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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 (3,106 Views)
Ioristion

Chapter CCCLXXVIII: A Bond Unending

Lerion suddenly felt ill in Lerinon's chambers. He collapsed into Inheroth's arms. "No!" Inheroth shouted.

They took Lerion to the place of rest and prostrated him, asking him to breathe. He could barely breathe. He remained silent for a long time. Lerinon whipped a fold of his cloak over him, remembering its healing properties. Slowly, Lerion began to breathe anew.

Lerion gasped, "My life... my wife... my love..."

"What is happening?" Lerinon wondered aloud.

"She is in grave danger... I feel it... I know it... there is a special bond between us, not only of marriage, but with us for ages... oh King... she is taken by the Enemy, I feel her malice... he has taken her from me, not only her life... but her... spirit... I felt her betrayal... the Lady of the Ruins foretold this day would come... old crone as she was atop the temple... she foretold it... I was not to warn her, not to tell her... I dared not even believe it... but now... now... it is... King of Dorwinion... let me die."

"Nay, but live! I command you to live! I command-" Lerinon retorted.

"Let me die! Let me die! Oh why will you not let me die! I am broken!"

"All are broken," Lerinon retorted again. "Do you see me wishing for death, knowing what is happening to my Lord-Father, who raised me since he found me in the wilderness, with my brother, lost and bereft?"

Lerion slowly shook his head, "What can I do?"

Lerinon's voice softened, gently, "We march soon... I promise you. To free our captive loved ones, or to die trying... even if we do not even have an army."

"Thank you.... your grace..." uttered Lerion.

Lerinon leaned-over him, gently kissing him on his cheeks, and on his brow, as Lerion returned the gesture, "Arise anew, great lord..."

"I cannot rise..."

A dark, solemn, silence overtook them in the chamber.
Edited by Ioristion, Oct 8 2016, 02:06 PM.
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Ioristion

Chapter CCCLXXIX: The Perilous Art

Lerion gasped, "The orb... bring me the orb..."

"I do not think this wise, my King," Inheroth interjected.

"To this I thence agree, yet but in part... oh my Gwadorim... mine brave lords... as the Lady, in whose Forest we once found our refuge long ago, peers into her arts upon each day, as Lady Celebressel told me that she doth, for she watched her within her dream: know this now thence... Her gaze pierces the lives of many, her mind ever probing... the Eldar of old, mine father, beyond the West... many were the arts the followers of Feanor once perceived... many the dimensions... a multiplicity of rooms... of chambers... of distant shores and far-off dreams... tall mounts and deepening vales... rushing rivers... flowing streams... and all manner of birds and beasts... and events... some that never would ever be... some that are... some that were... oh cursed Guldrambor hath trapped us, so thus flamboyantly... and many hath died... Inheroth, I fear I should have died..."

"I will not let you do such a thing!" Inheroth retorted. "Not again!"

"Nay... not again... say it shall be not again... my most grievous reign is nigh its ending... upon yonder cliffs, shalt I throw myself... abandon false crown and claim, abandon false scepter... and join my kindred thence of old, of Doriath... as Doriath's remained hath sank beneath the sea... so shalt I sink, and ne'r rise again... and only one shall kinslay one, at the end of his days..."

Inheroth slapped Lerinon across the face, "No, never... you may be a King, a King marred with grief. I am marred with grief... but I also know not to destroy myself in madness over it! I am your Gwador... and you shall never perish on my watch. I am heir and prince as you have named me... a most foul heir indeed would I then be to let you falter so! You will never falter, your grace... not while I draw breath..."

Lerion interjected, "If any should die, then it is I, a husband who hath left his wife bereft to falter into shadow.... akin to most of all his kith and kin, all the followers of the Serpent, all who marched into Gondor, and..."

"Hush now," replied Inheroth, "Do not falter into fear. Pay our King no heed in his mad rantings! He is marred by grief, as you are marred by grief, as are we all..."

"The orb," gasped Lerion, "Bring us the orb... rest beside me... to my left and right... there is something that I must know... in the depths of our minds... I cannot go alone..."

Inheroth walked over to where the orb was kept, and taking it, he motioned to Lerion, who still stared at him in shock, speechless. They did as Lerion had bade. Lerinon's vast golden-red cloak covered them all. Resting deeply beside each other, Inheroth whispered to Lerinon, "My King... forgive me..."

He deeply kissed the place on Lerinon's cheek where Inheroth had slapped him.

"I know..." Lerinon replied, returning the gesture.

Three hands clasped the orb as their eyes shut tight.

They found themselves in a junglish forest of a like that they had never seen before, save Lerion. The sand dunes of the hot wastes across high in the distance amidst scorching-hot winds. Yet among the strange, tangled trees in which they found themselves, they beheld a narrow seldom-trodden path. Following it, they came to the foot of a tall stone temple, stairs rising into the heights.

Lerion's cloak was dark purple now as it was of old, still lined with fiery red. He outspread his arms and bowed, "Come... these are the steps to the home of the crone who once advised my wife and her late apprentice... we are in Saraj now... beneath Umbar... beneath Harondor and Gondor, and Rohan, Fangorn and Lothlorien... far south of the Black Land most accursed... I know this land is most strange to you..."

Lerinon nodded, "Lead on, Lord Sorcerer. Let us seek for all that you are searching for..."

Inheroth nodded, speechless at the strangeness of the dream that now surrounded him. It felt strange, and yet familiar, his emotions crossing each other to and fro as ebbs and flows within a river.

Lerion turned, maintaining his outspread cape, flowing, billowing, down the stairs behind him in vast plumes of silk. His cape glistened brightly in the sunlight. When they reached the pinnacle, they passed into a stone chamber, with great windows overlooking the lands in all directions. The old crone was not there.

"She will not come," Lerion heaved a deep sigh.

"Can you remember anything that she said?" Inheroth inquired. "I assume that we are hear to see someone."

Lerion nodded, "Yes... Angolhel's teacher... she is not here..."

"Focus," Lerinon commanded.

"I cannot..." Lerion sighed again.

"Nor can I," admitted Lerinon.

A harsh, hot wind billowed their capes as the wind passed through the open windows. The forests stretched wide and vast from the base of the temple. Desert sands followed them in the distance. To the west, a faint glimmer of the sea could be seen, far in the distance. There was no sound of gulls. A quiet golden snake slithered among the stones beneath their feet. A voice began to speak in their thoughts. It was soft and gentle: "Survive..."

Lerion's eyes grew wide, "Speak more! Survive... is this what my wife is doing?"

The winds billowed their capes again.

The soft and gentle thoughts continued, "Enemy... must... fall... redeem... him... redeem... her..."

The voice ceased. The serpent passed through a hole in one of the stone walls of the temple. It vanished without a sound.

Lerion turned, "Such is our connection... so our Enemy must..."

Inheroth completed the sentence, "Fall by.... somehow... being redeemed.... and this will save your wife?"

Lerinon nodded, "The day I redeem him... will be the day I see him drowned at the bottom of this accursed sea beside which we sleep..."

A tremble could be felt in the stone floor beneath them.

Lerinon stood tall, outspreading his own cloak, "Here me hither... all you strange stars we cannot see... here me hither, in the name of Elbereth..." With small sympathy, he gazed at Lerion's tear-strewn face. "Auruiron, son of Alcarin, must not die. Our foe must suffer justice! Yet if redeemed he must truly be... then let it be so... so long as all are saved who must be saved... be it from war or strife, or from the Void eternal..."

The winds arose mightily. They left the temple. Passing the threshold, the sky had turned to night. Strange stars now shined above them. The winds still made their garb billow. Lerion embraced Lerinon tightly as they deeply kissed each others' cheeks beneath Lerion's cloak. They did the same with Inheroth, sharing their same brotherly gestures, reaffirming their steadfast loyalty to their Quest. Lerinon implicitly rejected his earlier madness. There were many steps to take. He did not take them. For his was an erratic mind, leaping ever, from conclusion to conclusion. As soon as Lerinon would realize the madness of his words, swiftly would he reject them, only ever, to plunge into further madness. The three embraced each other deeply and closed their eyes.

Slowly, softly, they awoke in their chambers in Dorwinion, slowly pondering all that they had learned.
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Ioristion

Chapter CCCLXXX: A Realm in Chaos

Melimwe and Yucalwe met in the war-chamber with several Dorwinion officers, including Malchon, Sael, Ivordir, and Daerfalas. Several dusty parchment maps were strewn across a round table in the center of the chamber.

Malchon slammed his fist on the table, "All have suffered gravely..."

Melimwe turned to Yucalwe, "Did any from Eir survive?"

Yucalwe shook his head, "None hither. Some doubtless have survived, fleeing along the River, or seeking refuge elsewhere in the forest. Not all of the survivors were present, but they who stayed within the halls... none survived."

Malchon nodded, "Fleeting are..." His gaze fell on Ivordir and Daerfalas. His tongue was stilled.

Ivordir completed the thought, "The lives of we mortals. I am inclined to agree..."

Daerfalas gasped, "You do not mean this, my Captain! We may be weak at times... yet we are stout of heart."

Yucalwe nodded, "You are. We must take a tally of the survivors."

Malchon nodded, "Several Dorwinion Captains yet survive. Dairlingul has disappeared... I am growing worried."

Yucalwe sighed, "Here is the roster of both Companies, combined into one: Melimwe, Saelbainor, Ivordir, Daerfalas, and Glossel, Ioristion and Rirossel, Fingaereth and Arhbaineth, Aeglossel, and Macilon, Cellindien and Macil, Inheroth, Fahnraen, Agarwaenor, Lerion, Fareon, Amarthon, Hallothanar, Malchon, Thiassel, Sasuko, Mornhelm, Eiliant, Isenadin, Arancir of Gondor, Arancir of Eregion, Sainion, Circhon of Gondor, Findistedis, Malfinseron, Alcano, Celebressel, Rirossel, Gwainoth, Naitheg, Raedwyn, Aegon, Aertira, and Salhera. Finally, I count myself among the 41. Lady Angolhel was lost. We know not whether she is dead or alive..."

Ivordir nodded, "And we have Malagi the Traitor in prison. What is to be our next maneuver?"

Melimwe deeply sighed, "I do not know... we must strike at our Enemy, and yet, we cannot risk this Realm plunging into chaos... There is still Lord Fanon to consider, and Lord Dairlingul has vanished... I believe that many Elves within this part of the world have been most deceived... as the Noldor of Eregion, and of the West, before them."

Yucalwe nodded, "Deceived as we were by Melkor..."

Melimwe sighed, "And Annatar..."

Hallothanar rushed into the room, "Dairlingul is gone... without a trace..."

Melimwe nodded, "Search for him, if you can. Send scouts. He knows much that may yet aid us..."

Hallothanar bowed and ran in search of scouts.

Melimwe turned to Malchon, "Set a stern, stout-hearted watch. Bar all the gates. Admit none without my leave."

"As you command," Malchon bowed.

Yucalwe nodded, "The longer we linger... the worse our circumstances grow."

"We cannot march East without an army," Melimwe sighed. "Per chance this is the Doom of old, brought low upon our heads."

Yucalwe's face grew sadder, "I know..."

Melimwe sighed again, "We should also take into account the 35 who bore the cloaks: Auruiron, Aegon, Fareon, Inheroth, Ioristion, Cellindien, Cullastor, Cullasson... Melimwe, Ivordir, and Daerfalas. Lerinon, Amarthon, Auravon, Arancir, Eiliant, Isenadin, Mornhelm, Malchon, Celebressel, Malfinseron, Duvaissel, Circhon, and Silevrendor. Cellindien again, Ivordir again, Daerfalas again, Yucalwe, Macilon, Alcano, Abrazan, Macil, Baralinthor, Sasuko, and Sainion. Blessed is Makalaure... who did not come to falter in all this madness... chaos and madness........................................................................
..............................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................
...Of this list, Auruiron has been captured by the Enemy. This, now, I do believe. Of the fallen, we have recovered all the cloaks, even in the midst of battle. Costly was the shield-wall that covered our retreat... Of the fallen we count Auravon... Duvaissel... Circhon of Eregion... Silevrendor... Baralinthor...Cullastor... Cullasson... Abrazan... only 27 of yet survive. Auruiron's cloak remains in my keeping. Aegon, Fareon, Inheroth, Ioristion, Cellindien, Arhbaineth, Ivordir, and Daerfalas, now wear the gold....................................................................................... Ivordir, Daerfalas, Cellindien, Macil, Macilon, Sasuko, Alcano, Sainion, Yucalwe, and Aeglossel, now wear the black and red........Ivordir granted the eleventh cloak to Fingaereth, to soothe her loss of husband and sister., and............................................................ Lerinon, Amarthon, Eiliant, Isenadin, Mornhelm, Malchon, Celebressel, Malfinseron, Circhon of Gondor, known only as Circhon thereafter, and Rirossel, and Glossel now wear the gold and red."

Yucalwe frowned, "A long and burdensome list."

"Alas for the shrinking of our Company," Melimwe sighed. "Yet many still remain..."

"What did my sons do to thus merit death..." Yucalwe struggled to maintain his composure. "Brave Abrazan... brave Baralinthor... brothers who faced adversity together.... brothers who perished most untimely... never again shall I see them, not till the end of time. Oh woe upon me for my cursed words, to tell him thus, when ere he died... as a bird marked upon my neck it hangs... brave Abrazan... brave Baralinthor... brave brethren... the Silver Swan hangs upon my neck... to weigh me down... what peace can I now find, even if I should dare return, unto the uttermost West?"

Malchon clasped Yucalwe on his shoulders, "You did your part. I think of my three friends... my comrades... long were we forced to guard the boats and barges... beautiful faces... bright faces... with glistening eyes... all dead. You did your part... and I did mine... and they did theirs..."

"What part? Oh what part have they all played, to die thus, bereft of meaning?"

