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| 18. Wind-Singers Volume III.II: The Final March; In the aftermaths of The Hunt and the Artifact: Auruiron, Cellindien, and Inheroth embark with their Host toward the East. | |
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| Ioristion | Jul 27 2016, 12:43 AM Post #181 |
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Chapter CXVIII: The Question The vision of Maitimo Nelyo Nelyafinwe approached him. Yucalwe knew and remembered that he was naught but a vision, not the real spirit of Nelyafinwe whom he had perceived in the Lonelands, not the real Maedhros who had perished in the fiery abyss. Yucalwe saw his own reconstruction of Maitimo, formed from the fragments of the former's memories, deep from within the inner recesses of his mind, conjured forth by the artifact, orb and jewel. Maitimo outspread his resplendent garb, his fiery-orange silken cape lined with bright red, his fiery, rust-toned hair flowing down his shoulders and partially covering his eyes, glimmering in the sunlight that shined through the vast windows, "Welcome, my Lord Seneschal." Yucalwe outspread his own cape, returning the gesture, "I come, my Prince." "You have questions on your mind. I can tell. What is it that you would so ask of me?" "Son of Feanaro.... I ask to know one thing alone: Why did you leap into the flames and abandon me? I probe you, oh memories mine, to learn as to thus. What drove you thus..........." "I can only respond with that which you wish to hear............" "I know................" "History records that my own despair hath slain me..... that it was my despair alone, for having been rejected by the Silmaril.......... my oath was vain............ but you have another theory, do you not?" "I.... I have my suspicions, my Prince." "Shall I now echo them for you? Thou knowest well: that history cannot prove it. It may yield to the contrary." "But nor can it deny it." "Then come unto my folds.... and hearken to me......" And then Yucalwe obeyed his mind. He clutched Maitimo in a deep embrace, feeling as if Maitimo were real, burying his face in his hair, as Maitimo closed his folds around him. When Yucalwe reemerged, he found them standing in dark, vast, barren plains. They gazed upon another, far more ragged, ruined, Maedhros, Maitimo strangely observing himself in his own suffering, according to the whims of Yucalwe's mind. And the resplendent Maitimo spoke, gazing upon his darkened, ruined self, "You behold the Silmaril as it burns me......... do you see who approaches?" A dark shadow slithered on the ground. It grew in height and breadth and width. And a voice spoke from the shadow: "Dejected, ruined, son of Feanaro.... doomed unto the Everlasting Dark..... I hath come to claim thee................" And Maedhros replied: "Then I am now truly lost............... do your worst." "Follow," spake the shadow. And they all followed the shadow to the brink of a fiery abyss. And the shadow tortured Maedhros as he toiled. Maedhros clutched the Silmaril, his torn cloak draping down his shoulders. Despairing, Maedhros leaped. But as he leaped, the shadow attempted to wrest the Silmaril from him, but he fell so suddenly, that the shadow could not claim the prize he held. Maedhros' final screams could be heard echoing up the cliffs from far below. Then, there was naught but silence, and the sound of crackling flames beneath the earth. A great, dark smoke, in gusts of wind as if a cyclone, churned around the shadow. Then there was a great flash of light. And there, gazing at the Silmaril far below, stood he, Guldrambor, at once gloating over the demise of his victim, and lamenting the loss of the Silmaril. Yucalwe turned to Maitimo, "Such is my theory....." "It may or may not prove true.......... how is it so hard to believe that I, Maitimo Nelyafinwe, lost my spirit at the last? That I would despair.... and find myself lost in the Halls of Mandos... forever?" "But you remained in Arda.... as a spirit..... you are not lost forever................ and while your choice remains your own, whether or not to seek the Straight Road, I, at the least, may play some small role, in preventing Guldrambor from hindering you from seeking the West at all............ guide thy brother beneath the Golden Bough. We left him behind that he may not die." "Do you miss me?" Maitimo smirked. "I do..... beyond words...." Yucalwe replied. A great gust of wind made Maitimo's cape and robes flow and billow, and he outspread his folds, and Yucalwe embraced him, and they deeply kissed each other on their cheeks, and held-on tightly, and buried their faces in each others' folds, repeating the same old tradition of Amanuiron, Yucalwe no longer afraid, and they buried their faces in each others' hair. Then, they approached the fiery abyss. And Yucalwe declared, "My mind is stern, of great strength. I know of whom I must soon ponder... as I pass into the flames.....let it be done and over with." And Maitimo covered Yucalwe's face with his cloak as they fell, the flames churning around them, and Yucalwe did not utter a single scream, as the cape disintegrated around them, as hair fell aflame, as all became engulfed. He clenched his teeth and girded his heart. He was afraid, but he did not despair. He withstood the pressure. The flames became brighter and brighter, and the silhouette of one whom Yucalwe remembered well, began to approach him: the vision of Celendil Carithawen, the image of a long-lost friend, whom he had found by the Pool of the Kings in the midst of the wilds of the Enedwaith, whom he, with the aid of the healer, Iordreth of Gondor, nursed back to health.... whom he, Yucalwe, had lost.... and never found again.......... and while he had nearly forgotten her features, the artifact never forgot, for its powers pierced the innermost halls of his mind... unearthing old memories to the surface. He embraced his image of Celendil, and they kissed each other on their cheeks as they embraced, and then... Macilon appeared, stammering, "Yucalwe................ what are you doing........... our foe will find us hither, and ruin us............ come, let go......... release the artifact! Return to the realm of the living! And do not touch this orb again..............lest you become lost within its powers........ forever............" Macilon ran up to him and whipped his cloak over him. The last sight Yucalwe saw was that of Celendil's piercing eyes...her ashen-brown hair....her smiling face.......... before he awoke. He gazed at Macilon. Macilon nodded, "I know why you felt tempted........" "Do you?" "You loved Maitimo Nelyafinwe.... the others told me...... and you loved Celendil................yes, the artifact made me learn many of thine secrets............ trust me, let us be as friends...... our foe is the same.................... know that you would have arrived at these conclusions all on your own, had you merely -thought- about them......." "Yes...... but I would not have felt his beating heart, his strong arms, nor have beheld her fairest smile........" "All phantoms. All ghosts of the past. All formed by your own mind." "I know..................." "Beware of greed! Avoid such things! You may yet find them both, again, in the West...... if Nelyafinwe follows Macalaure and receives a similar pardon, and if Celendil finds her way there, if she is not there already......... you know something about her............" "I had suspected..............the diadem that Cullasson and Cullastor beheld........... she is Gil-galad Elven-King's daughter, is she not?" "She is......... and so she will seek her father. But her tale is her own, not your own. Do not lose yourself in vain dreams of the past that reawaken terrible traumas within you, old guilts and frustrations....... remember the doom of Aegnil....... and seek to avoid it........" Yucalwe nodded sadly, "All the same.... I miss them................" Macilon slowly smiled, "Live in the present moment....... ever strive to live in the present moment.............." "We ought to throw this cursed artifact, orb, jewel, whatever you wish to call it, into the sea...." "No......... for we may yet use it against our foe." "It is naught but a trifle, it is useless....." "Not altogether....... be patient. Let us avoid touching it for the time being." And Macilon stayed with Yucalwe throughout the evening, as Yucalwe wept for all his failures, for Maitimo Nelyafinwe, and, for Celendil Carithawen. Edited by Ioristion, Jul 27 2016, 09:27 PM.
