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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.
Topic Started: Apr 6 2016, 02:01 PM (3,107 Views)
Ioristion

Chapter CCCLVIII: A Final Reunion

Ivordir, Daerfalas, and Glossel, Melimwe, Saelbainor, Aertira, Salhera, Ioristion and Rirossel, Fingaereth and Arhbaineth, and Aeglossel, Yucalwe, and Macilon, all banded together atop the Mumak. Aertira and Salhera had curled-up in a corner after having been restored to their mortal forms. The handlers took care of the harder work of steering them through the meads between the gigantic trunks of the trees.

Melimwe and Saelbainor could not bring themselves to speak. They merely rested in each others' embrace.

Yucalwe turned to Ivordir, with Aeglossel at his side: "Abrazan fell..."

There were tears in Ivordir's eyes, "I know... but we must not weep. Not now. Not yet. We shall feel our grief for a long time... if not till the ending of our lives. But now am I thus numb to grief. I have had my fill of it, ever since parting from Dol Amroth along the coast of Gondor so long ago, and ever since we did part from Dol Amroth thence again, throughout the Realm and then beyond it. Many faces I hold within my mind... many faces, all whom have died... I miss them. All of them. But now is not the time. Now, the air is ripe for battle, our time is nigh..."

"I, too, feel numb," Glossel declared. "Let us show them all... there is still yet fight left within us."

"Too bland, too obvious," Yucalwe sadly replied. "Are we truly so numb, that our words fall so short of all our grief, our true trauma, our real feelings? We would all tear ourselves to pieces if we could, the whole lot of us. But you are right, Ivordir, we cannot. But I shall now take the command. This fight should have been between me and Guldrambor alone, and no one else."

"Destiny hath commanded us all to thence take part," Macilon solemnly replied.

"More likely Doom, than destiny," Yucalwe retorted.

Rirossel nodded, "We must find-out who hath yet lived... Macil remained behind in the halls, with Cellindien, did he not?"

Ioristion nodded and said nothing.

Arhbaineth nodded, "And it seems to me that my husband, Sainion, and the sell-sword, and the mason's son, and Amarthon's brother... they escaped to the western realms, did they not?"

"At least, in Dorwinion, they did," Yucalwe nodded.

Fingaereth nodded, "My Lady Sorceress has been captured...her other apprentice killed. And Lerion the Sorcerer..."

"Lerion... how curious..." Yucalwe replied, thinking of Lerinon.

Fingaereth nodded, "His real name is Salagostri. He and Angolhel are not yet slain for some purpose..."

Yucalwe nodded, "Our foe may seek to win them back unto his cause... or else destroy them. Or they may have some other purpose... we cannot guess yet... I shall have to think on it for now. Thinking is hard now thither within these hours... such hours... such grief! Such time for grief is later..."

Aeglossel nodded, "We may yet prevail."

"I certainly hope so!" Daerfalas wearily replied.

Macilon nodded sadly, "I am doomed... I shalt perish in the Everlasting Dark forever..."

"Why?" Yucalwe wondered aloud, terrified.

"Because I swore that I would bring Guldrambor back. And now that will never happen..."

Yucalwe heaved a deep sigh, "You all may disagree. But it was not Guldrambor who ultimately undid us..... it was our own folly......we walked straight into his trap. His hands held the blade outward........."

"Out of fear," Macilon nodded. "A fear that we may yet turn to our advantage............fine then. I shall not despair of it."

Yucalwe nodded, "Please understand, all of you, that the root of all of this is Morgoth, our ancient foe of old. The Amanuiron I knew and loved was ne'r capable of such vile deeds... such foulness beneath his feigned beauty.... his beauty, once, was real, and loved, and cherished... but I do not know what to say unto you, Macilon. For my son is dead because of he whom you were sent to save, he whom I once called my brother. And I loved my son............ Ivordir, I hath already adopted you. You are mine only son now..."

"By all the power that is yet within me, I shall survive. I vow it," Ivordir warmly replied. "Take Daerfalas as thine son as well, for he is mine brother..."

"So willingly, I do so, if that is what he wants," Yucalwe gently replied.

"More than anything," Daerfalas replied.

"Then it is done," Yucalwe nodded.

And Glossel replied, "And I, thine daughter, for I hath wed Ivordir."

Yucalwe deeply smiled, "Done."

And Aeglossel declared, "And let me then be as a guide unto you three..."

The hearts of Glossel and Ivordir throbbed as they deeply kissed what they thought might be their final kiss.

But Glossel thought to herself, Yet I doubt... I doubt... oh if only this marriage had not been forced upon us...

Then the war-drums arose in their ears. And the Easterling forces chanted. And the Mumakil began their charge against them, nigh the entrance to the Halls. The seven Mumakil still survived, though bruised and battered. Yucalwe began to wonder why the Enemy archers had not fired upon them. But the soil before the Gates was now red with blood. And many Easterlings had scattered and fled throughout the forest as the Mumakil charged.
Edited by Ioristion, Jan 1 2018, 10:53 AM.
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Ioristion

Chapter CCCLIX: The Plan

"Now wear thy capes in full," Yucalwe commanded. "The Haradrim shall continue to man the Mumakil. They are to protect our rear. As for the rest of you, follow me." He suddenly whipped his cape around and over Ivordir, kissing him deeply in his cheeks, as he did the same, and Yucalwe whispered, "Live for us... for all our noble lines depend on it."

"I will," Ivordir promised. "But I shall follow you. No Vow can take me from you..."

Then Yucalwe released Ivordir, and came to Glossel, who then repeated the same gestures, and Yucalwe declared, "Live, oh daughter mine... that our line may live on forever, even long after the Eldar hath parted from this world forever..."

"I will," Glossel promised. "But I follow Ivordir, even to the bitter end."

Then Yucalwe released Glossel, and came to Daerfalas, sweeping his cape around him, and Yucalwe declared: "Live... and save their lives. And you will be a most noble and kingly lord..."

"I will," Daerfalas promised. "I, too, shall follow them, even to the bitter end."

As Yucalwe turned to Aeglossel, Aeglossel declared: "And none of you shall die. Not if I can help it..." Then she deeply kissed Yucalwe on the lips, their hearts throbbing. Then they all dismounted the Mumakil. They caught the Easterlings in the rear, and fought their way forward, till they reached Macil, Cellindien, and the others.

Malchon ran-up to meet them, "The Halls are nearly empty, save the wounded who are being tended. The main force of the Enemy has gravitated toward and around the Great Hall. I have fought many foes to reach you... I believe the Enemy himself has taken the Throne again..."

"Good, excellent," Yucalwe slyly smiled, "I have a plan... Ioristion, ah good, you have the Staff with you... we shall have great need of it..."

When they reached the main Hall leading toward the Great Hall, they beheld Malfinseron and Findistedis being lead as prisoners, but Fareon's arrows pierced the handlers swiftly, as Yucalwe's and Ivordir's swords cut through the others, who all refused to surrender. Yucalwe saw the doors of the Great Hall shut far ahead, as Isenadin passed-through them last.
Edited by Ioristion, Sep 20 2016, 08:40 PM.
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Ioristion

Chapter CCCLX: The Diversion

Isenadin, Sasuko, and Mornhelm, and Eiliant, had bade their time in their chamber. They were fingering the hilts of their swords when a hooded and cloaked man had entered. He wore silken purple, lined with fiery red, his mouth and nose concealed beneath his cloth, and he bore a staff. He removed his head-scarf, outspread his fiery folds, bowing before them.

"Malagi!" Isenadin declared.

"You have spoken rightly, "Malagi replied. "My Master should not have betrayed he who is now my true Master... surrender!"

Isenadin bowed, "Of course we do... my Lord Sorcerer."

Thus, to Malagi's surprise, they did so.

Then they were led before the Emperor.

Emperor Amanuiron stared at them, "Strip them of their cloaks."

"Nay!" Eiliant called-out, "We mean to use them... to perform before you..."

The Emperor scoffed, "They are drenched with Western powers. Why should I trust you? It would be most foolish of me, on my part, to do so, weak lord of Gondor."

Isenadin smirked, "Oh, we would not dare to disobey. You can read our minds, I hear. Do you detect any disobedience?"

The Emperor smirked back, "Nay, but I can detect hesitation."

Isenadin bowed, "We fear and are in awe of the grandeur of your Majesty!"

"We thank thee," the Emperor replied. "You may proceed..."

The four of them bedazzled all who were within that room. Gold overlapped with red and black, hair flipped and flew, capes flapped and billowed, twirling, and then Fareon shouted: "Now!" And all who remained of the Elven and Gondorian Host charged into the chamber, that steadily grew darker, and darker. There was a great flash of light, Amanuiron shining and sparkling brightly in his feigned beauty, revealing Lerinon and Inheroth ensnared beneath and within his folds, both unconscious. And the Emperor declared: "Cease thine attack, or they shalt die."

Yucalwe replied from the shadows, "This should end, as it has always ever been, between us alone. Release them!"

Ioristion upheld the Staff, Findekano rising, far more bright, amidst the shadows.

Macil upheld the artifact.

Findekano declared: "By Elbereth and Luthien the fair, thou shalt not have them. Thy innermost darkness shalt be laid bare, and all thine evil for all to see, nothing as it art, for thee!" And a bright, golden, silken cape, ethereal, as if in a vision, swirled around the apparition of Findekano, whose kingly standard glowed palely in the gloom, and he wore the same armor that he had worn amidst the Nirnaeth Arnoediad.

Yucalwe now upheld the Staff.

Cellindien and Ioristion crept around, in an attempt to hinder Amanuiron Guldrambor. It was Ioristion's idea before they entered the Great Hall. Cellindien, per usual, had protested it. And Macil's place was, as Yucalwe had asserted, by Yucalwe's side during the conflict.

It backfired. Easterlings, veiled by shadow, grasped Cellindien's and Ioristion's cloaks, holding them prisoner, as Guldrambor's shadows outstretched to seize them.

They suddenly found themselves in a gravely familiar dark, deep, hall, in the midst of Khazad-dum. A fire awoke within the shadow. And as they ran, West became East, and East became West, and they found themselves pursued all the way down to the level of the Great Gates. They passed beyond a flaming fissure, and came upon the Bridge. Ioristion turned. For there stood Guldrambor in all his feigned beauty nigh the flames. Flamboyant, as ever, were the visions and nightmares procured by Guldrambor.