Melimwe turned, "Think you that their deaths had no meaning? More still had they than all the Feanorians of old... Yucalwe, hearken... know it.... that brave Abrazan was a Prince of his people... his tale shall return among the Southrons, we shall ensure it... to convey all that he learned, discerned, and cherished... when ere he perished... his tale will become as legend unto them... spreading throughout the tribes.... and peace may yet be restored, unto Harad, unto Gondor, for the brave tale of mighty Abrazan... and Baralinthor..."

Yucalwe lost his composure, "Not from your own mind do you venture to speak thus, Melimwe..."

Malchon deeply embraced Yucalwe as the latter wept.

"I know," Melimwe heaved a deep sigh, "I felt a Song stir deep within my heart... and with it, draws forth wrath... Auruiron, my brother... I shall not let you die... let all the Stars of Elbereth bear,"

Yucalwe jumped toward Melimwe, covering his mouth as they fell to the floor, and Yucalwe said, "No more Oaths shall any dare to swear... no more Oaths or Vows... no more affirmations of doom... nor death to any day's ending..." Yucalwe helped Melimwe to stand again, "Forgive me, friend...."

"No," Melimwe replied, "Thank you... you are right... no oaths, no vows, nor affirmations to our doom.... but still I...I," Melimwe broke-down in tears, "I miss him...."

"I know," Yucalwe sobbed. Even Malchon was now moved to tears. The three deeply embraced and wept. They wept for all who died.

Finally, when they regained their composure, seemingly eternal moments later, Yucalwe spake: "Auruiron... oh brother mine... we shall swear no oath, take no vow, nor anything affirm... but we shall rescue you.... and bring justice unto cursed Guldrambor..."

Malchon muttered, "But what of Macilon's..."

"Confiscate him!" Yucalwe shouted. "For none, not even a Mai-"

Melimwe leaped at Yucalwe, covering his mouth, "No, my brother. Even though I may wish for Guldrambor to suffer the doom of Hurin! I shall not bear such hatred... for malice is ever wicked... and Feanaro's wrath and malice doomed us in the first place... let all such thoughts fall silent. Per chance, redeeming one, even one so fallen and so accursed as Guldrambor.... I may yet embrace Auruiron again within mine arms, safe and well and whole again... this hope, this estel... we cannot yet relinquish. For Auruiron's estel brought back long-lost Maglor of the Noldor home... and we, beneath the Golden Bough, in turn... let us now then dare to hope, that hope may arise with the rising Sun, that hope may bargain further hope, even if it be naught but the hope of fools... that he may yet return... rising as if the Sun itself above the East... setting and settling onto the Straight Road toward the West... safe with all his kith and kin... this now, a final war, shall we then make... and never again, let estel, our hope, forsake... and never again, allow our minds, to break... this shall we do for poor Auruiron's sake..."

"Even when surrounded by certain death," Yucalwe tried to smile as Melimwe helped him up, "You have always remained a poet, Melimwe..."

Yucalwe extended his arm, "Let this be our pact between us. Two brothers have we, equally lost. This pact shall neither be oath nor vow nor affirmation... naught but a shared purpose between two brethren..."

Melimwe clasped Yucalwe's arm, "Let it be so then."

Malchon smiled, "What is to be our new strategy?"

"To prepare our minds," Melimwe bowed with solemn sadness, "For the final war to come... Macilon spoke of our deepest desires... and deepest fears... all of us, under his guidance, should dare to probe the artifact.... and use it, for once, for our betterment.... and yet, this is my counsel: only they with the strength to endure it should dare to use it... if possible, through quiet meditation, and self-mediation, and even in conversation, with our deepest friends we cherish, who liveth still.... let these then serve as our better means. Let the orb be naught but our last resort..."

Malchon sighed, "We had best maintain our guard, then... we cannot afford to lose sight of our goals again... and allow such foes to sneak again into our midst.... what shall we do?"

Melimwe nodded, "We must find Dairlingul and try to make peace with Lord Fanon in some way. A divided Dorwinion will falter. We cannot seek to unify Dorwinion. But we can seek to attain some time, some allies, and some provisions, through which we may yet advance our cause.... Alas for every moment that Auruiron suffers, it pains me in ways none of you can ever know...."

Yucalwe nodded, "We should mount a smaller incursion, then, to attempt to rescue him in secret.... for, if he is not released before the war, he is likely to become a point of bargain at best, and a casualty at worst... I, I will go...."

"No," Melimwe sighed, "For Guldrambor would sense your presence, most above all, immediately..."

Yucalwe nodded, "Then let me service as a diversion for others... let me give myself to him, to torment as he will..."

"No, no!" Melimwe stammered, "Think you that he would not in haste discern the truth? He would read it from your mind! Then the Enemy would have many captives.... I, I will go..."

"You cannot go," Yucalwe replied, "Your strategic mind is most necessary.... you must stay to command our forces..."

Melimwe sighed, "Then we must send others whom the mind of Guldrambor does not yet know directly.... and yet who are well-acquainted with his darkness..... I believe I know whom may be best............. yet they are broken by deepening sorrows........ many losses...... we must find a way to reveal to them the inner strength to act........"

Yucalwe closed his eyes, "Guldrambor knows the weaknesses of any mind who enters into his presence directly.... he reads them.... he knows them.... if he has time to probe them..... yet his gaze, when focused, is not heavily focused on others...... I learned this back when I encountered him, as Lord Seneschal of Himring..... back in Dorthonion of old..... Tell me, Melimwe.... whom do you have in mind to send?"

Melimwe whispered a list of names in Yucalwe's ears.

Yucalwe deeply smiled. He nearly laughed.

Melimwe smiled, "We, here, shall contend with Lord Fanon, and with all whom Guldrambor has deceived. We shall find Dairlingul. We shall further learn the fates of the survivors of Eir. We shall regain our foothold in these halls. Then, shall we muster a force, and take the fight to the Citadel of the Enemy itself. Meanwhile, shall our smaller company, endure their Quest. There is not much hope in these darkening times.... many are the dead.... and in our modest expectation, any such company would be captured or feel all the worst of the Enemy's sting........." Melimwe's eyes communed the rest.

Yucalwe nodded, "Let us now turn our attentions to less weighty affairs."

Melimwe nodded, "We should rest, for now... We will reconvene at a later time." He summarily bowed and parted from the chamber with Sael, who had been silent through the whole meeting.
Edited by Ioristion, Dec 20 2016, 03:40 PM.
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Ioristion

Chapter CCCLXXXI: The Hope of Fools

Aertira and Salhera awoke. They had dreamed the sweetest dreams. They had dreamed of lilies, reeds, roses, all manner of bright-colored flowers, red and blue and gold and lavender, lathered across the rich sweet meads of the lands between the mountains, the Carrock, and the river. They had dreamed of the woodsmen farming the fields, trading on their carts, and they had dreamed of their own kith and kin, settled in their great lodges where the hearths were always burning, even in the harshness of the winter's chill. The larks sang, the sparrows flew, and the bees all hummed their morning songs throughout the meads. The scent of rich honey was on the air.

Now had they grown aware again of their current plights. They missed the Vales of the Great River Anduin. They missed their homeland. They had begun adventurous, as if sprites, longing to be free from the cold, harsh, suspicions of their kith and kin. Now they understood why their kith and kin had ever remained so suspicious.

Yet Ioristion remained magnificent to them. He was, to them, their golden, glowing King, a being of great majesty... and they loved him. They loved him not in the sense of romance. They loved him as their great protector, their Gold Magician, a brother and a friend. They loved him for what they had perceived as kindness. They loved him for his gentility and affection. They did not realize that he had lost his mind anew. They had not known of his former madness, nor of his new madness, and although they knew he was grief-stricken, for his beloved wife had died, they did not know how deep that grief had driven him away from hope and happiness, and into the realm of derangement. So deep was Ioristion's longing for hope and happiness that he had dared to prop-himself-up on a Throne, desiring that all should suddenly be arrayed and arranged in concord with his commands, for his commands, he maintained, would be thus to render peace, not war, life, not death, prosperity, not poverty, and glory, not debasement. So deep was his longing that it consumed him now completely.

Isenadin awoke within the safe, deep-red, shelter of Mornhelm's cloak. He was much afraid of death. Mornhelm had allowed Isenadin to rest beside him. Mornhelm was a giant compared to dwarf-sized Isenadin. Isenadin felt safe and secure whenever Mornhelm was beside him. He always felt safe in Mornhelm's shadow. Ever since Mornhelm had danced for them on the eve of tragedy, Isenadin had admired him all the more. Mornhelm reminded Isenadin, in many ways, of Daechon. Isenadin missed Daechon. He missed Daechon's hardy laugh and magic tricks. He had long past out-wept his eyes for Daechon. Every now and then, he'd dream of Daechon, thinking of the times of mirth they had once shared. Yet at times, his nightmares grew deeper and more disturbing. He dreamed at times he was in Pelargir, being chased-down by Gurthbaini, by Gurthbainor, or even by Lord Malnoron. It terrified him. He dreamed at times the same recurrent nightmare of Daechon's body oozing with the black bile of Guldrambor. Isenadin was ever glad to reawaken in the safety of Mornhelm's cloak, to feel the silken folds of a brother's protection surrounding him, to feel far away from death and woe. Yet ever in the halls was he reminded of it. Deep was Isenadin's terror. Only Mornhelm and the others could reassure him. Serving Ioristion gave Isenadin a purpose. Isenadin clung to that purpose in spite of his fear in the hope of escaping from all the terrors that constantly, consistently, pursued him.

Mornhelm awoke and yawned his morning bear-yawn. Sunlight streamed through the windows. They were in their own set chambers, apart from that of Ioristion, and Mornhelm was glad to see the sunlight. He had not transformed himself into a bear for days. He was growing restless. He counted himself fortunate to not be his ancestor, Beorn, the latter whom could not control his nightly transformations, who ever sought the company of other bears. "Good morrow, Isenadin," Mornhelm spoke.

"Goo...Good morrow," Isenadin replied.

"Fear not," Mornhelm gently replied, "I know that you are afraid... did you have another nightmare?"

Isenadin nodded.

"Well, you are safe now..."

"No we are not! These halls do not maintain a claim of safety..."

"Now, now, we have had this same argument many times, have we not?"

Isenadin nodded sadly.

"Come, now... let me dance for you again..."

Isenadin tried to smile, and crawled out of the folds of the cloak, and stepped aside.

Mornhelm stood, his figure entirety swathed in golden silk lined with fiery red, that fell to the floor around him, billowing and training on the floor vastly behind and around him, and as he processed, his train trailed magnificently behind and around him. Suddenly, he whipped his folds behind him, as he turned to face Isenadin. Mornhelm gathered his folds before his nose and mouth, and then outspread them with his strong, great arms, as Isenadin stared into gleaming deep-red beauty, shining in the sunlight. Then Mornhelm began to spin, his folds rising off the floor around him, due to his great strength: huge billowing golden swaths of silk spun and twirled around him in great circles, flashes of fiery red shining beneath them. Isenadin gazed into the glittering spectacle with awe and admiration. Then the folds settled, and Mornhelm returned to his place of rest beside Isenadin, bathing them both in his fair folds. "Do you feel any better now?" Mornhelm smiled.

Isenadin nodded. They deeply exchanged kisses of brotherly affection on their cheeks. Then Isenadin settled himself in Mornhelm's folds again. He closed his eyes.

Mornhelm gently whispered, "I'll tear to shreds any who may yet harm you.... rest now, my brother.... and may your dreams be as sweet as the scent of honey...."

"Thank you, my brother....Mornbeorn..." Isenadin widely smiled... then closed his eyes. In time, he fell asleep again. Alright.... I will try to have hope again...next time, I will dance for him...
Edited by Ioristion, Oct 15 2016, 11:19 PM.
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Ioristion

Chapter CCCLXXXII: Unfit to Rule

"My King..." Inheroth whispered to Lerinon as they rested beneath the folds of Lerinon's cloak. "When shall we return to ruling?"

Lerion sighed. He, too, was resting with them, "We should take the fight to our foe....... I am haunted by the dream....."

"Gwador..." Inheroth gently stroked Lerinon's silky hair.

Lerinon smiled and closed his eyes, "Fear not... soon shall we act... but I fear... that I am most unfit to rule..."

"Say it is not so!" Inheroth pouted.

"Fine, it is not so.... but I trust my uncles to command for now..."

Inheroth nodded sadly. Then they kissed each others' cheeks again.

Gentle was the embrace that all three shared.

They had already heard the brief thumps on the door when Lady Thiassel entered the room, her golden-green cape spilling down from her shoulders. The Lady admonished them, "Why have I not been made privy to your counsels?"

Lerinon balked, "Because you did betray us, after all. I may love you... but there are certain matters that I may not entrust."

Thiassel nodded, "To that.... I cannot argue... do you wish to know why?"

Lerinon nodded.

Thiassel slowly outspread her folds and bowed her head, "Because he came to us... as if a revelation.... a power of the West...... he claimed to be beautiful and he was beautiful, fairest as he was fair, and his feigned love gave us strength and courage..... Come, let me dream with you.... that I may show you all that I have perceived...."

"My King, I am tired. Can we wait?" Inheroth struggled to smile. "I do not trust her."

"You will, after this, my Gwador... you will....." Thiassel sighed.

Lerinon nodded, "Proceed at our great pleasure."

The four of them snuggled together beneath their folds and closed their eyes.
Edited by Ioristion, Oct 25 2016, 10:35 AM.
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Ioristion

Chapter CCCLXXXIII: The Brightening Darkness of Dorwinion

They beheld themselves in a beautiful glade. Lerion stepped cautiously among the flowers. A swift, cool breeze flowed upward from the sea. Their long tresses and capes flowed upon the winds. Tulips of many varied colors, blue, purple, red, gold, and a lush green mead, surrounded them. Tall, tangled trees with grey bark and evergreen leaves arose around the mead. Dairlingul strutted towards them, his hand raised as if in greeting, but he did not see them.

A golden fold of silk slithered on the grass.

"Who comes hither?" Dairlingul questioned.

"A Spirit of the West," the gold-enshrouded being spoke. He was hooded and cloaked so that his eyes were concealed by his golden hood, all lined with fiery red, and he bowed.

