Welcome Guest [Log In] [Register]

Welcome to Leaves of Laurelin. We hope you enjoy your visit.

You're currently viewing our forum as a guest. This means you are limited to certain areas of the board and there are some features you can't use. If you join our community, you'll be able to access member-only sections, and use many member-only features such as customizing your profile, sending personal messages, and voting in polls. Registration is simple, fast, and completely free. We hope you'll enjoy your time here.

Join our community!


If you're already a member please log in to your account to access all of our features:

Username:   Password:
Add Reply
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.
Topic Started: Apr 6 2016, 02:01 PM (3,108 Views)
Ioristion

Chapter CXXXVIII: A Reached Consensus

Lerinon declared unto Narushon: "We thank His Grace, the Emperor of Sakuta, for relaying unto us his terms of surrender..... We, as such, greatly desire to make peace with him, and to this we thus agree. There... it is done. You may now return unto thine Master and relay unto him all you have been told."

Narushon nodded, "A most excellent conclusion, your Grace."

And before Narushon could speak further, the Guards escorted him from the Great Hall.

Once the guards returned, having sent Narushon on his way, Lerinon declared: "We have gained ourselves some extra time. But we know our foe is first, and foremost, a liar. He has my father as his pet to torture. My father likely writhes in unspeakable agony as we speak. Therefore, prepare, for we shalt take the advantage, and surprise our foe... in which direction did Narushon go?"

"He left southward-bound, your Grace."

"Then our force shalt skirt the Sea of Rhun from the north. Malchon, prepare our forces. We depart in three days."

And then all parted from the Great Hall, save Lerinon, Inheroth, and Lady Thiassel.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Ioristion

Chapter CCCXXXIX: The Power of Lady Thiassel

Lady Thiassel slipped between them as they all stood in front of the throne, "Your Grace... my Lord..."

Lerinon slowly smiled, "What is it that you seek, my Lady?"

"Your love, of course, your Grace. I seek your love."

"And why do you seek my love?"

"Because a King should never reign without a Queen."

Inheroth gazed at her in shock, suddenly feeling in danger of displacement, and yet he kept his composure, calm and cool: "A bold observation, my Lady."

"Thank you..." She turned to Inheroth and gave him a surprising peck on the cheek, "A King should also have his loyalists... his closely-bonded brethren... yet ne'r should his closely-bonded brethren be disquieted and discordant toward each other..."

"I am not entirely certain as to what you mean," Inheroth fearfully replied.

"Tell me, my Lord: Where is thine brother, Herald Agarwaenor?"

"He is away on a sensitive diplomatic mission...."

"And why is he away and not standing hither at your side?" She turned to face Lerinon again, "And you... your Grace... I see not Agarwaenor ever resting gently beside you..."

Lerinon's face was simmering, "My Lady, I must warn thee: you tread on dangerous soil."

Lady Thiassel nodded, "Do I, truly, your Grace? Or did you not also manage to prove my point? I know how to make peace among thine brethren..."

Inheroth protested, "My Lady... this is most dangerous... most inappropriate... and..."

Her warm, tender lips, dove into Lerinon's. And Lerinon felt himself swooning as he fell into her control. Inheroth gazed at her, stunned. She concluded the kiss, "Your Grace... my King... come, that we may dream of your past, of my past, of our past...... together. Come with us, as well, Lord Inheroth... for there is much to learn between us. And you shall have made peace between thee and thine brother... before we thence depart unto farther eastern lands...."

Lerinon felt overwhelmed by her powerful presence, "As you wish... my Lady... and hither we go again..."
Edited by Ioristion, Aug 7 2016, 10:52 PM.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Ioristion

Chapter CCCXL: In the Depths of Menegroth

And Lady Thiassel seized Lerinon's cloak from his shoulders. And Lerinon, to his own surprise, never, ever, thought of resisting and grabbing it back. The Lady cocooned herself within it, and then, spread-out her wings like a peacock, the sunlight gleaming upon the fiery-golden folds. They returned to the place of rest overlooking the Sea of Rhun. And there, they cocooned themselves together, their eyes closing slowly.

Beside them, Inheroth held himself stiffly, yet he knew what was coming, and sought to even the rhythm of his breathing, to close his eyes and succumb to the sights that would soon wash over them. He knew the power of the cloak could reveal something to be made of use. Yet even with all his knowing he could not help but cast one more strange look in Lady Thiassel's direction. She was an unknown, and he did not understand her behavior, much less her intentions. And yes, Lerinon was his King, but he was ever his brother first and foremost, and Inheroth could not help but feel protective. His mind thus troubled, he bent his head and let loose a gentle sigh, willing his limbs to relax. The softness of the cloak enveloped them. It was starting.

The halls were dark, life stirred in the depths along the passages lined with shining crystal lamps, the shafts of sunlight pouring through small gaps through the heights above. Many Elven nobles of Sindarin descent, robed in bright white and silver, sparkling, processed their way along vast bridges and staircases.

Lady Thiassel then swept her cape around her. "Come," she said.

Lerinon began to tremble. This dream, unlike the previous cape-induced visions, was vivid. Were these the powers of a nearby Guldrambor? Are they of the West? He did not know. But the powers were now clearly, suddenly, augmented, and ever they had been flowing from the stream born from Vala Nienna's tears into the depths of the silken threads that wove and bound the cape together. The fiery gold billowed behind Lady Thiassel as she ascended. Lerinon found himself wearing silver robes, and his dark-green velvet cape, lined with bright golden-green silk within. Inheroth was robed and cloaked in similar garb. They descended the stairs and crossed the bridges. It was the same place where Saelbainor had fought Melimwe long ago. It was the same place where Yucalwe had fought Auruiron and others long ago. But they made their way beyond it, silky folds of capes shining in crystalline light, their faces beaming, as they then turned through several dark corridors, and came around, and up, into the High Throne of Elu Thingol of Menegroth, in the era of Dior. Terror struck Lerinon: it was the same place as the vision of the orb, within which Macilon had warned him of his foreboding doom.

But then Lady Thiassel proclaimed, "Come hither, your Grace. For this is not yet of thine glory. Come, for I recall it well. This beauty... this glory... this power... is from my mind."

And the Light of the Silmaril filled the chamber, awe rising, the Jewel shining in all its glory.

And there sat Dior on his throne, his Half-Elven face still shining in the prime of his youth, Elfdom rising in his fea, his shining, brown, flowing silken hair flowing down his back and shoulders, wearing his dark-green, vast cape that trained around his Throne, lined with silk of golden-green. Queen Nimloth sat beside him, robed in silver majesty. And there on their own smaller seats were two ellyn and one elleth, also robed in silver majesty. Their eyes gleamed as if the stars, grey-eyed and proud, their own dark-brown hair flowing behind them.

And Lady Thiassel whispered in the left-ear of Lerinon, "Do you remember, your Grace?"

"The...the Lady... the Queen... appears familiar... and the faces, I recall.... and the glory and the beauty of the Silmaril I recall... and that is all I can recall. Thine own mind hath fulfilled the Image. What think you of it," he turned, still startled, his mind twisting, in shock, and awe, to Inheroth, "My Gwador...?"

Inheroth blinked away the haze clouding his vision, the brightness of the King and Queen pair raining down upon them. When he spoke his voice was soft, awed. "They are as my father always spoke of them, beautiful and glorious," he said. He flickered his gaze over to the children. "Is that...?" he asked, turning to peer into Lerinon's face, seeking an answer to his unspoken question.

"I believe it may yet be.... either way, I do not know....... but I believe that it is so."

Lady Thiassel bowed, "And as do I, your Grace."

Lerinon had deflected his doubt completely. He felt that he was Elurin. That, for him, was enough.

Inheroth nodded once, for he too believed what Lerinon did, and could see the face of the child at the foot of the throne in the face of his King.

And as it did so, Lady Thiassel deeply kissed her King, and even though they were in a dream, Lerinon could feel his heart throbbing as their lips caressed. But then Lady Thiassel turned, deeply kissing Inheroth on his cheek, proclaiming: "Name me thy sister, oh Gwador mine... that we three may together reign, so thus sublime..."

The light of the Silmaril suddenly burst, brightly, in a dazzling brilliance of colors, enshrouding the entire room in light.

And as it did so, Lady Thiassel deeply kissed her King, and even though they were in a dream, Lerinon could feel his heart throbbing as their lips caressed. But then Lady Thiassel turned, deeply kissing Inheroth on his cheek, proclaiming: "Name me thy sister, oh Gwador mine... that we three may together reign, so thus sublime..."

Inheroth hesitated. When he could muster no answer of his own, he looked beseechingly at Lerinon. "Is that what you wish, my King?" he asked.

And Lerinon, having reached the apex of his most deepest longings, not heeding the warnings of Macilon, gently replied: "They are. While for now, at war, we may not wed, nor share any bonds, so far from home, our real home, lost forever beneath the sea, I thus proclaim: join us in our council, be, for now, as a sister to us, until a day may come when we find peace.... that then you, and I, may forever reign, as King and Queen of this greatest Realm, a Realm that we shall make far greater, than Doriath had ever been. Such are my desires, my deepest dreams."

He did not heed the future, the real future, the potential consequences, in that moment that itself only existed within the fragile fabric of a dream.

Slowly, gently, the Silmaril blinded their eyes with Light, the vision faded into sunlight, and the Sea of Rhun flowed glistening out the great windows, that slowly regained their focus before their eyes.

Lerinon turned to Inheroth, rubbing his eyes, still feeling unhinged, "What is thine answer... my Gwador..."

Inheroth nodded, satisfied for the moment, though he continued to feel a strange uncertainty. "Very well. I accept you, as my King accepts you, Lady Thiassel. We shall be kin." He sighed again, deeply, breathing in deeply the cool air of the evening, free from vision and dream.

Then she deeply kissed their cheeks and foreheads, stood suddenly, unclasping the cape, bowing, and strode away, leaving the Great Hall behind her.

And Lerinon reclasped his cape around his shoulders, leaning-over as he spake, "Thank you, Gwador.... Gladdened is my heart of this, strengthened is my resolve... we need help, and we shall receive it... For there is much to do.... we may yet find Auruiron alive, our father, and save him from a terrible doom.... no longer shall I withdraw, hiding in the shadows..."