Guldrambor declared: "Now shalt there be no escape for thee... my powers now hath seized thee. Neither apparition, nor ghost, nor friend, shalt save thee. And thou, oh Finlos, shalt meet thy doom. And thou, oh Ioristion, shalt meet thy father! Darkness shalt envelop thee both..."

Before Cellindien could utter her bold reply, all words were suddenly cut short, as they watched the terror. Guldrambor's golden cape outspread, wide and vast, whipping and flapping and twirling around him, as if of its own will, faster and faster. Then, he outspread his fiery-red wings, that gleamed and whipped and flapped and flickered brighter and brighter, flames erupting from the fiery fissure to greet them. In a sudden flash of light, all receded into Shadow... eyes turned from elven-grey to fiery red, he became as man-shape, yet greater, and his cape vanished into vast shadows, outspreading as if great wings, a Lord of Shadow and Flame. It cracked its fiery whip of many thongs. It's fiery, molten sword, arose from the shadows. Cellindien gripped her sword in defiance of the Shadow. And as the Balrog advanced, Findekano appeared, within the vision. Ioristion grabbed Cellindien's arm. They retreated across the bridge. Findekano made war with the Terror, and both fell off the bridge. Ioristion and Cellindien ran up, through the First Hall, and out into the Light.

Then the Light faded, revealing the Great Hall around them, and there, nigh, before their eyes, was the darkest Shadow that they had ever seen: Guldrambor's true nature. And Elves clashed with Easterlings in a bloody fury. Guldrambor managed to writhe himself into a terrible image, in his own black armor and spired helm, in mockery of Sauron and Morgoth, and he clashed with Yucalwe, toe to toe, amidst the chaos, shouting, "At last I hath conflict with thee! Oh brother mine... thine death shalt come by mine design!"

Then Cellindien defended Ioristion as the Easterlings charged toward them. They backed-away from Guldrambor's position in the chamber as they fought. Suddenly, they fainted, and the Easterlings turned to face the rest, for Guldrambor bade that they should not slay Ioristion or Cellindien. It now appeared as if Cellindien and Ioristion had been captured.

Yucalwe called for a charge, shouting, "False brother! Treacherous foe! What loyalty did you have to me? When you did thwart my destiny? Throughout these years, I hath been accursed, throughout Ages past, stalked by thee for the worst, throughout my life, ruined, all on thine account! Let any Elf, man, Vala, and Dwarf, stand aside, for the time of mine vindication is nigh!"

Macil shouted, "You have taken her! What have you done with her! You will not touch her again! For Finlos! Gondolin and Finlos!"

Amarthon shouted, "False friend and Master! No King have I become! My sole Kingship shalt be thine demise!"

They charged with such fury, that Guldrambor had not the time to ponder a witty reply. Their blades clashed hard down upon his own. Steel clashed heavily upon steel. And Guldrambor's fell weapon was of his mind alone.

Guldrambor, realizing how overpowered he was, suddenly commanded a retreat. The surviving Gurthbaini quickly rejoined him, the surviving Easterlings forming a shield-wall around them, as they retreated down toward the docks, the Elves fighting their best, taking what prisoners they could. Ioristion and Cellindien escaped their captors in the chaos. Melimwe was crying aloud for Auruiron as he fought. Saelbainor did all he could to keep Melimwe alive.

Guldrambor removed his spired helm, gazing darkly at Yucalwe. The rest of the boats were gone. And all Yucalwe could do was stare at Guldrambor as he was rowed away...

In the Great Hall, in Guldrambor's wake, they found three bodies on the floor where he had stood, and feared the worst: Inheroth, Lerinon, and Thiassel. Slowly, they stirred. They were carried away from the blood-ridden Hall. In a safer place, they were placed at rest, as they slowly awoke.

The first feeling Lerinon felt was that of Thiassel's tears dripping down his cheeks. In his first sight, he saw her eyes. She was weeping, begging for his forgiveness, weeping for how darkly she had been deceived. And then he deeply kissed her. Their hearts throbbed as he awoke anew. Inheroth could not hold a grudge either. They all deeply kissed each other on their cheeks, vowing not to let their foe prevail, holding steadfast in their shared sorrow, their shared expiation. For Lerinon knew his foe's dark game: to sow discord among their ranks. And Lerinon finally knew he loved her.

Throughout the next four weeks, all they could do was lick their wounds, undoing the damage as much as they could, bury the dead, and plot their next maneuvers upon the morrow. And Lerinon and Inheroth recovered slowly. And nightmares concerning Auruiron gnawed at Lerinon's fea.
Edited by Ioristion, Dec 20 2016, 03:41 PM.
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Ioristion

Chapter CCCLXI: The Emperor's Return

It slithered through the darkness. Moving through the shadows. The wind whispered through the dead trees lining the Courtyard of the Citadel. A crow cawed. The sky turned dark. A tempest brewed in the distance above the sea. They had danced. They had danced so oft. They had danced so oft it became routine. They had danced so oft it became bereft of life, of love, of joy, but only a continual boredom. Dance after dance after dance. An Elf had flared his golden cloak. Another Lord had done so. Rostor had danced with Finlos. Ivordir with Glossel. And many more. From Rivendell to Lindon to Dol Amroth to Pelargir to Minas Tirith to Ost Rimmon, to Lorien, to Mirkwood, to Dorwinion... all the way from Beleriand, and ultimately, from Aman... the dance had been maintained. They had dragged Auruiron up from the cliffside and locked him in a cell, for he was nigh to death, his fea refusing to let-go of his hroa. His arms were bloody. His skin was whipped. His eyes had lost their luster. The boats sailed back into their harbor.

The Emperor had returned, defeated, and yet victorious. He had left upon his foes a mark that could ne'r be washed away: the mark of death. Now he would set his traps and await them... awaiting their final folly, the final stroke of death, the final ending, when he would reign over all the Earth immortal. But he had lost several of his greatest servants amidst his battles. And he had lost many soldiers. And the streets were filled with weeping widows, fatherless children, and the air then smelt of waste. The lands were dying. And Sakuta was on the brink. But he had his captured victim: Angolhel, the golden serpent that slithered.

He called his guards to bring Angolhel forth before him. To Angolhel's surprise, they had anointed her hair with oil, and stroked it gently, they had washed her cape, that now was sparkling clean, and they had garbed her in resplendent robes.

Guldrambor slowly stood from his throne and approached her, "Now fear me not, my dear, for thou art my guest..."

"What do you want from me?" Angolhel replied sadly.

"To rule the Haradrim as their Sorceress-Queen, beholden only unto me..."

Angolhel, weary of fighting, nodded, "So long as Lerion may yet rule as a Haradric King, in place of the Black Serpent who fell upon the field."

"This may yet be thus... now come... come unto me... and perceive thy power!"

And he whipped his cape over her, and so began their dream. Her lavender, red, cape, did not resist him.
Edited by Ioristion, Sep 20 2016, 08:41 PM.
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Ioristion

Chapter CCCLXII: Prisoners of Dorwinion

Lerinon and Inheroth walked solemnly through the Halls. They had since regained their capes. In the haste of Guldrambor's retreat, their foe had much forgotten them. They were still floating upon the waves when the Elven survivors fished them out. They had reached their closest unity in their bond as brothers. After their plunges into shadow, they eventually awoke, and heard tale of what had happened. Alcano and Celebressel were both wounded, but still alive, and mending well with the healers. The blood-stained halls were washed, but the sections in which the worst of the violence had occurred were sectioned-off. The dead were buried. It was all much too nightmarish for the Elves.

Plans were being made to seek-out one of the nearby flet-cities in which to dwell. And many tears were shed for the sufferings, sorrows, and the deaths, of many of the folk of Eir. These had been far above the forest-floor, out of the range of Easterlings.

Lerinon had dreamed of his father, of his suffering, and this fact pained him to the core.

Narushon and Malagi were their prisoners, along with several younger Easterlings, including a few Sami Knights. Lerion had been rescued amidst the conflict in the Great Hall weeks earlier.

Lerinon suddenly turned to Inheroth, deeply kissing him on the cheek, "Gwador..."

Inheroth gently returned the gesture, "Gwador... much darkness have we faced together. I am not afraid to face it further..."
Edited by Ioristion, Sep 20 2016, 08:41 PM.
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Ioristion

Chapter CCCLXIII: Of Princes Lost in Shadow

Auruiron wandered in the shadows. His broken hroa had fallen asleep again. He passed through a door and found himself in his old Tower on the slopes of the eastern hills of the Gap of Maglor, nigh the slopes of Rerir. He sighed with relief, so desperate that he forgot again that he was only dreaming. He found Maglor awaiting him. The other six Sons of Feanor awaited him as well.

But there, among them, stood Guldrambor.

And Guldrambor declared, "Do you not comprehend? The Valar have abandoned you... the Doom hath fallen upon you... all is over... all is lost... only their doom awaits you, a doom of endless tears... you refused all pardons, your doom is nigh..."

Auruiron folded his arms, "Kill me already. Be done with it."

"Why nay," Guldrambor smiled viciously, "Our game hath just begun. Thou pesky friend Yucalwe shalt be lured unto these chambers of thine thought... wherein he shalt be devoured."

"What gain you by this?"

"Revenge."

"Revenge for what?"

"I'll ask the questions, not thee, least of all! Not thee..."

"Revenge for what?"

"For Yucalwe befriending you, and abandoning me."

"Who called it a betrayal?"

"My dear lord Melkor..."

"And what did Melkor do to you?"

"Plenty enough... more so shalt I do unto you..."

"Long hours of whipping, cowering among Balrogs..."

"Be silent!"

"You did not need to become so jealous. You ought to have befriended us both."

"You would not have accepted me..."

"And why not?"

"Because... I hath always sought to dominate the wills and whims of others..."

"Why?"

"It art who I am... need more be said thus? The Song declared it..."

"You declared it, in the Song. The Song may sing to un-declare it."

"And why wouldst it do that?"

"Because you are more than you believe you are..."

"Thou art correct. I ought to kill you."

"So be it..."

"Another time, perhaps..."

And the dream continued after Guldrambor parted from the tower. Auruiron whipped around, his dream-cape whipping around him. He remembered some of Macilon's words. He focused.
Edited by Ioristion, Sep 20 2016, 08:41 PM.
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Ioristion

Chapter CCCLXIV: The Death-Right

As Lerinon and Inheroth approached the cells, they came upon Lerion.

And Lerion declared: "Grant unto me the death-right."

"The death-right?" Lerinon inquired.

"The right accorded unto traitors..."