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| Ioristion | Jul 27 2016, 09:20 PM Post #182 |
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Chapter CXIX: The Waters Unify At dawn, on May 20th, Macilon took the following notations of all whom had been gifted their blessed cloaks from the powers of the West: The following wore the gold: Auruiron, Aegon, Fareon, Inheroth, Ioristion, Cellindien, Melimwe, Macalaure, Ivordir, and Daerfalas. Only two were missing, until two of them fell into Aegon's arms: one for Aegon to keep permanently, and the other to be gifted to one of Aegon's choosing: Cullastor. Aegon discussed the matter of Auruiron at length with Melimwe. Melimwe bade him not edit the epic poem of the Song of the Turfs of Sutland. Melimwe took the final cloak to a special place in the depths of those Halls, where it would be kept safe, dearly, out of hope for the return of Auruiron. The following wore the black and red: Cellindien, Ivordir, Daerfalas, Yucalwe, Macilon, Alcano, Abrazan, Macil, Baralinthor, Sasuko, and Sainion. None were missing. The following wore the gold and red: Lerinon, Amarthon, Eiliant, Isenadin, Mornhelm, Malchon, Celebressel, Malfinseron, Duvaissel, Circhon, and Silevrendor. The capes, or wings, of Auravon and Arancir of Gondor, were deemed unified with the cape of Amarthon, though they had become separate. Macilon could not wrap his mind around it. There were not supposed to be 35, he maintained, and he wondered about it, and often, meditated. Thus, the roster was made: Eiliant, Aegon, Fareon, Inheroth, Ioristion, Cellindien, Melimwe, Ivordir, and Daerfalas, Yucalwe, Macilon, Alcano, Abrazan, Macil, Baralinthor, Sasuko, and Sainion, Lerinon, Amarthon, Cullastor, Isenadin, Mornhelm, Malchon, Celebressel, Malfinseron, Duvaissel, Circhon, and Silevrendor all came unto the Great Hall, Lerinon and Macilon presiding. Of the 33 cloaks, Macalaure remained in Eriador, and Auruiron was captured. Cellindien, Ivordir, and Daerfalas wore six cloaks altogether. Thus, the count was 28 people, minus 1 for Macalaure, 1 for Auruiron, and 3 for doubles. And of the cloaks: 32 out of 33, for one remained in Eriador, to protect its wearer from the shadows of his own past, and from whatever influence the bile of Guldrambor may yet have had in Eriador. They gathered according to their colors, in secret, without their friends or relatives. They remained a formidable number. Macilon grimly declared: "Some may live, and some may die. Some cloaks may survive, while others be lost forever. Some may return to the West from whence they came, some, in Arda, may yet remain. Of these fates, these stern dooms, I do not know. But each shall be judged according to how one has used one's Gift, whether for its greater purpose, or for mere profaneness. Cellindien, Ivordir, and Daerfalas, you each bear separate cloaks, of Estel, and of Exile. You stand apart from all the rest. Stand in the middle of the circle." And they reluctantly obeyed. "For those among you who wear the capes of hope, it is your role to inspire hope among our soldiers. For those among you who wear the capes of exile, it is your role to terrify our foes with their reality, purging yourselves from it. For those among you who wear both, you three: both roles are upon your shoulders. And for those among you who wear the capes of dreams: you shall surround our foe himself, but for you lieth the greatest peril. It is perilous for us all... but for you, it is the most perilous.... and many among all of you may not return. The Maia did not reveal who would live or who would die. He only knew that some, inevitably, shall perish in the battles to come." And they all soberly returned to their chambers, fearing for their lives. Betrothals were remade and strengthened. Marriages grew in strength. Bonds of love were fashioned tight. Bonds of brotherhood and friendship were cherished, strengthened, and expressed. And then the entire Company was called before Lerinon, and it was decided that two forces would make their way toward Sakuta in advance of their main force, with the role of infiltrating the City. They would not dare send any cape-bearers, for Guldrambor would have sensed them, and Lerinon knew it. Macilon deemed that the cloaks of one such as Angolhel, although augmented, still would not pose a grave risk of detection, for they had not been bathed directly into the spring, the stream, or the lake of Lorien. They also deemed that none among the Elves should yet be sent, for Guldrambor would sense them at once, and Fanon would not trust any of them. Angolhel knew that her presence would prove a risk, but she stubbornly refused to remain behind, and the Elves could not dissuade her. She wanted to be there if Lerion would ever face his former, traitorous apprentice, Malagi. Of the first Company were named the following: Lerion, Angolhel, Glossel, Alagoshel, Fingaereth, Tinnuchon, Uialchon, and twelve of the Haradrim. Of the second Company were named the following: Noruros of Ost Rimmon, the two Tumladen nobles, Daechon, Auravon, Colhel, Salhera, Aertira, Arhbaineth, Rivrossel, and five of the Haradrim. Each member would blend into the city-life of Sakuta, be granted jewels to trade from the Elves of Dorwinion, and thus be able to operate beneath Guldrambor's notice, if that were possible. "Our foe is not all-knowing," Macilon reminded them. "Spy with care." And the farewells, tight embracing, affectionate kissing, and preparations, and provisioning, were all heart-wrenching, especially for all who were torn away from those they loved or cared for. It was decided that Auravon's Company would pass the Easterlings in Eir and skirt the northern shores. Angolhel's Company would take the southern route. They would journey by boat along the coasts, avoiding the storms. They would fish for their food and camp along the shoreline. They would bear their flasks for a water-source. And they passed into the deepening gloom beyond the Halls at nightfall. Edited by Ioristion, Aug 27 2016, 12:54 AM.
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| Ioristion | Jul 27 2016, 10:03 PM Post #183 |
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Chapter CXX: They Who Remained Of the remainder in the Halls, of the original Company, were Eiliant, Aegon, Fareon, Inheroth, Ioristion, Cellindien, Melimwe, Ivordir, and Daerfalas, Yucalwe, Macilon, Alcano, Abrazan, Macil, Baralinthor, Sasuko, and Sainion, Lerinon, Amarthon, Cullastor, Isenadin, Mornhelm, Malchon, Celebressel, Malfinseron, Duvaissel, Circhon, and Silevrendor, and others: Cullasson, Rirossel, Hallothanar, Dairlingul, Arancir of Eregion, Fahnraen, Agarwaenor, Findistedis, and Rostoriel among them, as well as Gwainoth, Naitheg, and Raedwyn. And Sael, restoring his name, Saelbainor, in Bain's name, survived. They were 39 out of hundreds of Eir refugees and Dorwinion Elves inhabiting the Halls. Of them: Eiliant remained without his brother. Sainion remained without his wife, but with his brother, Aegon. Aegon remained with his brother. Yucalwe remained with his son. Abrazan remained with his adopted father. Fareon had lost his father. Lerinon had lost his father. Ioristion had lost his father and remained with his wife. Melimwe had lost his brother. Ivordir remained without his wife. Daerfalas remained with his brother. Macilon had lost many. Alcano remained with his wife. Celebressel remained with her husband. Malfinseron remained with his wife. Silevrendor remained without his adopted brothers. Duvaissel had lost her husband. Malchon had lost his brothers. Mornhelm had lost his sisters. Isenadin had lost his brother. Macil remained with his beloved. Cellindien remained with her beloved. Ioristion remained with his wife. Circhon remained without his brothers. Cullastor remained with his family. Amarthon remained without his brothers. Inheroth remained with his brothers. Sasuko had lost his Realm, his brothers of old, and now, his new brother Noruros. And then, Lerinon and Macilon devised their next phase of commands. By now, due to the horrors of war, they had placed aside their differences, now that the truth of Macilon's Quest had been revealed: a vain, foolish attempt to save Amanuiron from his fallen ego, Guldrambor. Edited by Ioristion, Sep 16 2016, 10:55 PM.
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| Ioristion | Jul 27 2016, 10:32 PM Post #184 |
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Chapter CXXI: The Next Dispersal Lerinon commissioned the following to seek aid from neighboring northern Dorwinion Elven realms: Agarwaenor, Fahnraen, Arancir of Eregion, Fareon, Sainion, Amarthon, Circhon, and Dairlingul, with consorts. Lerinon commissioned the following to seek aid from neighboring western Dorwinion Elven realms: Naitheg, Gwainoth, Arancir of Gondor, Raedwyn, Ivordir, and Daerfalas, with the aid of Hallothanar and Sindri. Malchon would aid them in so far as their presence in the Halls was concerned. Lerinon commissioned the following to also seek aid from neighboring southern Dorwinion Elven realms: Melimwe, Macilon, Cullasson, Cullastor, Rirossel, Ioristion, Rostoriel, Silevrendor, Duvaissel, Abrazan, and Yucalwe, with consorts. Lerinon commissioned the following to aid the scouts on the borders: The ten remaining Southern Dunedain. Lerinon commissioned the following to maintain the health and provisioning of the surviving Mumakil: The remaining Haradrim. And thus, only the following remained without any duties, due to the wake of the traumas that had been inflicted upon them from warfare, or, for reasons unknown, who often met with each other in the following groups: Macil and Cellindien. Sasuko, Eiliant, Isenadin, and Mornhelm. Alcano, Celebressel, Malfinseron, and Findistedis. Inheroth, Malchon, and Lerinon. And Aegon journeyed among all of four groupings who remained behind, seeking knowledge for his writing. Thus, he would never write in extensive detail of the experiences he would lack: of Dorwinion at large, of the people of Eir, and of the experiences of the two Companies who marched to infiltrate Sakuta. Only the vague fragments, the vast paraphrases, would be written..... Edited by Ioristion, Aug 24 2016, 11:08 PM.