"And what tidings does the West bring unto we lost ones? We have enjoyed this Earth. We do not seek to leave it."

"We do not seek to have you leave it," Amanuiron bowed. "We seek for you to grow with it, fertile and strong, and to build for you a vast Kingdom, that you shall reign."

"My King!" A younger Thiassel ran out of the brush and bowed with a bundle of white lilies in her arms.

"Hush, my dear," Dairlingul replied, "We have an unexpected visitor... he claims to be a Spirit of the West."

Younger Thiassel regarded him curiously, "I already believe him... though, I cannot fathom why... oh Spirit, you are beautiful!"

"Come hither oh most noble King... and most fairest Maiden..."

Dairlingul and younger Thiassel both felt their hearts throbbing as they approached Amanuiron. They felt drawn to him somehow.

Lerinon, Inheroth, and the others, watched as Amanuiron outspread his cape, how he glowed, how noble and how beautiful he had appeared to them, how even his face was shining, and of how the two were lost in the depths of his embrace, into the depths of his fairest dreams. Then Lerinon and the others dreamed of how crowds came and bowed and knelt before Amanuiron, how Amanuiron was hailed throughout the realm, and of how Lord Fanon and his brethren served Amanuiron. They observed Amanuiron's spectacles and displays. They observed his feigned flights, his flapping silken wings, his transformations into golden bats, and his haunting, and yet beautiful, countenance.

Slowly, they reopened their eyes in reality. Thiassel was weeping. But now Lerinon and Inheroth and Lerion all pitied her. They also pitied Dairlingul, Fanon, and the rest of the realm. She clung to Lerinon, "My King.... my beloved King.... I beg of your grace.... I beg...."

"It is forgiven," Lerinon replied, "And it is I who should seek forgiveness.... may we, your Gwadorim, kiss away your tears?"

Thiassel nodded. Affectionately, the three of them deeply kissed her cheeks, drying her tears with their lips as they nestled close together beneath Lerinon's cape.

Then Lerinon suddenly announced, "I must win back the Realm. To do this, I must out-perform Guldrambor. My beauty shall cast away all doubt that he is our Enemy."

Inheroth lightly laughed, "I do hope so, Gwador."

"A bold plan," Lerion mused. "It just may be absurd enough to work."

Thiassel laughed, "Yes, let us try it, my beloved!" She deeply kissed Lerinon on his lips. Their hearts were deeply throbbing beneath the deep red of his inner cloak.

Then Lerinon stood, whipping his folds around him, then turned to face them, concealing his nose and mouth with his cape, shining golden in golden sunlight, as he declared: "Behold now thus... the Golden King... of fair Dorwinion...." Then he outspread his cape as the sunlight made his red and golden folds glitter.

"You -do- out-perform him!" Thiassel laughed with glee.

Then they bowed before him. Then Lerinon whipped his folds over all of them, nestling himself among them once more, and again they all deeply kissed each others' cheeks.

Lerinon whispered to Inheroth before kissing his cheeks, "I believe that we shall overcome all this death..."

"I agree," Inheroth whispered, before he returned the gesture.

Then Thiassel smiled, saying, "Yes, we shall.... beloved..," before she kissed Lerinon anew upon his lips.

"Gwador," Inheroth whispered after some time had elapsed, "What shall we do concerning our other Gwador, Agarwaenor?"

"Do not worry," Lerinon whispered, "We shall not -leave him-...."
Edited by Ioristion, Oct 25 2016, 11:22 AM.
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Ioristion

Chapter CCCLXXXIV: The Plot Begins

A wisp of gold silk flowed down the stairs to their chamber. Billowing gold with flashes of red beautifully billowed brightly behind her as she stepped. She stepped with an air of imperiousness. Her silver hair flowed down her shoulders atop the gold. He followed her, his copper-hair, fiery red, flowing down his shoulders, atop his black and red cape that swirled around him as he stepped. Silken, shiny folds, flowed across the threshold before the door shut still behind them.

"I am thy Queen of Gondolin," she said.

"And I, thy King," he replied. "Hail Queen Celebressel, brightest of maidens."

"And Hail King Alcano, mightiest of lords." She outspread her glistening folds.

He outspread his folds and bowed. Then he ran into her embrace. He nestled in her folds beside her on their place of rest. He buried his face in her silver hair. She whisked her folds over them both. She buried her face in his fiery hair. Then they deeply kissed each others' cheeks, warm and soft, and then they buried their faces in their folds, cool and smooth, bright gold lathering over fiery red, forming a glittering spectacle of beauty, as rays of sunlight shined brightly and brilliantly through the pores between the threads that bound their fabric.

"I love you," he whispered.

"And I you," she replied.

Then they kissed, deeply, their hearts deeply throbbing, in the deeply bright depths of the Halls of Gold.

They deeply embraced anew. Then she said: "Let's seize the artifact... that our minds may reign in Gondolin forever..."

They deeply kissed each others' cheeks again.

Then he said: "Yes... it will strengthen us against the foe..."

"My love..." she whispered, "We -will- triumph...... when the King is resting, we will sneak into his chamber, and slip the artifact away..... Then shall we vanish into the forest, and find a place, where none shall find us...."

"Yes...." he replied. "Then we will walk those ancient streets forever.... and sit high upon our thrones... forever and ever...."

"Yes," she replied.

Their hearts throbbed anew as they deeply kissed.
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Chapter CCCLXXXV: A Voice Upon the Wind

Macil slowly opened his eyes. He had been dreaming again. Many were his dreams of Finlos, of Cellindien, and of the past. Many were his dreams. Seldom had he sought refuge in the present. For in the present was naught but death, save for Finlos, who remained ever at his side. In her presence alone, he felt he could sleep in peace. Many were the peaceful nights, and many were the nights he slept. Many were his dreams, sweet dreams, noble dreams, and dreams of silence and of sorrow. In his waking hours, he remained silent. When he and Cellindien sat to dine, they both were silent. Countless were the glances they exchanged. There was no need for speech. Their thoughts seemed to commune with one another, as if they could read each others' minds, through a mere gesture: a wave of the hand, a nod or inclination of the head, or a movement of an eye. It was unusual for them, and they both knew it. They both wanted to run. They wanted to run away. They wanted to ditch King Lerinon, the most foolish farce who ever tried to rule an Elven realm, they wanted to ditch the army, ditch the war, ditch everything, and flee to somewhere in search of peace. They also knew: to do so would be most dishonorable, cruel to Auruiron, who loved them, and cruel to Ioristion, who they were pledged to protect: their brother. Thus they remained, trapped in the horrors of the war, and death upon death subdued them, weariness rising as tidal waves upon the shores of the sea, as sorrows poured over their heads as if drenching, unending, rains over a mud-laden, soggy, and ruined field. Aegnil's death had been bad enough. The fall of so many stirred their hearts to grief. For such was the doom of the Eldar.

Macil's gaze fell upon Cellindien, who still slept soundly beside him. They were both wrapped together, tightly-knit, in the green cloak that Saelbainor had given her as a gift in what now seemed as if it were years earlier. Their other cloaks were near at hand. Macil closed his eyes again, listening to the soft, melodic rhythm of their breaths, slow and deep as air churned in and out of their lungs. Her breath had become as if music to his ears. It reminded him that with every breath thus drawn: there was life. Life still flowed despite all the death and woe that surrounded them. He sought life, and life would sustain him. He had her finally at last, his wife, his betrothed, his sister, his brother, all in one: Finlos Cellindien, daughter of the Swordmaster of Gondolin. Years of wandering and of exile had led him to yet more wandering and exile: but now he had her with him. He would survive, he knew, if she did. His life was now bound to hers. If she were to die, he reasoned, then he should perish with her. His agony over death, the most unpleasant subject, had brought him to the verge of paranoia. Breathe sweetly, breathe softly, Finlos.... my sweet Cellindien......no, not mine. Not of my own....

Cellindien slowly opened her eyes. She had been dreaming of Aegnil again. She missed her father, yet now felt glad that he had found peace, and she wondered of her mother and her brother of old. She would meet them again, she knew: she would reach them, in the West, one way or another, and Macil would be there with her. With her, Rostor would return. With me... she thought, from time to time, Then we will be free....... She had sat at her desk with her mirror from time to time, brushing her soft, silky, silver hair, thinking, How long will this go on?

This night, however, she had dreamed again: she had dreamed of Auruiron. Aegnil had taken her through a misty fog at dusk, along treacherous cliffs, nigh a strange yet darkly familiar sea: the sea that she had often stared-at outside the windows. The Sea of Rhun had roared with waves. It had churned with blood-red foam. There on the cliffs had been Auruiron, bound and chained, brutally tortured, covered with lashes: this sight brought her to tears. Auruiron moaned, yet could not speak, as Cellindien had pleaded with him. Aegnil had said: "You must bear his voice upon the wind... my daughter... he is your father as much as I... A time may come, when we shall all have peace together.... You must bear his voice upon the wind...... he is running out of time...... as I was....."

Cellindien felt her head ache as she remembered. "Cryptic words came to me last night.... Macil....."

Macil gazed at her in shock, "So now we are speaking? It has been nearly a month."

Cellindien's face fell, "Did we.... really... remain silent for a whole month?"

Macil nodded.

"Well.... why did you not break it first?"

"Why not you?"

Cellindien tried to muster a laugh, "I suppose we both knew what we wanted to say and not to say. No glance or nod could convey these words though...."

Macil nodded, "Go on....."

Then Cellindien told him.

Macil's face fell, "Poor Auruiron.... and Aegnil..... 'You must bear his voice upon the wind.' What could this mean?"

"My head hurts...."

"I am sorry to hear that..."

"Well, Auruiron, clearly, cannot say anything, or bear any voice upon any wind. It is his voice, that of Auruiron, and so that must mean that I must bear Auruiron's voice.... upon the wind?"

Macil shook his head, "It does not make sense..... perhaps it was just a dream..... we have had too many bad dreams lately....."

Cellindien nodded.

Macil smirked, "Ah, are we back to silence again?"

"No!" Cellindien pouted. "No.... silence is no longer the answer. The truth of the matter, my husband, is that this so-called 'war' in this so-called Realm is a disaster! Our brother Lerinon is insane, Ioristion is.... I do not know where he is or what has befallen him. Rostoriel....... oh poor...." Her eyes began to shed soft tears, "She was brave.... and brilliant....... a healer...... I...I will miss her...."

"....so will I," Macil reflected, "She had kept watch over me for centuries....... my brave sister......" He now became teary-eyed. "So many gone........."

Cellindien heaved a deep sigh, "Where is Rirossel?"

Macil shook his head, "In solitude..... also stricken to silence......"

Cellindien nodded sadly, "Well.... what should we do? What can we do?"

Macil nodded approvingly, "We should seek-out Melimwe or Yucalwe."

Cellindien sighed, "I suppose so..." She returned to the mirror. She let her silvery tresses fall down her shoulders, wild and free, atop her green cloak. She turned to Macil, "Well... when should we go?"

"Soon..." Macil slowly smiled.

"Oh no, not again...." Cellindien's eyes glistened as she smirked. "Have we been silent for so long?"

Macil slowly approached her, "Tis strange.... most unnatural....."

"Or most -natural-! Given all that's happened...."

Macil nodded solemnly, "I know.... but all the same..."

Cellindien rolled her eyes, "Well... alright...."

They sat beside each other on their place of rest. She let him gently stroke her hair. Then they buried their faces in each others' hair.

"See? Feathers!" Macil whispered.

Cellindien laughed a little, remembering.

Then their hearts throbbed deeply as they kissed.

"I am glad that we are moving forward," Cellindien finally admitted.

"So am I..." Macil widely smiled, "So am I..."

They prostrated themselves alongside each other, and deeply embraced, and deeply kissed each others' cheeks, warm and smooth, and then their lips, their hearts throbbing, as they were wrapping each other in each others' folds: black and red and gold and evergreen. They closed their eyes and began to dream. They dreamed of themselves in Tumladen anew, Cellindien's silver hair and Macil's fiery hair, all long and silky, flying in the breeze, their capes whirling and twirling and whipping around and behind them, as their last vision of Gondolin stood tall, shining in the distance. As the sun's rays enclosed its spires, and as their capes wove around them, their lips enclosed together, as the songs of the eagles could be heard above. The beauty of their vision contrasted sharply with the blood-ridden horror, and the woe, that would await them, when they would wake. Still, for now, it felt safe and pure to have escaped the tragedies, away from which they had tightly closed their eyes.

When they awoke, proceeded to seek Yucalwe and Melimwe.
Edited by Ioristion, Nov 28 2016, 12:14 PM.
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Chapter CCCLXXXVI: A Veiled Council

Melimwe had dreamed sharply that evening. He had dreamed of Auruiron. They were back in Tirion, in the flowering age of their youth, bright and resplendent. Macalaure was not there. Only he, Melimwe, and Auruiron, embraced that day in the Light of the Trees. The memory was enough to move Melimwe to tears. Then he awoke, saddened that he had ever awakened. He thought of Auruiron now, suffering so sadly, so painfully, across the sea. He clenched his fist in anger when he thought of Lerinon's cowardice and recalcitrance: cowardly, he remained within his chambers, choosing rather to bathe himself and his companions in silks and silken dreams, than to contend with the difficult work of ruling. Dairlingul's disappearance had greatly concerned Melimwe: and so too did Agarwaenor's absence. Contrary to Lerinon's and Inheroth's assumptions, Agarwaenor was again at his "diplomacy" with other Elf-lords in the region. Melimwe never caught-up to him. Agarwaenor and his works were all an enigma to Melimwe.

Yucalwe entered, with Lady Aeglossel at his side, and they sat down to council.

Melimwe fingered the long golden tresses of Auruiron's excess hair that flowed from the brow of his helm. He spoke sadly, "What tidings?"

"None to report," Yucalwe sadly replied. "At least, beyond the obvious. The dead are all buried. The halls where they resided have been closed-off, for the memory of death now haunts them, and so we have lost a third of our halls. The Great Hall remains, at Lerinon's insistence, but most avoid it now: I insist that our so-called King has lost his mind."