"Were you not once a traitor?"

"There is a difference between sides in a war... and the bond between a master and his apprentice. Malagi, the cur, he joined with Guldrambor... for this, he must die..."

"We may need tidings from him," Inheroth interjected.

A tear fell down Lerion's left-cheek, "Mine wife is sundered from me... she may be dead for all I know... if tidings you require, tidings I shalt yield as I torture him!"

"We do not torture prisoners," Lerinon replied. "It is forbidden for my kith and kin to do thus. It is the behavior of Yrch... Orcs in your tongue."

"Vengeance... is the only true path I have ever known..." Lerion replied.

"What of the Dunedain?"

"A truce. Nothing more, and nothing less."

"Your words betray you, Lerion... think on it. Our names are similar. Is this thus an accident?"

Lerion slowly shook his head.

"Come then. And follow our lead."

Lerion slowly nodded.
Edited by Ioristion, Sep 20 2016, 08:42 PM.
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Ioristion

Chapter CCCLXV: Survivors of the Company

Thus was now the count of survivors of the Company:

Melimwe, Saelbainor, Ivordir, Daerfalas, and Glossel, Ioristion and Rirossel, Fingaereth and Arhbaineth, Aeglossel, Yucalwe, and Macilon, Cellindien and Macil, Inheroth, Fahnraen, Agarwaenor, Lerion, Angolhel, Fareon, Amarthon, Hallothanar, Malchon, Thiassel, Sasuko, Mornhelm, Eiliant, Isenadin, Arancir of Gondor, Arancir of Eregion, Sainion, Circhon of Gondor, Findistedis, Malfinseron, Alcano, Celebressel, Aegon, Rirossel, Gwainoth, Naitheg, Raedwyn, Aertira, and Salhera. They were 42. Several Haradrim retainers of Mumakil had survived. Dorwinion still had many hundred-score of guards that had labored to defend the Halls.
Edited by Ioristion, Oct 12 2016, 04:49 PM.
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Chapter CCCLXVI: A New Lord

Ioristion had cried his eyes-out for many nights. His grief gnawed at him. Worse still, he dreamed each night of his dead wife.

He now, held court, deranged anew. This time, he sought not treasure. This time, he perceived himself the Lord of the Ainon Cundan, his wife and father dead, not knowing his father remained alive, though barely still. This time, he perceived himself a High-King unto himself. Aertira, Salhera, Mornhelm, Isenadin, Eiliant, and Sasuko all formed the basis of his Court. Melimwe wanted nothing to do with it. He still believed and knew in his heart that Auruiron still lived.

Ioristion processed through the dark halls. He held his staff aloft. Aertira and Salhera upheld the sides of his cape in reverence. He sat down as a broken lord would sit, his madness swelling inside of him. They sat at his sides. They did not speak. They did not flare themselves in flamboyant fashion. Deep was the death that gnawed at their souls. The knowledge terrified them. Deep was the darkness that haunted them. The halls felt haunted. The air felt haunted. The spirits of the past arose to spite them in the innermost marrow of their minds. And as they rested alongside each other, it was their fear of death that haunted them.
Edited by Ioristion, Sep 20 2016, 08:42 PM.
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Chapter CCCLXVII: Macil's Rest

Macil had not spoken in days. The memories of the Last Alliance and the memories of Gondolin and the memories of Eregion and the memories of the recent days all folded-in on him, haunting him. He and Cellindien had tried to converse throughout the past month, but speechlessness gave way to deeper communion between them. They seldom spoke, at first, from the unanswerable nature of their plight, the plight of their Company. Then they tried to commune through thoughts. Macil often took pleasure from staring at her, into her eyes, granting him some measure of solace amidst the haunted shadows of the ruined halls. The halls had been washed, the bodies buried, the flowers had scented the air. The horror remained.

Melimwe had counseled all of them that they should rather seek for one of the flet-cities for a dwelling place. But Lerinon stubbornly refused to relinquish his throne. For he now was mad completely. And Alcano refused to commune with his aunt or uncle, or with his own father, for his mother's death and Celebressel's flamboyancy finally pushed him over the edge of sanity. Celebressel was already mad, mad from her desire, that was not, at first, selfish, for she had thought it with others in mind. But the discord had distorted it. Her intentions, as of all the Eldar, remained good and of the best. The discord betrayed the horror.

March was gone and April was gone and May was gone. They had lost all certainty of the fading days. They only knew that the sun would rise and set. A day would come. A day would pass. A day would be gone.

And on that eve, Macil rested himself gently beside Cellindien. And on that eve, he slept. And on that eve, he dreamed.

Terror seized him. It was the setting Macilon had warned him of. The setting that would precede his death. When he saw Finlos, he felt relieved. For he saw not the flamboyancy of his former vision. He saw, instead, Finlos as she was.

And she kissed him.

And Macil calmed himself, "I am dreaming again..."

"Are you truly?"

"You speak from mine own mind."

"Very well. And what would you have me say?"

"Speechlessness."

"That is quite a word."

"So it is... tell me, Cellindien, why... are we here again?"

"Gondolin was the time of our bloom, of our youth of old... It faded. So here we are."

"Nostalgia. But we were born to fade..."

"To fade into what?"

"Into air... the clean, cool air of a nightly breeze... an air to suffocate us."

"If we were born to fade, we would not even have known it."

"Not even have known it?"

"All birds and beasts that truly fade, if fade they must... they know not their doom."

"You speak in riddles."

"What rises in the morning, lives through mid-day, and dies in the evening?"

"A mortal."

"And what rises in a year of mornings, lives through ages, and dies upon the evening of the last day?"

"An Elf."

"And we, being Elves..."

"Will suffer the same fate as men."

"It just takes longer... the world will end, and we, with it."

"What of the Straight Road?"

"The West is bound to Arda... it too, shall perish."

"And how do you know these things?"

"I am in thine mind..."

"You speak strangely."

"Born from thine thoughts..."

"That must be why."

She kissed him again, "What do you fear most?"

"Ceasing to exist..."

"Who in the world would want you to believe that is possible?"

"The Enemy..."

"And the Enemy would press it why?"

"The Enemy's heart is discord."

"See? Now you know it..." She kissed him again.

Macil heaved a deep sigh, "Yes, we are most definitely -not- sharing a dream. You speak far differently when we are awake..."

"What do you want most?"

"To kiss you... to adore you... to serve you..."

"So you claim. So you believe. Believe you thus now thence:"

"Oh yes, I am definitely dreaming, to hear you speak in such a diction!"

"To be freed from fear."

"From what fear? An Elf does not succumb to fear."

"Feanor did. Why? I speak of death. For what is death but naught other than a passing thing, a movement from one plane of existence to another, a rite of passage, of growth? A gift..."

"A doom..."

"Why call it a doom when it is a gift? Who has called it a doom before?"

"The Enemy..."

"Macil..." He felt her warm breath on his face, "Close your eyes." And then he heard: "Awaken."

He opened his eyes. Cellindien still rested beside him in their chamber. The stars shined brightly outside the window. And Macil spent the rest of the night staring at the stars, watching the sun slowly rise. His mind was reeling from the dream. The Enemy... he gazed at me... he froze my actions... and when last I gazed upon him... he seemed...he seemed... as if he were Finlos.... the doom of death! Oh my heart... the doom of death.... I challenge you... I see you!

He did not realize he had strayed into another dream.

And he heard the sounds of ancient, cursed, men, chanting in Black Speech. And he heard the Lay of the Ring. And he beheld the ashen lands of Mordor. And he beheld the Dark Lord approaching. And when the blood-chortling screams of the Nine filled his ears, he awoke with a startle.
Edited by Ioristion, Sep 20 2016, 08:42 PM.
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Ioristion

Chapter CCCLXVIII: From Dream to Dream

Macil sighed and smiled. He had been tucked-in his dark cloak, Cellindien's dark green cloak over-top of him. Smiling, he closed his eyes again. And he passed into a new dream. He found himself in the glade where they were wed. A form appeared in the moonlight. Her robes and cloak were crimson-red. Her hair was fiery. "Brother..." she spoke.

"Oh cruel apparition, be gone!"

"You who disregarded me so..." Rostoriel's cheeks were drenched with tears. The wind whipped her garb, flapping violently, as she approached him. The dream felt real. They rushed into each others' arms, deeply kissing each others' cheeks. Rostoriel declared, "I waited long for you... now wait for me..."

"My sister..." Rostor wept. She vanished. "I failed her..."

"Did we now... did we truly fail her?" His vision of Cellindien spoke. She approached him in the gloom of the glade, her hair shining in silver moonlight. Her golden cape gleamed brightly as he trained behind her. "She died beyond our reach..."

Macil deeply sighed, "I know..."

"It is never easy... you know how much I shall miss her..."

"I know..."

The winds whipped her golden cape around her, her silvery hair flying in the breeze. She outstretched her arms, "Come hither..." She wrapped her cape around them both. She whipped her luminous folds atop their heads. She kissed him, deeply, as he closed his eyes. Then he heard her say: "Awaken."

He opened his eyes again. It was all naught but another dream. Yet his love and unity with his wife sustained him. So, too, remained the haunting words, Now wait for me... His eyes were brought to tears anew, for his dead sister.

Edited by Ioristion, Sep 20 2016, 08:42 PM.
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Ioristion

Chapter CCCLXIX: King of the Ainon Cundan

"Prepare now thence our dear procession... that the realm may behold our majesty. Downtrod shall all pretenders be. Behold our love... for all to see... and now... outspread... our dear... beauty!"

Aertira and Salhera, their hearts beaming, outspread Ioristion's golden folds and shook them, wave upon wave glittering in all vibrancy, gleaming in all pageantry, shining in all glory. The others bowed and knelt before him. They were war-weary and longing for beauty and for glory. And Ioristion, in his madness, provided it.

Mornhelm's gold and red cape flowed behind him as he knelt before Ioristion, "Once Gold Magician... and now High-King... of the Ainon Cundan... how might I serve thee, your grace, our glory?" He outspread his glistening folds and bowed low.

"Through thine dear loyalty... shalt thou serve me."