He deeply, as a brother, kissed Inheroth in the same place on the cheek, then gently stood, flaring his cape around himself, outspreading his arms, processing back around, regally up to the Throne, and regally he turned, and regally sat-down, a sovereign. And he steeled his nerve for the war to come, or at the smallest least: he tried to.

Inheroth gave Lerinon a watery smile, overjoyed to see some of his brother's old strength seeping back into him, his resolve. Inheroth bowed his head.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Ioristion

Chapter CCCXLI: Malchon of the Greenwood

As Lady Thiassel stormed down the Hall, another followed her. Following her, he measured his steps, as she slipped inside her chamber. She turned, "Lord Malchon..."

Malchon bowed, "What... happened in there, if I may ask, my Lady?"

"You may ask. He truly is Prince Elurin of old. And I love him."

"Does His Grace return the favor?"

"He does."

"That is rather quick of him. Much of this is. His coronation, his glorious battle, the deaths of my brethren... and now he is betrothed to a most fascinating Lady."

"He is not betrothed of yet. There is war afoot... you know this most of all... I know why you have come, Lord Malchon."

Malchon blushed, "You... you do?"

"Yes..." She fanned her hair and gathered her deep evergreen velvet folds around herself, even to the point of nearly concealing her face with them. "You seek a sister... a stern, strong, shoulder upon which to pour forth all your griefs... Truly, I have dreamed of you."

"I am sick of dreams..."

"As am I. But we, on this Quest, are in the province of Irmo... any who sought Jewels or Rings were in the province of Aule..."

"They were in the province of many of the Valar. We should not speak of them so lightly."

"I do not speak of them so lightly. Now tell me, did my words not measure thy truth?"

"They have thus measured it...."

She turned, retreating toward her place of rest, then began to swiftly, flipping her golden-brown hair, on air, shining, as the strands flipped around her, turning again to face him. Her eyes sparkled. She outspread her bright golden-green, shining, inner folds, bathed in sunlight that shined through the nearby window that faced the sea, she bowed her head, and she declared: "Come unto me, my Gwador... come that we may grieve together." A silvery tear slithered down her right, pale, cool, cheek.

Malchon then performed the same gestures, gathering golden folds up to his face, then outspreading the fiery red silken, shining, folds, and then he approached her, and they fell into each others' embrace, kissing each others' tear-streamed cheeks, now made warm by the gentle, warm touch of their warm lips. Then she shouldered Malchon's deep, heart-wrenching grief, as he wept bitterly for the loss of his companions, the three guards who had served on boat-duty with him throughout the passing years in Thranduil's crystalline Halls... never to return to their homes and huts beneath the stars.

And as he thence did weep, she whispered, "Stay with me... my Gwador... for I shall protect you... always..." She gently stroked the golden-brown, silken, folds of his hair.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Ioristion

Chapter CCCXLII: A Madder "Queen"

A maiden spun in her golden darkness, her fiery red heart pulsing deep inside her, her silvery hair, wild, flying, her folds outspreading, in darkness, haunty.

He had remembered that sudden change in her eyes when she had proclaimed herself the "Queen of Gondolin." He had remembered how smitten he felt with her all the more. Now, he had followed her, at her beckoned call. She had called him, "My dear sweet Sapling." He had very much loved it when she called him that. With her, he felt wild and free.

Alcano and Celebressel now wished that they could run away together. And forget the war. She ran through the darkened halls, her golden cape flapping behind her, as he chased her. As they passed into a low chamber, she turned around, her eyes glowing with their bond. She outspread her inner, fiery-red folds, in shafts of sunlight gleaming, proclaiming: "Come unto my, my dear sweet Sapling..."

Alcano outspread his dark and fiery folds, bowing, "As you command, -my- Silver Queen... my Lady..."

Their fiery folds intermingled as they embraced, gold overlapping over black. He buried his face in her silver hair. She gently, warmly whispered, "My Sapling... Behold thy Silver Queen... far more beautiful than dawn... more powerful than all the seas combined... as vast as starlight..."

"And I love you... most of all..." he whispered.

She buried her lips in his cold, pale cheeks, warming them. Warmly, he returned the gesture. She whipped her folds around and over them both. And deep, in fiery, sunlit folds, they kissed, ever deeply, their hearts throbbing, slowly peeling the fiery folds away from between their lips, as Rostor and Finlos on the hills of Tum Laden before them. Then they both deeply embraced.

And Celebressel whispered, her warm, fair breath framing Alcano's face, "Long ago... in the Golden Wood... a little elleth beheld a Lady in her Glade from afar... her beauteous silvery-blond hair fell from the crown of her head, flowing down her back, the longest of hair in all of Elvendom... the hair she had refused unto Feanor... to think how her refusal caused so much war and death and grief..." A tear fell down her left-cheek, as she continued, "For so long as she had yielded hairs but three, the shining Silmarils would never be... And shining white silk fell from beneath her hair, flowing behind her in majestic train... so thus, unto myself, I promised: Benevolent I would be... I would yield the hairs thus three... more beautiful than her, I would thus be... for all the world, to gaze in awe, and see..."

They did not hear the heart-wrenching grief of the refugees of Eir on the floors above. Her grief had clearly plunged her into ever-deeper madness. So to, also, thus fell Alcano.

For Alcano whispered, "And unto me, so thus, you are... oh most beauteous Queen..." And then, for what little of his sanity had remained: he lost it all completely.
Edited by Ioristion, Aug 14 2016, 10:49 PM.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Ioristion

Chapter CCCXLIII: The Refugees of Eir

In the healing floors of the Halls, the refugees of Eir sought what little rest availed them truly.

Maidens wept. The elderly cowered. The young longed for vengeance. The nobles despaired. The children cried. The soldiers sought their loved-ones. All starved until the Elves aided them. Then they all began debating each other on how to approach the King. The nobles were at each others' throats, each seeking his own interest and authority. Some schemed to get their lands back. Some pondered treason. Others sought wisdom. Families reunited. Then families wept for all they lost, for all whom they had lost. Farmers lamented their fallen fields. Much had been lost in the fall of Eir. Some missed its squares and plazas. Others missed its gardens. More missed all the monuments of the distant past. All missed their homes. Some were wrathful, wanting vengeance. Others, filled with sorrow. Others, wanting new lives. Others, wanting justice. Lovers loved, bards composed their dirges, poets wrote their verses. The lower classes would sing to the lute. The upper classes, to the harp. And all the soldiers preferred the drums. The nobles formed an embassy to come before the King. None of the peasants had any say in the matter. Most feared for their own survival. And all, save the hard of heart, were struck with awe, and enamored, by the grace and beauty of the Eldar. Greater still was the trauma of their loss. The Eldar aided them. They richly fed and clothed and gave drink to them, and bound their wounds, and healed their hurts. Grief still filled their hearts. Some were grateful, to have lived. Some drank themselves sick with Dorwinion Red. Others despaired, wishing they had died. Others were happy, to eat their fill. Some starved themselves of grief, condemning eating. They who were in danger of harming themselves were kept under close watch. And none of them were ever permitted to bear their weapons within the Halls. Their pain had bound them all.

And for the Eldar: Time itself had lost all importance. They were no longer certain of the date. They were only certain that Spring was waning and Summer would soon be upon them.
Edited by Ioristion, Aug 15 2016, 10:19 PM.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Ioristion

Chapter CCCXLIV: Ill Turns

Findistedis paced to and fro in their chamber in frustration, her silvery folds flowing behind her beneath her silver hair. Malfinseron stood in his azure robes framed by his red and golden cape that all flowed behind him in the wind as he gazed at the silky folds of the waves of the sea far below their chamber. Their eyes glowed brightly in the blessedness of their bond. Malfinseron folded his arms in his red and golden folds.

"What shall we ever do about my crazed sister..." Findistedis muttered.

"My Lord-Father told me long ago that it is impossible to reason with the mad or cowards."

"The mad part I comprehend, my love. But cowards?"

"Hither do we sit, waiting, biding our time."

"There are wounds to bind, my love. Most certainly, you would know this most."

"Malgelir lies buried beneath the soil. His killers still roam the cursed realm beyond these shores. I would sooner be done with it. And bind wounds later. Leave the wounded behind, take all who can still fight. Why does this King of ours, my father's and grandfather's complete and utter nightmare of a ruler, keep us hither to wait for allies who likely will not come? If anything, I have learned the following of this household, from past history: they ever fail at diplomacy. My grandfather outsmarted them at every turn until the last..."

Findistedis nodded sadly, "As you say, my love... As you say. But like it or not: you are part of that household now, -our- household. Some strange fate or doom has brought us hither... for a purpose."

Malfinseron turned slightly, inclining his head, smiling sadly, "I wish I knew what the purpose of all of this truly is... all the death seems pointless, especially if the plots of the West are to force us to attempt to redeem this so-called foe of ours... I, for my part, do not believe that such a redemption is, or ever will be, possible."

"I am inclined to agree," Findistedis heaved a deep sigh. "But if doom and destiny do stand for such a charge, then dark shall our dooms be should we seek to stand in its way or meddle with it."

Malfinseron sadly nodded, "I believe that you are right... Very well then. We shall proceed in obedience to the commands that we are given. But I fear this King of ours... Lerinon was ever the most pompous and pretentious of the House... next to his father, Auruiron... Tell me. Do you believe that he is still alive?"

Findistedis shook her head, "I do not know what to believe... it could be a ruse, meant to trick us."

"A ruse..." Malfinseron pondered. "An ill turn... I have heard that one often deserves another... Love, the sea is shining... Come, let us gaze at the shifting waves and meditate... perhaps a solution to our little problem shall reveal itself..."

Findistedis nodded, "For the sake of my sister... and our brother... I truly, sincerely, hope so..."

