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| 18. Wind-Singers Volume III.II: The Final March; In the aftermaths of The Hunt and the Artifact: Auruiron, Cellindien, and Inheroth embark with their Host toward the East. | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Apr 6 2016, 02:01 PM (3,117 Views) | |
| Ioristion | May 16 2016, 01:17 PM Post #21 |
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Chapter XX: Selection of Recruits Melimwe called the soldiers and healers into their ranks. Auruiron processed between them, "We require provisions in order to journey much further. Those among us who are born of the First Age of this World or before should not go. Do I have any volunteers?" They stood as silent as solemn wisps of eternity. Finally, a soldier stepped forward. Alcano smiled, "I volunteer to lead the mission." Ioristion smirked, "I cannot go with you, my son. But I defer Cellindien's quest to protect me to be extended to protect you." "No, father. She must stay here, with her father. If she desires to go, then fine, but then he would also have to go, and he is of the First Age." Ioristion smiled, "Of Turgon's folk. Not those of Feanor. I maintain that they should go. It might do Aegnil some measure of good for his old wounds." Cellindien was rolling her eyes as Ioristion spoke. Aegnil was difficult to read. And so they formed-up, and Auruiron sent out the call again. Amarthandor, Sainion, and Auravon stepped forward reluctantly. Yucalwe smiled, "You will find Limdor, Palanelon, and Circhon, if they still dwell within the Golden Wood. They may remember your visit from the Second Age." Amarthandor nodded, "Yes. It is necessary." Lerinon sighed, "I cannot go. But I know who should go." Lerinon turned to Inheroth, "Your Prince commands you to enter into that line-up. Do so, and return in good fortune. If you stay hither with me, they will be one Elf short. Do not worry yourself about me, Inheroth. Fareon will watch me closely. No, do not speak back to me, for now is not the time." And Inheroth appeared to join the group reluctantly as well. Auruiron smiled, "If this new Company grows much larger, it will be noticed by the Lady of the Wood. Only two more can go." Amarthandor caught Arancir standing erect in the lines, grabbed his arm, and pulled him into the group. Macil reluctantly stepped forward. And Lerinon gazed at Inheroth's stricken face, and stepped forward, muttering to himself. And Rirossel stepped forward, stammering, "They need a least -one- healer with them." Auruiron nodded reluctantly, "So be it. Take all of the pack-horses. You may use them for yourselves as you journey south, but I want them leaden with provisions, and you will have to return on-foot. Cross the Old Ford and head south, and you will eventually reach the Gladden Fields. You must cross those fields and the river by the same name. Then, in time, the mallorn trees of Lothlorien will rise before you. Enter with caution, and avoid the Lady of the Wood, if you are able to do so. I fear that Lady, and I fear that she will hinder our final march. Go and return with good fortune. Beware goblins, wargs, and Yrch at nightfall, and stay close to the river, let it be your guide." The rest applauded. Alcano shouted, "Follow me!" And he began to march away. Amarthandor sighed, whispering to Arancir, "Let me get the horses. Our Golden Prince has messed us up again. He forgets that we also need provisions to get us south in the first place. Come on!" And they were across the bridge and heading south within the hour. Edited by Ioristion, May 16 2016, 01:52 PM.