They all knelt before him in their madness, and pledged themselves unto 'his grace,' preparing for his rise to thence take place... it all then seemed an ugly farce... Amidst the traumas of war and woe, they sought distraction, 'the King' provided it. They were not satisfied to wallow in the dust of broken bones. And this afflicted them. The death of Rostoriel had broken Ioristion completely. He now was but a vain shell of his former self. He spoke of glory that never was, nor shall ever be, for he, the son of Auruiron.
Edited by Ioristion, Sep 20 2016, 08:43 PM.
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Ioristion

Chapter CCCLXX: Captured Foes

Lerinon, Inheroth, and Lerion, approached the cells. The Elven Guards saluted their King. Then Lerinon gazed within. The captured Easterlings themselves were all disgruntled. Yet none of them had been treated badly. Torture and deprivation were acts un-deemable by most of the Eldar. But they were fed only waybread, and not of the miraculous sort that came from Lothlorien. Many of them were young, olive-eyed, servants to their Emissary. For Narushon had commanded them to lay down their arms when they were captured.

Minutes earlier, Malagi had beckoned to Narushon into a corner of the cell. Then Malagi whipped his cloak over them both, as was his strange custom. Deep within the shadows of his folds, he whispered, "My former Master will approach us. He will seek his death-right. And you must not deny it to him."

"What? You cannot say such a thing!" Narushon whispered back. The two had grown rather close throughout the previous months.

And Malagi whispered, per their accursed rite, "I give unto you... the kiss of loyalty."

And Narushon received it. Then they deeply kissed each others' cheeks and held tight their embrace beneath the folds. "My Lord Sorcerer..." Narushon whispered.

"My Lord Emissary," Malagi whispered in reply.

And when their embrace had been released, they had outspread their folds and deeply bowed to one another.

Then one of the Easterlings approached, and knelt, "My Lord... allow me to exchange my life for yours."

"No, allow me," another soldier came and knelt.

"No, me," another knelt.

Malagi whimsically processed among them, "Nay, good soldiers. The debt can only be repaid by mine own blood. Yet come, remove thine helms, that I may grant thee each a gift." He outspread his cloak anew as each approached. He whipped his cape over each of them. Each received his kiss, each to his own gift, his own bestowed principle. Then, in the cell, large enough to hold all of them at once, they all gathered around him, clasping the folds of his cloak. They rose and fell in the shadows. They rose and fell in the flickering lights of the torches. They rose and fell as each man kissed the fold he held. And in his refulgent fury, he prophesied, "The Elves shall fall. The Men shall rise. The Realm shall triumph."

Then they swiftly dispersed. For Lerinon, Inheroth, and Lerion had thence arrived.

Lerion first approached the bars, "Hail, oh my dear apprentice..." He hissed.

"The debt of death is yours, Black Serpent," the voice of Malagi replied from the shadows.

Lerinon interjected, "He is not to kill you. Not under mine jurisdiction."

"Thou canst not interfere..." replied Malagi.

Inheroth clasped Lerion swiftly on the shoulder, "Heed him not, Lerion. He is not of sound mind."

Lerion shrugged him off, "Oh he is of perfectly sound mind! Or art our culture strange to you... as it hath ever been strange... ever strange..." He spoke with rising contempt in his voice.

Lerinon turned to Inheroth, "Watch the prisoners, Gwador." Then he whipped his cape over Lerion and came beneath it with him. The golden-red cape shrouded them both completely. Lerion felt stunned. He felt Lerinon's breath touch his face, "Lerion... Lord Sorcerer of the Haradrim... hearken unto my lips, what they shall utter... deep destiny hath bound us... deep doom hath brought us... deep power hath led us... thine treacherous apprentice knows things.... he cannot speak them if he is dead..."

Lerion slowly nodded beneath the cloak.

"Receive a King's blessing," he kissed Lerion's cheeks.

Lerion gratefully returned the gesture, "I shall your grace."

Then Lerinon whipped back the cloak.

Then Lerion faced the cell anew, "I withdraw my claim to death." For now.... traitor......

This shocked Malagi, who had only heard muffled whispers. He cannot mean it..... the Rite must stand....... "You are too kind.... my Master..."

Narushon approached the bars, "Oh King... how long shalt thou hold us hither?"

"That would depend upon you," Lerinon replied. "Disgraceful curs... a surprise attack... many perished... many so beloved... why, I ought to allow you to rot here, forever.... even your bones to occupied these grounds, forever...... you dare to ask?"

"You seek information, I trust," Narushon poignantly replied.

"I do.... in time, you shall speak everything."

Narushon outspread his black cape lined with silver, gleaming brightly in the torch-light, "As I lay bare my beating heart within my chest before you... I tell you... never shall I betray my dear Lord Emperor... who may yet, once day, thus rescue me..."

"We shall see," Lerinon balked. Then he, Inheroth, and Lerion all strode away.
Edited by Ioristion, Sep 21 2016, 12:17 PM.
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Ioristion

Chapter CCCLXXI: Fear

Lerinon sent Lerion to seek Macilon. Lerinon and Inheroth returned to Lerinon's royal chambers. They found Lady Thiassel but lately gone. He had left a note. She was meditating somewhere in the forest to the west.

"Gwador... I am still afraid... so very afraid..." Lerinon could feel the darkness of the Enemy still flowing in its discord throughout the halls.

"I know...my Gwador... so am I... and he can strip our cloaks away, whenever we are captured, and... we lose the protection..."

Lerinon slowly paced back and forth, gold draping, billowing, onto the floor behind him, with flashes of red beneath him. His mane of raven hair gleamed silvery in the sunlight through the windows. But his soul was marred. He felt the terror. The terror closed-in on him as if the walls of the halls suddenly came together to crush him. He turned abruptly, his hair flipping majestically as he turned, "My Gwador... Lord Prince of our shattered realm... what have I dragged you into.... better would thus be, if you had stayed behind in Greenwood long ago..."

"Do not say such things, your Grace... I beg of you..." Inheroth knelt on the floor before him, "If ever I were granted the choice again... I would choose to journey with you... all over again..." His black, silvery, mane of hair also glistened in the sunlight. His golden cape flowed behind him from his shoulders, draped neatly in place, as if sunlit streams and waterfalls, rushing rivers, simultaneously frozen in time. Sunlit still flowed despite the shadows that persisted in gnawing at their fea'r.

Lerinon smiled slightly, still remembering the horrors of his dreams, and bowed, without outspreading his cloak, "I thank you... my Gwador..."

Inheroth gazed up at him with admiration. Lerinon beckoned him to rise.

They sat down on a place of rest beside each other. They had long since confessed the horrors of each others' dreams. And nightmares concerning Auruiron persisted. Guilt wrapped around them more tightly than any cloak. But they still had not yet the soldiers, the clout, or the ability to muster a large force against the Enemy. They both often awoke in the middle of the night weeping for the doom of their father. Much of the kingly duties were assigned to Melimwe, to Yucalwe, to Fareon, and to Malchon.

A tear streamed down Inheroth's left-cheek. He inclined his head, "Gwador..." He was thinking of Auruiron.

"I know..." Lerinon replied.

There was a knock at the door. "Enter," Lerinon commanded. It was Lerion, holding an object wrapped in dark velvet cloth, "Lord Macilon commands... that we dare to probe this artifact... he sends me in his stead, for he is conferring with others... he told me that he was told that we should do this... in a dream..."

"That is a sudden change, for Macilon," Lerinon noted. "Let us proceed then..."
Edited by Ioristion, Sep 25 2016, 11:25 AM.
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Ioristion

Chapter CCCLXXII: The Eight-Pointed Star

They came upon their place of rest, and cushioned the orb between them, enclosing them all within their cloaks, and then they closed their eyes, their hands clutching the orb as their shared dream began. Lerion was the first to behold the vision. His eyes had seen Haradric sands, the quays of Umbar, the long traces and tracks of the desolate realms. But never before had he beheld a head bowed so low, so marred with blood, a head that used to be as majestic as an eight-pointed star. His garb was tattered and worn and stained with blood. Where the elf's right-hand had been, there was naught but a blood-ridden stump. The elf's browned, formerly bright rust, hair, fell down him haggardly. His eyes could not be seen beneath his mats of hair.

Lerion was speechless.

But Lerinon opened his eyes, for he remembered, "Being of an Age long dead, endeavor thence to speak to me."

Inheroth had awakened.

The sullen elf proclaimed, "Wounded I art... by perilous oath..."

Lerinon folded his arms in his golden cloak, "Which perilous oath?"

"The oath... of adar... Feanaro..."

"Why swore you thus?"

"Seek not to know!"

"Why swore you thus, to leave my kith and kin behind so dead... your wounds befit you. Why swore you thus?"

"...for my kith and kin... out of love... for my kith and kin..."

Lerinon gazed at him, stunned. For he had shared in Auruiron's frustrations concerning the nature of the oath. "You threw all our lives away... for love?"

"Aye..."

"And will the Everlasting Dark claim you?"

As the elf was prepared to perish, as a black abyss gaped wide behind him, there was a flash of light, born from Lerinon's innermost mind.

Findekano approached them, "Why trouble you a soul so thus bereft of love or estel?"

Lerinon remained recalcitrant, "Estel shall never save they who destroyed my family."

Inheroth turned toward Lerinon, "My King... oh Gwador... be patient, I beg of you!"

Lerinon scowled, "No King shall be demanded of such a thing as patience."

Findekano's silver eyes gleamed as he continued, "Since thou art thus recalcitrant, behold what once was... behold who you are rejecting..." He whipped his princely, golden cape, over the wounded elf, then whipped it back, in a flash of billowing, silken, glittering, gold, revealing the elf far cleaner, his wounds all closed, both his hands were intact, his hair was bright, rust-colored, shining, fiery, his robes were crimson red and brighter sunset orange, and wide was his ruby-cape, lined with fiery brilliance.

Lerinon's arms slowly began to fall. Inheroth gently clasped his Gwador's hands.

Findekano spoke: "He, too, was Gwador unto me... and I to him..."

And Maedhros spoke: "Of thine family's doom, I wash myself in guilt... long have I ever despaired of happiness..."

Lerion spoke-up, "I know what it means to be at war... to see one's kith and kin lost and gone... my father was once as beautiful as an Elven prince... he rode atop the Mumak... he fell to archers... lurking in the wilderness... and for so long ever since, I've wanted revenge... to do unto the nation's sons what it had done unto me... and I labored in the Enemy's service... against the designs of Gondor... Many died upon the field. Many the corpses... kith and kin, on both sides, all have fallen... households sundered, from the most gallant noble, to the basest slave... so oft were lives... and lands... ruined... but not forever. Prince, while neither of my companions, may ever seek, to comfort you: I will."

And Lerion fell into Maedhros' embrace with open arms, Maedhros gazing at him, stunned. Maedhros proclaimed, "In a moment shall we speak." He released the embrace.