With that, he unfolded his arms and turned, the winds billowing his red and golden cape around him. Findistedis nestled herself close to his chest, feeling his heartbeat, as his folds enclosed around her, glistening in the sunlight. The sunlight was ever there for them, for all of them. And after sharing their gentle kiss, they turned to gaze at the crystalline, foamy waves that churned so far below them, beyond their large window in the cliff-side.
Edited by Ioristion, Aug 15 2016, 10:31 PM.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Ioristion

Chapter CCCXLV: An Idea Overlooked

"I miss thee old folk of the Vales... the strong furs... a sturdy axe... now what am I... after all this..."

Isenadin widely smiled, "You are the Prince of the Beornings..."

Mornhelm laughed, "My folk ain't princes..."

Isenadin nodded, "You are one now. And a Gold Magician."

Sasuko smirked, "You are richly robed and cloaked... and may likely own lands out here someday... and you can skin-change into a bear..."

"Only under the right conditions," Mornhelm frowned. "I cannot directly transform at will. It requires much time, preparation, and a deep concentration. The cloak makes it easier somehow... far easier... but normally it is not so. I am not Beorn, nor am I as strong as he was..."

Eiliant yawned. He was resting next to Sasuko. Their folds were draped across each others' shoulders.

Mornhelm turned toward Isenadin, "Tell me... how is it that you are a Magician?"

Isenadin muttered, "I'm not. I am a fake Magician."

Mornhelm gathered his own folds around himself, "Show us..."

"Daechon and I would perform an act together... we would spin and carefully unveil our cloaks of many different colors... and make ourselves appear to disappear... the Ladies of Gondor often loved it..."

Mornhelm smiled, "Show us what you can do with what you have."

Majestically, Isenadin processed to the center of the room, his vast gold and fiery cape flowing behind him, training. It slipped with ease upon the floor. He turned, gathering his folds in front of his mouth and face, so that they covered them. His golden-brown hair flowed down his back to the floor outside the cloak. He had untied it earlier from his well-kept Gondorian style that had masked its true length. He outspread his arms, fiery folds shining, "Behold..."

And then, he spun, a flurry of gold and red and golden-brown silken hair flying and flipping and fluttering around him. The seemingly heavy train of his cape was as light as feathers as it flew, reminiscent of the qualities of mithril. The rest gazed at him, mesmerized. But then Mornhelm began to ponder.

As Isenadin tired himself out, Mornhelm raised his hand, "That is enough... you'll trip yourself-up that way... falling all over that cloak... I had an idea... but it is too dangerous... and this here foe of ours is likely to see it coming: a traveling band of magicians showing-up out of nowhere, performing ridiculous displays, nay... it will only get us killed."

Sasuko sighed, "I am inclined to agree."

Eiliant said neither yea nor nay.

Isenadin pouted, "That is an ingenious idea... even if we fooled our foe but temporarily, our diversion could allow for..."

Mornhelm nodded grimly, "Aye, we might pull it off. But we'd likely die while doing it..."

"Would we?" Isenadin wondered aloud. "Would we? Do me a favor... brother... Mornhelm....take-on my role, and attempt to do what I have done...."

Mornhelm smiled and nodded, rising, preparing to perform. He whipped his cape around himself. Vast still was his train. He stood a golden giant compared to the dwarf-sized Gondorian. He had preened himself with Elven techniques. No longer did he seem the rough, rugged mythic man-hero of the wilderness. His silky, bright golden-brown hair, flowed down his back. It would frame his skin and merge within him into fur whenever he would muster the energy and courage and endurance to skin-change into a bear. He seemed a magician, as Beorn had been regarded of old, but now combined with the richness and fairness of the Eldar. The other three gazed at him in awe and wonder at his splendor. He stood on the wide floor before them in their large chamber. He concealed his nose and mouth, framing his face, in his golden folds. He did not speak. He did not even say "Behold!"

He seemed in that moment an Elven Prince of old, and yet a Beorning, the olden traces of the old warrior hero of the wilderness still in him. But his suspicions of others had slowly eroded throughout their journey. He had begun to admire the Elf-lords that then surrounded him. He also was no stranger to Elf-lords. He had often accompanied a Daleman scholar, protecting him in the wilderness on the High Pass. It was this Daleman who had taught him Westron. He had even beheld the Vale of Imladris from time to time. The scholar often paid his tolls and more.

Now elven silks replaced the leathers. Now silky hair replaced the rough curls he once had sported. His chin was clean-shaven. He had changed.

Mornhelm outspread the fiery inner folds of his cape, ever glistening, as they all had glistened. The others gazed upward toward him, mesmerized. Awe struck them all anew as he spun resplendently, golden-brown hair and golden, fiery folds flying around him. He felt tempted to attempt the bear, but he knew the dangers. He did not wish to share the fate of old Eldrand. He knew how much he had changed. His heart felt gladdened by the changes. His mind soared as he spun in all his beauty. Suddenly, he paused. He swept his cape beside and then around him, "I think we can do it... but we must coordinate it carefully..."

Sasuko and Eiliant nodded reluctantly. Then Sasuko stood, "Our foe shall surely see through our ways, unless we trick him well enough, feigning loyalty. But I do not see how we can do it, as his mind can pierce our minds..."

Eiliant nodded, "A missive came to us, offering terms of peace, did it not?"

Sasuko nodded, "Lord Narushon delivered it. It is likely a ruse attempting to throw us off-guard."

Eiliant smiled slyly, "Then let us turn it to our advantage. Let this our true intentions be: to make peace, and to offer a performance for all his Court, as thus our gesture. Whatever our King and their forces should do is purely up to them."

Isenadin smiled, "A move so bold. Our act nearly matches our foe's preferred behaviors, does it not?"

Sasuko nodded.

Mornhelm sat down again beside Isenadin, "Come... now... let us rest hither for a time."

Isenadin peered out from the deep red shelter of Mornhelm's cloak as he fell asleep.

Sasuko rested his head on Eiliant's shoulder.
Edited by Ioristion, Dec 18 2016, 08:19 PM.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Ioristion

Chapter CCCXLVI: Beneath the Moon

"Tell me," Yucalwe gazed upward toward the luminous Moon, "How is it that your branch flowed from Argon, son of Fingolfin?"

"My parents told me of Argon's children and grandchildren," Aeglossel replied. "I would be in the great-great grand-children category."

"Ah..." Yucalwe noted, "So there is a gap in your knowledge."

"My parents seldom talked about it. I never knew my grandparents."

"So you may or may not be of that lineage."

"I prefer to believe that I am. It makes sense enough to me." Her rich brown hair flipped softly as she swiftly turned her head to face Yucalwe.

"You remind me of Lady Celendil... so much..." Yucalwe replied.

Aeglossel sighed, "I know....soon shall you learn: I am not she..." She rested beside him, in the deep-red shelter of his cloak, gleaming in the moonlight, dark clouds rising. Then she whispered to him, her warm, fair breath warming and framing his face, "But I am here for you, Yucalwe... with you, alone, shall I dare to dream. For none can tell the ebbs and flows of Fate... until thereafter..." Then she deeply kissed him. Their hearts throbbed as they kissed beneath the moon.
Edited by Ioristion, Jan 1 2018, 11:01 AM.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Ioristion

Chapter CCCXLVII: Sorceress of the Greenwood

On the same evening, Inheroth was returning to the Great Hall, wearing his golden cape, his silver wren clasp proudly. He entered to observe a surprising sight. There stood Lady Thiassel facing the great windows, her hair falling down her back, auburn-brown, atop her vast deep evergreen velvet cape, lined with silken golden-green. Her arms and folds were outstretched, her cape billowed in the high winds, and her raiment sparkled in the moon and starlight. She seemed as if she were Queen Melian of old, preparing her Girdle.

Inheroth eyed her with suspicion, "My Lady... I am quite sorry to intrude."

"You are not intruding," she replied and turned around, her hair and cape flipping as she turned.

"Why are you truly here? What truly seek you from me, and most importantly of all, from my dear Gwador?"

She began to pace toward him, her glittering cape flowing behind her, "It is not for you to know yet. Tell me... my Gwador... or have you of late forgotten? Tell me... why do you serve him?"

"He is my Gwador... my dear brother, and among my dearest friends... I have lost many, throughout the long, passing years, from Edhellond of old unto the present. My brother of birth, Agarwaenor, fares well now, but he avoids King Lerinon, for he is much afraid of him. But I... I do not fear him. As a brother, I do love him, my Gwador, and my King. He hath named me his Heir... but it is my deepest hope that never will he lose his title. He is strong... beautiful... and merciful... and all throughout the Realm should bend the knee before him."

"Then what is thine greatest fear?"

"You are too bold, my Lady. We have not truly known each other, and not for long."

She came closer, "Answer, my Lord High Prince."

Inheroth strangely felt compelled to answer, "My fear is of losing him... by death, or capture, or the ways of time... and of losing him to himself. He nearly fell from a high place in Imladris out of grief for all who had died during our excursion into Eregion... I can only imagine how he must feel now."

"We must learn how to trust each other, if we are to save him, my Gwador."

"Tell me how, my Lady, for my King greatly wishes that it be so."

"You may yet know of it, my Lord High Prince: through the same Power that hath bound us yesterday."

"I think not, my Lady... for my mind is weary, most weary... I do not seek to mentally return to Doriath."

"Then you shall not prevail in obedience to thy King's command."

"With what beguilement have you ensnared him?"

"The beguilement of my love... and more besides."

Then she swept her cape over them both. Inheroth was not surprised, for many had maintained, and ever repeated, those same motions. Her cool, silky folds slithered, slipping across his face. For Lerinon's sake, he wished to grow close in friendship, as kith and kin, to the mysterious elleth, who now seemed as if she were an enchantress of the Greenwood. He felt her lips chastely caress his cheeks. He gently returned the gesture.

All suddenly grew darker, and darker, and darker.

Inheroth shouted, and Lerinon heard it from his adjacent chamber.

Lerinon came forth: "I heard shouting. What is the matter?"

When Inheroth felt for the silky folds, Lady Thiassel had vanished.

And the light of the moon and stars had vanished.

And a dark, deep, ethereal fog settled in the corner of the Hall nigh the pitch-black great windows.

