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16. Wind-Singers Volume II: The Artifact; Ioristion, Cellindien, and others, in the aftermath of The Hunt.
Topic Started: Jul 11 2015, 07:39 PM (893 Views)
Ioristion

Chapter XLVXXXIX: Grace Under Pressure

Melimwe wept inwardly for the fallen. He did not falter in his duties. Of the wounded, there were many, but greater still was the strength and endurance of the Eldar. The air was filled with the scent of herbs of healing. Many a wound was tightly bound. Most of the wounds were neither deep nor terrible. The fallen had suffered from the hazards of any battle: a stray arrow, a well-placed thrust. They also piled the Yrch and wargs, which stank in the morning heat, as the sun rose slowly. They set the carcasses aflame.

Yucalwe was much displeased with Lerinon, but Saelbainor protected him. Ever was Saelbainor loyal to the concept of the survival of the Heirs to his downfallen realm.

The names of the dead were writ. A messenger bird could not fly so far across Eriador. A message was sent to Imladris nonetheless, to any who might receive it from Auruiron's Household. There was much weeping among the healers.

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Ioristion

Chapter XLVXL: Southward Bound

With the other wounded, Cellindien was declared fit to travel, though there was little choice in the matter. The head wound proved only a minor hindrance, though the
ribs and broken arm were splinted and bound to protect against the ride at hand.

Aegnil did not approach the cave again, remaining at the outskirts of the company. He maintained his accepted duty of keeping watch, some distance apart from any
other and speaking to no one.

Melimwe gave Calandil's steed to Aegnil. Melimwe did not speak. He merely nodded and turned away.

Then Melimwe, Yucalwe, and Fareon rallied the rest of them. The healers ensured that the wounded were prepared for travel. It was all very pleasant and rain clouds
were approaching. The threat of wargs and Yrch, too, was pleasant. There were the pleasantly long leagues to travel beneath a hot and smouldering sun, or the
pleasant, sudden downpours to ruin the bandages and irritate their wounds, and the pleasantly foreign birds to observe their passage.
They mounted their steeds and Macil was furious at Melimwe for forbidding him to ride nigh Cellindien due to Aegnil. Lerinon stayed away from the wounded. Inheroth
was ever his loyal protector.

By mid-morning, they set-out in a westward direction, staying away from the mountains. Their southwestern route would take them far away from the land of stone. By
nightfall on the first day, they camped in a solemn ravine, an old riverbed. The sky opened-up and they were soaked and their wounds were fragile. No Yrch or wargs
attacked that night.

And despite Melimwe's caution, Aegnil remained at a distance, never approaching Macil or any of his house, though he remained always within a stone's throw of the
party of wounded.

The pain was excruciating at times for the wounded. Their conditions varied, but it was ever a toil. They floundered in the unforgiving land, maneuvering along the
river-bed. Slowly and steadily, the ruins of Ost-en-Edhil rose in the solemn distance. They were fragments of a shell of a lost amalgamation of dynasties, lost
memories, all of it lost, the agony and the glory. The old Sirannon trickled into the Glanduin. They rested where the rivers converged. It was the fourth day.
No enemies were in sight, for leagues. They rested wearily, hope slowly rising. They planned to remain there until their wounds became barely tolerable.

Cellindien passed the journey in a haze of pain, aware enough to assist in mounting and dismounting but suffering too much to think of much else. She dozed at times,
sluggish from the head wound, and awoke calling for her father. When the healers offered to summon Macil or Ioristion, she refused, falling silent again. The last
rest was like all others to her. She was helped to dismount and was asleep almost before she was made to liedown on a muddy bed roll with the others. The golden cloak
remained about her at all times.

Melimwe remained silent. His thoughts wandered, "We have lost many, and we have not even parted from Eriador..........shall we lose another twenty before we leave
this accursed land? Or perhaps forty? And how will we survive the long leagues to the East, if to there we must pass through that darkened road......... we have made
it hither so far....." And then it dawned: "We have faced worse........"

Melimwe girded his heart, "We surpassed the Helcaraxe........and all the wars of Beleriand....... we shall endure." Resolved, he slept nigh Auruiron, who had passed
through tormenting moods, from sorrow to an insidious bitterness. Auruiron had coldly slipped inside his cloak, as if a child hiding from nightly terrors. His resolve
warred with his bitter sorrow. He blamed himself for all the deaths, and still, the thought of Guldrambor tormented him. It was only a matter of time.

And in the lingering dark, Yucalwe slipped away with the artifact.