Then Lerinon broke-down and wept bitterly. He fell on his knees before Maedhros, tenderly kissing Maedhros' robe, then weeping into his silky cloak.

And the other Sons of Feanor came forward.

Inheroth gazed at the whole scene in awe, All of this... from the fury of my Gwador's mind... to see them... in person... it is beyond words...

Maedhros proclaimed, "We who are immaterial, subjected to this doom, may yet approve, all that you may perceive. We, the shadows of your minds, serve at your beckoning."
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Ioristion

Chapter CCCLXXIII: The Legacy of Feanaro

Lerinon folded his arms in his golden cloak, "Tell me, traitor of the Eldar..."

"My King, oh Gwador," Inheroth interjected, "I am in shock that we are here. Many dreams have we endured, some beguiling, others nightmarish, and some of them were restful. But this is new. Never in my wakening days did I ever imagine that we would confront the Sons of Feanor within a dream, such a conscious dream, and nor that they might speak to us at our beckoning, as if they were real."

"We are real," Maedhros interjected. "And yet imaginary."

Lerion wondered aloud, "Are you spirits?"

"Nay," Maedhros replied. "Not spirits. But fragments of the minds of these twain Gwadorim. To you, we are distinct. Your culture might not have included us in your legends."

Lerion's eyes grew wide, "He... he read my thoughts!"

"We are borne thrice from three," Maedhros replied. "And yet real."

"How so?" Lerinon's confusion grew.

"We are real in so far as the Lord Vala of Dreams and Visions hath made us real. Rest assured, all the others are aware." Maedhros smiled.

"How so?" Inquired Inheroth. "Lord Macalaure is alive and well. And some beneath the Golden Bough have claimed to see the vision of Maitimo Nelyafinwe."

"That is most true," Maedhros replied, "But I am not the spirit of Maitimo Nelyafinwe. Yet am I Maedhros. And also real."

"How can this be?" Lerinon interrogated further.

Maedhros replied, "The Lord Vala cannot intervene directly against his deceitful former servant. He cannot intervene any more so than the Lord of the Forge had intervened against his rebellious Maiar. And the dreams he grants unto the world are sparing, but he speaks unto many. All among the Eldar and among the Second Born hath dreamed to varying degrees. Some dream of what is already within their minds. Some dream of that which the Lord Vala and his servants require that they may dream in accordance with their dooms. Some dream according to their innermost, deepest desires. Some dream according to their deepest, darkest of terrors. Some dream according to their struggles, their toils, in life, and some dream according to what the Vala himself desire to impart upon them in order to save them from terrible fates. This is one some such dream, this dream that we are sharing, the dream that will save you from the doom that we have suffered."

Lerinon wondered aloud, "Are you the Vala in disguise?"

"Nay," Maedhros replied.

"Then you are our foe!" Lerinon shouted.

"Nay," Maedhros still replied.

"Then what are you?" Lerinon pressed him more.

"Why," Maedhros replied, "I cannot say. I cannot tell you that Uireb, the brother of Amanuiron, hath spoken unto us, some of us in Mandos, and unto Macalaure beneath the Golden Bough, and unto Maitimo in the mists of Time, all of them approving of all that we must tell you, and do for you, making our actions into -their- actions, though they have long since passed away, or remain far away from here. I cannot tell you that all of this has been approved by Lord Lorien himself, that the Lord of Lorien himself seeks an end unto this conflict, an end to all such suffering that Guldrambor might inflict. I cannot say these things for I, myself, do not know whether they are true or not. Are we born from your minds, from your innermost thoughts, or from the West? Are we spirits, trapped in Mandos until the end of Time, save for Macalaure and I, or are we naught but fragments of your own imaginations? I cannot say. For I myself do not know. But I say this: Believe what you will so long as it serves the greater good. For neither I, nor any gathered here, are important. Only our words remain..."

Findekano folded his arms in his golden cloak, "Listen... all of you... as I bade Lord Uireb my regards, endorsing all that ye might perceive of me, so did I lend such legitimacy, including of this dream hither. For dreams are not literal transcriptions of reality. Nor are they direct apparitions. They are the magic, the Art, the indirect means through which we might yet begin to understand something or someone. As Lorien is our Master, and we his servants, that alone should matter. We speak the truth."

Lerion bowed, "As you command, great Lord."

Findekano laughed, "We are not hither to command. We are here to serve at your pleasure."

Lerinon nodded, "Prince Maedhros, you have spoken of love of kith and kin. Why did you not perceive that the Oath opposes love?"

Maedhros frowned, approaching Lerinon, "Gather unto me, all of you, that you may see."

Inheroth braced himself, holding tightly onto Lerinon's shoulder. Lerion did the same. Maedhros swept his fiery cape over all of them. They felt the soft, cool, smooth fabric brush their cheeks. Then the cape was flapped away. And they perceived eight swords rising in the darkness toward the stars. The voice of Maedhros spoke, "Our grandfather died, first and foremost to perish, on Western soil. And in our deep grief, we lost our minds. We substituted passion in place of love."

Lerinon felt his wounded heart pulse with sorrow welling in his fea, "I, too, did this... over emphasizing my destiny as Elurin... out of love for a perished father, mother, a lost sister, and a sunken realm bereft..."

Maedhros warmly smiled, "You are wiser than you think you are. It is your inquisitive mind that saves you. Keep coming forward." The cape swept again. Now, Amras stood before them. The ships were burning brightly at Losgar.

Amras proclaimed, "Umbarto, the Fated. Death struck us. We forsook our allies. The hunt drove us. In truth, we were the hunted. We plunged into the trap.

He was joined by Amrod. Amrod proclaimed, "We were both frightened, younger, afraid. We beheld our father's doom... his body burning into ashes." Then Amrod swept his cape over them.

The cape that whipped-back was now deep-green. Caranthir the Dark stood before them, as he proclaimed, on the slopes of Rerir, "Our realms prospered. Or so it seemed. They were in the province of Thingol of Doriath, though we heeded not his wisdom, or his power. Our tongue was banned. Of this, we were ashamed, to have our father-tongue banned. This made our ire grow into darker thorns."

The cape of Caranthir whisked around and over them. Then came the next vision. Back whipped Macalaure's golden cape, the same Auruiron had given to him as a gift, "Your father loved me... brave Auruiron... poor Auruiron... I tried to tell him, so many times, not to obsess over me or my doom... but he would not listen. We have found peace in the Vale of Imladris, but he left without me. I would have helped him. I might have saved him, had he taken me with him, for I was prepared to face the Shadow. Now I linger beneath the Golden Bough, aiding others, keeping the Song alive. But I miss him. If Auruiron does not return to Lord Elrond's Vale, I fear for my hope, for if he dies, I fear that I may blame myself, my accursed Oath. If endless tears bring all the Leaves to ruin, then I fear that I will return to the shores of the sea, and find no rest. I do not know what I will do... the Leaves may comfort me, amidst his loss, and I may yet live... but long and storied shall be my lament. See the flames of the Dagor Bragollach! Here, too, I feared for Auruiron's life. He and his friends escaped, but barely. Come..."

Macalaure's cape flew over them all, and they heard him plucking the strings of his harp, as the azure-blue cape of Curufin whipped back, revealing Nargothrond.

Lerion did not know any of these places or perceive their significance.

Inheroth could only guess at them in wonder.

Lerinon's relentless mind kept placing each location within the context of his father's stories of the First Age of Arda. He realized that these were his own images, his own mental perceptions, of these places.

Curufin proclaimed, "Child of woe... you share in this with my son. Celebrimbor, too, died a tortured death. My Oath had doomed me. I could not save him. The crimes my brothers and I committed against the Lady Luthien and stalwart Beren ruined us... these among many other crimes." The cape returned and covered them.

Then the cape of Celegorm, bright golden-forest-green, whipped back, revealing Doriath, a perished Dior, the horrors of the bloodshed.

Lerinon shouted, "Cruel, vicious, murderer!"

Inheroth quickly covered Lerinon's mouth.

Celegorm's sandy hair flowed behind him, as he proclaimed, "Of your ire, I do not blame you. But such ire will undo you. This is the ire that nearly slew you. With this, your ire, your foe shall strangle the life out of you. I confess the evil that has been done. I confess within complicity. These dark contrivances, I willingly, confess, with sorrow. Celegorm slowly wept, "For if we had known what this, our Oath, would do, we would have never sworn it. Death and doom from passionate words may undo the most gallant of heroes. Beware of this, for you, too, love words of passion. Your word-craft may undo you all, as they undid us, and they may undo a Kingdom, as ours undid thine own," and the cape of Celegorm covered them all completely.

The cape whipped back, revealing Maedhros, standing nigh the edge of a fiery abyss. A harbor was visible across the bay. It was burning. The corpses of many Elves were nigh. They perceived two children, Elrond and Elros, parting from cliff-side. They saw a Silmaril fly off the edge of a cliff far-off, nigh the shores of the sea, and they heard a voice of lamentation, the Noldolante, rising on the northern winds. They heard the voices on the wind. For there also came another voice, a voice that Lerinon knew all too well: the voice of Auruiron lamenting death and doom, lamenting the deaths of all his brethren. Lerinon broke-down, finally, into bitter weeping. Inheroth, too, was weeping, doing what he could to console his gwador. Even Lerion was moved by it. The myths of Lerion's past and the realities of his present intermingled, granting greater understanding, in the hope that the Haradrim, too, might one day comprehend all that had really happened in the First Age of Arda so long ago. He wished they would all learn that neither Melkor nor Sauron were gods, that the Elves once served the West, and that One and One alone had made it all through Song.

They turned anew toward Maedhros, whose left hand was marred and covered with blood. It was barely grasping a fiery Silmaril. Maedhros proclaimed, "Suffer not the doom that made us perish. Suffer not the sorrow that made us weep in endless lamentation. Suffer not the strife that doomed us. Beware, for much doom have you suffered already. A worse and graver doom is nigh at hand. When all thy comrades perish, and all are dead, no hope shall ever remain. Seek for the Star that is Estel. Your hope may yet prove itself hope for us at the end of Time. Seek for the Star that is Estel. In Auruiron's heart, it sings. His hope, it may yet save him, stronger than golden rings. A Silmaril within shall brighten, a Light shall one day shine, when all that is lost is regained, and home in the West art thine. Come not here, unto this doom, this doom that may yet claim thee, if you forsake all Estel."