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| Ioristion | Jul 28 2016, 12:29 AM Post #185 |
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Chapter CXXII: The Contemplation of Death Inheroth walked solemnly through the Great Hall, his gold cape draping from his clasp of the silver wren, billowing behind him, his train draped vastly on the marble floor. He did not see Lerinon sitting up on his throne silently in the shadows. He turned to see a trickle of red and gold silk flowing down the stairs from the throne. He whipped his cape around himself as he turned. Moonlight draped through the great windows in the cliff-side. His golden silk gleamed palely in the moonlight. At once, he outspread his folds and bowed, "My King..... Gwador... are you there?" "I am," Lerinon nodded. He slowly stood and emerged from the shadows. "I have sat too long in contemplation..." "What do you fear?" "Death...." Inheroth nodded with understanding, "I, too, fear it.... Gwador......" Lerinon unclasped his own cloak and let it fall to the floor behind him. "Gwador!" "I have veiled myself in profaneness for far too long.... if a Gift, it be, then I do not need it.........." "No! No! Do not do this!" "I.... am unworthy of it. And my profane usage of it detracts from my rule. Let it be worn only in time of need.........." "What may I say... to persuade you otherwise...." "There is nothing that you may say, my Gwador. I want you to reconcile with your brother, my Herald, when he returns from his task. If you do not, and if this silence and busy-ness perpetuates into some outburst, it will not be well for either of you....... nor for our entire Company, for that matter. Return to your chambers. I wish to continue my contemplation alone..........." A tear slowly trickled down Inheroth's right cheek, "No... in all due respect, you are not well, my Gwador.......... spurn not the gift that you have been given......if I leave you, my King, to yourself, if something happens to you, I............" "Fine," Lerinon suspiciously replied. "If you were not there, with me, in Imladris... I...I... might have died......tell me again.... why do you remain so loyal.... to one so.... mad.......... I have failed my soldiers.... I have failed my father..... I have failed you all......... I am not sit to sit on that chair," he pointed at the throne. "No, Gwador, you have not failed," Inheroth tried to smile. "Ever since you first came into my life, on that fate-filled day, in the Library....... the wine we shared..... the time that we have lived together...... and that long, most excellent journey, to the western lands.... to your father...... our father........ I knew..... our fea'r are part of one great destiny........... far greater than we ever can hope to be.......... tell me: how will your depressed state serve your soldiers whom have fallen? How will it aid those of us who have miraculously survived?" "I..... I have not the strength to aid you," Lerinon suddenly sobbed. Inheroth approached him, clasping him on his shoulders, "You do, Gwador..... you truly do.... rule for us, Gwador, for we, your people..........." Lerinon nodded. Inheroth swept his cape above their heads, as they faced each other, beneath the folds: "You have brought me hither... once and then many times before......" He gently kissed Lerinon again on the cheek, in the manner of a familial brother, and he declared: "I have a vision of you, Gwador...... I need not see it before my eyes. I behold you, your magnificent crown upon your head, your folds pouring about you, your eyes gleaming as if the stars, your hair shining, flowing down your shoulders, as King Oropher long before you, and King Thranduil would pale in comparison, not in profaneness, as you have put it, not in physical beauty, but through a beauty far greater, reflected outward: I speak of the beauty, nobility, and grace, of your spirit, Gwador, and of all that you are.....and," he whispered, "I no longer care as to whether or not you are truly the son of King Dior, son of Beren and of Luthien, daughter of King Elu Thingol, of Doriath, and neither should you. Remember that you were rescued for a purpose, a far greater doom than to starve to death in a forest, whether you were the son of a King or the son of a master of horses..... does it truly matter? All that matters is who you are today: a glorious King of a strong people. Let that define your legacy, nothing more, and nothing less. And let your own grace, strength, valor, and beauty, make all the lords and princes of the past tremble: be greater than they ever were." "It is much too late," Lerinon replied sadly, "You are right..... I will meet my true father in the West, whoever he is, if I ever venture through the Straight Road...... but I am no -worthy- King. What have I done but lead my 'strong people' to a terrible death? They were trampled, I tell you, you know, you were there!" Another tear rolled down Inheroth's pale cheek, "Indeed, I was there, my Gwador...... protecting you......my King......" "You should have protected -them,- Lerinon retorted. "Enough!" Inheroth finally shouted, startling Lerinon. Seldom had Inheroth ever shouted. "My King....... stay with me....... now, in my embrace........ I suffer from this pain also, I......... but come. Many more will die if we fail to gird ourselves and restore our strength. Our Realm may be invaded soon, and you have sent two companies far away, into harm's way........... but I believe that they will prevail, for there is strength in loyalty, in honor, in duty, and in fellowship...... My King, you are not alone. We all stand with you. Even my red-robed, angry, Herald of a brother....... do you truly believe that he would have served you thus if he despised you? Oh, he is not warm and fuzzy, hardly a Beorning, and hardly the same as me..... but we love each other. And we love you, our King. Oh, my brother has his fears, that you would take me away from him forever..... but they are unfounded. If he pushes you away from him, that his matter........... but he still serves you." "No," Lerinon boldly retorted, "He serves you, my Gwador.... he does it because he loves you.... he has no love for me............he likely despises me, this war, these battles, all the death, all of it, and all of my folly, and I do not blame him!" "I will see to him," Inheroth replied, "Fear him not......... do you know why he fears you?" Lerinon nodded, "He thinks me mad. And he is right. And that is why I have never punished him..... and due to my care and concern for you, my Gwador...." Inheroth came closer, and gently whispered, "Then prove to him that you are not mad...... and I will do all that is within my power, meager though it may be, to do so.........rule your Realm." Lerinon nodded, fighting back more tears, "Then aid me..... save me from this darkened state of mind, my Gwador........" Inheroth kissed him on the cheek again, "As you command, your Grace....." Then Lerinon returned the gesture, as Inheroth whipped back the cape. Down on the dark marble floor, the golden and red cloak of Lerinon gleamed coldly in the moonlight. Lerinon watched as Inheroth slipped behind him, he heard the billowing folds rising, and then felt cold silk envelope him, cocooning him, as Inheroth clasped it for him. Inheroth gently stroked Lerinon's dark hair, neatly placing its many strands atop the cloak, as if he were preparing his King for a royal procession. Then Lerinon processed forward, Inheroth holding the rear of his folds behind him. "Remember," Inheroth smiled, "True gold does not glitter, or glimmer, or gleam, for it is the Light within............sparkling brighter than any fold, greater than any star......" Earendil's Star shined high in the heavens, casting its brilliant light upon them. But Inheroth gazed in awe and wonder, for Lerinon now was bathed in it entirely, as if he were a shining star. Even his darker hair was glittering brightly, as if his mane were infused with the stars. Inheroth knelt before him, his own golden folds flowing behind him, "My King...." Lerinon outspread his arms beneath his folds, "Arise, my Prince....the lyre should play, the harp be plucked... but we have neither harp, nor lyre, for Earendil.........who may or may not be my great and glorious nephew, sailing among the stars, a Silmaril upon his brow......... but what does it matter? My singing voice is not so good........... so let us dance, at least, for the sake of Earendil, whose Light has blessed us upon this eve.... and labors to save me from my worst nature.........the Star shines eternal." And he tried to flare a fold, and found he could not do so, and in finding he could not do so, he perceived the inner malice, the worse profaneness, that afflicted them all: "No..... such a dance would misuse it." Inheroth nodded sadly, "We have seen too much............" "I will never dance again," Lerinon replied sadly, "For Auruiron and we all were thus afflicted....... cowards hiding from our fates..... cravens awaiting the end of Time..... now my father is gone. He may yet be alive, but nothing is certain..... all I know is this: Amanuiron outspread his folds before Yucalwe, bowed, and kissed him on his cheeks, and called him brother. Amanuiron danced with his cape as if it were a mere trifle, as if the blessings of the West were naught but his toys.... and he has toyed with us, my Gwador.... oh how he has toyed with us throughout the Ages. Our actions are our own. We should have known better. Most of our kindred do not express their feelings thus. They do not need to. But we..... we had fallen prey, and fallen so far........... I will wear this Gift for your sake, Inheroth..... but I wear it knowingly, knowing what it is, knowing its full purpose.... and I, shall not, abuse it. Not further, not again." "I agree," Inheroth nodded. "And shall you outlaw this behavior? It is not all terrible, you know... to share gentle, chaste signs of affection... to embrace as family... to dance in joy..." Lerinon shook his head, "In this matter, persuasion is the better art....... persuasion will aid them in their ability to see these truths..... a harsh, dogmatic, order, will not............. And no, these truths do not banish such gestures... and in joy, excess is ne'r an evil, provided that the joy is true, not some fleeting thing... but is it true joy, these signs that we express, or are they naught but the shades of a long past since fallen Maia? Is it not profane to... attempt to feel joy, in the aftermath of such horrors, such death?" Inheroth widely smiled, "My Gwador... my dear Gwador... my Lord High King.... all who have died have perished for the sake that we might live such joy... to spurn true joy would forever mar the sacrifice of all the perished dead....." Lerinon scoffed, "You speak so nobly of it.... in the face of death, no abstraction can fill the gaps..." Inheroth nodded, "Are they abstractions, truly, my Gwador? Look at that Light, the hope and joy it signifies! The Light of Earendil.... most beloved of all our stars....." Lerinon's turned again toward the great windows, and his face slowly began to smile, and that smile slowly began to widen. Finally, he said, "Shall we then dance to honor all the perished dead?" And their capes whipped to and fro around them as they twirled and spun in the Light of Earendil within their dance, the light shining all the brighter upon them, as fear was shed as if the skin of a serpent, as pale, bright, glittering golden domes of silk flapped and folded and glided upon the air, their dark hair shining as if silver in the starlight, fanning and flipping and flying around them as they danced. And when their dance was over, Lerinon bowed, outspreading his cape in all its vastness, inner bright, fiery red folds gleaming, glittering, gliding down as if a waterfall from his hands and arms and shoulders, palely in the moonlight. Then, they deeply embraced, as Lerinon felt the deep, strong, powerful return of his resolve, without the madness. They came to the places of rest that their servants had prepared for them before the great windows. They rested for what remained the night. And then, from across the eastern skies, they then beheld the sun, brightly rising. And Malchon joined them to watch the sunrise. It was now the 21st of May. Edited by Ioristion, Aug 1 2016, 09:49 PM.
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| Ioristion | Jul 31 2016, 04:49 PM Post #186 |
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Chapter CXXIII: Awakening He did not know what to think. He did not know what to think. He did not know what to think. Thinking, he realized he did not truly know, what he ought to know. Why was he not suffering, lashing himself, for all who had perished in his watch? He felt it, deeply. That was the story he wished to tell himself, the tale he lived. But he did not live it. He felt numb when he thought of the dead and dying, fortunate that the Mumakil had not rampaged through -his- flet, that he and Inheroth had escaped. Those Mumakil were well-commanded, he realized, they had avoided the branches of the trees by rampaging through the clearing where the healing-tents had been set, for convenience, for the fast movements of healers and soldiers, commanders and lieutenants, but it also gave the Mumakil free-range to massacre the many, including the wounded. For the Eldar, he knew full well, whenever an Elf would die, it was as if an army had lost a thousand men in one fell swoop. He knew the Elves should not look-down upon the mortals from their high pedestals upon which they had been set: the First-born. But the Elves ultimately knew the grace and importance of the Second-born, and that the deaths of the latter were gifts, not curses: the ability to depart from the harsh, physical world, and find peace and rest someplace else. They had to go somewhere, the Elves knew: all were destined to partake in the prophesied Second Music at the end of Time. Lerinon slowly stood and left his chamber of rest. Inheroth stood overlooking the sea, his hair and golden cape billowing in the breeze that flowed through the opened-great-windows. He was glowing in the brightness of the sunlight. He turned, outspreading his cape with his arms, smiling and bowing, "My King..." "Please..." Lerinon scoffed, "I am ever your Gwador..." They embraced and kissed each others' cheeks again, as was their brotherly custom. Then Inheroth said: "Something still weighs heavily upon your mind... I can tell..." Lerinon nodded, "You know that the trauma of what we have witnessed will not escape us so easily..." Inheroth heaved a deep sigh, "I know......." Edited by Ioristion, Jul 31 2016, 05:01 PM.