"I concur," Melimwe morosely replied, "I think the deaths have marred us all in certain ways. But tell me: how can he sit there, in his chambers, knowing that his father, my brother, suffers so?"

"There is nothing reasonable about it," Aeglossel interjected. "A pleasure to meet you, Captain Melimwe."

"And I, you, Lady Aeglossel. Yes, Yucalwe has told me much of you." Melimwe tried to muster a small smile.

Aeglossel continued, "Know that I have wandered long within this realm. I believe our foe has broken the mind of our King, and not only he, but of many of his followers. Rumors are circulating that another golden-haired Lord is declaring his sovereignty, even from within these Halls."

"Ioristion," Melimwe heaved a deep sigh. "Not again..."

"Moreover, he has rallied several, including mortals, to service his every need. Moreover, the mortals from Gondor, too, are behaving most strangely."

"Ivordir has lost most of his Company," Yucalwe sighed sadly. "I think he is feeling the weight of all that has happened, ever since they set sail from Lindon, even now..... I fear for us all....."

"Well, sitting around here, pitying ourselves, will do us little good," Aeglossel replied.

Melimwe smiled at her. Her words spoke true. "Come then, let us plan. Will our scouts ever find Dairlingul?"

"None can be certain," Yucalwe replied. "I am concerned regarding Inheroth's brother.............. we have received few tidings from him, and fewer still...."

There were knocks on the door.

"Enter!" Melimwe smiled.

In came Cellindien and Macil. Cellindien smiled, "Hail uncle."

"Hail Cellindien," Melimwe bowed. "We have greatly missed your presence. And yours as well, Macil."

"Where have you been?!" Yucalwe stammered at Macil.

Macil sighed, "A grievous report, to be sure. Yea, we shut ourselves-in within our chamber, speaking little, mostly dreaming, and scarcely able to eat for the past four weeks. I admit myself guilty of grave cowardice, unfitting to be any son of yours."

"No, do not spout further nonsense, lest I call you a sapling," Yucalwe replied.

Cellindien could hardly contain her chuckle at his usage of that word.

Macil smiled, "What is happening?"

Melimwe sighed, "Scattered Elves and Men, scattered thoughts, scattered tidings of worse frustration.... Dairlingul and Agarwaenor are still missing. Lerinon is hiding in his chambers. Macilon reports that they are probing with the artifact, trying to learn of Auruiron's current doom, but I suspect worse mischief.... Ioristion has declared himself a King and is mustering adherents to his absurd cause...."

"Oh no! Not again!" Cellindien blurted. "Will we have to slap some more sense into him?"

Melimwe laughed lightly, "I doubt that slapping any sense will do him any good. He lost his wife as much as you have lost a sister."

Cellindien bowed her head remorsefully, remembering her pleasant conversations and times with Rostoriel. "Yes....... I can imagine that would have made him mad again, no matter what......and oh, where is my sapling of a nephew?"

Melimwe frowned, "Also mad. He is declaring himself the lost King of Gondolin with Celebressel claiming herself as his Queen."

"Well...." Cellindien sighed, "I am not surprised..... so many are mad now...."

Macil frowned, "Yes.... terrible madness. If I were a true coward, I'd suggest that we'd return to our rooms and dream again. But that, too, would prove insane. We have been suffering from our own, more quiet madness, enough. But what can we do, Melimwe? We cannot raise the dead back to life, or call their fea'r back to their hroa'r from Mandos...."

"No, we cannot," Yucalwe replied sadly. "Well, first and foremost, we need to learn more about this realm that was so forcefully thrust upon us. We need to gather our allies, and quick! Guldrambor may still be prowling about, waiting to strike at us again. Doubtless, that was his plan all along: to lure us into a Feanorian flourish of pride, crush us with a terrible defeat, sneak into our halls, cause further death and discord and disorder, and then scatter us about in madness. We cannot even trust all of the Elves in this Realm. Some may well resent our coming. Some, such as Lord Fanon and his servants, may well wish to restore Dairlingul to his Throne, or worse, claim it himself, for to him and his ilk, we are likely perceived as unjust usurpers. Rumors may have spread. They may well believe that we, originally servants of Feanor and his sons, had, in fact, forced Dairlingul to surrender his throne at sword-point. This madness must end, and we shall be hard-pressed to end it, I fear..... Melimwe, we must act, and act quickly. Send the scouts to the western reaches, find Agarwaenor, and get his reports on the situation. Send others to widen their search for Dairlingul. Meanwhile, we must contend, ourselves, with the madness within these halls. Then, and only then, may we hope to muster a force and rescue Auruiron."

Melimwe nodded, "It shall be so then. I will draw-up the orders, as I should have done earlier. A lingering fear kept me from acting thus. I see now that this was folly. Here we are, talking the same matters, over and over again, while nothing happens. Well, no longer. The time to act is long since past. Our time to act is now."

"What can we do to help?" Cellindien asked.

Melimwe gazed at her, smiling, "Permit me to contend with Lerinon. He may yet still hear my voice, as I remain his uncle. But you..... seek your brother. I would advise you to seek your nephew, the Sapling, first.... if you can talk he and his 'Queen' out of their madness, they may yet join you, in an effort, to save your brother from his madness yet again.... Yucalwe, Aeglossel... seek-out the men of Gondor..... Ivordir.... and Daerfalas.... and attempt to counsel them as well."

Yucalwe nodded, "So be it then. We had best get to it...."

Their veiled council then adjourned as they set-forth on their respective tasks.
Edited by Ioristion, Nov 28 2016, 01:49 PM.
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Chapter CCCLXXXVII: The Lords and Ladies of Gondolin

"SAPLING!" Cellindien yelled.

Alcano turned. Macil and Cellindien had traced him and Celebressel down into the depths of the halls, where bright windows carved through the rock of the cliffs, overlooked the glistening azure Sea of Rhun. A fountain was carved in the rear of the chamber, facing the sea, its waters shining brightly in the sunlight that flowed through the windows.

Alcano stammered, "You will address me as your Grace!"

"And I as your Majesty!" Celebressel pouted. "I am a Queen! A High-Queen, of all the Eldar!"

Cellindien stammered over to her, "You are not a Queen, I can assure you. You are a spoiled Lady of Lorien, nothing more and nothing less."

Celebressel raised her arm to slap Cellindien across her face, but Cellindien grasped her arm hard, and Celebressel could not raise it.

"Do not contend with me..." Cellindien spoke low and threatening. "I was raised by Gondolin's greatest Swordmaster........ I was trained," her grip tightened, "In the harsh arts of combat. Who are -you- to raise your arm to me, oh 'Lady'? Tell me, where is your Kingdom.... I -lived- there, was -raised- there, saw it with my own eyes.... where is it?"

They heard the drawing of a sword, with a shout: "You shall not harn my High Queen! Gondolin! Gondolin!"

In a flash of sunlight reflected off blades, Cellindien had drawn her sword, and parried Alcano's sudden assault. "Be careful, Sapling," she hissed. They clashed to and fro across the floor. Celebressel searched for her dagger among her robes, but Macil tightly restrained her. The furious clash of swords led them toward the windows, but then Cellindien, as they were about to lose their footing, shifted her direction, as Alcano slowly backed her up towards the fountain. Then she shifted her feet, and Alcano fell backward into the fountain, completely drenched as the sunlit waters continued to pour over his mad head. He looked stunned. "Cellindien, I........"

"Is that the secret?!" Cellindien surprisingly laughed. "Shall we dump a bucket of water on your father's head?!" Even Macil could not cease from laughing. Celebressel mustered a chuckle. Macil swiftly ducked her in the water as well. She, too, was laughing.

"Does your pride melt so fast, 'your Grace'?" Macil mused aloud.

Alcano shuddered, "What is this water... I wonder......." There was a subtle glow in his cloak.

"The Tears!" Macil shouted with glee. "Of course! The Tears of Nienna in your cloak have intermingled with the water!"

Then Alcano bowed low in shame, "I..."

Celebressel bowed low with him.

"Look here, Sapling. Look at me," Cellindien gently lifted his chin, "All of us have lost someone close to us in these past months..... I loved Rostoriel, your mother....... I loved her as a sister...... but how can we sit here and mourn, while our grandfather is imprisoned and tortured across the sea? Can you see? Do you see?"

Alcano and Celebressel both burst into tears. Macil and Cellindien cried with them. At the end of their long mourning, that seemed to last forever, they deeply embraced. Cellindien was mourning for Aegnil now, as much as she mourned for Rostoriel, and Auruiron, and all the rest. Finally, her strength reached a new apex: "Sapling... and Lady Sapling.... shall we save your father from himself now?"

"Indeed, yes," Alcano muttered. Celebressel nodded.

Macil looked at the waters suspiciously, "Not every trace of water these cloaks have touched has intermingled with the Tears. This is a rare occurrence.... a miracle...... as the cloaks did not always cure our thoughts or heal us from madness.... quite unpredictable, they are. Most of the time, they only feel as normal cloth......"

Cellindien nodded, "Shall we take a bucket to the 'High King'? Or shall we bring the 'High King' to the water?"

"I think the latter...." Macil muttered with a smirk. "It sounds as if Ioristion should be most thoroughly dunked!"
Edited by Ioristion, Nov 28 2016, 01:17 PM.
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Chapter CCCLXXXVIII: The Madness Strikes Back

In Ioristion's chambers, the madness had only worsened. Ioristion often lay throughout the day, resting, with Aertira to his left and Salhera to his right, all resting within his golden folds. They still all wore their robes of silver beneath their cloaks. But they often kissed each other deeply on their warm, smooth, cheeks, burying their faces in or stroking each others' hair, gold and golden brown.

Before them, Isenadin, Mornbeorn, Sasuko, and Eiliant, often practiced their dancing, in flares of splendor and beauteous colors, shining brightly in the sunlight. Black often brightened, nearly to the point of silver, and red flashed as if fire, and gold as bright as sunlight. During their breaks, when they were not dining or drinking, they were resting. Isenadin, Sasuko, and Eiliant all fit with Mornbeorn beneath Mornbeorn's vast cloak with a plenitude of folds to spare. Isenadin often loved to crawl among them, be they gold or red, and they all, too, often kissed each others' cheeks.

Mornbeorn's dance was often the most beauteous of them all. His flowing, silky, golden-brown hair, oft anointed with oils, flowed down his shoulders and back, onto the floor behind him, as if the mane of his inner beast. The capes of the West were as light as mithril when handled and billowed. Gold and red lining flowed behind him as if a rushing river, over his shoulders as if the torrents of a raging waterfall, flapping as vibrantly and brightly as a Great Eagle's mighty wings, far brighter than dragon's scales: even more than the scales of Smaug the Golden. Isenadin ever seemed entranced when observing him. Whenever Mornbeorn uplifted his folds to spin, he seemed as if he were ringed with the vast petals of a gigantic, glowing, rose.

In time, they all rested together, with their High King. Mornbeorn and Ioristion deeply embraced, deeply kissing each others' cheeks, and they all rested beneath golden folds together. It was then that they closed their eyes, and slept, and began to dream a shared dream.

The pillars of Lindon were before them. Brightly and golden stood the Throne in a vast hall. The hall was lined with glittering, huge, tapestries of silk, with golden stars embroidered upon a sea of deep blue. A long carpet stretched forth along the center of the hall, woven of velvet, of royal purple with gold designs. The stained glass windows depicted stars as well. Sunlight poured through open windows, and the closed windows cast forth a bright azure light upon the hall. Many Elves were there, sitting in the galleries, and Ioristion processed forth, a winged silver crown upon his head, and his closest brethren upholding his vast cape. They reached the Throne and sat at his sides. Ioristion turned, gathering his gold before his face, before outspreading his folds as if vast and brilliant wings. The crowds hailed and cheered him, and then Ioristion declared: "In this Golden Realm, I hereby decree, that there shall be no more death!"

Then Rostoriel entered, with her retainers, her vast fiery cloak outspread behind her. When she reached the Throne, Ioristion deeply embraced her, and they deeply kissed, their hearts throbbing as they had never throbbed before.

When they awoke, back in Dorwinion, Ioristion declared: "Come, my brethren.... let us take our Throne and Crown... before my brother allows yet more of us to perish.... it is not stealing. It is saving! Yes! We shall save this Realm, and my brother, from he, himself!"

Then they began their long procession. Ioristion had sent his brethren seeking allies in secret throughout the passing weeks. They were summoned. Their procession began to turn towards the Great Hall.
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Chapter CCCLXXXIX: The King of Beauty

Lerinon, by now, had been sitting upon his Throne, with Lerion, Inheroth, and Thiassel at his sides. Macilon was nowhere to be found.

"My most resplendent King," Lerion bowed low, "Shall we practice yet again?"

"Yes, most assuredly," Lerinon replied.

Inheroth smiled.

Thiassel lightly laughed, "Yes, let us do it!"

So Lerinon arose from his Throne, they all grabbed a fold of his red and golden cloak, and they outspread the cape as far as it would, before they began to shake, folds rising and falling like glimmering mounts and vales and ocean waves, as Lerinon processed around the Hall, and back, toward his Throne. He gathered the folds up to his face, and then they all outspread them, as vast as a Great Eagle's wings. Then they all sat down again, cuddling with each other, as they all deeply kissed each others' cool, smooth, cheeks.

Lerinon whisked his folds over he and Inheroth. Once they were deep within the fiery red folds, they kissed each others' cheeks again, as Lerinon whispered: "My Gwador..... nothing shall ever harm you....."

Inheroth deeply returned the gesture, "And nothing shall harm you.... my Gwador... my most beauteous King....."

They suddenly heard voices and the sounds of footfalls approaching in the distance. They refined the positions of their capes and resumed their stately postures.