Then the vision of Maedhros Maitimo Nelyafinwe outspread his cape as if fiery wings, shining fiery bright, as if in sunlight, shimmering as he fell backward, his fiery hair and cape falling behind him as if a falling Star, the Light of the Silmaril vanishing as he screamed, all consumed in flame, shadows darkening.

Lerinon embraced Inheroth tightly, "Oh it is awful... and I have been so awful.... so many have died... and all my fault... I am guilty of it! I did worse than swear the Oath of Feanor! They are dead, all dead, because of me! Now die Elurin, die as you were meant to die, lost and bereft in all the wilderness!"

Lerinon made a rush for the fiery gorge, but Inheroth and Lerion pulled him back. They struggled harshly until Lerinon was finally restrained.

Inheroth proclaimed, "Did you not hear his words? Seek for Estel! Lerinon... it is not over yet! There is still hope, can you not see that!"

All their cheeks were already drenched with tears from bitter weeping.

"Come back, with me, Gwador!" Inheroth cried anew, "Come back from this abyss! Come back! We can save him, father, Auruiron! We can save him!"

A dark voice spoke from the nearby brush, "Leave him!" It was the voice of Agarwaenor.

"No! I will never leave him!"

"Leave him!" The voice spoke again. "We have lost everything. Am I not also your brother? Have I not sacrificed -everything- for you? And for what? What have you done, in turn, oh brother? We lost our King, our positions, our homes! We lost everything! We shall die if we pursue this further."

"You have never sounded so emotional!" Inheroth shouted back. "Ever cold and sterile... have you no hope!"

Lerion whispered, "It is not your brother who speaks, Inheroth. If the words of the Prince are correct, then it means that..."

Lerinon wept, "Oh Inheroth! We should have mended withering ties with Agarwaenor. Inheroth, you may yet be safe with him. Leave me! Let me die! Let Dorwinion fall, but not you with it! You take Agarwaenor, you return to Mirkwood! Grovel at King Thranduil's feet, explain what happened! He may yet restore you to his service. Woe upon the day..."

"Be silent!" Inheroth finally yelled. "I will ensure that there is peace between me and my brother. I will ensure that there is peace between us all. But do not dare to question what we have done... I will protect you, Gwador, with all my heart, and no, we shall not perish. Gwador... we must do what the Prince has told us. We must find Estel... and find Auruiron... and save him, save Macalaure, save everyone from further grief and doom... and if you cannot, then let me be strong for us both... I will protect you, Gwador... and never shall you come to harm so long as I draw breath!"

Lerion spoke, "Let me serve you... for in those accursed halls, across the sea, I know my Angolhel remains alive, my love... my wife.... and we shall save her too. No longer shall I hide a craven coward. The energy I always misplaced into justice or vengeance for my dead father... I shall now place for you... for your longevity. Your grace, I serve you, even to the last, from this day forward. Let me serve you, my dear, sweet King, that your father may be free, and all may justly sing. Come... let us leave this fiery abyss behind us. Long have I lingered by it, and did not know it, but now, throughout this grief, I am aware. Come, let us pass away, from darkness and despair. For far too long, has the Black Serpent been, a symbol of hatred, of vice, of shadows, of the Eye, as if it were the Eye. But now may it be a symbol of everlasting peace, that war may end between the peoples of the West, and of the East."

Lerion then stood proudly, light slowly rising on the horizon, as he outspread his folds and levitated, his cape falling brightly beneath his arms, draping vast and wide, glittering, and then, in a flash of light, he, the black serpent, slithered on the stones around them, resting a patience head on Lerinon's lap. His back was as soft and smooth as silk. Then, in another flash of light, Lerion rested his head on Lerinon's lap, as Findekano stood before them.

Findekano proclaimed, "You are nearly ready. With the Sons of Feanor, you should make your peace, ere your dream shall end. For you may never see them again. Whether or shall, or will not, only the Valar shall know. Come, for the hour is late. Let us return to your chambers."

Lerinon nodded as Findekano swept his billowing, golden cape, over them all. When the cape swept back, they were now on their place of rest anew. Slowly, they stood, as the seven Sons of Feanor approached them. Gentle tears streamed down all their faces. They all outspread their capes and bowed. Lerinon came first into Amras' deep embrace, swept within his cape, as they gently kissed each other on their cheeks, in a ritual of affection that undid the evils of Guldrambor, and they all proceeded to do so. One by one, each Son of Feanor gave each advice.

To Lerinon, spoke Amras: "Be not afraid. Spoke Amrod, "Hunt the light." Spoke Caranthir, "Find your father." Spoke Maedhros: "And free him from his bonds." Spoke Curufin: "End his torture." Spoke Celegorm: "Reject all darkness." Spoke Macalaure: "And bring him home beneath the Golden Bough."

To Inheroth, spoke Amras: "Bring peace." Spoke Amrod: "To your kith and kin." Spoke Caranthir: "That your father may be proud." Spoke Maedhros: "Of you both." Spoke Curufin: "Protect your King." Spoke Celegorm: "And save his Realm." Spoke Macalaure: "And return him home beneath the Golden Bough."

To Lerion, spoke Amras: "Serve your brethren." Spoke Amrod: "And find your way." Spoke Caranthir: "Through the darkness." Spoke Maedhros: "Toward the light." Spoke Curufin: "Find your wife." Spoke Celegorm: "Save her from herself." Spoke Macalaure: "And find your home beneath the Golden Bough."

They did not rush it. Each conversation felt as if it had taken hours, although each was naught but brief, and it was beautiful, as bonds of loyalty and friendship were all renewed.

Then Findekano proclaimed: "Whether or not you have made real peace with all these sons of strife, your lives shall not yet tell. But take it real within this way: you have made peace with them within yourselves, and through them, you have made true peace with all yourselves, granting thence the duty, the fortitude, and the courage, to endure what you must soon endure. Our time is at an end, my friends. To Auruiron, I am forbidden now to come. But you may come. Bear to him the words that you have heard from Maedhros, for they alone shall preserve his spirit, and convey to him all that you have heard, when the time has come. But this shall be only if you make it so, and all of it shall only may yet be, for if you fail, then all shall flounder into shadow. To each of you, I bear a gift, when ere we part."

Findekano swept beside Lerion, enclosing him in his cloak, as they kissed each other on their cheeks, and Findekano proclaimed, "Son of the Haradwaith, Prince of the Desert. Know that the peace thus born within you... shall outspread spread... wider than any cape... and brighter than any star. Hold fast and true, and this may yet come to pass."

He did the same for Inheroth, "Oh Dorwinion Prince... beloved of Greenwood... much may yet be mended. You may yet return to your true home in triumph. Hold fast and true, and this may yet come to pass."

Finally, Findekano came to Lerinon, "Oh Dorwinion, Golden, King... and Heir of Doriath... fulfillment you may yet see... of all your truest dreams... Hold fast and true, and this may yet come to pass."

Maedhros came again beside Findekano, turning to Lerinon, "Can you ever forgive me... and the rest of us... for all that we have done?"

Lerinon wept anew, "...I...I forgive you..... I forgive you all." Lerinon ran into Maedhros' deep embrace, deeply kissing his cheeks, receiving the gesture in return, burying his face in Maedhros' fiery hair, as affectionately as a lost child in the middle of the wilderness, who has finally found his safety, and Maedhros' eyes were glowing, as if he, too, had finally found peace, for such was Lerinon's dream. All of them deeply embraced, tightly, as they began to feel unified and renewed in spirit, Lerinon, Inheroth, and Lerion resting their faces within the fiery-bright, cool, smooth folds of Maedhros' cloak. Theirs was a chaste and gentle bond, the bond of brethren, unifying them all in greater purpose.

They briefly withdrew.

Then Findekano spoke to them all, outspreading his golden cape, sparkling brightly in ever-brighter sunlight, glittering and gleaming in the apex of his majesty, "Much shall depend on the courage of Auruiron." Then he cast his cape over all of them, deeply embracing all of them tightly, as a sweet fragrance exuded from his folds, the scent of roses, bright folds soothing their wounded fea'r, as they buried their faces within them. They felt safe, truly safe, for the first time in months. He whispered, "As I faced the seven Terrors of Shadow and Flame, so shall you yet face again, your deepest horrors. Hold fast to Estel, that you may, with the West, prevail!" Then Findekano proclaimed: "Awaken!"

They all opened their eyes. Several hours had passed them by within their sleep. Lerinon yawned. They all sat-up. They all embraced each other. The artifact pulsed between their hearts. They gently put the artifact away, back in its cloth, and then they closed their eyes, to sleep a dreamless sleep.

Macilon came to visit them, several hours later, reporting on his words with the prisoners. Narushon had finally yielded the information of Sakuta's location. Malagi had finally yielded his sorrow for having betrayed his master. Lerion, for the first time since the betrayal, began to trust Malagi. He remained cautious. Then Lerinon told Macilon everything, and Macilon was moved to tears. Then Macilon said: "In truth, I feared for all our doom. I trembled at the thought of it. Yet now I see that there is still hope. Rest still, for now, and let the rest of us prepare for the battles yet to come. There is one trouble with which we must concern ourselves... and it concerns your brother, Ioristion. Inheroth, you also should visit Agarwaenor, who is lately returned from the western regions. He shall need aid of you, but not quite yet. Stay here... all of you..."

They slowly nodded as Macilon left the room.
Edited by Ioristion, Oct 1 2016, 09:14 PM.
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Ioristion

Chapter CCCLXXIV: The Feanorian

Across the sea, Auruiron in his dreams had befriended, closely, all the Sons of Feanor. They had all deeply embraced, cheek-kissed with brotherly affection, wrapped each other in each others' cloaks, and awaited the coming of the rising dawn, and feared the intrusion that Guldrambor might bring. Amras and Amrod processed at Auruiron's sides, upholding the wings of his cloak of gold, sparkling beautifully in the sunlight of his dream, of his namesake, Aur. The rest upheld his train. Within the halls of the tower of Mount Rerir, last artifice of Auruiron's broken dreams, they came upon a place of rest. They all gazed inward at Auruiron, kneeling low before him, all vibrating his folds into glittering, golden waves, all bright. Auruiron's golden hair, shining in the sunlight through the windows, streamed down his back and shoulders in magnificent plumes and tresses. He seemed as if an Elven King of old.