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| Ioristion | Jul 31 2016, 11:30 PM Post #187 |
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Chapter CXXIV: Truer Magic In a glade, outside the Halls, beneath the evergreen leaves of the trees, three strode nigh the sunlit cliffs above the halls. Their cloaks were folded on their arms. It was far more practical. They reached the cliffs and unfurled their capes in the warm sunlight, soft silk falling on hard stone, the waves of the surf crashing far beneath them. Then they saw the bear, its fiery fur glistening in the sunlight. The bear stood on its hind legs, facing the East, and roared, as the sun completed its rising. Then it fell on all fours, crouching down, then the fur began to grow into long silky hair, fibers blending together, its muzzle decreasing, its ears plunging into hair, its lower-body fur melding into the rich fibers of an elvish robe. He had abandoned his leather after he was garbed by the Silvan folk. The cape was long and golden behind him, flowing, flapping, and billowing in the high winds that bellowed high above the edge of the cliff. His hair had returned to its golden-brown tones. He turned toward the others, their eyes glistening with awe. Sasuko rubbed his eyes, "For certain, we are not dreaming." Eiliant bowed, "The skin-changers were mythic to my people. Mythic." Isenadin Ninniachon simply knelt down on the hard stone surface of the top of the plateau nigh the cliffs, his own red and golden cape sweeping behind him as he knelt. Mornhelm deeply smiled, "Tell me, Isenadin... do you now consider me a magician?" Isenadin nodded, "I thought they were wild bears aiding us on the battlefield.... it was truly you..... teach me this art, this power. I beg you." Mornhelm shook his head, "I fear it can't be taught. You either know it or you don't, unless you are raised to learn it since birth. But there are other forms of magic..." He outspread his cape, gleaming in the sunlight, his silver robes gleaming beneath it. Sasuko balked, "Disgraceful...." Mornhelm lowered his arms, "How many Easterlings have you killed, Easterling?" "You know not of what you speak," Sasuko retorted, sweeping his black and red cloak around himself. "Please," Eiliant noted, folding his arms in his red and golden cloak, "There is no need for this.... and I...I miss my brother..." "He is far away now," Mornhelm nodded, ignoring Sasuko. "They march into a trap," Sasuko stammered. Mornhelm strode over to Sasuko menacingly, "Why have you not spoken of this before? What trap?" "Be patient that I may tell you," Sasuko stammered. "We have many hours ahead of us.... but I must warn you. We are in -his- territory now, even here. Do you see those dark clouds yonder?" He pointed eastward across the sea. "Yeah, what of them?" Mornhelm replied. "They are -his- storm now... a storm of our darkest dreams... we cannot sail through or beneath such clouds, as they will drown us. And I would counsel our King to consider a march along the shores, using boats only sparingly. For beyond that darkness dwells the Emperor himself, in his high and golden Citadel, in the realm of Sakuta... strong are their defenses, their armaments, everything... I am the weak link in the chain of his grip, and I was quite fortunate that he overlooked me during the battle.... he will destroy us all of he learns that I have told you what I am about to tell you." "Is there a safe place?" "Beneath our capes. I know no other." They gathered back in the glade, and returned to the halls, to find comfortable places of rest in Sasuko's chambers. The sunlight still shined brightly through the great windows. Mornhelm whisked his vast cape over all of them, leaving only the smallest gaps in the twists and turns of the fabric for air. The sunlight shined brightly through the fiery pores in the fabric. The sunlight shined as if it were a prism of a thousand score of stars. Then Sasuko began his tale. Edited by Ioristion, Aug 15 2016, 10:41 PM.
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| Ioristion | Jul 31 2016, 11:47 PM Post #188 |
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Chapter CXXV: Between April 4th and April 15th Sasuko pretended to be asleep in his Sakutan chamber. He overheard the following conversation: "What does our Emperor truly desire? Tell me, if you think you know." Anzulbar smirked. "Our glory... our dominance... our prosperity." Narushon smiled. "Here, you are not clasping it right." Anzulbar mounted the black and silver-lined cape of silk more effectively around Narushon's shoulders. "There. Do you still feel that sickening feeling in your stomach that you complained of?" Narushon shook his head. "Good," Anzulbar replied. "Guards are performing their duties well in the streets, commanded by the Sami Knights." "Why does Lord Siagon not attend such ceremonies?" "He is too honorable of a man, in the old sense of the heathen Blue Sorcerers, opponents of our true Lords and Masters. Lord Shikon knows better, he brought many of those blue heretics back to the true Power. Our Emperor tolerates Lord Siagon because he is a fine general and warrior. But he is also wary of such a man: to kill him would prove a disadvantage. To bring him to witness the ceremonies would render him a traitor. He believes not in the sacrifices that we perform- sacrifices for the greater good. Come, outspread your arms, show me how you look." Narushon outspread his dark cloak, silver folds shining brightly in the setting sunlight through the windows. Anzulbar embraced him, "Good." They deeply kissed each other on their cheeks, a behavior of bonded-brotherhood that Sasuko took note of. "Come, let us rouse our friend hither. Our Emperor is expecting him." Sasuko yawned, pretending to awaken, "What is the time of day..." Narushon smirked, "Our Emperor awaits you." Narushon and Anzulbar quickly anointed Sasuko's hair with oil, then brushed it, then clasped his cloak around his shoulders. Then Narushon led Sasuko on the route that they knew full well. Sasuko followed the dark train of Narushon's cloak down the spiraling stairs, down into the chambers of the Emperor. The Emperor smiled grimly, "Come unto me, both of you..." He cast his cape over them, and they fell asleep. |
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| Ioristion | Jul 31 2016, 11:53 PM Post #189 |
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Chapter CXXVI: The Mouth of the Emperor In the Citadel above, the disgruntled prisoners, dissenters to the Emperor's Reign, were dragged into the center of the room, where a golden altar stood before the throne. All the rest of the Gurthbaini gathered there, and the former Mouth of Sauron arose, declaring that he would perform the ritual, for the Emperor had other matters toward which to direct his attention. The Gurthbaini outspread their black cloaks, hands joining hands, all hands clutching silk, bright silver shining blood-red in the light of the sunset. The dancers danced, the harps were plucked, capes gliding and billowed on the air as they danced. When the spectacle reached its crescendo, each prisoner was dragged forward, their heads forced to bow upon the altar, as the Mouth of the Emperor spoke in Black Speech, and raised his dagger. Bloodstained were the dark robes of the Emperor's Mouth. Some prisoners cried. Others screamed. More did not say a word. Then, one by one, their corpses were tossed off the balcony behind the Citadel, down to join the rotting bones far below. The servants washed the floor and removed the altar. |
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| Ioristion | Aug 1 2016, 12:29 AM Post #190 |
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Chapter CXXVII: Beneath the Emperor's Wings The golden bat flew in daylight. The golden bat flew, shining in the sunlight. The golden bat landed before Narushon and Sasuko, and outspread its wings. Steadily it grew, into a mannish form. Steadily, its wings turned into gold, silken folds, lined with red. There was a flash of light. Its cheeks lost their fur. Pale flesh emerged. Lips pursed into a smile. The Emperor's bright snow-blond hair flowed down atop his cape, shining in the sunlight of their dream. He declared: "Attend me... my servants..... that you may behold and see.... the truths of thine own destiny...." Compelled, they both moved forward, and vanished into the red and fiery depths of his folds. They kissed the silk. When they emerged forth, they beheld naught but darkness, for the West itself withdrew its sight from the Emperor's mind. They beheld a far younger apparition of their Emperor, who no longer appeared to notice them. An elven boy wandered in the shadows. Dark and long was his raven hair. Piercing were his grey eyes. The equally young, boyish, Emperor, smirked and greeted his peer, and soon they were friends, conversing of their deepest dreams. They steadily grew, sequence after sequence, until, finally, they were young adults. The raven-haired one vanished. The raven-haired friend returned with another, golden-haired friend, the latter bearing an orb-shaped jewel. The Emperor augmented it. The Jewel grew brighter. Then the two friends embraced each other. The Emperor was not part of the embrace. Into their sight came the most beautiful being they had ever beheld, next to their Emperor, and dark silver was his flowing hair, and of many colors was his vast cape. He whipped his cape over their Emperor. And when their Emperor emerged from the shadows... he appeared sad and changed, a far more severe countenance upon his face. The being vanished. And thus the Emperor declared to the golden-haired friend when the latter reemerged into the vision: "It is thine Jewel now... and thine alone. To thee alone, I grant it..." The raven-haired one felt rejected, and so blamed it on the golden-haired one, declaring: "You have poisoned my friend since childhood against me, my only friend! Loathspell I name thee!" Then all vanished, and the Emperor reappeared before Narushon and Sasuko, declaring: "Be not as they whom you have seen... for first, before all things, they betrayed me..... now... behold..." In the next sorcerous vision, they beheld the Sorceress, Angolhel, and her apprentice, Alagoshel, wrapped with their Emperor in his cape. Angolhel declared, "Show me... everything..." The Emperor smirked, "No... the both of you.... show me what you have learned..." They emerged from the cape and began to dance, their own dark purple capes lined with red billowing around them, their golden-brown hair gliding on the wind. Then Lerion and Malagi entered the dance, their own capes flapping. The Emperor clapped his hands. There was a great flash of light. Then golden and black serpents slithered on the floor of the cave. The Emperor declared, "Only one of them may yet prove himself loyal... the rest hath betrayed me..." All faded into darkness. Then they beheld Amarthon resting beside the Emperor. And the Emperor declared, "He was the closest.... unto him, I gifted one of my most precious cloaks... and he, too, betrayed me..." All faded into darkness again. Then they beheld the bones and skulls gathered on the rocks beneath the Citadel, and the Emperor declared: "Such are the dooms of all such traitors.... consider this a swift reminder..." They reopened their eyes beneath their Emperor's cloak. The Emperor deeply, darkly, kissed them on their cheeks, and they returned the gesture. Then they returned to their chamber. They told Anzulbar everything. And Anzulbar declared: "Let us serve him forever..... for as long as we may. For all have betrayed him... and he is most magnificent..... the dooms of his betrayers are just..." Narushon agreed. Sasuko remained afraid. They all embraced, kissed each others' cheeks, and slept beside each other beneath their silver, black capes, that evening. By the time that Sasuko's tale had ended, Sasuko had relayed the dark truths of the deaths of many innocents, the gruesome bloodshed, the dark dooms of the so-called betrayers. Sasuko then spoke of his request for a mission to Eir, which was granted, and how relieved he was that their foe had not yet struck him down as of yet for his own betrayal. Isenadin gulped: he knew that he, too, had betrayed the Gurthbaini in Pelargir. Eiliant was afraid of all of it. But Mornhelm demanded that they set fear aside. The air was growing stuffy. Mornhelm whipped back his cape. The sun was still shining. And Mornhelm declared: "I will tear this precious Emperor of yours limb from limb if I must... but let us hope that the dark Elf is right concerning him. Besides, if they love spectacle so much before a massacre... I do believe that I have an idea..." Sasuko and Isenadin slowly grinned despite their fear. And Isenadin wished that Daechon had been there to hear the concept. Mornhelm wished Aertira and Salhera had been there too. Edited by Ioristion, Aug 1 2016, 11:42 AM.