Terror arose from all its murky depths. And Lerinon and Inheroth drew their swords.
Edited by Ioristion, Aug 20 2016, 08:44 PM.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Ioristion

Chapter CCCXLVIII: Soldiers of Rhun Arise

The war-chant marched in the distance, the voices growing closer, louder, then closer, ever louder, then closer. Aeglossel and Yucalwe drew their swords. Aeglossel revealed her leather armor beneath her garb. The camp called to arms. And chaos reigned within the forests. Arrows were notched and loosed from bows. Gold-plated bronze armor, wisps of red silk, sharp curved scimitars, long, pale, cold, halberds, all gleamed in the moonlight. Drums were beat. War-chants sounded louder. The drum-beats doomed. Doom. Doom. Doom.

They had marched north and south along the coasts, their lords traveling in boats not far from shore. A storm had arisen at sea. They had avoided the Dorwinion Realms with whom they had trade. They attacked only the camps of the Noldor and of any who dared to aid them.

Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Ioristion

Chapter CCCXLIX: Gwadors Lost at Night

Lerinon quickly turned to Inheroth and swept his cape about them both. They hid within his fiery red folds. Lerinon whispered, "How did we dare to let down our guard.... how foolish was I. Inheroth, I'm afraid...."

"So am I," Inheroth whispered. "Gwador... what force stalks us from outside these folds? Is it Guldrambor?"

A cold, chilling voice answered him from beyond the cape: "Reveal thy selves. And thou shalt know."

"No, do not do it," Lerinon whispered. "It is he... he seeks to withdraw us from the grace and protection of the West, drawing us forth, so that he may torture us." Then Lerinon shouted, "We shall not obey!"

The voice answered: "Then thou shalt die by Easterling blade and spear and arrow. Unveil thy selves, or thou shalt perish!"

And Lerinon shouted: "Then shall we die, to deprive you of thine dark and cruel desire, to torture us."

"No Gwador," Inheroth whispered. "Wait... we might yet stall him and prevail." Then Inheroth shouted, "Pardon my King's sad madness. We shall come forth."

"No, Inheroth! Don't!" Inheroth whipped back the cape. There was a flash of light.

And there he stood, in all his beauty and fell countenance, fairness now masking the foulness beneath him: Guldrambor, Amanuiron, Emperor of Sakuta, and Master, Light Lord, of the East.

The sound of booted soldiers could be heard, marching through the halls to the sound of drums that sounded throughout the depths: doom, doom, and a rolling, doom.
Edited by Ioristion, Aug 21 2016, 11:08 PM.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Ioristion

Chapter CCCL: The Heights of Feigned Beauty and Depths Most Foul

Guldrambor stood before them proudly, "Thou hast lost. The lot of you. And Morgoth. And Sauron. They are all gone! And they have lost. And I hath won. Mine victory. Mine charms, mine love, mine glory. No more shalt the Balrogs cast their whips of Shadow and Flame at me! Ha! Think you they are terrors! They were tormentors unto me, the laughing-stock of Angband! Oh, how pretty, how sly, how quaint, how sweet, was Melkor, when first released from accursed Mandos, so sweet, so beloved... when precious Yucalwe, my Gwador deep of old, went off to befriend Auruiron, and Findekano, and Maitimo, I couldst not stomach it! That he would betray his only loyal and faithful friend! Ha! Where is he now! Likely caught by mine soldiers, ready to be presented on full display, paraded through the streets, until I have dealt with him! How sweet Melkor was... to tell me, no, to teach me! What shall be done with traitors, and I learned it, oh yes, my dear, precious, Yucalwe, I learned it... and then he betrayed me. I was lost, bereft, shunned, accursed, kept out of all history, out of all the lays and songs. For certain, Melkor hath received his honor! But no, nay, not me, not poor, pathetic, Guldrambor. But Amanuiron... he could be great again. He could seize the World of Men. He could rule. Why, he could even rule o'er all the Eldar, and be worshiped and beloved until the end of Time! And then he would by sly craft, and guile, and glory, gain a new dominion, he, with all his former subjects. But nay! The Valar are jealous. Oh, Uireb, poor, daft, sweet Uireb, who hath naught to do with me! Ah, how he counseled me, to leave Yucalwe bereft of love or friendship. He tossed it in my face, the facts of my denial. He tried to place a rift between me and Melkor. Oh but it is over, all over, and now, I shalt grace thee, all of thee, with mine presence. Thou art trapped, brave King, there art no arts of escape for thee. Nay. Brave Inheroth, sweet Gwador, beware, thy King might betray you. Trust him not. And you, oh King, beware, thine sweet Gwador might betray you. Trust him not. I know what thou desireth to say, Lerinon, at once beguiled and yet undaunted, 'You are most beauteous, oh Emperor. Pray tell, thine Grace, thine Majesty: What peace terms were offered unto us, that we, accepted? We seek peace.' And 'Ha!' I wouldst retort, 'Of course you do. You seek to stall, to wait, to bide thy time, to raise thy armies, to supplant me!' And thou, Inheroth, wouldst desireth to shake thine pleasant, sweet head, and say: 'In truth, we only sought to rescue our dear Lord-Father, Auruiron, whom you have tortured and imprisoned. Dreams are strong... and visions ever stronger.' Of course I know thou know it. Know it. I hath permitted it. The powers of thine garb... hath warred with me most aptly. Nay, not of thine garb, but of the Powers, of the West, through thine garb... thinkest thou I couldst not perceive it? Nay, speak not. Thou shalt not speak, for thou art stricken with silence in mine sudden presence. Behold thy doom! And be full well besmirched in it! Drown now in the heights of all mine beauty... that ye may bow... and serveth me..."

The folds of his vast cape then seemed to move of their own will, as did his long, shiny, golden-blond hair. Guldrambor outspread his arms, declaring: "Throughout thine months of toil, I bet, thou hast been most pleasantly drawn unto one another... as close as brothers and as sisters... and of the mortals, much blood was shed, blood-sacrifices unto Morgoth in the hidden places... Pelargir... Minas Tirith... Ost Rimmon... mine spies art wise, they do well report! Malnoron in Pelargir, and others elsewhere... the Gurthbaini in Umbar, the Shahadmaradi throughout the Haradwaith. Now all art consolidated, thus, in Sakuta... the loss of Erebor was naught but a trifle set-back. We shalt defeat those greedy Dwarves, and all their kindred, and all who may yet aid them. We shalt bring the world to heel beneath our power! And you, Eldar, hath danced... the Powers of the West, oh indeed, but who spawned the behavior in you, who beguiled you, all of you, slowly, that you may fail, to resist, my ever-enduring beauty! Come hither my servants! My brethren... Gurthbaini...."

Guldrambor's folds fell over humanoid shapes, forming, then whipped back, revealing, the main members of Guldrambor's Court, save Shikon and the other elders, who ruled the Realm in Guldrambor's absence: There stood Anzulbar and Narushon with several young men and women, all beautiful, and garbed in their robes and cloaks of black and silver silk. They circled around Lerinon and Inheroth.

Anzulbar declared: "All hail His Grace, our Emperor... Lord of Beauty, Light Lord, Master of the World. Our forces march, our powers victor. Lord Fanon and the other Elves, whom we hath beguiled unto our service, now round-up and dismiss any who are of little consequence unto our cause, and bear them thence into safer western lands of Dorwinion, whilst our soldiers slay all dissenters, and seek to arrest all whom you have sought, to bear with us unto Sakuta."

"Most excellent," Guldrambor replied. "Thou hast heard my servant, oh King. Thy Realm, thy Reign, thy Rise, is over. I hath but one more gift to show thee... Behold!"

One more humanoid form moved beneath Guldrambor's vast cape, golden, lined with fiery red, and it whipped back, revealing her: Lady Thiassel.

Lady Thiassel declared: "Oh King... I did not hear our Emperor's honeyed words beneath his vast cape of Beauty... but I know him well: a masterful Elf-Lord, the chief re-builder of our Realm of Doriath, hither, in the East, far from the fell Feanorians, who shalt be punished! And I shalt reign as thy Queen... and thou as mine King... governing our fair, glorious, new, province, that our Emperor hath thence made for us." She came close to Lerinon and embraced him, as he felt her warm breath, as she spake: "Consort not further, my King, with traitors." And then she kissed him deeply on the lips. Lerinon, in shock, angry, confused, and not knowing what to do, closed his eyes, absorbing the kiss. But his own lips did not respond in kind. And Lady Thiassel declared, "Behold his beauty!"

The Gurthbaini outspread their capes, silver in silver light, shining bright, their jagged daggers hidden in their sheathes at their sides. Guldrambor's heights as Amanuiron then reached their apex. His hair flew to and fro, flipping to and fro, flying around him, his arms uplifted, his fiery folds outspreading, as wide as they could, as he then appeared to levitate, beneath the cavernous ceiling, glistening, glimmering, gleaming, in bright light, fiery folds draping fiery bright, and then, in a flash of blinding light, he flew down close, to where Lerinon and Inheroth and Thiassel were standing, then soared upward, then anew, beautiful, his feminine face beaming, his lips shining, his vast cape turned iridescent, shining in many colors, red and orange and green and blue and yellow and purple and violet and gold and many shades in between ever flickering, turning into new colors, to and fro, an interchanging, flowing, shining, spectrum of pure beauty. All the Gurthbaini gazed at him entranced, mesmerized completely. His vast cape flowed and spun and twirled and whipped and flapped and flowed around him, behind him, over him, beneath him, everywhere.

He appeared to land, his vast cape surrounding him, flowing further outward, and outward, and outward, his cape of hair, flowing from his brow, falling atop his vast cape of silk. He declared: "I am Emperor of Beauty... Beauty itself, I am... more beautiful than all the Powers... and now..... I bear the Kiss of Beauty... Thou Eldar, shalt receive it, upon thy cheeks.... Gurthbaini! Remove their capes from their pleasant shoulders, and toss them unto the sea!"

"Pray, first," Lady Thiassel replied, "Let me wear them first, in all their majesty, as I bear them unto the windows..."

"Grave treachery is in them," Guldrambor replied, "Beware of them... for they were cursed by Sauron. Yet... do as you please, oh Queen of Doriath, bestowed with mine beauty... wear them but brief... then toss them thence away..."