The Sons of Feanor were robed and clothed as they were in Lerinon's dream. Curufin wore his azure-blue, lined with silver, Celegorm wore his golden-green, Maedhros wore his fiery-bright red, Macalaure wore the gold that Auruiron had bestowed upon him, Carantir in his deep evergreen, as Amras and Amrod wore their fiery orange, richly lined with fiery red. Their dark, sandy, and fiery tresses all flew down their backs and shoulders, gleaming brightly in the sunlight. Long had they conversed within Auruiron's dream, sharing much of the same knowledge, save for one detail: the Estel within Auruiron and the accompanying words granted to Lerinon, Inheroth, and Lerion. Now they gave Auruiron what he had longed-for throughout the Ages: recognition and esteem. They knelt around him in awe of his ever-growing beauty. Auruiron outspread the wings of his golden cape as his gleaming folds continued to vibrate brightly. He shook his head, flipping his hair swiftly, amidst his revelry, golden strands gleaming. Then he prostrated himself on his place of rest, and they all prostrated themselves around him. They all kissed each others' cheeks, burying their faces in each others' hair, resting gently in each others' folds.

Auruiron gently stroked Amras' dark-red hair. Amras and Amrod, Ambarussar, rested to Auruiron's left and to his right, beneath his cloak, wrapped in gold. They buried their faces in each others' hair, fair scents rising on the air, gold and fiery and deeper, darker red, embracing deeply, and deeply kissing each others' cheeks, the same oft-repeated ritual, all ever of brotherly affection, beneath their fiery capes. Amras whispered, "We will never leave you... and ne'r forget you..." Then their faces re-emerged into the sunlight. Some time elapsed. They did not know how much or for how long.

Amras inclined his head, "We Ambarussa... should have never parted from our mother."

"None of us should have," Macalaure replied.

Maedhros sighed, "If only we had heeded wisdom... do you remember the Nirnaeth?"

"Aye," Celegorm replied, "A sorry day."

"I remember it well," replied Caranthir. "So many perished..."

"Findekano..." Maedhros wiped away a tear.

Curufin sighed, "Tell me, did my son ever fare better?"

Auruiron sadly shook his head, "He did not fare well... the Lieutenant of Angband escaped."

"Escaped?!" Maedhros shook his head. "How?"

Auruiron closed his eyes, though he was within a dream, "Son of Feanor, know the dooms of your kindred. Many parted for the Pardon, yet several still remained, enough to people a Kingdom, to fulfill Feanor's wildest dreams. The Eldar dominated the lands between the Ered Luin and the Hithglaer. A great Gulf flowed through where the treacherous Kingdoms of the Naugrim once stood. I built my home along those shores... And in a land fair and evergreen, filled to the brim with holly trees, Hollin, nigh Hadhodrond of the Longbeards: here settled your son, Curufin, and all who followed him. Great works were wrought and cities built, Naugrim and Elf labored hand-in-hand, mithril mail and mountain jewels, and in the forges of the Mirdain, Rings were forged... Rings of Power... An Emissary had come from the West, or so we thought, and many were the Rings that there were wrought, but in the end, this Annatar, Gift-Giver, was naught but Sauron, Morgoth's fell Lieutenant, now a Dark Lord unto his own accord. He named himself a Lord of all the Rings. Far to the southeast, in the land of Mordor, the realm of Shadow, in the fires of the mount of Orodruin, Sauron forged one Ring of Power, to rule all others. His armies of fell Orcs and fallen men all swarmed throughout the Enedwaith. My wife perished, and I nearly would have died, were it not for my kith and kin. Many were slaughtered. Ost-en-Edhil, capital of golden domes and spires, fell before the might of Sauron. Celebrimbor was captured. For a long and hideous time, he was tortured, till finally..."

Curufin bitterly wept, "Continue."

Auruiron began to slowly sob, "He perished, and never returned among the Elves... save as a defiled, bloodied corpse, impaled upon a spear... a fell banner of the Enemy... and I beheld him amidst thunder and lightning, and there I lost my mind... oh Celebrimbor, from the fabric of mine mind, I summon you to be with Curufin..."

Nothing happened.

"An ill omen," Auruiron muttered. "Brethren, I am afraid."

"Do not be!" Amrod gently replied. "We remain at hand. What fear you so?"

Auruiron's eyes grew wide, "My jailer."

"Are we imprisoned?" Asked Macalaure.

Auruiron then realized that these apparitions did not even realize they were apparitions. Auruiron himself deigned to place his fears of sanity aside, "Yes, we are... far in the East. This tower is fake. We are bound far away, by an inland Sea, beneath strange stars. Maedhros, my hroa is broken... it is as mangled as yours upon the Thangorodrim. The jailer seeks to outdo his former fell masters... He seeks thralldom of us all beneath his heel. I hide hither, knowing the relentless pain, that soon awaits me... a pain from which I...I may never awaken.... Macalaure, my brother, let me kiss your cheeks once more.... for it may be my last.... let us embrace once more, oh greatest voice who ever lived.... for myself, I am glad I waited... that I found you upon the northern shores... that we sat by the River Bruinen, together, in fair Imladris, and heard the voices on the wind.... the Voice... that proclaimed... our salvation...... and Mandos may keep me till the end of Time, till all my endless tears... are shed.... all I seek.... is to be..... remembered......................."

Macalaure crawled up beside Auruiron, Amras and Amrod clearing room, and then Macalaure hugged Auruiron tightly, Auruiron returning the embrace, tightly, as they deeply kissed each others' cheeks, in what Auruiron beheld as a final act of brotherly affection.

They all huddled around Auruiron, embracing him, as Auruiron proclaimed, "My brethren..." They all kissed each others' cheeks, embracing each other deeply, and then they stood once more, all vibrating Auruiron's golden cloak anew. He sparkled brightly. Amras and Amrod upheld the wings of Auruiron's cape anew. He seemed as if a golden eagle. The Sons of Feanor all proclaimed, "Hail Auruiron, Golden Prince of the Ainon Cundan! Hail Auruiron, our Brother! Hail Auruiron, Lord of the Vow!"

Auruiron outspread his golden wings, "Now am I recognized... finally complete... though it all be naught but the winds of a winding dream... singing... naught but voices on the wind...."

Soft, cool winds, blew through the windows, making his cloak billow brightly. His folds flapped and fluttered in the winds. His heart was gushing in the final fulfillment of everything he had claimed to stand for.

Macalaure's eyes ran with solemn tears, "I should never have let you go alone."

Auruiron warmly replied, "It is better that you may live... and attend my tale... and when you are alone in the refuge of the Golden Bough, sing a song for me... write it and sing it, that none may ever forget..." Lord of Lorien, hear my plea... perish must I, in accordance with my doom... let those words that I justly spoke... reach the mind of Macalaure... only if the One thus wills it so.......... Namarie!

The tower-chamber suddenly darkened. The skies darkened, for Guldrambor in his wrath, realized Auruiron's vain attempts, sensing something was amiss, as Auruiron attempted to gain control over his dreams, his innermost thoughts. While all the Sons of Feanor resisted, they ultimately, one by one, were plucked away, leaving Auruiron bereft, in a broken, shattered, palace. Then Auruiron heard all the mass-screaming, all the bloodied battlefields he had ever seen, flashing at once before his mind, from Aglareb to Bragollach to Nirnaeth, to Doriath, to Sirion, to Eregion, to Mirkwood, to the Turfs of Sutland... All seemed lost forevermore, as Guldrambor cast his cloak of darkness around Auruiron, consuming him in the depths of his deepest misery. Auruiron cried aloud to the West. The West did not answer. He seemed to shed tears endlessly. None replied. He hung there on the cliffs beneath Sakuta, parched and starving, lashed and broken, bleeding, and exposed to the chill winds that soared upward from the harsh, turbulent, churning surface of the sea. A blood-red dawn was rising, and Auruiron, who could barely breathe, and only hold-out hope for Macalaure, the only thing left tethering his fea to his hroa, feared he had begun his final fading.
Edited by Ioristion, Oct 1 2016, 09:34 PM.
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Ioristion

Chapter CCCLXXV: The Sorcerer's Awakening

Back in Lerinon's chambers, Lerion slowly stood, and stretched his arms as he yawned. His lavender cloak gleamed brightly, lined with flashes of fiery red beneath it, and Lerinon and Inheroth merely stared at him, as he, Lerion, processed away from them, slowly across the room, his lavender folds gleaming behind him on the black marble of the floor. Then, Lerion turned to face them.

Inheroth yawned and said, "I wonder what Macilon is planning now..."

"We should go," Lerinon replied.

"But he advised us not to," Lerion replied.

"Am I not the King?" Balked Lerinon.

"Hush now," Inheroth gently replied, "My King... there is no need for this. Let us wait..."

Lerinon nodded begrudgingly.

"Listen... I have realized something," replied Lerion. "For all the long years I sought revenge... I was a fool. My father, brilliant though he was... foolishly rode atop a Mumak, outspreading his sorcerer's cloak in all his beauty and all his glory, only to be felled by arrows, and crushed beneath his own Mumak. I fear the same foolish doom awaits us... unless we outsmart it."

Inheroth gently nodded.

"But here... we are safe, for now... the halls are far more well-guarded this time around..." Lerion folded his arms beneath his cloak, "No longer do I blame Gondor... but the Dark Lord who darkly, deeply, deceived us... and I blame my people's foolishness... I would thank these Sons of Feanor... for teaching me this lesson... you will have to tell me far more concerning your history, for I do not understand all of it... I know only the tales of songs and snakes... beneath our wondrous stars..."

Lerinon nodded.

Lerion continued, "The Black Serpent... our symbol... used to be one of good fortune, till the Dark Lord distorted it..." He gathered his folds before his mouth, and then outspread them, as fiery red silk billowed beneath his outstretched arms, revealing his floor-length silken tresses of golden-brown hair: "In our deepest dreams, you have seen me... our greatest destiny... and I, Sorcerer, will protect you, my glorious King...I...I feel.... awakened...." He bowed.

"Lerion... come to me..." Lerinon replied, sweeping his red and golden cape around himself.

Lerion approached him, then swept his lavender cloak over them both, their faces resting in the deep-red shadows of his inner folds.

"Lerion," Lerinon whispered, "It is I who should protect you... for you are mortal... and you have naught to conjure...for sorcerers can only conjure nothing..."

"I mean not sorcerer in that sense," Lerion whispered in return, "But in my people's sense: of he who protects the tribe from future harm. Therefore, let me be... thy Lord Sorcerer..."

"Consider yourself a Lord then," Lerinon gently replied, kissing him on the cheeks in the manner of their custom. Lerion gently returned the gesture. Then they deeply embraced.