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| Ioristion | Aug 1 2016, 12:43 PM Post #191 |
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Chapter CXXVIII: The Crescendo of Madness Alcano heaved a deep sigh, "He knows the truth... our foe truly knows the truth... we are doomed.... oh grandfather......" Malfinseron nodded, "To think that my father and grandfather both hated him throughout the centuries..... to think that I.... I wonder how they would feel, now, robed as I am in thy grandfather's gold..." "It is thy gold now," Alcano strangely smirked. "What am I but a Sapling... those men have died. Those men. What care have I for that which cannot live more than a mere breath of mine? And they are to inherit Arda and have such destiny? I am in no hurry to sail from thy harbor, Malfinseron. I would prefer to remain hither." "A man died... a young man... a man of a coastal noble House, as I was of the Eldar... he called himself 'Malfinseron,' but his true name was Malgelir... and he was trampled to death. His wife, she could not save him... and I could not save him... I would have guided him, if granted the opportunity, and he is gone... you ask me not to care thus for this?" Alcano scoffed, "If we cared as such for every mortal, we would have faded of grief long ago. I am sick of grieving!" "I agree," Findistedis smirked. "Enough of grief. We in the Golden Wood seldom needed to worry ourselves over such little matters...." Celebressel nodded, "Oh you... all of you... worrying yourselves over such nonsense." Malfinseron retorted severely, "Tell me... are the deaths of our kindred, who had lived for thousands of years, mere nonsense to you?" "No..." Celebressel replied, "But I prefer distractions." "What sort of distractions do you have in mind?" Alcano smirked. "Follow me... and catch me if you can." Celebressel smiled. She ran from the chamber through the darkened halls, her cape flying behind her, her arms outspread, red and golden silk flickering, flapping, billowing into domes and vales, as she ran. They chased her out of the halls, into the bright sunlight, into a clearing between several copses of evergreen beech trees. The sun shined brightly through the clearing amidst blue skies, despite the canopy. She fanned her silver hair and spun, Alcano besmirched with awe as she danced as he had taught her, the winds rising about them. Her long, silky, silver hair flared and fluttered brightly in the sunlight. Her shining, pale face was beaming. Her pale, pinkish lips were glistening. Flares of fiery plumes of silk billowed around her beneath the gold. Alcano's heart was throbbing. He joined her dance, their spirits ever unified since marriage. His silky cape shined in silvery hues as he danced, silken bright-red folds billowing beneath the black. Malfinseron and Findistedis sat wrapped in their own golden cloak, their spirits unified. They sat in awe of the spectacle. It had become as common to them as eating and drinking, and yet extraordinary, in the beauty that unfurled before their eyes. Black and gold danced atop and beneath each other. The red beneath blended-in from both. "Kneel before me my love," Celebressel commanded when they ceased to dance. And Alcano obeyed. Celebressel gathered the golden folds about her, and declared herself the "Queen of Gondolin," their Gondolin, and Alcano was her King. Malfinseron nor Findistedis knew what to make of it. But Malfinseron's stomach pained him. His father's and grandfather's suspicions of that House, that had become -their- House, were coming true. Edited by Ioristion, Aug 1 2016, 12:44 PM.
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| Ioristion | Aug 1 2016, 10:15 PM Post #192 |
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Chapter CXXIX: Lady Thiassel of Doriath Inheroth draped his golden cape over his arms as if the sleeves of a vast robe as he left his brother's chamber. This, still, trained behind him. He entered the Great Hall in search of Lerinon. He beheld Malchon standing there instead. Inheroth smiled, "Hail Malchon..." "Hail..." Malchon replied lukewarmly. "Tell me... what ails our King?" "He has confided in me in confidence. I should not..." "Then let me guess: He is feeling terribly guilty for the outcome of the battle, blaming himself rather than the Enemy, and he is uncertain of what he should do." Inheroth nodded reluctantly. Then with them joined another: Lady Thiassel of House Evergreen, heiress to a House that had emanated from Doriath long ago, a House that journeyed far into the East, as Mistaro long ago, in search of Daeron, their search ending in failure. Thiassel smiled, "I beg thine pardon, my good Lords... I seek audience with our King... for I have admired him from afar." "As have many dancers," Malchon smirked. "He is resting presently..." "I have admired him from afar since we were children... in Doriath... and he shall wish to see me." "And why have you not revealed thineself beforehand?" "I....I was.....I..." "Shy and afraid, no doubt. No matter. When he awakens, I shall let him know..." She turned toward Inheroth, "And how may I address you, my Lord?" Inheroth smiled shyly, "I am Inheroth Thinfiligonion of Greenwood the Great and of Edhellond." He bowed meekly, noting Lady Thiassel's beauty, how her bright brown hair flowed down her shoulders, how her grey eyes glistened, how the passing Ages had not marred her youthful features. Thiassel deeply smiled, "Know, my Lord, that I am Lady Thiassel of Doriath, of an ancient and storied House, once long protected beneath Lady Melian's Girdle, before the ravages of war cast me aside, far from kith and kin, in the search of the greatest Singer, whom I have never found. Thither I came unto these Halls. Hither have I remained... but I have not forgotten Elurin, King Dior's beloved son, nor Elured. Know that I fell in love with Elurin long ago, and love was sundered by the ravages of time. I have attended many a feast since his arrival..." Before Inheroth could speak, Malchon answered: "A touching tale... what proof have you?" "The cape... the cape of Kings... I wove it..." Malchon heard distant footfalls on the marble floor, "He is coming from his chambers..." Thiassel smiled slyly, "I have an idea... hide me beneath thine folds, Lord Malchon... that you may present me as a surprise unto His Majesty." Malchon nodded reluctantly, as the swath of fiery red silk swung over Thiassel, the golden surface shining in the sunlight. "This one?" Lerinon replied, already having overheard them, entering the chamber, the deep evergreen and bright golden-green cape draped upon his arms. Malchon smirked, "My King... allow me to present... a Lady of Doriath..." He whipped back his cape, revealing her. Thiassel bowed, "Yes..." She reached into her bundle on the floor behind her, "Behold my own... your Grace..." The matching cloak flowed from her shoulders. Lerinon smiled, "Of what House hail you?" "From House Evergreen, my Lord. And I have ever... admired you, from afar, ever since I first saw you... with thine Lord-Father, King Dior, in the halls of Menegroth..." Lerinon nodded, "I know... I have overheard it all... and I must learn to know you far more, if we are to pursue thine suspected line of thought.... for now, receive my favor... and come, stay with us..." She bowed again, "As you command... your Grace..." And Inheroth felt caught in the middle. |
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| Ioristion | Aug 2 2016, 11:50 PM Post #193 |
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Chapter CXXX: "High Queen" of the Noldor of the Realm of Lindon They were encamped in the southern region of the Realm. Macilon wandered among the encampment. He caught a terribly familiar glimmer shining from Yucalwe's pack. He did not approach Yucalwe. He passed instead into a nearby glade, wherein he beheld a maiden fair, dancing, her hair dark rich brown with hints of silver, strikingly fair. She seemed the image of Celendil within Yucalwe's vision. He approached her, bowing, and introduced himself. The maiden smiled, "Your reputation proceeds you, Macilon, for I have heard tale of you from the Halls afar." Macilon bowed, "My Lady..." "No not call me that..." "Yes... my Lady..." The maiden nodded, "I dwelt in Lindon long ago. Argon, fourth son of Fingolfin, who had perished in the Battle of the Lammoth, had been married in Aman, where he had a son, who has ne'r been mentioned in our histories, for he had journeyed with the Feanorians, betraying Fingolfin at the Helcaraxe by crossing on the ships, and then, this Argion, as he is thus named, betrayed the Feanorians when he learned of his father's death. As you are aware, all of the Noldor had wed according to the Laws and Customs of the Eldar, until the Discord, or unless their fates were strange." Macilon nodded, "Such as Auruiron... whose tale I shall attend at another time. And yes, Macalaure had a wife and children as well, who were not mentioned, likely as a prejudice on part of Feanor, who refused to acknowledge all who stayed behind, save the undeniable fact of Lord Finarfin's repentance." The maiden nodded, "Yes... your observations are most astute. Fleeing the war, Argion reached Ossiriand, where he wed a maiden named Othel, and their son became Esgalon, the blood of Kings wedding into the blood of the Green-Elves, and