The Gurthbaini rushed-in and seized the capes, despite the struggling Gwadors, and placed them upon Lady Thiassel's shoulders.

Guldrambor cracked a fair-seeming smile, "Most beautiful thou art, great Doriath's Queen, yet I shalt make thine beauty greater still, for greater capes await thee, far longer, wider, and more beauteous, even than these. He outspread his cape again and bowed his head, revealing the origin of even that strange gesture, "Thou shalt receive many gifts, my dear, sweet beauty. Tarry not, proceed at thy task."

Lady Thiassel outspread her seized gold and fiery red folds as well, bowing, "By thine command, mine Lord, mine Beauty. Thine art most fair, above us all."

She felt a surge of guilt as she swiftly ran, unclasped the capes, and tossed them, watching them fall, flying in the wind, collapsing, doming over the surging waters of the sea, as the waves thrashed atop them, and thence, drowned them, gold plunging beneath crystalline blue waters, vanishing.

Her deep-green velvet cape, lined with golden-green silk, remained upon her shoulders. "It is done, your Grace," she tried to smile.

"Come unto me," he declared.

Lady Thiassel came as she was bid. He whipped the cape over her. She vanished.

Then he declared: "I should hath known... that was most dangerous... she shalt learn her lesson soon thereafter. No Queen for thee, Lerinon. Nor shalt thou be a King. Doomed thou art... unless ye forsake thine father, for thine true father. Thou mayest yet save her... if thine love for her be true..."

So thus was it then all revealed: the constant repetitions, as thought were true, repeating the same, strange rituals, strange in their excess, not in form. The excessive kissing upon their cheeks, the excessive dancing with their refulgent cloaks, their capes gliding on the air as they had spun and twirled, the same excessiveness they had long suspected, yet done nothing thereof, for their innermost longings appeared to reach their satisfaction, thus satisfied, they would feel at ease, and cast away the lingering years of grief, of the Eldar, and thence in Arda deign to remain, in bliss and great prosperity, at the expense of nations. Hearken! They would consume that which was no longer theirs to thence consume, they would dine on food that ne'r now belonged to them, and drink, and sleep on earth that was no longer theirs, but thence bestowed upon the Second-Born. In this vast snare, Guldrambor exploited them, already they were there, by Morgoth's discord. In this vast snare, they misused their gifts, the Powers that flowed through them slowly ceased their touch, to the point that Guldrambor's minions could thence lay hands on them. Some Power remained for those small few among the Thirty-Three who still respected it, and in respecting it, didst not profane it, by touch or by use of it. The rest had taken them for granted, and now, their Doom was set forth upon them.

For Arda's Third Age had neared its ending, and the Fourth Age, thence bestowed, belonged to the Realms of Men. Some Elves, for a time, might linger, redressing old hurts, mending old wounds, undoing the evil that Sauron and Morgoth wrought. But then, they, too, would cross the Sea, and thence vanish to History. Some mortals, too, got caught in Guldrambor's snare: many members of Ivordir's great Company that marched across Gondor and thence to Rhun amidst grave loss and pain, some dying, and others, rising, to join in arms, against their foe. They, too, got caught in strange cape-dancing, strange bonds of unity, strange signs, strange movements, in strange expressions. They were strange for these ways were foreign to many among the Eldar and among the Edain, among the Dunedain. A gentle kiss on the cheek might serve as a goodly sign of affection, if held but brief, and not in excess. A child might flare his robe for mirth, but the stately Eldar, nay, they would not engage in such trivialities. A Lady might grow her hair to a certain length, as would prove both beautiful, yet practical, but ne'r seek to outdo great Luthien of legend.

Strange, too, were the desires, of they of the Company of Auruiron, and of the Company, of Ivordir. Many exalted and longed for greatness, receiving only folly. Many exalted themselves, believing they could change the world, receiving only grief. Many trusted in their own gifts, claiming them as their own alone, most precious to them, receiving only horror. And many trusted in their victory with vanity, overconfidence, and complacency, receiving only death. What remained for them? A last dance? A fatal caped flare? A final kiss? An embrace to end them? Only the Valar could say. And they were not there. All that remained were endless tears, for them, now, in these moments, in which they were overcome.

Thence came Guldrambor, in all his feigned might and majesty, believing himself, the incarnation, of Beauty.
Thence came Guldrambor, in fairest form, yet Lerinon and Inheroth, did not forget the shadow.
Thence came Guldrambor, hiding the shadow inside himself, hiding it deep, forgetting, that he had thus revealed it, before his feigned beauty.
Edited by Ioristion, Sep 20 2016, 08:38 PM.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Ioristion

Chapter CCCLI: Finlos-Rostor

The night before, after conversing, Macil and Cellindien rested beside each other, cuddling close. The shared light burning in their eyes shined brightly. She had caped them together as she had on Hollin Ridge in Eregion. Saelbainor's green cocooned them. Auruiron's gold cradled them. Yucalwe's black and red concealed them. And they had deeply kissed each other, their hearts ever throbbing, and closed their eyes, resting in each others' arms, burying their faces at times in each others' hair, fiery red intermingling with bright silver.

They awoke with a startle at the sound of the drums. They panicked. Then, they quickly sought their armor, in all haste, arming themselves, assisting each other whenever necessary, to get the gear-on as fast as they could. The booted feet and drums had not reached their hallway yet. They were just fastening their capes when the doors burst open. Cellindien charged at the door with her shield, before any arrows could fire. Macil charged forward, thrusting his sword through the gaps between her shield and the door.

They looked down at the dead Easterlings. Macil girded himself. He felt terrible, So it goes again... is this our Second Kinslaying of the Second-born? Shall our hands become as bloodied as the hands of Feanor, or worse? The drums doomed again. Now his heart turned toward Cellindien. If I fight... if I kill... if I die... defending her, and she, me, then even Lord Mandos himself cannot doom us for it. Fight on, Rostor, fight on, Finlos! Let not our tales end here! Charge!

They both darted down the hallway at once. Macil muttered inside himself, You can hear my thoughts, can you not?

Cellindien merely nodded, focusing on the fight at hand. They charged into a shield-wall of Easterling Knights. The wall fell forward. Hallothanar and several archers had shot them from the rear.

Hallothanar nodded, "I have returned... fell tidings have I!"

Macil nodded, "No time for idle chatter, sir. We follow you."

And so they pressed forward, toward the stairwell, toward the survivors of Eir.
Edited by Ioristion, Sep 20 2016, 08:38 PM.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Ioristion

Chapter CCCLII: A Scattered Command

Melimwe and his company were en route to the Halls when they camped that night. Macilon beckoned to Cullastor. Cullastor whisked his golden cape around him, following Macilon's deep red and black, in the moonlight. Then Macilon swept his cape over them both, embracing him closely, whispering: "If I should die, take-up my cape." He gently kissed Cullastor, first on his cheeks, then on his forehead.

Cullastor gently returned the gesture, "Why have you chosen me thus, when we have barely spoken?"

"Greater powers have chosen thee, than I."

"No..." Cullastor kissed him on the cheeks anew, "They have chosen you. Take my golden mantle, if I should die. And that is final."

Macilon, struck in shock, could not answer him.

Then they returned to the camp. Macilon shouted, "Arm yourselves at once. Do not make camp for the night. For I have seen them with my Elven sight..."

Melimwe gazed at him in horror, "Do as he bids, all of you!"

Yucalwe and Aeglossel were still out in the woods together. Yucalwe seldom rested without his armor or arms near at hand.

The war-chanting suddenly ended the silence, the drums dooming, doom, doom, doom. The Easterlings flooded their position. Tents were lit aflame. Melimwe claimed a nearby hillside. He unfurled the red velvet banner of Eregion, the Star of Feanor emblazoned upon it, crying aloud: "For Noldorion! For Auruiron!" The golden hair of Auruiron, flowing from the plumes of Melimwe's helm, shined brightly in the winds. His golden cape flapped behind him. His soon-bloodied spear shined as if a star. His raven-black hair flowed down onto his shoulders from beneath his silver helm. The others, far outnumbered, rallied to him: the Dorwinion guards of the failed embassy and the formal members of their small Company. Macilon raised his pale, cold sword, and Cullasson his emblazoned, shining spear, and Cullastor, his silver blade, and Rirossel and Rostoriel and Duvaissel, their starry sapphire-studded daggers, and Ioristion, Ancalima Calimmacil va Cano, Sword of the Ainon Cundan, with the Staff of Findekano, and Silevrendor with a blade of sharp Gondorian steel, Abrazan with his dual-blades of yore, and Yucalwe with Tinnu, the Ancestral Blade of House Yualon. The attack commenced.

And in the midst of it, Ivordir's small Company had split far more than in half. Naitheg, Gwainoth, Arancir of Gondor, Raedwyn, and Hallothanar, had made it back to the Halls, and got caught in the conflict within them. Ivordir and Daerfalas and Sindri, their embassy a failure, had reached Melimwe. The Easterlings refused to listen to Sindri. Ivordir and Daerfalas rallied beside Yucalwe and Aeglossel in the fray.

The remaining Haradrim had been in the towers of their Mumakil when the attack on the Halls commenced. Guldrambor drove the Mumakil mad, and they charged, the Haradrim struggling to maintain control. They regained control, and they were heading in the direction of the camp-fights.

The ten Southern Dunedain who had aided the border guards all perished. They had perched themselves high on the flets with the Elves, when the vast Easterling army marched, and they all fired every single arrow, and drew their swords, fighting to the death upon the flets. Many Easterlings perished. But all the Guard had died.

In the far northwest of Dorwinion, Agarwaenor, Fahnraen, Arancir of Eregion, Fareon, Sainion, Amarthon, Circhon, and Dairlingul had encamped with their consorts, and the Easterlings had not attacked them. They remained in the semblance of diplomacy, unaware of the troubles to the East. Yet a gnawing, aching feeling, rent Fareon's heart asunder. Thus, it was decided, that Fareon, Amarthon, and Dairlingul, would return to the Halls on their own, to ensure that all was well. Agarwaenor had wished to see to his brother's safety, but Fareon bade him remain with the others: his diplomatic and scholarly skills were imperative to their survival. Fahnraen was also advised to remain behind, for she, too, seemed concerned for Inheroth, but Fareon maintained that their King was likely not in any form of danger, and that it was all a false omen. Dairlingul, however, advised that he, himself, would prove of greater aid, if he returned unto the King. Amarthon was sick of traveling and wished to rest back in the Halls.