Lerinon could scarcely believe his eyes at what they saw.
Edited by Ioristion, Nov 28 2016, 01:50 PM.
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Ioristion

Chapter CCCXC: The Battle of the Gwadorim

Lerinon's eyes grew wide at the absurd spectacle he saw. There entered Ioristion with Sasuko, Isenadin, Mornbeorn, Aertira, and Salhera, upholding his cape in the manner of a royal procession. "What brings you to our most royal Hall, brother?" Lerinon inquired.

"Your reign is ended," Ioristion solemnly replied. "The High King of the Noldor will take up our Seat and put an end to death and treachery."

Lerinon shook his head, "I also mourn for Rostoriel, my beloved sister. But this cannot be, brother! I alone am thine Golden King. I alone shalt hold mine orb and scepter. I alone shalt rule within these Halls of Gold."

"Come hither my servants!" Ioristion shouted. All his other followers, whose support he had garnered in secret, came forth: many Elves of Dorwinion who were sick of the war.

"Brother... this is treason," Lerinon solemnly declared. "I am loathe to cast you forth from this Realm in exile, under pain of death... but I... I will do what I must!"

"Speak you of such absurd nonsense!" Melimwe shouted, marching into the Hall beside Yucalwe, Malchon, Aeglossel, Findistedis, Malfinseron, and Macilon.

Melimwe spoke for the rest, "This madness must abate! Put down your arms, the both of you. The laughter of Guldrambor shall be our reward for this!"

Then entered Cellindien with Alcano, Celebressel, and Macil.

Cellindien stared wide-eyed at the scene unfolding before her, as if she beheld some nightmare reawakened from Gondolin of old: "Brothers! Stop this now! Ioristion... I am bound to protect you. Don't be foolish! I weep for Rostoriel... she was my sister as well as your wife. But please, I plead with you! And you, Lerinon... did we truly keep watch over you, only for you to rip-apart our family?"

"Be silent!" Lerinon stood tall, raising his hand aloft as if to part the sea. "I am the King. It is my lordly royal right. You shall not have it, Ioristion!"

Ioristion simmered, "Be silent, sister. We shall assert our right in truth, and thence bring justice unto mine beloved wife's most foul death. None shall deny me this time!"

Cellindien wanted to slap him to his senses, but she knew it wouldn't help. "Ioristion!" She shouted again. "Don't you dare tell me to be silent ever again! Do you not remember the times we shared, the leagues we traveled? Have you truly lost your mind again?!"

Ioristion clenched his fist, "My brethren! Seize the throne! Take my Gwador to his cell, where he shall await his trial, and sentencing!"

Before Alcano or Celebressel could shout at Ioristion, an honor-guard formed-up between Lerinon and Ioristion's supporters.

Lerinon turned to Inheroth, "This is madness, Gwador, I tell you! Madness! Malchon, I command you and the Royal Guard to kindly escort Ioristion and his comrades back to their chambers, where they are to remain until I have granted them my leave!"

Malchon turned to Melimwe, "I... I am sorry my good Lord. I must obey the King!" The Guard upheld its spears and formed a shield-wall before the Throne.

Lerinon gazed at Inheroth, his eyes pleading, pleading, for anything. A kind word, a suggestion, something. He was getting desperate. He had never imagined, in all his life, that, he, Elurin, asserting his right to reign over the Sindar, would divide his family thus.

Inheroth for his part remained close to Lerinon's flank, but his eyes flashed uncertainly over the crowded room, split in twain between loyalty. He feared that the Sons of Feanor had left their mark upon this lineage, and that blood would suddenly begin to spill within the hall. However he drew in a sharp breath, and lay a gentle hand upon Lerinon's elbow. "Do not despair," he whispered, "Some remain loyal, and Ioristion must be brought to his senses. He must."

Lerinon glared at Inheroth, "Yes, in a dark, dank, cell. I remember when he returned from war, believing Macil dead. He was incorrigible! Always searching for buried treasure under rocks! Well, I'll give him plenty of stones to overturn till he find a speck of dust or two. In truth, I pity him, I love him... but I am the King of this Realm, and justice must be serviced. He speaks treason, he commits treason, with treasonous supporters! Per chance it may be a passing madness, or per chance it may prove as long as his previous madness, that lasted nearly for an Age! Guards!"

Inheroth winced at his brothers harsh words, yet he could find no reason to argue against them, and so he remained silent, his hand hovering above the hilt of his sword.

An Elf had sneaked-into the Great Hall with several others, with faces shrouded beneath dark hoods, and the eyes of most within the chamber were focused on the King and on the threatening shield-wall that stood before him. The lead Elf smirked darkly beneath his hood. He turned to whisper to his nearest companion: "Come forth with me, my Lord. The time has come. The reckoning has come. The salvation of our Realm has come- and of thine dearest younger brother. Go now, call-out to him. He is bound to listen. The rest of us will take our positions." Then the lead Elf dispersed his force that slithered slyly through the crowd as if serpents, sly and quiet as wraiths or shades, slipping toward the Dais.

Agarwaenor removed his hood, his face beneath hardened with concern. "Calad," he spoke, his voice as like the tolling of some deep and sorrowful bell. "Come away. This calamitous charade is at an end. Return to me, your true brother." His eyes remain fixed on Inheroth, never once straying to the line of arms, nor the thronging mass of usurpers, nor the King himself.

Inheroth turned, unable to mask his surprise at the sound of his once-name; a title his brother had not used in many moons. He marvelled at the sight of Agarwaenor's countenance, and he took a faltering step in his direction. "Celephinion? But...you were sent away, what..." and then he realized the manner of his brother's dress, the dark hood bunched at the nape of his neck, and elt despair creep into his gut and steal the breath away from him. "No," he said, aghast, "you cannot ask this of me...brother, look at what is happening! I cannot go."

Agarwaenor then spoke softly. “This is not our home, my brother. We cannot stay. Only ruin awaits us here. You are not blind nor feeble in your mind that you cannot see this."

Inheroth reared back as though he'd been struck by the harshness of Agarwaenor's words, and indignantly he scowled, stepping ever closer in his direction. "I am not blind, but loyal to my King! And you...what madness has overtaken you, that you should think that treachery be the answer to such calamity? Would it earn thine respect, brother, if I simply threw family to its fate and sought not to protect it?" He cast an increasingly panicked look towards the bottom of the dais, where two opposing group of Elves faced each other with drawn weapons. The fragile thread that wrought together Lerinon's kingdom was slowly unraveling, and in that moment Inheroth feared that Agarwaenor spoke only a simple truth; yet still he could not bring himself to turn away from Lerinon.

Lerinon raised his arms aloft, upholding the folds of his vast cape, calling for Lerion and Thiassel to attend to him, making his fiery inner folds vibrate with his gold in beauty. He was attempting the strategy that they had planned earlier in his chambers. Lerinon spoke, "I command peace and silence within these halls! I command it!" No one seemed to listen.

Agarwaenor took a step closer, his chin raised, and in that moment the visage of Thinfiligon was upon him. "I am your family. I am your only family, as you are mine. We two, alone, share that bond."

Angered, Lerinon's harsh gaze fell on Agarwaenor, "So thus, brave Herald, Gwador, art thine valor and thine loyalty rendered true. For the sake of Inheroth, I am willing to forget this, if you would but cross to my side. If not, then none can tell what thine Doom shalt be... save Mandos, the Doomsman of the Valar!"

Agarwaenor did not move his eyes from Inheroth, even as the King spoke to him. "What would you have me do?"

Thiassel noticed movement out of the corner of her right-eye. She sneaked behind the Throne, tapping Lerion on the shoulder, and beckoning to him. They shifted out of sight.

Inheroth gestured to Agarwaenor beseechingly. "Come, brother, let us speak away from this madness. We share the bond of blood, and that cannot be ignored, but do not ask this of me, not now...stay your hand, just for this moment, and we will mend this together through wisdom and courage. This fire cannot spread from these Halls! Help me."

The silver-haired Elf scrutinized his brother with sad, joyless eyes. His proud chin lowered, and his shoulders sagged. "I will abide," he surrendered, his voice broken and faint.

Inheroth rushed forward, and took Agarwaenor's hands in his own. He then pulled his brother behind the shadow of the throne, and planted himself firmly in front of him. At once his expression revealed his grim determination, and he looked onward towards the chaos of the room with his hand on his blade.

A harsh voice spoke behind Agarwaenor, "I thought... you might...!" Harsh arms bound Agarwaenor helpless as a dagger was lifted toward his throat.

Lord Fanon sneered, "Now, oh Coward King... craven fool! Shall you surrender thus our Throne. This Throne was built by -our- hands many Ages ago. It was not for Dairlingul to casually surrender all our history, our lives, our achievements, our blood, to a craven coward of a stranger, who vainly holds himself the heir, of a Kingdom and of an Age, long past gone and dead and drowned! Surrender your Throne... or your 'precious Gwador' dies... it belongs to the Realm... for Amanuiron the Great shalt I do thus! By all the Stars that fill the realm of the sky, by all the waters of the Sea of Rhun, by all the grains and desert sands, do I thus swear it!"

Inheroth spun, sword drawn. He stepped back, holding the weapon steady, his mouth set in a grim line.

Yucalwe drew his sword and shouted, "People of Dorwinion! Hear me! Ages ago, there stood a Realm, and much a scene as this. The Realm was Doriath. A Silmaril shined upon the brow of a foolish King. An army of Elves came forth to reclaim it, and I, regretfully, among them. Elf slew Elf, blood shed blood, and the King thus lost his head. I beg of you, repeat not this error! An Oath-taker of an unfulfillable Vow shall swiftly become an Oath-breaker!"

"You heard me!" Lord Fanon shouted. "YOU... HEARD... ME!!! Surrender!"

Lerinon stepped down from the Throne, turning to face Fanon, "Take me... if you will... release him." He had gazed into Inheroth's sweet, sad eyes. He had gazed into Agarwaenor's countenance and found the courage and fortitude that he himself had lacked. What else could he do? He did not know. He knew he did not want further bloodshed in the Halls. What was happening... was he finally regaining his senses? He did not know. All he knew was that Agarwaenor's blood would be upon his own hands, and that, he, Lerinon, would then be a kinslayer, and would have done unto Inheroth an unalterable wound, a most grievous blow that could ne'r be taken back.

Lord Fanon's followers set knives to the backs of Lerinon and Inheroth.

As Lord Fanon prepared to remove the dagger, and to take up his seat upon the Throne, he felt a sharp arrow piercing his back. He heard a soft whisper, "Remove your hand from that blade, or I shall plunge it in for real."

Thiassel held the arrow as firmly as a sword. Lerion stood ready to restrain Lord Fanon if the latter dropped his dagger.

Cellindien and Macil had drawn their swords and approached the shield-wall as allies. Melimwe and Yucalwe cautiously advanced as well. All of Lord Fanon's supporters were on the dais.

Ioristion had gazed at the whole scene dumbstruck, completely forgotten, as his followers stood impatiently. He wondered if they were reconsidering their loyalty, now, at this crucial moment.

Inheroth tightened his grip on the haft of his sword, never once lowering it; it remained pointed at Lord Fanon, whom he saw now as the true villain. His eyes flashed with anger at how the Elf had dared to draw a weapon against Agarwaenor.

Fahnraen slipped behind another of Fanon's guards: the guard who held Inheroth at knife-point.

Suddenly, there was a burst of maniacal laughter from the adjacent chamber: Lerinon's chamber. There was harsh shouting and the sounds of many footfalls. Somehow, others had tiptoed through the Hall unnoticed.

Daerfalas was shouting, "No, my Captain! Do not do this! It is madness!"

Glossel shouted, "I should have kept a closer eye on you! Have you lost your mind!"

Fingaereth was shouting, "We have lost too many already! Not more!"

Sainion stammered, "Have we truly marched all the way from Dol Amroth to meet this doom?!"

"In the Name of Pelargir, stand down, for the sake of your Lord-Father!" Arhbaineth shouted.

It was too late. A sweeping flash of silk and light whisked by as a man ran up the stairs to the Throne, even amidst Lord Fanon's fellow traitors. In his right hand, he held a flaming brand, as he stood high upon the dais. In his left hand, the artifact gleamed, fiery and terrible.

Daerfalas shouted again, "Ivordir! Brother! NO!!!"

Ivordir laughed menacingly, "No Tomb for Ivordir, son of Ioristor, as there was no Tomb for Denethor, son of Ecthelion! He had the right way of it! We are doomed, Auruiron shall die, we all shall die, as nearly my entire Company DIED, and there shall never be any point to it! All will burn! The East will burn! Gondor will burn! All shall burn, in perpetual nightmare! So shall I then not be second to burn? Shall I not follow my Lord Steward, and all the heathen Kings of old? My time has come! I shall join you Lord Ballithor, Lord Malnoron, Lord Baralinthor, Prince Abrazan... I shall join you, Dolthor of the hills, and Aeg of Tarlang's Crown, and Thanguron of Pelennor's Fields, and Silevrendor of Pelargir, and Noruros of Anorien... Haradrim of the desert sands... Stand aside! You may lead your pathetic Company, Daerfalas, to whatever doom awaits it! Go now, wife, Glossel, and wed another, if you survive. Bear many fine sons to die in nightmares. Go now and die!"

Ivordir began to move the flaming brand closer and closer to his sleeves as he clutched the artifact as Denethor had clutched the Palantir Anor-Stone in the Tombs of Rath Dinen.

The startled room stared as silent as a crypt.

In truth, Captain Ivordir had maintained his comforting composure with Daerfalas, in their chamber, to give comfort to his brother one final time. He had already made-up his mind and felt at peace with it. The rest were lies: for he knew his brother Daerfalas would try to stop him.

Agarwaenor, swiftly and silently, had withdrawn his father's dagger from its sheath. In a blur, his hand gripped Fanon's wrist, and twisted the blade from his neck. Then he span on his heel, still gripping the would-be usurper. For a brief second he studied the stunned Elf's face with cold and calculating eyes. Then, with a flash of furious rage, his dagger was thrust through Fanon's neck.

Daerfalas and Glossel darted behind him and restrained his arms. Ivordir fought to regain control over the brand. Daerfalas whisked a fold of his golden cloak over the flames. When he whipped back his folds, the flame was out. Ivordir shouted in dismay, "NO!"