then Esgalon wed Faneth, and they begat Fimel and Fimon... the line was well-settled in the newly-found Kingdom of Lindon, lorded-over by our cousin, Gil-galad Elven King. Halchon and Maechenebeth begat me. And we were well-wedded into the Sindar at this point in time. But the direct lineage to Argon son of Fingolfin remains ever strong. Thus, we were present as courtiers in the wide Hall of the High King of the Noldor, I beheld the High King and his family... pure Majesty: Gil-galad Elven King. We did not march to war. And Gil-galad Elven King never returned... and my parents took to the ships. I was young and barely in my hundreth year, but I refused to go. I had greatly desired to become High Queen myself... I do not deny it. I imagined it in my deepest dreams. I dreamed of greatness. But alas, unrequited. Many were abandoning the realm. And so I took-up my place within the throneroom. None came to Court. The Realm had perished. Thus, I abandoned it... Thus I departed, alone, without a guardian... until I met two other Sindarin Quendi who were making their way East in order to find their long-lost kindred. They had regretted not following Oropher and his son Thranduil in the beginning. And, in time, we reached the Halls of the Elven-King upon Amon Lanc. Oropher, too, had perished in the War of the Last Alliance. When the Shadow came.... we were forced to flee, but we lost our sense of direction in the forest, and would have wandered there forever, save for the fact that we had climbed the trees, seen the stars, and found ourselves ultimately nigh the River Running. I felt my true purpose pulling me southeast, away from Thranduil, until I reached these lands. We dispersed, each to his own life, and I to mine. Hither have I dwelt under my lords' and ladies' protection, with a plenitude of wine to sooth my weary spirit, and a song or two to sing. I was named after the Elven-King's famed spear of old. For I am Aeglossel...." "A most wondrous tale, that you have woven, my Lady. Tell me, do you fight for yourself, hunt your own food?" Aeglossel shook her head, "I am a Lady of the Court, and I am treated as such. And why do you, my Lord, dress in such dark, strange garb?" Macilon frowned, "It is a long story..." Aeglossel nodded. Macilon scoffed, "Come, let us sit hither in the grass. We have much to discuss..." Aeglossel nodded sadly, the sorrow ever more evident in her eyes then, "We do.......... I was stung several times by spiders' stingers... yet rescued with ease... and brought once more among my kindred............" Macilon smiled. "Indeed, we have much to discuss........." Edited by Ioristion, Jan 1 2018, 11:07 AM.
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| Ioristion | Aug 3 2016, 12:52 AM Post #194 |
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Chapter CXXXI: Phantoms of the Past Yucalwe probed the artifact. He had not left it behind at the Halls. He had seized it when Macilon was elsewhere. Now he had it all to himself again, there, in a glade, nigh the encampment. He swept his cape around himself and vanished beneath it, clutching the orb beneath its folds. And then his mind fell transfixed, and he began to dream. He stood atop cliffs above the shores of the vast sea, the green lands of Lindon surrounding him, drenched with the morning dew, the fair scents rising in the air, the Citadel of the Capital far in the distance to the east, where Gil-galad dwelt once nigh the mountains, the Ered Luin. There upon the cliffs he beheld her as he had remembered her. He had remembered how he had found the hill above the Pool of the King in the heart of Enedwaith, how he had found her lying there, poisoned, nearby subdued, among the reeds, how he had taken her to the men, and then to Harndirion, to the old sage Iordreth, and how they had healed her, how she had slowly regained her strength, how he had fallen in love with her without ever telling her, how they had journeyed to Minas Tirith, how they had stood proudly on the Prow overlooking the Pelennor... and the walls of Mordor in the distance, and how Mordor had reminded him of all he had suffered in the Last Alliance, back when he thought his commands had slain Rostor and many others, and he recalled how they had returned to Harndirion, to find it under siege by Orcs, how Guldrambor, who had not yet vanished completely into the East, had hounded them, and hounded him, how he had lost Celendil Carithawen forever, how he had sought Dol Amroth in search of her, and lost track of her, and how he had tracked Guldrambor doggedly, from Emyn Arnen through the wilds of Ithilien, to the roots of the River Carnen, to Umbar, and he recalled how he, Yucalwe Ranyaro, had failed to defeat his foe's plans in Umbar, ultimately leading to his own defeat, the temporary loss of his own mind to the bile, a loss that would bear him and his son all the way north to Himling, a loss that would cost House Ainon Cundan the deaths of Almareon Annunon and Astarseron, and how all of that ultimately led him to the present moment. He had dreamed that Gil-galad Elven-King had had a hidden tomb built in the caverns in the cliffs nigh the High Moor above Imladris. He had dreamed of himself reuniting with Celendil Carithawen there. And he recalled how often he had awakened in the night in a cold sweat, sorrowful, bereft of sweetness... He had been born in the year YT 1450, placing him at 450 years old in terms of the Years of the Sun, making him 1,050 years of age when the First Age ended, 4,391 years of age when ended Celendil was born, making her 3,119 years of age in the present year, and Yucalwe 7,410 years of age, with a gap of 4,291 years in between them. Yet Yucalwe remained in the eldest frame of the Second Stage of the Elven Life-Cycle, and while weariness and high wisdom and countenance were in his eyes, his hroa had remained deeply young in its appearance. Moreover, because Celendil had suffered deeply during her abuse at the hands of the Orcs, and had endured many harrowing experiences throughout her life, she had aged far more, and thus Yucalwe felt safe to love her. But he had lost her forever and had never found her. Now he saw her standing in his dream upon the cliff-side, her eyes sparkling, her rich, brown, silvery hair flowing behind her, in her green-toned leather, her garb of old. He approached her. And just as he prepared to kiss her, he beheld a dark and red-feathered raven flying unto them out of the West, as they stared at it, as it landed, and grew in size, and in a flash of light, feathers transfigured into silken folds, dark fur into hair, beak receding, grey eyes shining, cheeks paling, wings outspreading, then, arms outspreading the fiery red lining of a cape. Macilon lowered his arms, "Awaken." Macilon spoke again, "Awaken." Yucalwe tried to embrace the mirage of Celendil. And Macilon spoke again: "Awaken." And Macilon swept his cape atop them both, all vanishing into the shadows, and in reality, Yucalwe slowly opened his eyes. And there stood Aeglossel before him, her eyes in tears, as Macilon kicked the orb away from Yucalwe. Yucalwe stared stunned. Aeglossel hatched a smile, "Macilon has told me quite a bit about you... and in time, you shall hear about me..." "Yes.." Yucalwe warmly replied, "I shall be glad to listen... Where did you find her, Macilon?" "Oh, she will tell you in time," Macilon smirked and smiled. Then he took the orb and parted from the glade. Yucalwe smirked, "Aeglossel..... a beautiful name." Aeglossel smirked, "Come... for we have much to discuss....." Edited by Ioristion, Jan 1 2018, 11:10 AM.
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| Ioristion | Aug 3 2016, 06:50 PM Post #195 |
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Chapter CXXXII: The Return to the Present Aeglossel and Yucalwe held hands as they walked slowly through the forest. Yucalwe tried to smile, "I beg your pardon, my Lady... but..." "I pity you," smiled Aeglossel. Yucalwe smiled, "Would you prefer that I live for the now... not for the past..." Aeglossel sighed, "A difficult task for us, of our age... to be sure..." Yucalwe sighed, "I know... I have long missed Celendil..." "It would appear to be more than that, from what Macilon has told me..." "Yes, but he caught only..." "More than a glimpse." "Fair enough, my Lady..." "You have deeply missed another as well.... whom you loved as if a brother... although it was not requited...." Yucalwe nodded sadly, "You know all of my secrets now, apparently. Yes.... he was a great Prince... and once High King..." "I know who it is of whom you speak." "I am not surprised..." Aeglossel smirked, "This cloak of yours.... Exile and loyalty.... black and red.... tell me, how shall you interpret the streaks of light that shine upon it, by Sun or Moon or Stars?" Yucalwe paused, and shook his head, "I do not know... my Lady..." Aeglossel paused, "It is Estel... the hope that endures within you... far more important than the colors of any cape... it is that which has barely kept you alive, and safe from fading, throughout these Ages... Oh... what Fate draws us so close... and yet... you and she so far apart..." Yucalwe nodded sorrowfully, "True... but I will keep hope kindled in my heart for her." Aeglossel smiled widely, "And so shall I... so shall I.........." Edited by Ioristion, Jan 1 2018, 10:59 AM.