Of the First Company, Lerion, Angolhel, Glossel, Alagoshel, Fingaereth, Tinnuchon, Uialchon, and twelve of the Haradrim, and of the Second Company, Noruros of Ost Rimmon, the two Tumladen nobles: Calon and Oron, who had once been Colhel's suitors, and then there was Daechon, Auravon, Colhel, Salhera, Aertira, Arhbaineth, Rivrossel, and five of the Haradrim: they were all forced to turn south in light of the fall of Eir, and they saw the Easterlings coming. Thus, they retreated back into eastern Dorwinion, camping on a high bluff above the sea, long golden-brown hair gliding proudly, and long, silken capes flapping violently, in the winds. Husbands and wives all deeply kissed, their hearts throbbing as they rested together. Brothers rested beside brothers, and sisters beside sisters. The lonely moaned for their lost or far-away brethren. Cheeks and lips were kissed. Bonds of love were re-affirmed, even unto death. And they all rested in the depths of their silken capes.

Fingaereth rested calmly that night, next to her adopted sister, Angolhel, within the deep red folds of her lavender cloak, that they now shared, as sisters. They, too, had kissed each other on their cheeks, as sisters, before they fell asleep. And Angolhel had whispered: "Whatever may happen, beloved sister mine: stay with me."

And upon that dawn, as the armies of Guldrambor approached, naught but a league away: Angolhel and her servants, and Aertira and Salhera, performed one final Rite upon the bluff overlooking the glistening, crystalline sea, fiery in the light of the rising Sun. Angolhel and Lerion outspread their luminous capes, facing the sun, lavender, shining folds and fiery lining flowing, shining brighter than ever before, glistening, and then they deeply kissed, their hearts pounding and throbbing in the rhythm of the waves, roaring. Alagoshel, Fingaereth, Arhbaineth, Rivrossel, and Colhel joined in the ritual. The Haradrim deeply beat their drums. Capes flapped fiercely as the winds roared. Noruros deeply missed his brother. Tinnuchon and Uialchon missed Silevrendor. Fingaereth wished to join her late husband, to comfort him somehow, even in death. Arhbaineth missed her husband, Sainion. She thought of how deeply their unity had grown since Pelargir. Daechon missed Isenadin. He feared he might thence face his final act. He, too, partook in the Rite, shining brightly, in many colors, as he danced. Noruros suddenly fell madly in love with Alagoshel, who, in turn, felt the same, and the two stood alongside each other, and something moved them into each others' arms, they knew not what it was. And they all felt their journeys had led them all unto that moment, the moment they all realized that love and fellowship would conquer, even in the face of death.

And as Aertira and Salhera outspread their wondrous capes, as the drums beat, their hearts beating in rhythm with the drums, shining bright in refulgent light, their hair grew long, shining, silky, they fell down on all fours, and then and only then, roared the bears, as the others armed themselves as best they could. They heard the clash of battle. They charged, the clashes growing steadily closer. Melimwe had called for another retreat, away from the high ground. Night had turned to dawn, and now, to day.

Red blood flowed into the dark, rich soil, as the fight turned sour. Daechon's beard was lit flame, and his capes of many colors burned brightly, as he screamed, the Easterlings mocking him as he died, as Daechon relived that horrid dream inside his mind, of black bile oozing from his mouth, the dream Isenadin had dreamed in Pelargir, now long ago. Noruros was speared through the heart. Never again would he return to Ost Rimmon, or behold the bright banners of Minas Tirith, flying in the breeze. His brother remained behind. Tinnuchon and Uialchon perished defending Lerion.

Lerion reached the heights of a tall hill, calling for a parley among the Enemy soldiers, who desisted in their fighting. The foremost Easterling spat, "The Master wants you and your witch alive. How's that Westron?" He spat again in his grim vulgarity, "He's got plans for you." Angolhel herself was seized as well. Ivordir and Melimwe fought toward them, but could not reach them. The Silvan shield-wall was losing strength. But they managed to save Fingaereth.

An arrow struck Colhel within her chest. She had charged against the enemy lines in the spirit of rashness, though she had neither been trained in arms, nor for warfare. Calon and Oron cried aloud and madly charged, and soon were impaled on Easterling pikes. Fingaereth wept to see her sister fall from afar.

Then Auravon arose, shouting to Melimwe, tossing his cape that landed on Melimwe's bloodied spear: "Give it to Fingaereth, my sister, as Lady Colhel would have it. And as for me: Tell my brother that I loved him thus, and tell Auruiron, if ever you should see him alive and well again: One Sun sets that another may arise anew."

Melimwe shouted, "No! Do not!"

It was too late. Auravon charged into the throng of Easterlings. He was last seen defending what appeared to be Colhel's corpse within that moment.
Edited by Ioristion, Jan 18 2017, 11:37 PM.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Ioristion

Chapter CCCLIII: The Battle Falls

A sudden volley of arrows fell. Some of them raised their shields in time. Others faltered. The Enemy had taken advantage of their focus on Auravon's and Colhel's deaths. The fatal, poisoned arrow, nearly pierced Melimwe's heart, but Saelbainor's shield deflected it. Saelbainor had fought valiantly throughout the battle in defense of his gwador. Melimwe yelled aloud, "Tell... my brother... that I loved him... if I should die... take mine cape and take mine helm." And Ivordir then pledged claimed the helm, unclasped the cape, pledging to wear them if the worst should befall Melimwe, tossing his battered Gondorian helm aside.

Abrazan cried aloud, falling forward, Yucalwe and Aeglossel attempting to shield him from the arrow, to no avail. Their own defenses had raised in time. "A...adar.... will I ever see you again?"

Not till the end of Time, Yucalwe wept bitterly, crying aloud. Abrazan vanished from view, save for his cloak, and Aeglossel grasped at it, and only the cloak returned to her. Yucalwe long had thought Abrazan as a Prince of Saraj, and even of Umbar: but it was not to be, now, within his mind.

Sindri fell forward, "The dream is done." His aged hairs and blue silk robes were drenched with blood when ere he fell.

Cullastor clutched his chest, "Tell Macil.... I died for him this time.... tell him....... forget not the charge brought......forth.............." And then he gasped his final breath. Then Cullasson, crying aloud, charged into the fray, and thence perished, in the same manner as Auravon. The horror slowly became mind-numbing. Macilon, as agreed, claimed Cullastor's cape. But he felt unworthy to bear the gold. Thus he bestowed it, instead, upon Arhbaineth, in a lull in the fighting. This, and this alone, saved Arhbaineth's life from a volley of arrows, for the capes miraculously resisted them, if they covered their wearers in time.

Rivrossel died in tears in Rirossel's arms, moaning in terror till the last breath passed her sullen lips.

Duvaissel died with a crooked smile on her face: she was, at least, released to find her husband, Bain. Rirossel then claimed her gold and red cape, through grace under pressure, still knowing its importance.

All of the Haradrim soldiers, of they, who were present in those companies, fell.

An arrow pierced the heart of brave Rostoriel. Ioristion cried aloud, and Rostoriel bid him hush, "Hush, for once...... Lord Mandos calls...... tell my brother... and tell....Finlos.... it is my will.... that they.... shall comfort....the...both...of....you...... and brave Alcano.... and Celebressel...... tell...them...I...loved...them.....as..I....love.....y-" Her fea parted from her hroa. Rirossel's cheeks were lapped with tears, as were the cheeks, of woeful Ioristion.

Silevrendor had beheld Tinnuchon and Uialchon perishing from afar. Despairing, he ceased to fight. And then the pikes appeared to pierce him. Glossel claimed his cape, and, in time, had finally reached her husband, Ivordir declaring: "I shall never strike you... ever again..." And Glossel grabbed a spear and shield, and as a shieldmaiden of Gondor, she fought fiercely.

Alagoshel, too, appeared to fall, the Easterlings claiming she was not needed. Angolhel wept. And Fingaereth then claimed her cloak.

Baralinthor, who had come alone, and joined Ivordir's small Company, fought fiercely, bravely, bearing the Silver Swan upon his breast. It appeared as if he fell, pierced by many arrows, bidding Ivordir to take the cloak, to grant it unto one more worthy, declaring his will that he had left behind within the Halls, declaring Ivordir the new Heir of the Silver Swan. Baralinthor, in those apparent final moments, claimed to nearly see his brothers. And then he, remembering the manner of his Lord-Father, Lord Ballithor's death, thence died.

And beautiful Aertira and Salhera, mighty bears, Beorninglas of the Vales, slew many Easterlings, while Ivordir and Daerfalas called for the retreat, a shield-wall of Silvan reinforcements of a surprisingly answered embassy, forming suddenly to protect them when ere they fled.

Thus was the count of known survivors:

Ivordir, Daerfalas, and Glossel.

Ioristion and Rirossel.

Fingaereth and Arhbaineth.

Aeglossel, Yucalwe, and Macilon.

Aertira and Salhera.

Melimwe and Saelbainor.

Only fourteen survived of all the embassies and companies, save those of Fareon, the survivors of which remained safely in the northwest: save Fareon, Amarthon, and Dairlingul, en route to the Halls, whose dooms were now at risk.

Lerion and Angolhel were captured, their fates as of yet unknown.

Rirossel, Aeglossel, Glossel, Arhbaineth, and Fingaereth, now were counted among the 33 who still were able to fight. Macalaure remained far away, and Auruiron remained an imprisoned, tortured, slave.

They all retreated. They felt the thumping. The large feet fell. The Mumakil came with the Haradrim survivors, and the survivors of the companies climbed the ladders, and the Mumakil turned a-bout-face, and began their march back north toward the Halls of Gold.