"Yes, my husband," Glossel was seething. She began slapping Ivordir silly, "You shall never, ever, do that again." Daerfalas kept Ivordir's arms restrained as Glossel slapped the latter hard to the point of bruising his face.

The spear-and-shield wall, meanwhile, had swiftly turned toward the dais. Lerinon commanded, "Followers of Lord Fanon... you have a choice before you. You may slain me, and you may slay Inheroth, but you will die. That is assured. The Halls shall once more be stained with Elven blood. What shall that accomplish? How will that serve anyone? Your Master is dead, struck down by his own arrogance. I trust that Agarwaenor did not intend to kinslay him, that it was naught but a matter of self defense, and that Lord Fanon's doom fell swift. His was the doom of Eol and Maeglin. Amanuiron is not who you think he is. He is Guldrambor, servant of Morgoth!"

Inheroth rushed to Agarwaenor's side, his hand rising to a smudge of blood across his brother's cheek and cleaning it away. He shoved away Fanon's crumpled body with the tip of his boot, and drew Agarwaenor into a half embrace, turning to watch Lerinon speak as Daerfalas and Glossel held Ivordir down.

Lord Fanon's guards had been stricken with terror upon sighting their Lord's downfall. They did not react, for Lord Fanon had promised them that no more Elven blood would be shed within the Halls, and they did not expect such a conclusion. If any of them still seethed with rage, they kept their thoughts hidden, caring far more, now, for their immortal lives. They dropped their weapons.

Agarwaenor's hands remained at his sides, the bloodied dagger still clutched tightly in his hand. His gaze was fixed upon the form of Fanon, and the crimson pool that followed the tiled pattern of the floor. He then sheathed his weapon, still caked with gore, and let out a small but unmistakable chuckle.

Lerinon turned, finally remembering Ioristion, "Brother! Ioristion, hear me! If you and your followers will disband your absurd claims, and receive my judgment, there may yet be peace!"

Ioristion balked, "Name your terms, brother!"

"You may sit at my side, as honored as a High King, and receive the title of High King of the Ainon Cundan. Over your household, you shall rule. If our Lord-Father is ever rescued, or restored to us alive, then he shall merely have to accept it. You shall sit on a Throne and servants shall attend your every need. But you must abide by my commands, and by the commands of my Council, concerning matters of ruling Dorwinion and waging war upon our Enemy. Your voice shall be heard. Do you accept my judgment?"

Ioristion's followers began urging, nay, begging him, whispering, "Accept! Assent! Say yes!"

Cellindien's eyes shifted toward Ioristion. She heaved a deep sigh of relief. Her eyes returned to the fallen Elf-lord. She shuddered. She had only heard tale of Kinslayings, but this was the first she had ever seen. Many, if not all, within the Hall, were rightly horrified.

Alcano and Celebressel, also horrified, rushed toward Ioristion among the throng, to embrace their Lord-Father and to cope with all that they had witnessed. Alcano spied the artifact, swiftly seized it, and slipped it beneath his cloak.

Sainion and Arhbaineth rushed onto the dais to assist Daerfalas and Glossel. Lerion marched over to aid them as well.

The rest of the remnants of Ivordir's Company, including Amarthon, watched silently and solemnly from the rear of the Great Hall. They were sighing with relief that Ivordir had not succeeded in his madness.

Lerinon pointed at Lord Fanon's sprawling corpse and gave a trite command, "Leave him." Sorrow welled in Lerinon's eyes. He had always promised himself that if he were King of Doriath, and not his father, then bloodshed would have been averted. He had never told anyone. He was past the breaking point. He needed to act and swiftly. Had he not been raised by Kinslayers, and had he not made peace with Macalaure beneath the Golden Bough? He had. He had only heard tales of the Three Kinslayings. He had not seen the terrible accidental killings that had happened by the hands of Yucalwe on Himring. Now he saw, and now, he knew. One realization terrified him most of all: he felt as if it only were natural, now, that an Elf should be slain by the sword. He had already broken from within in the aftermath of the Battle of the Turfs of Sutland. Yet he remained an Elf. He felt it so deeply that he felt it numbly. So deep was his pain that he could hardly contain himself. His emotional senses had broken. He could no longer tell the difference between feeling grief to such an extent that an Elf would tear-out his own hair and weep to the point of nearly fading from it... and feeling grief to such an extent that an Elf felt naught but nothing. Then he spoke aloud to the rest of the Hall, "Servants! Take Lord Fanon's corpse and bear it honorably. Take his hroa to a pleasant field, a place he dearly loved throughout his life, yes, those of you who knew and loved him: and bury him. Guards, keep watch on his former servants. They are now thenceforth forbidden to carry weapons, to leave this Realm, or to travel unguarded, until such a time that I change my mind. Make haste! Enough blood has been spilled already. I want the tiles removed and replaced. In fact, I want this dais and Throne removed to another Great Hall within this complex, a Hall where no blood has been spilled. I want this current Great Hall to be sealed." Then Lerinon whispered in Agarwaenor's ear, "Brother... I am sorrowful that all had come to this... Come, let my servants attend you, wash you, and dress you in red silk... make you safe and comfortable... then we three may rest together, finally, at peace..." He wanted rest now. Rest was his only escape. He was far beyond desperate for it. His last salvation, he knew, would be to hide beneath his red and golden folds, and kiss his brothers' cheeks, and forget everything, forget that Lord Fanon had ever existed, let alone died, forget that Agarwaenor had slain him, even if lawfully out of self defense, as Turgon had executed Eol of old, and as Tuor had cast Maeglin from the walls of Gondolin. Forget, he told himself, forget. Then he realized the truth: it had shocked him so that he knew not how to respond to it, even if Lord Fanon had deserved it, and all despite the fact that Lord Fanon had brought it down upon himself. Rest, he thought. Rest... Say 'Yes,' Agarwaenor... say 'Yes'...

Agarwaenor regarded Lerinon with strangeness in his eyes. He said nothing. He seemed in the midst of a dream, unheeding of his surroundings.

Lord Fanon gasped, several of his vocal chords severed, yet just enough left intact for a gasping, raspy, quiet voice, "My King..."

Lerinon turned abruptly, rushed-over, kneeling beside Lord Fanon, "Yes..." He wanted to call him a traitor, but the word did not come forth from his lips. Part of him strangely hoped for some form of exoneration. It was his Throne Room, after all, his Great Hall, and it had been within his Realm, within his Kingdom, within his presence, that Lord Fanon had suffered mortal blows from another Elf. He more than half expected Lord Fanon to curse the ultimate Doom upon Lerinon and all his Realm till the End of Days.

Lord Fanon gasped, "I...brought...this...cursed...death...upon...myself......I..I betrayed......." His mouth was filling-up with blood. "....cut-off...my...hair....use...it....for....use...it....crown........let...followers...know....final...wish.......follow......you..........." His fea saw Lerinon's cloak glow.

This reply shocked Lerinon. In truth, Lord Fanon, upon feeling Agarwaenor's blade pass through his neck, remained miraculously still alive enough to speak the few words that he could speak, for the bladed had neither singed his vocal chords nor cut-off all air-flow up toward his mouth. Lord Fanon, as his fea began its long sad journey from its hroa to its doom in the West, had gazed up and seen a Light envelop Lerinon. He saw Lerinon as his King for the first time, and following that sight, Lord Fanon's spirits had been felled by deep grief and bitter regret. He knew that he was dying. Lord Fanon had once been an ellon, a boy, gazing at the stars with wonder in his eyes, remembering the tales of his people stretching back to the Cuivienen days and the dawn of the awakening of the Firstborn. He had traveled with his people from the East and settled in Dorwinion. No longer did they follow Cirdan or Elwe. His dearest memories flashed before him: his mother, his father, and his brothers, whom the Easterlings had killed during the Wars of the Wainriders. He recalled his service as an Ambassador to Thranduil, and all the elegance of the latter's Court, and how he had brought that knowledge back with him to Dorwinion. He recalled Ages of mirth and of splendor. He recalled his travels in Rhovanion, and among the people's of Rhun, in times of peace. He recalled the Elf Maiden whom he once had loved, but she was never meant for him. His was a strange fate, he had finally realized, and bitterly, he had resented that fate. He had wanted a wife and sons and daughters to fill-up his House with mirth and joy. Instead passed many centuries of loneliness when not acting in the service of his King. He had loved Dairlingul ever since Dairlingul came to Dorwinion from the sunken land of Doriath. Dairlingul had nearly become as a brother to him. Fanon had crowned Dairlingul once the delving of the Silver Halls was ended by the Dwarves and Dairlingul gave them his precious Doriathrim Jewels. When Dairlingul had revealed Amanuiron to the rest of his people, so struck with awe and joy had Lord Fanon been by the latter's glory and beauty, and Lord Fanon had bowed to Amanuiron, had kissed the cloak of Amanuiron, had been warmly embraced by Amanuiron, sensing neither shadows nor evil, for Amanuiron had masked it well. He thought of Amanuiron. He thought of Amanuiron's dances and displays of his splendor. He thought of all of Amanuiron's promises. A greatness had indeed come to Dorwinion. Hearing of Dairlingul's meetings with Sindri nigh Eir, Lord Fanon had not taken issue with it, not until the strange dreams, and not until the arrival of Lerinon. In the past, Dairlingul had always confided and consulted in Lord Fanon. But then Amanuiron laid suspicions. Fanon stayed in Aurbain most of the time. Dairlingul remained in the Silver Halls. Yet still they made commerce with each other. When Lerinon took the Crown, and the Throne, and Dairlingul avoided Lord Fanon as if he himself were a plague, Lord Fanon's heart had burst, he felt betrayed by his King, he felt his King was betraying Amanuiron in all the latter's grace and beauty, and he wanted answers. So had he, Lord Fanon, withdrawn himself into the western reaches of Dorwinion. He had bided his time, weaving his webs, planning to reclaim the Throne for Lord Fanon. He knew he could not simply strut-up to King Lerinon and beg for it. He would need to be clever. He would need Amanuiron's help. When he learned of the Battle unfolding to his south, he had sent an Emissary to Amanuiron, begging for the latter's aid. Amanuiron had granted it willingly. Meanwhile, Lord Fanon was forced to play host, in the western flet city of Aurbain, named for the sun that shined upon its greatest tree at all times of the day, to none other than King Lerinon's herald, Agarwaenor. Lord Fanon felt attracted to Agarwaenor in a diplomatic sense: he quite enjoyed the latter's company. For hours they would speak on the doings and comings and goings of their respective Realms, among other things, and Lord Fanon saw the fact that Agarwaenor was not terribly thrilled with King Lerinon, and he had seized upon it. Agarwaenor had not been privy to Lord Fanon's secret meeting with Amanuiron, or of their plan, and Amanuiron had ensured that Agarwaenor would sleep deeply for days by lacing his wine, and Lord Fanon and the rest of his supporters had flocked to Amanuiron's banner during the latter's assault on King Lerinon's Halls. When Lord Fanon and his supporters retreated, Amanuiron's mixture had begun to wear-off, and Agarwaenor had awakened to find little changed. Amanuiron had not trusted Agarwaenor concerning Inheroth. When word of the battles reached Agarwaenor's ears, Lord Fanon had played upon them, and he had thought that Agarwaenor had finally become his truest ally in his campaign against King Lerinon. They plotted their entry, they cloaked themselves, arming themselves with swords and daggers, and then all the rest had transpired.

Now Lord Fanon, remembering all of this, flashing through his mind as a matter of seconds, felt grotesque and ashamed of himself. Sindri's portents had been right. He, Lord Fanon, had been most wrong. He could see it now. He could see it, piercing his eyes, through the golden veil of Light that King Lerinon had become and that had become King Lerinon.

Swiftly, Lerinon, regretting all that had happened, pressed his folds on Lord Fanon's neck. He whipped them back. The wound did not heal. Yet Lerinon felt that he had finally found the exoneration that he had been searching for within that moment.

Lord Fanon felt his pain drain away from him, draining into the tears of Nienna, as he heard the voice of Mandos call him... He thought on Amanuiron, and then, as if Lord Mandos himself had revealed it to him, he saw, in his mind, the true vision of who Amanuiron truly was: Guldrambor, a wisp of shadow, a liar and deceiver. He reached up and pressed his palm around Lerinon's cheek, "Forgive..."

Fanon's hroa went limp. His eyes stared coldly at the ceiling. Lerinon warmly closed his eyes. Taking his nearby dagger, he cut Lord Fanon's excessive plumes of silver hair, as Fanon had bade him. He left enough hair to suit Fanon's dignity at his burial. He was washing Lord Fanon's silver hair with his silvery tears. He took a fold of Lord Fanon's tattered cloak and covered him.

Lerinon turned once again toward Agarwaenor, and then, to his servants: "Tend to him," he commanded.

Glossel had long since ceased her wrath-filled punishment of Ivordir. Ivordir's face was bruised in several places. Wearily, he gazed upward, "Glossel?" It seemed as if he had awakened from a long unending nightmare.

Then Ivordir sighted Daerfalas, "Brother...."

Still weeping, Daerfalas replied, "My Captain...... we should go. Much has happened here. Let us take you back to our chamber...."

Ivordir barely nodded his assent. They helped him up and bore his weight on their shoulders as they discretely removed him from the chamber.

Several servants approached Agarwaenor at the King's command, but Inheroth waved them away with a gentle gesture of his hand. "Nay, we need no assistance. Come brother, I will take you hence. My chambers are close, near the King's." He began to urge Agarwaenor away with a soft touch. As they passed the Throne, he paused once to gaze up at Lerinon. Already his gwador's brow seemed brighter, more fair; Inheroth's heart filled with hope. "Join us when you may, my King," he said graciously, and then he led Agarwaenor away.

Macil, Cellindien, Alcano, and Celebressel, joined Ioristion and his followers as they returned to their chamber.

All the Hall had emptied, save for Yucalwe, and Melimwe.

Melimwe warmly smiled, "You are getting better at ruling."

