again. He had followed Rostoriel's retreat with his eyes until she disappeared. Now he turned his attention to Lerinon and his companion. He moved towards them. Inheroth clasped Lerinon's arm, his hand warm and protective, chin lifted not in pride but with fortitude. Lerinon gazed downward at the hard, cold floor of the cave. He gulped as he heard the slow approach of Aegnil Luingil. Aegnil raised an open hand. He appeared even more tired and worn than before, as if their response weighed down upon him. "Peace... I mean only to ask if I am needed." Lerinon could not speak. He could not dare to reveal the source of his guilt, of his folly. Inheroth squeezed Lerinon's arm reassuringly, his voice gentle as he spoke. "If you are asking if we are injured...no. Not gravely. It is our hearts that are heavy." His gaze softened, and he looked downward. "There were many losses," Aegnil acknowledged. "But you cannot stand guard this way. I will watch for you, if need be." Lerinon merely nodded. Inheroth meant to protest, but thought better of it. There was no fight left within him. Solemnly he nodded as well, and he heaved a great sigh, bone-weary and sore from battle. Aegnil nodded again, then turned to go, moving away from the cave in search of a better vantage point. Night fell and the moon waned and Lerinon collapsed against the wall. Weariness overtook his senses and darkness shrouded his eyes. At dawn, the ashes were buried. Macil was kept away from the cave by Melimwe, who was shielding his wrath away from Aegnil Luingil. Auruiron summoned Yucalwe and Fareon and received his full report. He wept and wept and wept and could not contain his tears, and part of him desired to order the survivors to return to Minas Noldorion, where they would spend the rest of their days in sorrow. The Leaves had taken Macalaure. Auruiron yelled aloud at the sky, crying aloud to the Valar, and none replied. There was only the desperate wind flowing through the fading, blood-soaked grass. Fareon whispered to Melimwe, "We must leave. We cannot linger hither. The Yrch may yet return." Melimwe sighed, "Their force appeared to have been routed, but you are correct. We cannot risk another assault. How fares Cellindien?" Fareon shook his head, "I found my brother unconscious against a cave-wall. Inheroth was watching-over him. And Cellindien...... she is wounded again, as she was in Imladris." Melimwe nodded, "We shall have to shroud her in her cloak and bind her wounds with it. There is naught further we can do at present. We must reach Ost-en-Edhil and maneuver as far away from the mountains as possible." Macil stammered, "And Luingil?" Melimwe sighed, "She is still his daughter. He shall have to wayfare with us." Macil scowled and turned away, "And we are to leave the ashes of the dead here?" Melimwe nodded, "Unless you would prefer to bear them. Stay with Auruiron, I must see to the wounded. We must leave within the hour." |
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12:43 AM Jul 11