When Fareon, Amarthon, and Dairlingul, crept-up through the brush, they beheld the Gates guarded by Sami Knights. Two quick arrows to the necks ended decades of training in one fell swoop. Then the three charged within.
Edited by Ioristion, Jan 18 2017, 11:33 PM.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Ioristion

Chapter CCCLIV: The Last Ruination of Eir

By the time Cellindien and Macil and Hallothanar and the others reached the halls where the folk of Eir once found refuge, they arrived at a sight that would never part from their memories again: the Easterlings were slaughtering the lot of them, man, woman, and child, rich, and poor, and all in between. Suddenly, Mornhelm charged in their midst and began saving as many as he could. He did not transform, for he knew the doom of Eldrand. Isenadin, Sasuko, and Eiliant wore elven armor and their capes tied-tight to their shoulder-guards. They all charged into the fray.

Bruised and battered, scratched and scorned, they stood in the bloody room, numb and forlorn. Few of the folk of Eir survived. And all the survivors were wounded grievously. An entire civilization hung in the balance. Hallothanar quickly sent scouts to find any able-bodied healers. And he remarked: "None shall ever live within this room again. It must be sealed, this chamber as their untimely graves... oh we were fools, the lot of us! Our King shall pay most dear for this..."

Our King... Macil replied, "As soon as the healers arrive, leave guards to ensure the perimeter is kept safe. The rest of us must find others to regroup with, and then march on the Great Hall, if it be assailed. The King, Lerinon, is no soldier. Inheroth is strong with the bow, but he can only hold the Enemy back for so long." He nodded at Cellindien, "Compulsive habit... this sudden rushing into command. Gained it in the Last Alliance. This is a sight that grieves me most... yet greater still were all the mounds of the dead, of the corpses, upon the plains of Dagorlad...... I know you remember...."

Before Cellindien could reply, the healers swiftly arrived, the guard was set, the quarter of the halls reclaimed. Barricades were being built at the central juncture. Macil and Cellindien then led the new charge, away from the bloody chamber, and onward, and upward, through the Halls. Mornhelm and the others followed them. And they ran into Fareon, Amarthon, and Dairlingul, who, in turn, then joined their ranks. And they reinforced several gatherings of guards, who fought fiercely against the Easterlings. More Easterlings still poured through the Halls. At another juncture of barricades, they prepared their new defense, and met them, swiftly, fending-off the arrows, crushing shields, and spearing and stabbing necks, while uplifting their own shields, defending their own vulnerabilities. Fareon gazed back through the entrance to the Halls, beholding the arrival of the Mumakil, crushing the Easterling reinforcements that had arrived in their wake.

But Cellindien and Macil's Company now pressed onward to the Great Hall, to the Throne. Few of Auruiron's Noldor rejoined them with Dorwinion Guards. Many more, ever still, had perished. Now only three of the Noldorion soldiers survived. And then the Easterlings began their counter-offensive through the entrance to the Halls. They were surrounded.
Edited by Ioristion, Oct 2 2016, 05:12 PM.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Ioristion

Chapter CCCLV: Madness Revels

On the eve of battle, the mad Sapling and his Queen had journeyed mirthfully downward toward the dark, dank, docks. They found themselves surrounded by Easterlings, when a boat was rowed, a hooded being, robed and cloaked in gold, toward the dock, as he bade his soldiers to await them. They knelt before him, their Emperor. And their Emperor commanded: "Who art these two before me?"

"What doom has befallen my grandfather?" Alcano wondered aloud.

"That is not of thine concern," The Emperor replied. "And thou shalt share in his doom, if thou art not careful."

Celebressel, knowing Macilon's Quest, thought of bowing with the best intentions.

Guldrambor already knew of them, "I can make thee great, dearest Queen... and thou, oh King, of Gondolin..."

Their capes were wrested away from them, then tossed into the channel.

And Guldrambor swept his cape over them.

They found themselves amidst a sight they had not seen. The rolling fields and hills of Tum Laden stretched before them, white-capped peaks upheld on high, the farmers, with sweaty backs, labored in the fields, the skies were bright blue, hardly any clouds, and the City spires were tall and white: Gondolin, shining in the sunlight. Many Elves awaited them as they walked into the City Gates and up all seven levels. They found themselves wearing their capes again. Courtiers upheld their long, wide trains, black and gold and fiery red, sparkling beautifully in the sunlight. And their hair was as long and beautiful as that of the Lady Galadriel, long enough to cloak them, thick enough to conceal them, silky enough to flow lightly from their brows, gliding on the winds ethereally. Rust danced with silver on the winds that flipped and fanned their hair.

Alcano realized what was happening. It was all a trick. Macilon had warned them thus. They would die at the vision's false conclusion. They would, in reality, be slain, by the time they sat down upon the thrones, dark bile spewing everywhere throughout their minds' eyes. And all would erupt in flame.

When they reached the Court of the Fount, Alcano turned, and deeply kissed Celebressel. They held strong the heart-throbbing depths of their kiss and closed their eyes as she whipped the gold and red cape over themselves.

And in the Halls in Dorwinion, Lerinon and Inheroth held prisoner before him: Guldrambor flared his cape to and fro across the room, it domed as it billowed, and when he whipped it back, there stood Alcano and Celebressel, kissing, embracing each other tightly. And then the arrows fired.

Alcano and Celebressel both fell to the floor in pools of blood. Guldrambor's cape swished over Lerinon and Inheroth, and in the onslaught of fiery, deep red, they fell asleep against their will.
Edited by Ioristion, Sep 20 2016, 08:39 PM.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Ioristion

Chapter CCCLVI: The Prince who May Be King

Inheroth wandered through the darkness. All was dark and dark and dark. A door appeared in front of him in the foggy distance. A light peered-outward from behind the door. Passing through the door, he beheld the Kingdom of Amon Lanc, Greenwood the Great, but Oropher sat not upon his throne. His long silver hair flowed down his back over his azure velvet cloak and robes, all lined with silver. His face was radiant, as he proclaimed: "Welcome home, Thinfiligonion."

"Brother," spake Agarwaenor, "You are alive! You were not left behind!"

Inheroth gazed at him, stunned, "You do not sound normal, brother..."

Agarwaenor whisked his golden cape around himself, over his fiery red robes, folding his arms within.

This is definitely unnatural, Inheroth coldly noted inside himself. Lerinon... where is he... His gaze met that of King Oropher again. He is more beautiful than ever... no. Inheroth. Think. Where is Lerinon? No... Oropher stands before thee...

"I welcome you to your Hall, for it is thine," another, familiar voice spoke. King Thranduil approached in his silver robes and fiery-orange cloak, outspreading it and bowing before Inheroth.
He never would have done this for me...

"Come... and sit upon thine Throne," Oropher declared, sweeping his azure, silver cape out of the way. It was the same old Throne of stone that Inheroth had ever seen in days of yore.

Then Fahnraen approached, and deeply kissed Inheroth on the lips, and spake: "Rule well now, oh King, in beauty, in love, and splendour..."

Then Inheroth noticed that the Court was full of Elves, male and female, young and older. He noticed that he was wearing Lerinon's gold and red cloak. He noticed when the courtiers gathered around him, upholding the rear of his cloak, outspreading it vastly, and motioning him to process up to the Throne, and sit down upon it in all his kingly glory.

"Ascend, oh Gwador," Agarwaenor declared.

"Ascend, oh most beauteous Prince," Fahnraen declared.

"Lord of all the Wood-Elves," Thranduil declared.

"And of all the Nandor," Oropher declared. "Arise, oh Prince, oh King, for the crown art thine!"

And Inheroth, nigh the point of swooning at all the grandeur, felt guided toward the Throne. He struggled to resist, but he could not. He reached the dais. He fanned his long, raven hair, longer than it had been before. He outspread his cape, bowing before them all, with the best of intentions. He swished his cape to and fro around himself, then whipped it round, so that it billowed around him, covering his face, then unveiling it resplendently. Both Fahnraen and Agarwaenor kissed the folds of his cape. They deeply embraced him, kissing his cheeks, as he returned the gestures. Then he stood nigh the Throne, reaching his highest of feelings, his cape circling around him, gold and fiery red, shining, dancing around him, and then he outspread his folds anew, all kneeling before him in their awe.

But then the better portions of Inheroth's mind rebelled, remembering the truth. Oropher and Thranduil both suddenly pushed him onto the Throne. And they deeply kissed him on his cheeks. Inheroth closed his eyes, hoping to escape, but then, as he reopened them, he beheld the courtiers crowding away, as another entered the chamber.

"See what thou art, what thou hast truly thence desired," spake Guldrambor, approaching in all his feigned beauty, silks of many colors flowing, iridescently, behind him.

"Craven coward!" Inheroth shouted back, "To murder such innocents, who knew not what they did, and to... to toy with my innermost mind. Yes, I admit it! I want my brother, Agarwaenor, to not be so cold and so reserved toward me and my Gwador, my King, Lerinon, whom I have not forgotten! And I wish that King Oropher had not been slain in the Last Alliance! And I wish that King Thranduil had appreciated my good service unto him!"

Guldrambor laughed darkly, "And where is your precious Gwador, your King, now?"

"He is wherever you have ensnared him."

"Indeed... behold what thou hast done to him..." Guldrambor had gathered his golden folds around himself, billowing in large plumes around himself, and then he whipped it back, around himself. And there knelt the lowliest of slaves, haggard, dark hair, weeping, covered in scars and sores and whip lashes, as if he had worked in the mines for centuries. He slowly lifted his head.

"GWADOR!" Inheroth shouted. But Thranduil and Oropher kept him restrained upon the Throne.

"Yes..." Guldrambor declared, "Stare at thy friend, thy precious Gwador, and see'st thou what thou hast done to him... oh dear, most noble, most prodigious, most blessed Prince, nay, most mighty King, Inheroth!"

Inheroth's eyes were flowing with tears, "If you would slay me... then be it done, that I may no longer harm, dear Lerinon..."

Guldrambor cracked a darker smile, "Oh no... we hath only just begun!"

And Thranduil and Oropher kissed his cheeks, with Fahnraen and Agarwaenor, and the dark, black bile oozed from their mouths, rising to consume Inheroth, as all faded once more, into black, wet, terrifying, darkness.