He sat down by the moonlit river, washing his cloak in the Anduin with the artifact by his side. Nothing stirred. When he pulled it from the crystalline moonlit waters, swirling and churning in its currents, the cloak was dry.
Edited by Ioristion, Mar 30 2016, 03:25 PM.
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Ioristion

Chapter XLVXLI: Into the Mirdain

Yucalwe's dark cloak swished among the ruined stones as he spun around the broken stairways into the old shell of a husk that was the Citadel. It was Tirion reborn, the new Gondolin, Feanor's vision of dominance thrust forth into the soil, and now it was naught but a ruined, empty shell, a solemn remnant of a lost people, abandoned and crumbling throughout the sands of time. It was older than any Southron pyramid or tomb, and yet it still endured, persisting, despite the wear and tear of all the ages. Five thousand years had passed. It was a wonder that any ruins could endure that long. Greater still was the skill of Noldorin craftsmen. The Naugrim had aided the Noldor. Hadhodrond had endured far longer. Its ruins remain.

Yucalwe's left hand clutched the artifact as he climbed. It pained him.

As he climbed, Yucalwe felt a darkening vision arise within his mind. He felt burns on his back and neck, a sickening, gasping nausea rising, and the shadows of despair. The pain increased. He fell on his knees in the center of the Citadel. And there in the lingering shadows, he beheld Maitimo's nephew. There stood Celebrimbor, and before him stood a magnificent being. Golden was his mane of hair and brightly many-coloured were his robes and cloak, majestic and beautiful, and Yucalwe gazed into his eyes in awe. But then the being became disfigured, shrouded in shadows, and hideous to behold, a darkly familiar iron helm concealing his face, and darkened armor enshrouding him, as his eyes glowed fiery like a cat's, and as a golden Ring glowed on his blackened finger. Celebrimbor also became disfigured: he was bleeding from head to toe from horrid lashes, and he choked and gagged as he fell onto the floor before the Lord of the Rings. And then the vision ceased, and Yucalwe, too, writhed in agony on the floor, in excruciating pain that pained him from head to toe. He remained in this way until the pain slowly ceased. But the ruined soil and stones remembered. They never forgot or forgave the horror. The shadows grew around Yucalwe, who sheltered himself within the inner crimson of his cloak, hiding as his heart-rate increased, his blood pumping fast in the midst of his terror. The horror had marked him, it stained him, and he knew, with time, it may yet slay him.

He dashed the artifact across the floor.

And slowly, steadily, the artifact began to glow. Yucalwe saw Celebrimbor standing before him anew.

And to Yucalwe's surprise, Celebrimbor spoke, even if only a phantasm of his mind, Yucalwe could not know: "Son of Yuale, servant and seneschal of my uncle....... servant of my father and heir to a past downfallen... Doom forbore thee, Doom hath dogged ye, and Doom shalt strike three. Death hath stalked ye, Death hath sought thee, and Death shalt find thee. Life hath wrought thee, Life hath brought thee, and Life shalt save thee."

Yucalwe covered his ears, yelling, "Cryptic verses and horrid nonsense!!! You are naught but a shade of mine own mind."

"Where were thee, when death found me?"

Yucalwe shouted, "I was lost and forlorn!"

"Where were thee, when he caught me?"

Yucalwe shouted, "I was lost amidst scorn!"

"Where were thee, when he upheld me?"

And in a stroke of thunder, there stood Auruiron nigh the steps. He saw naught but Yucalwe, until his eyes sighted the artifact. Then, Auruiron saw him, Celebrimbor, in a strike of lightning. Auruiron fell to the floor, shouting, "You! You dangled from a..."

And Celebrimbor's corpse hung from a pike.

Auruiron shouted, "THUNDER AND LIGHTNING!"

Celebrimbor spoke from the pike, "Words hath I for thee. Son of Alcarin, child forlorn..."

And Auruiron: "I SHALT NOT HEARKEN!"

And the vision suddenly ceased, with not a cloud in the sky. Auruiron shouted, "Cover it, Yucalwe, with haste before it speaks again!"

And Yucalwe laughed, "It is all naught but our own guilt-ridden imaginations! Celebrimbor cannot commune with us, why, that artifact persuaded us that Rostor was far across the sea with a Maia at his side and downfallen warriors within his company, why! It is all naught but within our minds, how could it be anything else?!"

The vision continued, Celebrimbor rising.