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| Ioristion | Aug 5 2016, 07:49 PM Post #196 |
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Chapter CXXXIII: The Realm "Are the refugees well-cared for and provisioned?" Lerinon stared at Malchon, who was kneeling before the throne. "They are, your Grace. Shall they be invited to the High Feast?" Lerinon shook his head, "I do... not know what to do... concerning them.... they have suffered a grave loss, and the sudden onset of feasting might upset them..." "How wise of you to realize this, your Grace..." Inheroth tried to smile. Lerinon nodded, "Where stand our forces? Have any of our embassies returned yet?" Malchon shook his head, "We have not heard from them for days... your Grace." Lerinon nodded again, "And have we heard from our Haradric friends?" Malchon stared at him sadly, "No... your Grace." "And what of our Realm? How fares it?" Malchon smiled, "I have attended to all grievances, your Grace, and there are naught but few. Harvests go well. The grapes are pressed. The wine is poured. The folk in the flet-towns are fairly content. Their lords watch over them. They have little to report, your Grace." "All the easier for us, I suppose. Now, we must plan. We must strike at our Enemy." Malchon frowned, "That may be precisely what our foe is waiting for, in all due respect, your Grace. Do you not think it odd that he was winning the day, only to turn round and make his forces vanish from our Realm? To infiltrate our Halls, only to escape with a paltry number of traitors?" "He did retreat rather quickly," Inheroth concurred. "He might be setting a trap." "But what can we -do-?" Lerinon pouted. "Sit here, in our halls, some of us drinking and dancing and singing, while others mourn and weep? And how might we comfort the latter, without.... overwhelming them?" Malchon bowed, "If it may please, your Grace: leave it to the healers and others to counsel and console them. I shall continue to see to it that they are well in order. None of the mortals are to be mocked for their shorter life-spans. None are to be respected or insulted. All are to be aided." "A prudent maneuver," Inheroth nodded. Lerinon nodded, "Very good. We shall hold no High Feast or public revelry. Not until all feel ready and able to attempt to distract themselves through mirth and pleasure." "So it shall be, your Grace," Malchon bowed and parted from the chamber. Lady Thiassel was meditating elsewhere. Inheroth and Lerinon both had the Great Hall all to themselves again. Edited by Ioristion, Aug 5 2016, 07:50 PM.
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| Ioristion | Aug 5 2016, 09:04 PM Post #197 |
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Chapter CXXXIV: Uireb Lerinon slowly lifted his silver wreathed crown from his head and placed it on the Throne behind him. "Inheroth..." "Yes... your Grace, my Gwador?" "We...we must learn somehow.... what our Enemy intends.... and Macilon has the artifact. Therefore, let us attempt other means, through which to do this..." "What other means?" "Our cloaks.... I feel somehow, that it is time... I cannot explain...." "Very well, your Grace." Lerinon whipped his golden folds around himself, slowly descending the stairs, covering his nose and mouth with his golden folds as he descended, and as he reached the bottom, he outspread his folds anew, red, fiery silk glistening brightly in the sunlight, as Lerinon declared: "Come unto me... that we may cloak ourselves... together..." Inheroth outspread his own golden folds and bowed, "As you wish... my Gwador... my King..." They processed carefully over to a place of rest overlooking the glistening sea, their raven hair flipping as they turned, their capes draping resplendently behind them. Then Lerinon whipped his cape over-top of their faces, and they gently, chastely, kissed each others' cold, pale cheeks, and then they kissed the fiery sunlit folds, their vision blurred, and they passed together into the realm of Dreams. They felt themselves gliding across the sea. Then they felt their feet standing on a solid surface. Their capes still billowed brightly behind them in the wind, as if they were flying. Then came the sounds of movement and of horses. It was a war-camp. Many Vanyar gathered there, sunlight on their golden hair. An Elf in rags ascended the hill. Lerinon and Inheroth followed him. They were nigh the Falls of Sirion, roaring powerfully, the last vision of lost Beleriand within their minds. A being stood on a plateau nigh the falls, robed and cloaked in red and gold, his hood covering his eyes. His garb billowed, shining brightly, flowing in the wind. "You have done well, my friend," the being spoke, "To have survived so much..." "I am most sorrowful for my crimes..." the ragged Elf replied, "I deserve to be tossed into Lord Mandos' Halls forever...." "Yet thou shalt not," the being replied. "Lord Eonwe shall press north upon the morrow, and I must join him. But you shall not go thus with us. You shall walk thy path alone for a time. Seek the lands of Ossiriand. And from there, find Macil, and follow him from a distance in disguise, speaking not with him. If you should lose track of him, as you shall, in the far-off future, find the one called 'Auruiron,' and offer to serve him. Reveal not who you are, or who sent you, other than your chosen name. Choose wisely. Maintain your watch." The ragged Elf was speechless. They had already recognized him as Macilon. But they gazed in awe at the being who stood before them. The being continued, "Now this is thine charge: First, to reunite the sundered family. When they are reunited, only then may you reveal unto them, who you truly are. Second, to guide them, when the Orb reawakens, and take care, for how such powers unfold art perilous... And now for the last of all: Bring Amanuiron home to me. For he is my brother, and I love him.... far more than many other things, save the Valar themselves, and save the One Himself.... if Amanuiron should redeem himself in truth, and bathe within the Spring of Nienna's Tears, and not emerge forth from it black and fell, he shall not be tossed through the Door of Night. Melkor was denied this test, for all believed his repentance had been genuine, and Mairon likely feared that the Judgement of the Valar would involve such a test, I would imagine. If Amanuiron hearkens not, then he shall dwell shapeless, a ruined spirit, from now until the end of Time, and beyond in oblivion. The Valar have forbade me to interfere directly. A guide hath been chosen: Fingon son of Fingolfin. He has found himself again after his internment in the Halls of Mandos. But never again shall he depart the West. I have allowed him to see.... all of the visions and dreams, involving him, that many who are ordained to endure this Journey, may yet perceive.... and he hath approved all of them, so that I may say to you: the visions and dreams from their minds and hearts speak the truth of all that Fingon Findekano ever would have said to them. Now come and kneel before me." Still speechless, Macilon obeyed. And Inheroth and Lerinon watched in awe as the golden cape swept over Macilon, and when it swept back, Macilon was robed and cloaked in black as he ever was. Then the being explained all the representations of the colors and their significance, and then he sent Macilon away, into his exile. After Macilon left, the being gazed directly into Inheroth and Lerinon, as if he pierced the marrow of their being. He vanished. And the Falls of Sirion fell and faded. And then they found themselves upon another plateau, atop the Halls in Dorwinion, overlooking the sea. A storm was brewing. The sunlight still pierced the shadows. The wailing voice of Auruiron moaned through the storm clouds and drifted upon their ears. Then they awoke, tears streaming down their faces. They tightly embraced each other, their faces emerging from their capes, as they wept. And Lerinon said, "Ada.... he is alive....alive..... and.....in torment......." He girded himself, his resolve rising, "And we will save him. Our army is to assemble as soon as it may. I want every-able-bodied Elf and Man loyal to us to be prepared to march within the next three days." Inheroth nodded, still weeping. Edited by Ioristion, Aug 5 2016, 09:10 PM.