Lerinon tried to smile, "Alas for Fanon..." All he wanted to do now was flee to a chamber with the others. He was sick of death, sick of talking, sick of ruling, and sick of the shedding of yet more blessed Elven blood in the Great Hall.

The servants were bearing away Lord Fanon's body. Lerinon still held the bundle of Lord Fanon's silver tresses in his left hand.

Melimwe knelt before Lerinon, "It was no fault of your own, or of Agarwaenor... but of Guldrambor, in the end. Honor Lord Fanon's life. Do as he bade. Bring his followers to your side. Then we shall have our army. Then we shall march toward Guldrambor, and put an end to him, and bring Auruiron home and safe among us."

Yucalwe nodded, "You should move quick. I will go myself into Dorwinion's western reaches, with Lady Aeglossel at my side."

"Take me, take me as well," Thiassel spoke-up from the shadows. "I have friends among those folk in higher places. The truth of all of this shall be known."

"And most of all," Melimwe heaved a deep sigh, "The truth of Lord Fanon's final words. His followers shall be his witnesses. Bring one or two of them with you, under guard."

Yucalwe nodded, "So shall it be. We shall go at once."

Melimwe stared at Lerinon, "Where is your brother?"

Fareon. Amidst all the chaos and clamor, Lerinon had given little thought to his twin brother. "I.... do not know."

The rear doors of the Hall burst open. Melimwe's smile deeply widened. There entered Fareon with a wounded, beaten, yet living, Dairlingul, still majestic, even in his torture. Fareon gasped, "I left in search of Dairlingul when I overheard your words at council, uncle. I found Guldrambor's minions carting him out of Dorwinion. No doubt, his intentions were to take Dairlingul as a prisoner or worse. What happened here?"

Lerinon heaved a deep sigh, "A long story, brother..."

With them stood two hooded and cloaked young men with another two strangers.

Yucalwe's eyes suddenly grew watery with delight. Deep was the embrace he soon shared. It seemed to last forever.

When his Council was over in the Great Hall, Lerinon proceeded to follow Inheroth and Agarwaenor to their chamber to rest.

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In Ivordir's chamber, as Daerfalas cradled his broken Captain on their place of rest, with Glossel and Fingaereth at his sides, the doors opened. Two cloaked young men entered. They whipped back their hoods.

Aegon, who had been sitting by the hearth nearby, still writing, gasped with sudden joy, "I wrote it wrong! All wrong!"

"Not all of it," Abrazan warmly smiled.

"You don't know the -half- of it," Baralinthor heartily laughed. Two more black and red cloaks had flowed and severed from that of Yucalwe. "Here we go again," Baralinthor smirked.

Then Alagoshel threw back her hood, and laughed, smiling.

Silevrendor grinned. Their Company had reached 46 members.

Edited by Ioristion, Jan 31 2018, 11:07 PM.
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Ioristion

Chapter CCCXCI: First Court

"Well," Cellindien heaved a deep sigh, "You were very foolish, yet again."

"You would speak to a High King thus?" Ioristion smirked.

"I would speak as a sister to her brother... or have you forgotten? You're as bad as the Sapling," Cellindien smirked.

Alcano knelt before his Lord-Father. They had all returned to Ioristion's chambers. They were seated much as they had ever seated themselves, though, this time, with "guests." Then Ioristion dispersed them, wanting time alone with Cellindien, Macil, Alcano, and Celebressel. Mornbeorn, Aertira, Salhera, Eiliant, Isenadin, and Sasuko sat in an adjacent chamber, and kept to themselves.

Alcano begged, "Adar... what shall we do now? With mother gone..." Tears were welling in all their eyes again.

Ioristion smiled, "She is not gone... merely... far away... when we see her again, and when shall see her, she shall be young and beautiful again, as she ever was... now, my concern must be directed towards my Lord-Father, your grandfather... he suffers egregiously daily, I know that much..."

Cellindien sighed with relief again. Ioristion, now that he had received his precious title, slowly seemed to regain his sanity.

Macil nodded, "Brother... grief is upon us, no matter what we do... Come, Alcano, let us let your royal Adar alone for awhile."

"I will stay with him," Cellindien gently replied.

"Good," Macil smiled, "Your brother needs his sister... now more than ever."

Alcano and Macil then left their chamber with Celebressel. They deigned to leave it to Cellindien to see how thoroughly Ioristion's head would require dunking in the fountain in the grotto-chamber far below them.

Ioristion whisked his cape around himself, twirling it, much as he had in the Hall of Fire in Imladris long ago, back when he first met Cellindien.

Cellindien rolled her eyes, "You seldom change... do you, brother?"

"What would you prefer?" Ioristion's face fell downcast, "My wife is dead..."

"Oh Ioristion..." Cellindien quickly wrapped him in a deep embrace, kissing him deeply on his cool, pale cheeks, as gentle tears streamed down her face again. Ioristion quickly returned the gesture. His face was laden with tears as well.

Cellindien whispered softly to him, "As you said... we will see her again... it will all be well, brother..."

Ioristion warmly smiled, "My sister..."

She took a large fold of her golden cape and whipped it around them both, as he had performed unto her back in Duillond so long ago, and then, chastely, as brother and sister, they rested in each others' arms. A voyage of dreams awaited them. Ioristion could feel it. He wished for Findekano.
Edited by Ioristion, Dec 7 2016, 09:10 PM.
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Ioristion

Chapter CCCXCII: A Second Hunt

A great, golden-crested winged Eagle, soared across the skies of the eastern sunrise as Ioristion and Cellindien perceived themselves, in a shared vision, as real as reality, through all the powers of Lorien, on the shores of the Sea of Rhun, high atop the reddish-brown cliffs that overlooked the azure-greenish sea. They felt their senses far more acutely now than in previous dreams or visions. They might as well have been awake. Yet the breeze from the sea could do far more than it could to their long tresses of hair and capes in reality. Ioristion reveled in their shared beauty.

Cellindien's silver hair streamed behind her as she stood. A faint yet glorious voice could be heard singing upon the wind to the west. Cellindien's grey eyes now shined as bright as stars. Noble was her countenance and forbearance. Her sweet lips smiled. Her capes all surged and billowed about her, and yet were light as air, shining brightly and brilliantly as they whipped to and fro and twirled in circles: bright evergreen, bright molten gold, and bright fiery red lined with bright silvery black that seemed to reflect the glory of the stars of night.

Star Queen, Ioristion thought. Star Bright. But that was Elbereth. He did not know at which to stare: his sister in all her beauty or the Eagle that approached them swiftly. But the Eagle was still far off.

Cellindien now faced a similar dilemma. She gazed upon her brother, and she beheld him in all his glory and his beauty: a High King now in truth. Glory crowned his brow: a long and fervent mane of golden hair surged forth from it, he seemed as magnificent as the tales of the Lady of the Galadhrim of the Golden Wood, and his gold and fiery red surged around him as well. Their robes were both of gold lined with the purest silver.

"Ioristion..." Cellindien spoke, waving her arms around her among the folds in the wind.

A sudden, swift, gust of wind beckoned them into each others' arms. Their embrace was long and deep. They whipped their capes over and around each other. All was bright beneath the folds. They deeply kissed each others' cool, pale cheeks. They buried their faces in gold and silver hair. They reemerged and their dance was bright and brilliant: gold, red, black, and evergreen, shining and twirling in the air.

The Eagle was nearly upon them now. They gazed up at it at once with awe and majesty. The Eagle landed, outspreading its golden wings, and in a flash of sudden light, golden feathers turned to golden silk and golden braids upon raven-black flowing hair that flowed behind the Elf-Lord as if it were itself a mighty cape. He seemed young and beautiful and brimming with life. His cape remained outspread beneath his arms. It sparkled brilliantly, molten gold, brightly in fiery sunlight.

"My King," Ioristion bowed low. Findekano had never appeared this beautiful.

Findekano warmly smiled, "Fear not for your father... Aid shall come. Through the Grace of the Valar, I am come, to grant you aid and rest... for your hearts are both weary with sorrow."

Cellindien bowed, "Findekano..."

They both rushed into his arms as he enclosed his folds around them. Ioristion buried his face in Findekano's shining silken mane of black and golden-braided hair. His weeping came twofold: out of joy of seeing Findekano again in the first time in many weeks and out of bitter grief for his late wife. He almost wished that Rostoriel would appear again within their dream, that he might embrace and deeply kiss her, one last time before departing to the West by ship or by the journey of his fea. He knew better: the Valar would not seek to tease him so.

Cellindien felt the rhythm of Findekano's heartbeat as she embraced him so. To her, his heartbeat had become a drumming, a rhythm to hold her safe and secure. It was not the same semblance of security, safety, and love, that was now often shared between her and her husband. Instead, it was a sense of some greater Power watching over her, and her brother, and over all who remained within their Company. They were not finished. They were far from beaten: so long as they did not break. Findekano's presence almost seemed to channel that Power or to stand for it, to embody it, or to represent it.

In time, they were submerged deep within Findekano's golden sparkling folds. When they reemerged, they beheld a great Hall with a lofty Throne: Findekano's Throne in Beleriand of old. Findekano wore a crown of crystal stars, and above his golden cloak was a long azure cape with golden stars etched into its many folds. His cloaks billowed far behind him as he processed up to his Throne and outspread his folds anew as he sat down. He beckoned for Ioristion and Cellindien to approach him. They bowed before him. Findekano smiled, "Now embrace anew, make stern your wills with strength, and follow in the footsteps of victory."

Ioristion turned toward Cellindien, and her toward him, and they embraced and deeply kissed each others' cheeks anew, as Findekano cast his folds over them, and all went dark.

They slowly reawakened in Dorwinion. They rested alongside each other for a long time, chastely, as brother and sister.

"Brother," she finally whispered. "Remember that I am bound, and will, protect you... always..."
Edited by Ioristion, Dec 21 2016, 11:31 PM.
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Ioristion

Chapter CCCXCIII: A Sorceress' Apprentice

Lerion wandered through the halls with Alagoshel at his side. They had warmly embraced and deeply kissed their sibling kiss, and they came to rest in Lerion's older chamber. Lerion had deigned to allow Agarwaenor, Inheroth, and Lerinon sort-through their differences on their own.

As Lerion turned away from the closed door, he beheld Alagoshel in all her beauty, her golden-brown hair glistening in the sunlight, and the folds of her silk cascading down her arms as she outspread them: "I have missed you, my brother..."

"I...I've missed you as well," Lerion warmly bowed, outspreading his folds and returning the gesture. "Did you hear what has befallen my dear, sweet, precious Angolhel?"

Alagoshel nodded sadly, "They told me... but I know where they are. We found them. We slipped away from the fighting, and then we followed in Guldrambor's wains in disguise, and we came upon a marvelous city... but we heard a voice upon the wind, a sad, moaning voice, rising from beneath their Citadel. Somehow, he had taken Auruiron ahead of us, and he had managed to somehow bind him to the cliffs. The City is Sakuta. It is Guldrambor's Seat of Power. At first, we thought Angolhel a prisoner, and we slipped into the Citadel in disguise as courtiers. Lerion... your wife, my mistress and lady, is now..."

"His servant," Lerion finished her sentence. "I've somehow always known it to be true..."
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Ioristion

Chapter CCCXCIV: What Alagoshel Saw

"Lerion," she whispered, "Come beside me on thine place of rest... Cloak thine self with me, my beloved brother... and let us dream in the innermost magic of our dreams. I will show you what I saw, if the gods of the West deem it valid, and permit it, and only if you, alone, have the courage..."

Lerion bowed, "May it be as you have said." He swiftly joined her. Purple and lavender folds lapped upon each other with flashes of inner fiery crimson, bright and beauteous, and they deeply wrapped each other, and they came close together within their cloak. They deeply kissed each others' warm, smooth cheeks, before they fell asleep.

Lerion, now, beheld the golden halls of Sakuta's Citadel, the Throne of Amanuiron, the sorcerers of the Gurthbaini, and all their guests. His heart throbbed, pounding wildly, as he saw his wife approach. She was arrayed in dark, deep purple, as she wore of old, lined with fiery red, and her eyes glistened brightly, resplendently, as her soft smile, framed by soft, pure, pink lips, widened. Her long golden-brown hair cascaded to the floor down her back and shoulders. Her gaze was bright and magnificent. Her vast cape surged down onto the floor around her. Then, she began to dance, for her Lord Emperor. Guldrambor sat upon his throne as silent as a statue. He clapped his hands together, and the Lady High Sorceress, and her Gurthbaini followers, began to dance. Anzulbar led the dance with her. What followed was an array of bursting beauty, as folds rose and fell and domed and billowed and flapped and twirled and spun brightly and resplendently in the sunlight that surged through high, golden, stained-glass windows that overlooked the glistening azure, crystalline, Sea of Rhun. Red and purple, black and silver, all overlapped and licked each other. Guldrambor made subtle manipulations with his hands and arms. Lerion watched in awe as Angolhel levitated, and in a flash of light, her dress and cape became woven of the brightest golden hue that he had ever seen, and later, her folds burst into many colors, and then, in one final flash of light, she transformed into a large Golden Serpent, and the Gurthbaini wildly danced around her. Soon, she returned to human form, and she deeply kissed each member of the Gurthbaini upon their lips, and then she and Anzulbar slipped up the stairs of the dais and nestled themselves at Guldrambor's sides beneath his red and golden folds.

As their High Council began their business of the day, Alagoshel and Lerion awoke, sobbing, in Dorwinion, showering each others' cheeks with their tears and kisses. Then they buried their faces deeply within each others' golden-brown, silken tresses, their capes, of bright hair.

"We will save her, together, beloved brother," Alagoshel boldly proclaimed after what had seemed an endless spasm of kissing and weeping. "I promise you."

"And I, you," Lerion warmly replied as they embraced. They did not let go. Their embraces and kisses were ever chaste, and their intent was ever pure. She would save his wife, and he would save her sister and master, no matter the cost. Such was their resolve.