Auruiron shouted, "Not again!!!"
Edited by Ioristion, Mar 28 2016, 04:04 PM.
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Ioristion

Chapter XLVXLII: The Thunder Spake

And the thunder struck. And Auruiron cowered. And the lightning flashed.

He heard the pluck on the strings of the lost harp. He heard it grimly in the morning mists along the barren shores as the solemn surf rose and thrashed and retracted back into the swirling, misty foam of the sea. He heard the cries of battle and the deaths of Elves and men. He heard the far-calls of horns and the unfurling of banners and the charging of horses. He heard their hooves hammering down into the soil as they charged. He heard the long wailing voice again, wailing out of the far north. Then it was silenced.

He heard the cries of the gulls. The sea did not call to him. It cried and he cried and the gulls cried because he could not hearken to it. He could not hearken to the sea's blood-throttling crying. The verses of the Doom thundered in his fea as he wept as he stared into the mists. And Celebrimbor's voice wailed, "Since thee wilt not hearken, thee hath seen."

The mists lifted. They lifted revealing new foam, new waves, crashing on stranger shores beneath strange stars in a strange land. The mists lifted, revealing the long steppes and desert sands. A light shined upon the shore, swallowed in shadow, vanishing into its own darkness. A spark of light remained, dimmed, and nearly veiled from sight. The mists returned.

Then the mists lifted again and he was in Eregion again and he was no longer afraid of thunder or lightning or of anything. He felt the excruciating pain and cried from it, while clenching his teeth and girding his heart. Celebrimbor had vanished, the artifact sitting solemnly on the ruined stones in the husk of the once-great Citadel of Ost-en-Edhil. He grasped it and felt the pain and bore it, and Yucalwe did not dispute it. They passed, side by side, through the ruined archways and down the stairs, and back across the plains toward their camp.

"What did you find?" Melimwe charged them to answer as soon as they reached the camp.

Yucalwe smiled, "We found compassion."

"And the jewel?"

Auruiron girded his heart, "The tides of destiny..."

Melimwe did not question them further that night.
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Ioristion

Chapter XLVXLIII: Of Oaths Remembered and Forgotten

Fareon yawned at dawn, opening his eyes to the bright blue sky where tiny wisps of cloud trickled on the horizon. The wounded rested in the sunlight, heat bathing
their clenched faces as their pain slowly subsided. Melimwe took his cloak, coming to them, one by one, administering to their wounds by dabbing them with the cloak.

When it was Amarthon's turn, he flinched and clenched his teeth and turned away, but Melimwe touched his face gently, reassuringly, and there was a surge of pain
followed by a deepening gentleness, the pain hastily subsiding, as if a fresh, clean crest of a foamy wave had washed over him.

Cellindien was awake when Melimwe passed near her bedroll, sitting up with her back pressed against a chunk of rubble. She was watching the wounded, eyes glancing to
and fro as if searching. "Melimwe. Have I dreamed?"

Melimwe turned and knelt gently beside her, as he gently stroked her forehead, as he gently smiled, "No, not this time."

"You must not let him leave. He will leave, I think, if he knows I am well. You must find him. I would, but..." She gave him a dry smile. "It seems I have not my old
endurance."

Melimwe smiled, "He haunted your dreams for Ages and now you trust him. I will find him......"

"I do not trust him, but I trust you." She smiled weakly. "And at any rate, I am of little use as a guardian now. My loss... no, I must not think such things."

Melimwe nodded, "I will find him..." And he stood and wandered-over to where Aegnil kept his watch. "My Lord...... my Lord of Gondolin.... pray, tell me of how you
came among us.... for it is a strange meeting that you would find your only daughter in a land bereft... your timing was fortuitous. She is fine and resting now, but
she still does not trust you. We must speak.............for we may yet redress grave wrongs of the past, to yield a greater future......... for all your faults, know
that, at the least, you have my forgiveness.... Aegnil Luingil. Your suffering was grave...... I sense that it remains so....... Come, shall we not begin anew, and
leave the downfallen West beneath the waves?"

Aegnil was crouched on the ground on a gentle rise a short distance from the rest of the camp. He moved only to acknowledge Melimwe with a short nod.
"Melimwe.......... I recall you." His voice was a grating whisper, a painful mockery of the musical voice of the Eldar. "Do you have have need of me,
Melimwe of the Feanorians? I have an oath to fulfill."