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| Ioristion | May 16 2016, 02:56 PM Post #22 |
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Chapter XXI: Southward Bound Alcano's enthusiasm soon drifted away. They had journeyed for several leagues. They were cold and tired. Their limbs ached. And it occurred to them that they had set-out on a 250 mile journey in one direction. If only Yucalwe were with us... But Elves endured hardship longer than mortal men, for their bodies were made for the Earth. They made their way out of the fir-laden hills and crossed several vast green plains that were bisected by tiny streams. It reminded Alcano of his grandfather's tales of the Gap of Maglor. When they had marched thirty miles, they rested in a copse of trees astride a stream. Macil dreamed a pleasant dream. He was standing in the House of the Harp of old, with Salgion and several others. He turned the corner. Macilon was waiting for him, his back turned to the doorway into his marble chamber. "Why do you haunt me?" Macil inquired. Macilon slowly turned. His raven hair was longer than normal. His eyes were glistening. And his cloak seemed wider and longer. He smiled, "Come unto me, Rostor of old." Macil approached him. Macilon outspread his folds, and Macil dove within them. He felt them. He felt the cold, gentle folds of silk. He buried his lips in Macilon's cheek. This, too, surprised Macil. Macil inquired, "What are these sensations?" "Such is the power of vision," Macilon replied. "Step back from me." Macil obeyed. Macilon outspread his cloak again. His folds were glimmering, glistening, in fiery multiplicity of tones. Suddenly, he closed his folds, clapping his hands together, and a form appeared in the draping folds beneath his hands. His hands rose higher. The form had the shape of a humanoid. Macilon smirked slyly, and withdrew the folds. It was Finlos, as she had appeared long ago. And yet she wore the cloaks that Auruiron, Yucalwe, and Saelbainor had given to her. Her back was to Macil when she appeared. Her hair was longer than normal, stretching nearly to her knees. "Close your eyes," Macilon whispered. Macil obeyed. He reopened them on a familiar scene. They were far up on the hill overlooking Tum Laden, the same hill where he and Finlos had shared their first, chaste, kiss. And the sun was blazing brightly. And there was a great gust of wind. Macil's heart was throbbing. And Finlos' cloaks were flowing, billowing, flapping in the wind, stretching wide. And her hair fell like billowing silver down her back. She turned, outstretching her arms, her cloaks flowing behind her. She seemed a majestic High Queen of old, master over her power. Her cloaks flowed behind her in velvet embroidered gold, silken flaming crimson, bright silken fiery molten gold, all flowing in her majesty. And her hair uplifted, flowing behind her. And then she enclosed her cloaks around him, embracing him, as he hugged her tightly. He buried his head in her long silver hair as they embraced. She whipped her cloaks over their heads. He buried his head in her silken folds. She slowly pulled back the folds, and his heart throbbed as they shared the same, chaste, kiss, that they had shared so long ago. She beckoned to him, and he followed her, and Macilon trailed behind them. He grabbed the rear hems of her cloaks, processing behind her. It was too good to be true. Gondolin was shining before them in all its glory, the Citadel standing proud and high, the flapping banners glimmering in the sunlight. She whipped her cloaks above their heads again. All went black. "Now do you understand?" The voice of Macilon spoke. "This art our Enemy's craft. He creates fantasies for us. You did not kiss Cellindien. She sleeps by the tree across from you. Her father protects her in the shadows. The next time you will see her in this manner in a dream, it will not be she. Guldrambor will withdraw her kiss, and you shall stare into the eyes of terror, your heart withering, shrinking before you, the walls of your bower closing in around you, and then your heart will cease to beat. You will die, a lonely and pitiful death. Come! Hearken to her!" Macil found himself on the shores of a strange sea. Enemies were closing-in all around them. A shadow rose before the sea, bleak and terrible. An arrow passed swiftly toward Cellindien, who was fighting valiantly against her foes. Macil ran, placed himself between her and the arrow, as the arrow pierced his heart, blood pouring out like a libation from his chest, as he felt the icy cold shock of blood-loss overtaking him, the vision of the world around him fading into light, as he shut his eyes to Middle-Earth forever. He felt Macilon's hand raising him up. They were back in Macilon's manse of old. And Macilon declared, "You have seen thine greatest desire, that may slay thee. Then you have seen what may yet be, thine greatest fear, that may slay thee. And yet it may need not be so. For you have peered a glimpse not into the inevitable, but into the possible." Macil was weeping, "Praise be unto the Powers that brought you hither........" Macilon smiled, "I shall 'march' with you for a time. For now, you must rest yourself at ease." Macil regained his composure, "Tell me... how is it that the powers grant unto you such intervention?" Macilon nodded, "The Maia grants me permission to tell you: he is standing by my side, he, the brother of Amanuiron. And I stand with him beside a basin, clear as crystal, on a balcony on Tol Eressea, far through the Straight Road across the sea. The Palantiri are conduits to the powers of the West. And so is the artifact that you have within your midst." "Impossible! We left it behind with Auruiron, to protect it from the Lady of the Golden Wood!" "Did you?" "Oh no...... it still does not make sense. The Valar forbade direct intervention with the West, did they not?" "-Direct- intervention was forbidden." "And is this not -direct-?" "Believe it or not, it is not. You are dreaming, my brother. You have having visions. You are daydreaming and deeply dreaming. It is -your- imagination, -your- subconscious, that is open to my presence. And it is thy memory of me that maketh me appear. As for I........ another time. I will speak to you then. Think of me as your guardian ghost. I will protect you as I may." Macil nodded, still confused and frightened. "Take hold of my cloak." Macil obeyed. "And close thine eyes." Macil obeyed. He felt Macilon's gentle lips kiss him deeply on the cheek. Then Macil truly fell asleep, as the dark dream drifted away from him. Edited by Ioristion, May 22 2016, 06:45 PM.