There was a knock on their door. It was Silevrendor.
Edited by Ioristion, Dec 18 2016, 08:35 PM.
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Ioristion

Chapter CCCXCV: The Stratagem is Planned

Abrazan, after ensuring Ivordir's safety, sought Yucalwe and Aeglossel. He found them in their chamber. Abrazan bowed, "Lord Father..."

"For weeks... I thought you were dead," Yucalwe heaved a deep sigh. Abrazan saw a weariness in Yucalwe that he had not seen since they first met nigh Saraj.

Abrazan nodded, "When the volleys came, I dove into the brush behind me, with Silevrendor, Alagoshel, and Baralinthor. We spied-on Guldrambor's accursed forces from the forest. We trailed them. We trailed the force of his that heading eastward. Their forces had seemed to split. But I knew we needed answers. We trailed them through the dusty, ruined plains of Sutland, along the cliffs of the coast, through steppes and grasslands, into a vast desert that stretched as far as the eye could see, save the presence of the sea. We followed the force, and we followed the sea. I knew of the dreams of a gold citadel and a vast, grand city, and I had dreamed of Auruiron... moaning in pain... hanging from cliffs."

"Many have dreamed of him," Yucalwe nodded sorrowfully.

Abrazan continued, "We saw the city from afar. Some Power must have given us knowledge of it."

"Lorien..." Yucalwe widely smiled. "If only one of us beheld the dream, we might have thought it only a vain result of grief. Because you, my son, and others, have seen it..."

"It is real," Abrazan assured him, "Quite real. We passed into the city as a band of nomads, with tidings of the south. We had lost our capes on the battlefield days prior... Guldrambor could not have sensed our presence even if he tried to... We sneaked around the city, got a lay of the land... but we could not approach the Citadel. Adar, it has many markets, many streets... many districts... it rivals even the greatest cities of Gondor. It will not be easy... A siege would most assuredly kill us."

"Then we must find a way inside," Yucalwe nodded. "A diversion stratagem might work though. Have Lerinon and Melimwe and their army of Dorwinion Elves assail the city, have Ivordir take the Mumakil as well to use in place of siege engines, and have some of us sneak inside while the battle takes place..."

"You always have the answers," Abrazan widely smiled.

"Not always," Yucalwe smirked, "We still lost the First Age wars, after all."

"We won't lose this one," Abrazan promised. "We should be able to sneak into the Citadel somehow..."

"It will not be easy," Yucalwe sighed, and then Yucalwe told Abrazan of all that had transpired in the halls since the battle. Abrazan's eyes glowed with sorrow, "Alas... Guldrambor could anticipate anything. Anything..."

Aeglossel finally spoke-up. She had not wished to interrupt a more prolonged reunion between father and son, and she had listened keenly to Abrazan's tale: "We can still outwit him, I believe..."

"How?" Abrazan wondered aloud.

"Split the Company. Send one group northeast, and the army, southeast. We will use the northeastern forest to shield our coming."

Yucalwe smirked, "Perfect..."
Edited by Ioristion, Dec 20 2016, 03:43 PM.
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Ioristion

Chapter CCCXCVI: The Return of Silevrendor

By now, Alagoshel, Lerion, and Silevrendor, had been graced with newer versions of their capes, gleaming and sparkling in sunlight. Alagoshel found herself in her lavender cape again, lined with fiery red, Lerion maintained his own, and Silevrendor and Glossel both had capes of their own, gold and red, glistening in their grace and beauty. Glossel remained by Ivordir's side with Fingaereth, Daerfalas, and others.

Alagoshel, Lerion, and Silevrendor, remained within Lerion's chambers on his place of rest. In time, they deigned to take a walk together. They processed down into halls seldom used by the Elves, halls that were closer to the sea below, and Alagoshel and Lerion upheld Silevrendor's folds to his left and to his right, so as to fill the void left by the deaths of Tinnuchon and Uialchon. This made Silevrendor feel far better, although he knew that he would miss them dearly, for the rest of his life. A deep, wide, plume of gold lined with fiery red trained behind Silevrendor. Lerion, in that moment, felt as if he were truly in the presence of a King. Silevrendor had an air of grace about him that seemed to mirror that of Lerinon. His long, golden-brown hair, plumed behind him as a vast, natural, cape woven of many rich and silky tresses that poured down his back and shoulders. They passed into an airy chamber where the winds rushed through the halls from the great windows that overlooked the sea. The scent of salt-water and the songs of gulls filled the air. Their capes whipped violently in the winds with an air of triumph and beauty. They entered a windy space filled with a hearth and three places of rest lined with cushions.

Silevrendor passed into a shaft of sunlight, and outspread his beauteous silken wings, proclaiming: "Behold... my brethren... for I feel now truly returned among you..." His hair and golden folds gushed behind and around him with flashes of fiery red plumes of shining silk.

Lerion fell on his right knee before him, "My dear, sweet brother..."

Alagoshel smirked, imitating Lerion's motions, "Beloved brother..."

Silevendor widely smiled, "My serpents... snakes of black and of gold..."

Lerion warmly replied, "My bat... my golden bat..."

Alagoshel lightly laughed, "How might we serve you...?"

"Come..." Silevrendor playfully whisked folds of his cape over them both, "Let us rest together... Let us see... if we may yet dream..."

They joined him on a place of rest as he whipped his cape over them all. They all cuddled close together beneath his rich red and golden folds. Lerion buried his face in Silevrendor's golden-brown tresses, and he whispered: "I have missed you... my dear, sweet brother... I thought you were..."

Silevrendor nodded sadly, "I know..."

"But we are glad you are alive," Alagoshel whispered, "And back among us..."

They deeply kissed each others' cheeks. Soon, they were asleep, and soon, they found themselves lingering on the shores of Rhun as the winds rushed up the cliffs from the sea. The scene did not differ in truth from the dream that Ioristion and Cellindien had witnessed of late. Yet none in either dream knew of the nature of its corresponding vision. Silevrendor held a golden staff in his hand. A bright jewel shined in a rainbow spectrum of colors as it remained perched upon the golden staff's pinnacle. Lerion and Alagoshel gazed at him in awe. Silevrendor's golden-brown hair surged around him as if a lofty cloak. While he grew no mustache, the others noted that a long, silky beard, had grown forth from his chin. The area above his upper lip remained clean-shaven. His long silken tresses and gold and red cape surged around him brightly and brilliantly as his folds glittered as they swirled in great billowing plumes and domes around him. With an air of royalty, he outspread his silken wings, as the winds that surged up from the cliffs intensified. He uplifted his staff as high as he could lift it. He was indeed a marvel to behold. Marvelous was his smile. His bright, fiery red, inner folds, grew brighter, and taller, and wider, as he seemed to levitate. This was ever Lerion's favorite sort of dream. He wondered why the Powers of the West had deigned to allow it, if deigned they did, and he could not answer. Was it some trick of Guldrambor's? He did not know.

Majestically, Silevrendor transformed into a large golden bat, who flew around them as bright and as beauteous as any eagle. It was then that Lerion and Alagoshel felt compelled to join him. Beautifully, they outspread their own silken wings of bright lavender lined with deep, fiery red, and they grew brighter and brighter, their capes growing vaster and vaster, all faster and faster, as they arose, until, in a blast of shining light, they, too, had transformed, into a black and a golden serpent respectively. They gently slithered and curled around each other as the bat landed and covered them all with his golden wings. In time, great winds blew again, and they all became enraptured with light, and they were gradually restored to their mortal forms. The winds surged their vast and beauteous cloaks around them. They deeply embraced, and they deeply kissed in a manner of close-bonded siblings, and they slipped within Silevrendor's vast folds.

"I will never leave you again," Silevrendor promised.

"Nor I, you," Lerion echoed him.

"Nor I," Alagoshel vigorously echoed them both.

Rays of sunlight shined through their folds in fiery beauty. Slowly, and gently, they awoke in their chamber. They all gazed down at Silevrendor's chin in shock: his silky, straight, beard had indeed grown.
Edited by Ioristion, Dec 19 2016, 09:57 PM.
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Ioristion

Chapter CCCXCVII: A Captain Reawakens

Ivordir tossed and turned in his restless sleep. Glossel was still slapping him, fire surged around him, and the orb burst into flame. He felt the embers of his madness burn within him. Denethor strode towards him in the flame. Ivordir wondered, even amidst his terror, how he had known of Lord Denethor's orb. Had he overheard the guards whispering of it, there, on the sixth level of Minas Tirith, as they passed him by, bearing Faramir toward the Houses of Healing? He had, and then, he remembered. The flames billowed, and he awoke, breathing heavy. He studied the faces in the room as he slowly regained his senses. Daerfalas, he knew well. But Baralinthor? Baralinthor was dead. How could he be alive, and present? Ivordir suspected he was still dreaming. Glossel sat near his side, stern as ever, and all was quiet. Ivordir's cheeks still pulsed with light bruises. The scent of precious oils filled the air.

Glossel tried to muster-up a smile, "I will seek for more balms and oils." She gave Daerfalas a curt nod and left the room.

Ivordir wanted to motion for her to wait, but she was gone, before he could do anything. Could he blame her for being so angry? He could not, and this fact terrified him. The overwhelming nature of his act slowly churned around him like restless winds. He turned and looked-up at Daerfalas.

At Ivordir's side Daerfalas sat, his face set grimly as he looked upon Ivordir's rousing form. Briefly he turned to Glossel to give her a curt nod, before turning his full attention once more upon his brother. "Ivordir," he said simply, reaching forward and placing a gentle hand over Ivordir's. "You have slept for some time." He mustered a smile, small and weary yet heartfelt. It was good to see Ivordir alert once more, and his eyes no longer posessed the flare of madness they had in the throne room. Instead they seemed uncertain, and Daerfalas managed another comforting pat to Ivordir's arm. "How do you feel?"

"Why do I yet live?" Ivordir muttered incorrigibly. He slowly propped himself up on the pillows that were behind his head and back.

Daerfalas retracted his touch, and folded his hands in his lap. "Because there are those who care for you yet, my Captain," he said quite seriously. "Is that so hard to believe?"

"I have led most of you to your deaths," Ivordir heaved a deep sigh, verging on despair, "What point is there to it all? Lord Ballithor was right... I am a fool... and we, we were all fools, to set forth from Dol Amroth..."

"Say not that my Lord Father was right," Baralinthor finally approached them. "We still yet live. Tell me, Captain, is it out of love for your men, or out of fear, that you speak such things?"

Daerfalas leaned back heavily into his chair. He looked to Baralinthor, frowning thoughtfully.

Ivordir stammered madly, "No, no, I will not surrender! I forbid it! None of you will perish under my command. Do you hear me? None of you."

"None of us have," Baralinthor pointed-out. "None of us who are yet living. You fear to lose us, so you would force us to lose you... Tell me, Captain, how will that lend aid to any of us?"

A wet, soft tear, slowly dripped down Ivordir's face. "I.... perhaps... perhaps you are...right.... but no. How can you be? Where are the rest of you, beginning with Dolthor? Will you not leave me to my doom, as I led them to theirs?"

"No," Daerfalas interrupted, fiercely. He leaned forward in his chair and fixed Ivordir with a furious stare. "No."

"Do not be foolish!" Baralinthor sternly replied. "They died in your service, yes, but of their own accord. They all had debts they owed, debts to pay, even with their lives, be they Dolthor or Aeg or... or Thanguron... all of them lived, and died, for you, my Captain. But if you die for us, it will accomplish nothing. Live, for us, Captain. Live. A Captain must live for those who serve him. As they serve him, so must he serve them, and such is a force of Gondor."

Ivordir stared at Daerfalas, "I......I'm sorry. I....." He slowly started breaking-down into tears. "What have I... done...."

Daerfalas stared, and his expression crumpled into one of relief. This was the man he recognized, despite his tears. "You have nearly succumbed to your sorrow," he said slowly, and he placed a heavy hand upon Ivordir's shoulder. "And to madness. But you did not, because the men that serve you are loyal to you. We understand the cost of war. Our losses are the summation of it. But brother, you have survived. We have survived. And we may yet see the end of it together."

"Yes..." Ivordir warmly smiled, "We may yet... we may yet... but oh, Daerfalas... how the flames of doubt and fear oppress me..." He looked up at Baralinthor, "Baralinthor, please see to my wife, see that her anger will not cause further sorrow... Bid her to return in peace, this eve, that we may speak..."

Baralinthor nodded, "Yes sir... as... as you command." Then he left the room.

"Daerfalas..." Ivordir warmly smiled. "I beg of you... to come and rest at my side again... oh how I must dream of strength anew..." He outspread his red and golden folds beside him on his place of rest.

Daerfalas returned the smile. He stood slowly, rolling the creaks of the stressful evening away from his shoulders, and unclasped his own cloak. Gently he sat at the side of the bed. "Are you rested?"

"I would rest with you, my brother," Ivordir deeply smiled.

Daerfalas' smile deepened. Gingerly he pulled himself back against the many pillows, and settled back comfortably. The bed was large enough to accomodate many, and so the two of them together were sprawled spaciously. Carefully he took the edge of Ivordir's cloak, and spread it out evenly atop them. As soon as the satiny cloth touched him, he felt awash with something akin to peacefulness. He sighed deeply.

Ivordir felt the sudden surge of peace as well. As he felt the pains of madness threatening to rise again, he swiftly enveloped Daerfalas in a deep embrace, deeply kissing his cheeks, as beauteous folds of gold and red surged around them. "Protect me, my brother," Ivordir whispered. "Save me..."

"You need no saving," Daerfalas murmured, holding his brother close. "We shall protect each other, as we have always done. 'tis unfair, how so much responsibility has fallen upon you, but you will find the strength to endure it. That I believe. None of our ills are of your fault."

"I hope not," Ivordir whispered, "I hope not... Yes..." The peace had fully washed-over him now, "Yes... 'We shall protect each other, as we have always done.' I will protect you, my brother..." Ivordir warmly smiled.

"And I, you," Daerfalas deeply smiled, "Always."
Edited by Ioristion, Dec 28 2016, 12:38 PM.
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