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| Ioristion | Aug 7 2016, 06:13 PM Post #198 |
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Chapter CXXXV: The Fulfillment of Rostor i Finlos Upon that fateful eve before the Battle of the Tufts of Sutland, after Aegon parted from the bushes in the glade, Cellindien gazed into Macil's eyes. "Beloved. When the sun rises we will stand now upon the brink of our doom, perhaps even at the doors of Mandos. I am ready... but... if you are willing... I have waited long enough. Even should my fea flee, I would have it bound to yours." Macil gazed at her in shock and disbelief, "If you are certain........ I know that I truly am....... here we are, thousands of years later...... and you are right, we are no longer children...... perhaps that is why destiny sundered us to begin with..... to unify us at a far greater moment......" It had taken him this long, thousands of years later, to arrive at this epiphany. He tried to smile, his face visibly shocked. "How shall we perform the ceremony?" She laughed softly, seeming younger despite their shared age. "Have you not heard of the Silvan tradition?" "I have heard tales of it... in Edhellond long ago.... we have the tacit approval from both of our families. Aegnil accepted us before he departed. Our nephew already considers you as his aunt, our sisters have deemed you their sister, and Auruiron has already deemed you his daughter, all on the basis that, one bright and glorious day, in the West, that you would wed me..... now that I am alive, not slain in the Last Alliance," he knelt down before her, on his knees, in the damp, cool grass, "I ask it with all my heart.... with all my spirit.... with all my strength...." Cellindien's eyes were aglow as if with starlight, "Then rise, and let us be one." And he arose, and declared, "I pledge my spirit unto you, all that I am, that we may be as one." "And I, my spirit, unto you, all that I am, that we may be as one." "Throughout all time, enduring all things, as one, forever." "Throughout all time, enduring all things, as one, forever." "In peace, and in war, in Arda, and beyond Arda." "In peace, and in war, in Arda, and beyond Arda." "May all the stars bear witness." "May all the stars bear witness." "And may the Valar bless us." "And may the Valar bless us." Thus they were wed on the eve of battle in body and spirit - the Song of Arda, the Great Music, filling the very air about them as they became one beneath the stars. They had no need for rings, for the light of their union shone brightly in their eyes for all to see. The desire for children they refused, unwilling for any son or daughter to be forced to endure the travail that they had endured for thousands of years, but instead they vowed to return to the West, one way or another, in peace or war, living or dying, to hope for a better time. Indeed, even now they had no fear of death, knowing that their spirits would remain unified even through the Halls of Mandos. They laughed at the conjured images of their enemy. Queen Finlos? A gaudy mockery. Macil, lost? His spirit would endure, entwined with Cellindien's own, never to be severed again. In those blissful moments, they felt as if they were children again. They danced with their capes as of old, and they rested that night in peace. Rising the next morning, many noted the union and rejoiced, seeing the light in their eyes and beholding their new strength. So did Cellindien and Macil prevail, even during the blood-stained, miserable, chaotic rout, of the Battle of the Turfs of Sutland. By grace, under pressure, they survived, and returned to the Halls. They had already endured the brief imprisonment, and Fanon's treason, and Lerinon's reclaiming of the Throne. But now they keenly began to feel, the shock and din of battle wearing-off, the absence of Auruiron, and they sought-out Ioristion, to seek consolation together, for another father, in their eyes, had died. No one knew what the traitor Malagi would come to know: that Auruiron was hanging miserably from a cliff, a brutally tortured prisoner, of Guldrambor. But now Lerinon and Inheroth had learned this, and the couriers had sent-out the orders. But Macil and Cellindien had enjoyed the brief days of respite that they had had together in their mirth and splendour, and through their mirth and splendour, their strength of unity, they endured the waves of pain inflicted by the trauma, of having witnessed the deaths of hundreds, if not thousands. And Macil spake: "Ye, it is true..... I was one of Macilon's 'Seven'.... I knew we needed to save our foe from himself somehow.... but now that he is torturing our Lord-Father, poor Auruiron.... I cannot see how that might come to pass. I can imagine....... that this Uireb truly desires peace..... as Lord Manwe did before him.... and I fear that this evil cannot be overcome..... save through the demise of Guldrambor......... and poor Alcano, our poor Sapling... a rift had grown between him and his parents over this madness........" And the conversation had been cut-short. All were summoned suddenly to the Great Hall. An Emissary of the Enemy had come... bearing terms of surrender. |
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| Ioristion | Aug 7 2016, 10:20 PM Post #199 |
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Chapter CXXXVI: The Negotiation Lerinon had rested with Inheroth, resting chastely and gently beneath the gold, in the spirit of purest brotherhood. When their weeping had ceased, they had exchanged their gentle cheek-kisses, wrapped within Lerinon's fiery red folds beneath the gold, only to emerge to behold the sunlight as it made the waves of the sea shimmer. Theirs was never the sort of bond that had developed between Macil and Cellindien. And it never would be. The brotherhood of Inheroth and Lerinon was a friendship of kith and kin, a protective, close-knit friendship, of which the kissing of cheeks and embraces were nothing more than the signs of brotherly affection, of protective gentleness. It was little different than the bond of closeness between Macalaure and his brothers, and between Macalaure and Auruiron. But the excess of the embracing, the cheek-kissing, and the resting, ultimately emanated from Amanuiron in the Gardens of Lorien long ago, a form of brotherhood that Guldrambor now sought to exploit to the ruination of all who ever took part in it. Such was the nature of the discord that made Agarwaenor fear Lerinon, and ultimately fear for his brother, Inheroth. But Inheroth was never in any true danger. Lady Thiassel had beheld the discord from afar. And she had devised a plan to stop it. Yet even she was forced to the side when the Emissary of Sakuta entered the Great Hall of the Golden King. He rode from Sakuta three days prior, bearing the scroll writ by Guldrambor. He rode robed and caped in black, his silver lining shimmering when ever it flickered briefly in the sunlight as it slanted off the barely visible inner folds, as he rode on his black steed, from dusk till dawn, resting only for several movements of the sun at a time, sweating in the heat, in his hot clothes, and longing to bathe himself in the cool, blue sea. At one point, he had placed his ambassadorial garb aside, wearing only his lighter garb to swim, and swam in the deep, clean waters, watching carefully for any dangerous fish, and then he would dry himself in the heat of the sunlight, and then continue onward on his journey. By the time he reached the Golden Halls, he was granted free passage as an Emissary, yet watched closely, and feared by the Elves who had guided him blind-folded within the Halls. His face was hidden beneath his hood, black and vast, pooling in folds nigh his face. He bowed, "His Grace, Emperor of Sakuta, sends his regards, and bids me to tell thee, his terms of thine surrender..." Lerinon sat on his throne grimly. The galleries to the sides of the chamber were filled to the brim with silent, watchful observers, including Macil and Cellindien. Malchon, Inheroth, and Lerinon stood their ground. Neither Melimwe nor Yucalwe were there to advise them. It fell on them to survive this, their Embassy. Lerinon spake carefully, "Then we shalt hear them." "First," the Ambassador spoke, "Thou shalt surrender the entire Realm of Dorwinion, and all its subjects, unto the judgment of His Grace. Thou shalt depart this Realm and ne'r return. The death of thine precious Auruiron shalt be enough to render a message unto thee..." Lerinon stood tall, "Go on..." "The Eldar shalt cease their pretty, pretentious, petty claims to the lands of Arda. The lands of Arda, in the absence of the Dark Lord of Mordor, shalt be forfeit unto His Grace, the Emperor. The Emperor shalt claim dominion from the Uttermost East unto the Shores of Arda, given that the West art now beyond his reach. The Eldar are to surrender all these lands unto His Grace. His Grace shalt reign eternal across the breadth of Arda. All peoples shalt be subject to him, from Dale, to Rohan, to Gondor, and beyond. And he shalt reign supreme over them all, provide for their needs, and win their love. All shall love him and n'er betray him. And if any shalt betray him, then they shalt service unto his Realms as examples. He shalt reign. And none shalt defy him. For his cape is many-coloured, his eyes shine as if the stars, his mane of flowing hair is brilliant, his countenance uplifts all spirits, and his power can never be denied." Inheroth whispered in Lerinon's ear, "A seemingly fair, yet most foul foe..." Lerinon nodded, "What is thine name?" "Gurthbainor." "Thine true name..." "Narushon..." Narushon suddenly slapped himself hard across his own face, "Nay, I art Gurthbainor, Servant of mine Emperor, Master of All, Protector of all Realms..." Sasuko revealed himself, and stood beside Inheroth, his own dark cape sweeping around him. Narushon stammered, "Thou!" He pointed to Sasuko, "Thou traitor! Stand ye thoust by such a cause? Surrender... for His Grace shalt have words with thee..." A cruel grin grew on Narushon's face. Lerinon deeply frowned, "We...............shalt take counsel for a moment. Guards, watch him, whilst we converse..." The crowd of lords and ladies murmured while Lerinon, Inheroth, Malchon, and Sasuko, withdrew into Lerinon's chamber. |
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| Ioristion | Aug 7 2016, 10:32 PM Post #200 |
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Chapter CXXXVII: A Secret Council Lady Thiassel slipped into Lerinon's chamber as well. The five gathered in a circle in the center of the room. Lerinon muttered, "What shall we do........" Inheroth paused in thought, and soon replied, "I do not know, your Grace... his terms are harsh... we cannot submit to him, and yet... he has Auruiron... though he admits it not..." Sasuko heaved a deep sigh, "I've known Narushon for some time now. We were close friends... like you and Inheroth, my King... and he is ever devoted to his fell Master, as I was, once... he will not see reason... you shall not be able to convert him unto our side hither..." Malchon nodded, "Shall we imprison him then?" Sasuko shook his head, "That would only serve to anger Guldrambor, and that could prove dire for Auruiron........ there is an ever-increasing bone-heap on the jagged rocks beneath and behind the Citadel, jutting forth from the sea, food for the monstrous, big fish that patrol the deeps..." Lerinon nodded, "Then what should we do? If we stall, and answer neither yea nor nay, that, too, may anger Guldrambor, and thus only serve to harm my father..." Lady Thiassel slowly smiled, "Tell me.......... did this Macilon friend of yours receive a mission to..... lure this Guldrambor back to goodness?" Lerinon nodded grimly. Lady Thiassel's smile grew even wider, "Then it would not be a lie to tell this Emissary that we seek to make peace with Guldrambor. Then tell him that Sasuko shall speak with the King's voice." Sasuko's eyes grew wide, "And then I may then state that we accept his Emperor's terms..... for as a mortal, I am capable of speaking such falsehoods............." Lerinon heaved a deep sigh, "Yet such falsehoods may turn well to our end and doom......." Sasuko balked, "Nonsense..... my King, in all due respect, your Grace, I can tell you that, in my experience, it is precisely falsehood that enabled this Emperor to gain his power and position in the first place......." Inheroth slowly frowned, "Yet falsehood cannot undo falsehood, and falsehood can only make it all the greater..." Lady Thiassel blinked, "I have another idea. What if we simply tell the Emissary... that we agree to make peace with his Emperor, and then nod to that agreement. It is not a lie, but it also veils our other intentions... without endorsing the precise terms of our foe." Lerinon then regarded Lady Thiassel with deeper respect, "A wise suggestion. Are there any objections?" They all shook their heads. Then they returned to the Great Hall. Lerinon sat on his throne yet again. |
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12:44 AM Jul 11