Suddenly, Inheroth began to fall. He felt himself plunge into the shadows. Suddenly, he appeared to land on a solid, still, surface. Above him, stars were shining. And the roaring of the waves could be heard deep below. A pale, dim light, slowly grew, illuminating a figure. Browned, disheveled, once-golden hair, fell haggard about him. There were many scars upon the visage before him. The being's head was hanging low. His arms and legs were bound with chains. His hroa was harshly lashed. He was Auruiron.

The dark, harsh, voice spoke: "So shalt thine doom be... thine lord hath suffered... for thine stupidity.... never again, oh son, shall he call thee..."

Inheroth flinched away from the voice, but there was no where to hide from it, all encompassing as it was. There was nowhere to move but forward, and he did so with slow, halting steps, towards the broken figure of the greatest Elf he had ever lay eyes upon, now reduced by the nightmare he'd been ensnared in. Inheroth's heart hammered in his terror, but he could not stop advancing. "Auruiron, Auruiron," he whispered, but the sound of his voice was hushed by the immense void beyond them. The stars above flickered, and began to dim. "No, wait, please, I must save him!" Inheroth protested with a dismayed cry. It was very cold now, and very dark. The Elf that was once the great Auruiron was close now. Inheroth knelt and reached out slowly, seeking
to haul the chains away, if such a thing could be done.

The dark voice spoke again, "I may yet spare him.... and grant thee lordship... if thou wilt bow and grant me worship." There was a burst of light behind Inheroth. There Amanuiron floated on the air above the sea, glistening as if sunlight beamed upon him, his cape outspread, billowing in the winds that bore him. His feigned appearance made him appear as if he were greater than even the Valar themselves, for such was his fell intent.

Inheroth stared upon the fair countenance of Amanruiron and hesitated, his hands hovering above the chains binding Auruiron. His offer seemed terribly logical, wonderfully easy for such a beautiful and powerful god, and wouldn't it be so simple to give in, to end Auruiron's pain, to sit upon a throne and rule, a false lord for a false and treacherous being....no. Inheroth's fingers tightened around the iron chains until his knuckles shone white. No. Would not Auruiron beseech him to resist such falsehoods? And since when did Inheroth desire a throne, a place of leadership? In the great span of the entirety of his life, he had but one true desire, and that was for family; never power. His hands trembling, he began to untangle the chains from Auruiron's prone, still form, whispering, chanting, "No, I resist you, false being, treacherous being, liar!" Slowly the chains fell away, and Inheroth gently pulled upon Auruiron's shoulder. "Father, please come with me, please awake!"

Above them, Amanuiron's lovely features twisted into something terrible and furious, and he no longer seemed a benevolent kindred of the Valar, but a nightmare given shape and endowed with power. "Very well," it seemed to say.

Inheroth hauled Auruiron into a protective embrace, and shut his eyes, but he could not hide from the angry voice.

"Foolish elfling. He will continue to suffer, and you shall never see him again. And soon you too shall languish as he languishes, and I will force you to watch as I bind Lerinon in the same manner, and the memory of you choice today shall burn you for all of eternity!"
Edited by Ioristion, Sep 21 2016, 12:51 PM.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Ioristion

Chapter CCCLVII: A King Brought Low

Lerinon, too, found himself in darkness. He, too, was in shock, his mind not yet realizing what it had perceived, concerning Alcano and Celebressel. He wondered if it was a trick by Guldrambor. That was good, enough for him to continue, he surmised. Yet where was he? He beheld a light behind a door. Passing through it, he beheld the same Throne Room of Menegroth in Doriath once more. He found himself cloaked as resplendently as ever.

And there he beheld Inheroth also caped in beauty, Inheroth bowing in welcome, "Behold... my Gwador... behold who await thee..." They deeply kissed each other on their cheeks again.

There sat Nimloth and Elwing on smaller thrones to the left and right of the main Throne. And there, before the Throne, he beheld King Dior again, his long, dark hair flowing down his back in shining strands, over a great evergreen velvet cloak lined with golden-green, and the Silmaril sat upon his brow, filling all the room with rainbow Light.

Fareon was there as well, processing behind Lerinon, uplifting the rear of his gold and red cape. "Stay with me," Lerinon whispered to Fareon and Inheroth. The horns were sounded. The harps and lyres plucked.

When they reached the Throne, Dior outspread his cape, proclaiming: "Welcome home, my son... behold thy Throne! And you," he turned to Fareon, "My son... behold thy King!"
First, they embraced Dior, his supposed father. And nothing happened. Then, they embraced Nimloth, and nothing happened. Then, they embraced Elwing, and nothing happened. Then, Lerinon sat down on the Throne.

Lady Thiassel entered and approached the throne. Her cape seemed to float upon the air, gently, billowing as if caught in a morning breeze. Her mane of golden-brown hair flowed silkily behind her, gleaming brightly, gliding on the air. Her evergreen velvet cape flowed bright behind her. She outspread her inner folds of golden-green silk and bowed. She whipped them over Lerinon, and they deeply kissed, their hearts deeply throbbing, the sounds of thunderous applause surrounding them, and when their kissing concluded, a silver crown was set upon her brow, for she was now his Queen.

Then, Lerinon remembered the dreaded words of Macilon. And terror suddenly framed his face. And the gates to the Hall were shut. And soldiers prepared a barricade. And then the battering rams could be heard. And when the gates burst, in marched Maedhros Nelyafinwe, with Guldrambor beside him, the other sons of Feanor, and many among the Feanorians. Their swords were raised, pointed at him, all drenched in blood, and then the Oath of Feanor was again recited.

He stood an object, his long mane of silken reddish, fiery hair flowing down his back, rust-colored, atop a magnificent, long, fiery red cape, lined with bright orange. His armor and helm were of silver, his blade of cold, hard steel. He was the epitome of glory.

And then, they charged.

Dior was cut-down by Celegorm, and Celegorm impaled by Dior. Nimloth was cut down, screaming blood-chortling screams, by Maedhros. A slow, sinister harp played in the rear. And Lerinon knew the harpist. It was playing the Fall of the Noldor as more and more courtiers were ruthlessly cut down, Lerinon screaming at the top of his lungs. Then Lady Thiassel rushed-over, and kissed him, and then a bile spewed forth from her lips, consuming him. And then Maedhros impaled him. Lerinon fell into the shadows, losing all the world he ever knew, Guldrambor ever torturing him as he fell. He felt he fell forever...

Yet as he fell, he heard a female voice calling to him, "Lerinon... Lerinon...Elu... Elu..." The voice of Thiassel.

He, too, felt the surface beneath his feet. And akin to Inheroth, he perceived the shadowed visage of a marred and chained Auruiron. And Lerinon, realizing the cost of his consistent posturing, bitterly wept for his father's shame and degradation, far beyond the account of words. He heard a soft footfall approach behind him. He turned to behold Amanuiron.

Stars began to shine. A fair scent glided on the air. Amanuiron's molten, golden, folds were closed, gathered up before his face, concealing his nose and lips, plunging down beneath him. His dark voice then sounded suddenly fairer, as he spoke: "Behold!"

Then Amanuiron outspread his fiery, golden folds, rising, deep red lining shining, and golden folds billowing, all shining, glittering, glistening brightly, his cape outspreading vast and wide around and beneath his outstretched arms, his long mane of silverly-blond hair gleaming behind him, flying on the air, framing his shoulders and his face, as long as the cape he wore, and he proclaimed, "Your father shall be forgiven. And so also shall you be. If you bow down, and worship me. Thou knowest well who thine lord-father is... Dior the King. Thou hast beheld his fate... where was thine brave lord-father, adoptive, thence, Auruiron? Upon their side... the side of all who came and crushed thine true family... thine true House... thine true realm... and left thee this. Come... oh King... come... and perceive my power... all that I may yet do for thee... trust not the harshness of mine words within thine throneroom... spurred by anger.... by the arrogance... that left naught but a thousand corpses upon the field... within thine Realm... within thine Halls... and only I may yet save thee from all this... Come, oh King... come to me... Come and behold thine love... thine honor... thine beauty... that may yet be..."

Then Amanuiron whipped his folds forward, as they billowed and pooled before him, forms forming beneath them, and then he whipped them back. There stood Lady Thiassel, as brilliant as Lerinon had beheld her in the vision of the Halls of Doriath. And there stood Inheroth, who appeared further altered. Inheroth's silvery mane of black hair now flowed down his entire body, framing him as if a cape unto itself. It suddenly floated and flipped around him serpentine, gliding on the air around him. His beaming face smiled strangely. His golden cape, too, flowed and billowed around him, princely, regally, and it, too, glided on the wind. He appeared as Amanuiron had appeared, his golden folds framing his face. Then he outspread them, as they shined brightly within. He rushed toward Lerinon, enclosing Lerinon in his cape and hair, Lerinon embracing him tightly, not letting go, as they deeply kissed, as oft they would, upon their cheeks. And when Lerinon came forth from their embrace, Lady Thiassel began the same movement, the same gestures. Then Lerinon deeply kissed Thiassel on the lips. The strength of their union rose to deeper depths and greater heights as they kissed, their hearts ever throbbing. But then Auruiron moaned. And Lerinon perceived, within his mind, Amanuiron's foul plan: to lure Lerinon to his cause, and then, to kill him. I will die alone... I will have betrayed them all... And he, loving them both, his Gwador and his betrothed, he withdrew from Thiassel's embrace.

Auruiron moaned. Lerinon felt caught between them. And as Lerinon slowly reached toward Auruiron's chains, he found he had not the power to pull them off. And this frightened him. And then his sorrow broke him. Defeated, he approached Amanuiron, who in turn, closed his folds around Lerinon, for Lerinon then perceived that he, himself, had lost all his strength. His face felt the silken strands of Amanuiron's hair, the silken depths of his inner-red folds. He found he could not escape. The darkness grew around him. The air smelt fouler and fouler. The air felt darker and darker. And finally, all was black. He could not see anything. He felt himself fall again.

Edited by Ioristion, Sep 25 2016, 10:48 AM.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous)
ZetaBoards - Free Forum Hosting
Enjoy forums? Start your own community for free.
Learn More · Sign-up Now
Go to Next Page
« Previous Topic · Wind-Singers · Next Topic »
Add Reply

banner_468_6