Melimwe nodded, "Which part? The part where you slay the perpetrator of thine wife's death, or the part where you protect your daughter until thy own? And tell me,"
Melimwe sat down beside him, "Do you believe that I, Ages later, am fatally attempting to dive to the bottom of the Belegaer, or to fly as far as the stars, or to dig
into the deep places of the world, in search of Silmarils? I have remained on the shores of the sea in search of he who swore such an oath...... but I have found
delay the greater strategy. The mortals call us the Wise...... we who have sworn such oaths foolhardy. Oh....." He turned to gaze at the stars, "Can we not abandon
such words to the past forlorn, along with lands of Eldar-born, and be as we are, grave wanderers beneath the stars? Come, Aegnil. Your daughter has need of thee."

"My oath is whole." Aegnil coughed wetly. "The perpetrator of my wife's death... that power which even now threatens my daughter.... is one and the same. You perhaps
can abandon your oath. I remain slave to my own."

Melimwe weakly smiled, "My oath was fulfilled...... and often times, it is naught but a matter of interpretation. Words are quite fungible. Think, Aegnil, and we may
yet perceive a way out of this dilemma. Pray, tell me the precise words of thine Oath."

Aegnil lifted his spear, bracing it against the ground, and used it to draw himself to his feet. He coughed again. "The smoke. Millenia later, I still taste it..." He
gestured towards his face. "Nevermind. You speak too much. Lead on."

Melimwe nodded, "Fine then. Come, and step by step, I shalt liberate thee as we walk." They stood and began to meander toward Cellindien, and Melimwe continued:
"Thine wife perished from discord in her body, as I have grimly heard, with sorrow. Yet such discord was not borne into the world by thine daughter. It was wrought by
he who decimated Gondolin, the Dark Lord from whence all discord came. He was cast into the Doors of Night, never to return. Thine oath art fulfilled, or at the
least, the worse half of it."

Aegnil laughed, suddenly and loudly. It was a harsh and discordant sound.
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Ioristion

Chapter XLVXLIV: The Interruption

While father and foster-uncle approached Cellindien, a small troop marched toward them from out of the west. They were Ivordir and Daerfalas and Arhbaineth, and they were of the race of Men, Gondorians. With them came several of the Noldor.

Ivordir halted and Yucalwe approached him. Ivordir was robed from neck to toe in a coat of mail of forged links, with a metal hauberk upon his breast, forged not long before their journey. For Yucalwe had brought the ore from Ered Luin to the refuge of the Leaves of Laurelin, iron and bronze and steel as old as the First Age of Arda, and he had forged many gifts in his solemn cavern behind the refuge in the Trollshaws. He had forged swords and armor and he had prepared the young men for hardships in the wild. Yet, ever as he had prepared them, he also sheltered them, for he believed that a great destiny remained with them. Yucalwe, unbeknownst to the others, had probed the artifact even further, catching small glimpses of the future of the men. But he did not tell Ivordir until appointed times, times in which Yucalwe felt that it was right and just.

Ivordir and Daerfalas had beheld the breadth of Eriador from East to West, but only within the presence of the Eldar. They encountered dangers, but they were naught to them, for the Eldar could not be surpassed in strength and skill, not unless they were overwhelmed. But Fareon and Yucalwe ensured that they were not overwhelmed, telling them the places that they should avoid, not knowing that they, themselves, would find themselves within such danger. And so it was that the Eldar were trapped and overwhelmed by Yrch and wargs in a land of stone, and the men were not beside them. For Yucalwe had ordered them to seek a westward path to Tharbad by the Gwaithlo, where they might seek to find anything that might aid them in their final quest, for Yucalwe knew that the old, ruined, town was of Numenorean origins. In truth, it was a test.

When they arrived in Tharbad, there was not much to find within the cavernous ruins. Broken shards of pottery and old, rusted swords could be found here and there. At times, they found old remnants of campsites where ruffians had been. They found that the bridge across the river had been broken. It was a fruitless endeavor, but it spared them from the horrors of the Unwrit Siege of the Land of Stone. On their return journey, they were tested to their mettle when a tribe of wolves assailed them at dusk, and they, too, fought in a land of stone, miraculously defeating all of their foes while enduring only minor scratches from the scuffle.

After Ivordir conferred with Yucalwe, he gazed in awe and horror at the wounded Elves. He had thought the Eldar were invincible. He knelt by Amarthon Amarthandor, not knowing the name of the wounded Feanorian before him, and gently touched his forehead. The Elf nodded and Ivordir touched the blood to his own forehead, marking himself with it. It was a strange feeling.

Yucalwe would not tell Ivordir what he saw in the jewel, the artifact that seemed at times a blessing, and at others, a curse.
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Ioristion

Chapter XLVXLV: My Own Darkness

As soon as the men passed them by, Melimwe and Aegnil resumed their conversation.