When they reemerged, Lerinon turned back toward Inheroth, "It would appear that we have another Gwador."

Inheroth gently smiled, "I could tell... from the moment we shared the dream together."

Then they all embraced, repeating the gestures, and Lerion felt free from his past for the first time in years. Then Lerinon and Inheroth and Lerion sat down, and shared the multiplicity of tales, from all their pasts.
Edited by Ioristion, Oct 4 2016, 03:29 PM.
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Ioristion

Chapter CCCLXXVI: A Fallen Captain

The horrors of the war had unnerved many of the men in the Company. Ivordir was nearly numb to it. He had seen the Battle of Pelennor Fields. He often walked where he could, wherever there was not a reminder of the war, but the reminders of the war were everywhere. He could find no peace. Most of the folk of Eir were dead, and nearly half, if not more, of his Company was dead, and he thought of those original gallant souls who first set-off from Dol Amroth, many of them against their wills. Dolthor was gone and Aeg was gone and many more were gone, of all walks of life. Even Baralinthor, whom he had viewed as if a brother, after a long-term rivalry, after the conflict with Lord Ballithor was settled, had now died, and the Silver Swan had perished with him. Abrazan, brave near-brother, he, too, was dead. Ivordir had wept for them both for what seemed countless hours of bitter weeping.

Then, as Ivordir predicted, even in his depths of grief, he began to dream of Abrazan and Baralinthor.

"Sarajim!" Ivordir called-out for him in his dream. Abrazan's gentle eyes stared-down at him. Abrazan did not speak. Baralinthor came, his left-arm around Abrazan's shoulders. All they did was stare. The sight of their eyes gave Ivordir comfort till he would awaken. Ivordir would awaken in the middle of the night, in terrible sweats, crying aloud for his dead brethren. Then Daerfalas would console him, and he, Ivordir, would console Daerfalas, and they would continue their rest. For several nights, Ivordir, Daerfalas, Sainion, and Arhbaineth, would gather in their chamber, in their shared space with the other survivors of their original Company, and they would tell old tales and pass the time, staring at the heart of the burning hearth.

On the same evening in which Lerinon, Lerion, and Inheroth, had shared their dream, Ivordir and Daerfalas were resting alone in the chamber.

"Daerfalas..."

"My brave Captain..."

"No, not brave."

"Shall we bicker anew, brother? Shall we go through these same rites anew? There is no point to it, Ivordir... you cannot blame yourself..."

"I can and I have done so, the last command a Captain can ever make."

"It is not the last!" Daerfalas gazed at him aghast. "We are all alive for a purpose."

"Even Yucalwe lost his son... our brother..."

"Abrazan is in a better place now, I know it... and so is Baralinthor..." Soft, silent, gentle tears streamed down Daerfalas' cheeks.

"How do you know it? What solace can you bear unto these grief-stricken halls?"

"You are sounding akin to our Steward..."

"He meant to burn, I meant to burn, we all should burn!"

"No, Ivordir! Do not speak of such things!"

"I saw the burning from afar... and Faramir's body... overheard their talk: Denethor was wise in his demise, I say! Wise!"

"No, he was not! Listen to me, Ivordir, my brother, I beg of you!"

"Lady Melimir may flee for a time, so, too, mine Lord-Father, Ioristor, well let them flee! Better still had we had died in Ost Rimmon, or on the Pelennor, or in the forest, or.... in Pelargir!"

"I will -not- allow Gondor to lose you in the same way she lost her Steward!" Daerfalas, for the first time in a long time, stood defiant. "Come here, my brother."

"Seek you now to thus console your Captain?"

"I seek to console -my- brother, whom I love most dear, ever since we grew-up in Minas Tirith... Come hither..."

Ivordir reluctantly agreed. Daerfalas had retrieved his cloaks. Now, he wore them. Gold, and red, and black, shined brightly, neatly draping from his shoulders. Ivordir wore his cloaks. They appeared disheveled. They both wore silver, Elven robes, beneath their cloaks. They sat-down. Ivordir rested his head against Daerfalas' shoulder. Daerfalas shouldered Ivordir's grief. They rested gently in each others' cloaks. They knew their gesture was repetitive, and had been repeated a thousand times before, ever working against their deeper, inner, grief. Now, they needed it again, their brotherly consolation, lest they lose it forever, and in losing it, the sight of their importance, they would lose themselves, and in losing themselves, they would lose their lives. It was now a matter of survival, and Daerfalas knew it. He knew his brother Ivordir was nigh the brink of a fiery abyss.

"Now no more talk of death and doom, my brother," spoke Daerfalas.

"As you wish..." Ivordir solemnly replied. "Brave Abrazan... Bold Baralinthor..."

"They are still with us, my brother.... my Captain... I believe it so... and would they desire us to destroy ourselves in grief?"

"I suppose not..." Ivordir tried to crack a small smile. "Oh where is Yucalwe when we need him most..."

"Busy ruling this realm, I suppose," Daerfalas heaved a deep sigh of weariness, "He and Melimwe truly have a sharp mountain to ascend... we should aid them."

Ivordir nodded, "Soon, perhaps... but not as of yet. Brave Orel... the strong Dunedain..."

Daerfalas sighed again, "I know... my brother... I know..."

Ivordir closed his eyes and clung to Daerfalas tightly, for he remained desperate and yet still retained some small shadow of his better judgment: "Save me.... my brother....."

"I will, my Captain...." Daerfalas gently replied. Then, he whispered, "Whatever happens... I will not let you harm yourself..."

Ivordir deeply kissed Daerfalas on his tanned, cool cheeks. Daerfalas gently returned the gesture. They buried their faces in each others' hair. Then Daerfalas whisked his black and red cloak over their heads. They kissed each others' cheeks anew.

"You are a true Prince... a true Prince of Gondor..." Ivordir whispered.

"And you are a truly great Captain..." Daerfalas whispered in reply. "Think back on South Ithilien... when you seemed to be Numenor itself incarnate..."

Ivordir gave a light laugh, "Do you really think so?"

"I know so..." Daerfalas whispered. "I truly do."

Ivordir suddenly sprang to his feet. He felt himself draw upon an inner strength of which he had been mostly unaware of throughout the past few months. Then he seemed to be tall and mighty. He whisked back his black and red folds, unveiling his inner gold, which he then outspread, as sunlight glistened upon him through the open windows. "As this?"

"Yes..." Daerfalas knelt down on the floor before him, "My brilliant Captain..."

"Shall we dare to dream together, my brother?" Ivordir's eyes glistened with the sunlight.

"Yes..."

Then they prostrated themselves alongside each other in their place of rest, bound together by their silken cloaks, and closed their eyes.
Edited by Ioristion, Nov 17 2016, 06:03 PM.
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Ioristion

Chapter CCCLXXVII: Sorceress of Sakuta

Angolhel awoke. She had dreamed that evening of the golden serpents of the desert. She had dreamed of her stars, her firmament, that she often fell asleep gazing-at during the years of nomadic wandering amongst the dunes. He had visited her, within her dreams, he had given her promises of power and of glory, and she knew better than to resist. She would play him, beguile him, into believing that she was now his servant yet again, to do as he so willed. She feared detection, but she rid herself of her fear. She had been granted suites in the Citadel, carved from the stone of the cliffs, complete with sitting rooms, a cushioned place of rest, great windows overlooking the sea. She found this strange. She had betrayed him. He knew it. She kept herself guarded with caution. The thought had crossed her mind: he was seeking information. Once her mind became as an open-book to him, he would perceive it all, and perceiving it all, nothing would stop him. Strong was the allure of the Enemy's fell craft.

She smiled mischievously. She could hide nothing. She would join him again. She would refuse to -think- of any intentions. She would have to trust her husband, Lerion, to save her from herself, but for now, she would mock him, laugh at the act of thinking of him, jeering at her own memories. She would seek that he would join them.

She processed across her chamber in her lavender cloak, lined with red, all gleaming fiery bright in the light of the setting sun. Her golden-brown hair, newly-anointed, fell around and behind her. A great gust of wind from the sea surged through her windows, her arms outstretched, her folds falling beneath her arms, then billowing outward, fiery bright.

Her door had been open a crack. He slipped-through the gap between the door and its latch. She could see his shadow in the setting sunlight as he approached behind her. She turned to face him. Amanuiron had concealed his nose and mouth beneath the folds of his golden cloak, billowing and gathering about him, flowing down his face and shoulders as if a waterfall. He whispered in a low, yet oddly gentle, dark voice: "Willing am I, to bestow a second chance... upon thee..."

She, knowing precisely how to behave towards him, outspread her refulgent folds and bowed, "As you command, my lord, I am thine servant..."

"Prove it thus," he commanded, "Toss thine accursed cloak of treachery into the innermost depths of the sea..."

Then fear commanded her. She obeyed. She watched the fiery fabric, in all its billowing beauty, plunge into the depths, the winds whipping it to and fro, till it vanished beneath the waves that crashed on the rocks far below. Another cape, of the same size and length, came upon her shoulders: deep, dark purple, lined with fiery red, much similar to her garb of old. "I...I am most grateful, my lord."

"Sit down," he commanded.

She knew this was the beginning. He had performed his ritual motions of the dreams upon her several times before- before she had ever entered Gondor. She obeyed.

Suddenly, he outspread his fiery folds, then sat beside her, then swept his cape over them both, and finally, it was done: he had given her his "kiss of beauty." Before she knew it, she had passed into a dream, and in her dream, they stood tall upon the cliffs above the shimmering sea in shining sunlight. His red and golden folds vibrated in the rushing winds. His long, silvery, golden hair flowed behind him, billowing in the winds. There, in the dream, he gathered waters forth from the sea within his mind. These waters gathered to form the shape of a door before her. Angolhel stared in awe at her own reflection in the door-shaped gathered waters. She outspread her cape and began to levitate. She thus returned once more to her recurrent dream of her deepest desire. Her red and purple folds billowed around her. Her hair outspread wider and wider from her brow around her. The vibrancy of her being was marked with motion. Her folds draped vast and long as she arose. She felt as if she had returned atop the Mumak. Then, in a flash of dazzling light, she began to hiss. She, within her mind, had become the golden serpent of which she often dreamed. When she awoke, she affirmed her loyalty. He named her to his High Council as Lady High Sorceress, and she did not know her husband's depths of grief. The Sea now stood between them, from coast to coast, and upon the realm of Rhun, storm-clouds gathered, rising.
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