Aegnil retorted, "I am not blind, though I may appear as a toothless old dog, shaking with age and cold." He shook his head. "The Dark Lord need not return... his
work continues. It is this I have sworn to battle, Melimwe. This, which threatens to destroy she who survived my..." He faltered for the first time, casting down his
eyes. "...My own darkness." He came to a stop. They neared where the wounded rested. "She is weary also, Melimwe. It is in her eyes and voice. Why is she not bonded,
after all these years? And for whose sake did she fight nigh unto death?"

Melimwe sighed as the men passed by, "He with whom she should have bonded was severed from her when the city fell. They could not find each other, for it was not
their doom to reunite in that Age after the sundering of Beleriand. Of her I have glimpsed something: that she dwelt in Lindon, fostered by another family, and that
eventually, she marched in the Last Alliance. But for he...... his tale differed greatly. For he thought that she was dead, slain in the Court of the Fount by the
Terror of Shadow and Flame that had pursued her. And he came unto this very land in which we stand, where he had some time of a troubled peace, enslaved to his
tortured memories of an Age long buried. Then this land, too, fell to a Dark Lord, and he, too, marched in the Last Alliance, and he followed some whom are now hither
among us. Do you see that dark-tempered Elf nigh the men? He was their commander. It was said that Rostor fell in battle, marred by the mace of the Enemy, yet this,
too, was naught but a nightmare. He was poisoned by the Enemy after briefly sighting your daughter in the battle. He escaped to Minas Anor in a new realm of men,
Gondor. And from here, I thought him perished from his wounds. But he, as you can see, did not perish. He wandered by the shores of the sea in the hope that your
daughter would seek the West, but she never came. And in time, the southern haven was abandoned by the Nandor. And so it was, Aegnil, that Rostor, now known as Macil,
journeyed north in search of her. And his doom returned him to Imladris, where he found her greatly and gravely changed, since he had last seen her, in a burning
Court of the Fount so long ago. That, Aegnil, is the tale I know. You will find that your daughter is strong. She should have bonded with Rostor Macil, but the tides
of time hath severed them gravely. They are as if new Elves now, far different from their brief times of grace and beauty, er Gondolin fell. Does this satisfy you?"

It seemed to suffice. Aegnil was silent, watching Cellindien from afar. "And this elf she guards... Ioristion. A friend?"

Melimwe smiled, "Her brother....... Ioristion is her brother. He returned from the Last Alliance in a state of madness...... and in time, they met..... Ioristion was

Rostor's closest friend er he was deemed lost."

Aegnil paled. "A brother......She fights to spare the life of a brother..." He turned quickly, leaning heavily on his spear, covering his face with the other hand.

Melimwe nodded, "Ioristion's madness has apparently reached its conclusion, although I retain my suspicions...... In any case, the leader of our party, Auruiron, has
adopted her as well....... I must surprise you. As her adoptive uncle, I am now technically your brother as well. If you fear the darkness within you, then trust in
me, for I will not allow your daughter to come to harm, Swordmaster."

"You would promise to protect her? Where were you as she fell such a short time ago?" Aegnil retorted.

Melimwe nodded, "It was chaotic. I was protecting my brother Auruiron at the time. We could banter-on for hours, Aegnil Luingil. Why did the line fail? How did the
Yrch make it so far into our encampment? None can say and none can blame. Only the Yrch deserve our blame."Then Melimwe suddenly laughed,"And I am not the only one
who will protect her. Her foster-father, three foster-brothers, and Rostor most of all, shall remain watchful........ In truth, Ioristion should be able to defend
himself on the field of battle! But in his madness..... he lost it....... and he does not remember..........." And Melimwe continued, "Why, I might return the
question to you. Where were you on the eve of the Last Alliance, on the plains of Gorgoroth in the land of Mordor? Yes, Mordor, Luingil. Mordor. I can hear the
distant rumblings of disgruntled Elves shrinking in terror in their Imladris homes at the mere utterance of that name. Mordor is Angband now. Where were you?"

"I battled elsewhere. Again and again I have battled..." Aegnil lifted his head. "Battled goblin fire as it licked against a peasant's hut. Battled thieves. Raiders.
I saved a human child, pressed into slavery by men fouler than any yrch. I have paid my dues, Melimwe, and I pay them still."

"I do not doubt it, and nor do I blame you. Therefore, do not blame me. Come, shall we not see your daughter now?"

The elf bowed his head for a long moment. Finally he nodded, following the other.

Melimwe knelt alongside Cellindien, "Your father is here."

She nodded, but her eyes were on the hunched figure beside him. Aegnil stepped forward, then slowly lowered himself to his knees. They were silent, both pairs of eyes
shielded, wary.

"Daughter." Aegnil's voice was a mere whisper. "My Finlos... I have feared for you."

"Father." Cellindien watched him. She raised her chin, unconsciously mirroring the posture of a much younger elf in Gondolin in ages past. "I have joined the Guard. I
have served Kings. I am a sworn defender, and I have given my all in this pursuit. Have I brought you honor?"

And Aegnil wept.

Melimwe stood and turned away, and walked until he was nearly out of sight. But he remained watchful in the distance.

Aegnil and Cellindien remained there for many hours. Few words passed between them, but those few were heartfelt. When Cellindien's wounds became too much for her to
bear, the once-Swordmaster gently helped her to lie down. At last she slept, and he remained, keeping vigil at her side.
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Ioristion

Chapter XLVXLVI: A Fiery Fear

At dawn, Macil sought Cellindien. Melimwe was elsewhere. Macil thrust his sword in the ground, the rising sun at his back. "LUINGIL!"

Aegnil witnessed his approach and slowly stood, wary. He was prepared for the cry, but Cellindien was not, startling out of sleep with a cry of pain.

Rostor yelled, "You stay away from her....... you wretched father! You....... fight me! Come now, Swordmaster, let us have one final spar together! I will not let you
destroy her!!!"

Melimwe heard the commotion and quickly ran up the bluff toward the unification of the rivers. He shouted, "You stay away from him, Macil!"

Macil grimly laughed, "Stay out of this Melimwe. It is between us."

Aegnil's eyes darkened, but he made no move to prepare his weapons. Instead, he dropped to his knees, supporting Cellindien.

She was gasping, both arms wrapped around her ribs. "Macil..."

Melimwe stammered, "You are as stubborn as the Sons of Feanor! Tell me, pray, do you wish to meet their fate? Shall ye perish in a fiery abyss for thy wrath? Come
back hither and away from him."

Rostor stared more closely, "Cellindien.... she is hurt....."

Melimwe spat, "Ah, you've finally noticed!"

Rostor left his weapon behind him in the soil and knelt on the other side of her, "Cellindien......."

She struggled to regain her breath. "Macil... what foolishness...."

Melimwe ran and knelt beside them, "Our mission hither is accomplished in any case. She needs rest... and healing...... we must return to Imladris. We may attempt to
remedy her pain hither in the wilds..... but she will find no long-standing healing here. End thy quarrel! Or at the least postpone it...... Come, she will ride with
me on my horse, between our cloaks.... the blessings of the West. We shall follow the course of this dry stream as far as we can, until we finally reach the High
Moor. It will take us at least twenty to twenty-five days, but we shall make it. It is our best course away from the mountains."
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Ioristion

Epilogue

And so it came to be. The weary, wounded Elves gathered their strength and supplies. Their horses had drank their fill at the Glanduin, and they had refilled their
flasks. They girded their stomachs for another long march without food. And for twenty days and nights, in pain and in sorrow, they toiled, until, at long last, they
beheld the wide vale of Imladris opening before them, and wearily and warily, they passed down the winding path into the vale. By the time Ioristion reached his place
of rest, he collapsed and closed his eyes. It was now late TA 3017.

And they would find rest and healing in the enduring months, and foray for the Leaves of Laurelin. For Auruiron and Yucalwe had deigned it necessary to await some
sign from the artifact, before they would seek for their Final March, to the East. But Aegnil did not stay beneath the roof of Auruiron. He remained in a secluded
place of rest, farther away from the main dwellings of Imladris. And if he ever came to visit his daughter, Macil would remain only if desired to remain. For Macil had toiled on the
long road back to Imladris, and Melimwe had scolded him gravely, exhorting him to realize that he would, in fact, lose Cellindien Finlos Findelos forever, if he sustained his wrath toward her
father. And Macil finally relented.

And in time, Yucalwe led the men across Eriador, back to Minas Noldorion, where he set them in the sea on the long voyage south to Gondor. It was
then that he was persuaded, for he had peered into the artifact and felt the time had come. He returned two months later, back to Imladris, on an uneventful road.

And it was late TA 3018 when their Final March began.
Edited by Ioristion, Apr 26 2016, 12:27 PM.
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