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| Ioristion | May 16 2016, 04:33 PM Post #23 |
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Chapter XXII: Toward the Gladden Fields At dawn on the 31st, they awoke gently. Macil looked at Cellindien and smiled. But now he knew his peril. He withdrew to himself as they resumed their march, after they ate what they had preserved from Imladris. "We were fortunate that night," Macil sighed. "The Yrch must be afraid of the bear-people." "Beornings," Alcano smirked, correcting him. Macil nodded, "Well, whatever they are, they are an odd lot. Come, we cannot linger here. It is a long march south, and we will be fortunate to clear twenty-five miles today, if not thirty." "We are stronger than we look," Alcano scoffed. "Let us aim for fifty!" "30, and your knees will be brushing the dust," Cellindien returned absently. Macil blinked, "We should reach the woods of Lothlorien within the next eight days." They packed-up their belongings in their packs and continued. It had not snowed recently, but the fields turned into off-green hues, and gradually yellowed as they continued south. The trees were leafless, and the land was grim. The mountains towered above the foothills to the distant west. They made their way through the bleak plains along the Anduin. It was a silent, cheerless land, much akin to the Lonelands far to the west. They paused each hour, resting their legs, pacing themselves, and allowing the horses to drink and graze. They made their way parallel to a small island in the middle of the Anduin. The island appeared to be two miles in length. Here, they paused for the night. And Macil did not dream of Macilon. But Lerinon seemed to plunge into a brooding depression that grew deeper and deeper as they traveled. On December 2nd, they made their way through the terrain that did not seem to change at all. The land was still cheerless, lifeless, and not even the birds sang at their passage. They paused again after treading another thirty miles with brief periods of rest. On the 3rd, they continued, through the trackless lands, and gradually before them, the ground became wetter, as a marsh-ridden land grew before them. They found some dry-land to camp, and on the 4th, they reached the Gladden River. Alcano began ordering everyone to madly pile stones into the river. They piled enough stones to make an artificial ford. They camped that night along the river's shores, weary from the day's labor. So ended the 5th. Edited by Ioristion, May 16 2016, 05:29 PM.
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| Ioristion | May 16 2016, 05:00 PM Post #24 |
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Chapter XXIII: Dreams Astride the River While the others were sleeping, Lerinon was restless. He turned to his pack, revealing the artifact. He clutched it against his chest and closed his eyes. He opened his eyes on a long, lost world, that had previously been vague from his memories as a child. The hall was grand and wide. He had seen this before in other visions. It was all made of shining obsidian, and crystals lit the chamber, and he found himself surrounded by the Sindar. Their hair was dark and shiny, long and clean. Their robes were of various hues of green. Their eyes glistened brightly as if the stars of night. And their countenance was terrible and beautiful. Lerinon found himself bejeweled and robed in beauty, his cloak was of gold, and another cloak draped from atop his shoulders, of shining velvet green, lined with a golden-green hue, and his cloak sparkled, and a crown was upon his head. He felt his raven hair. It had grown far longer. And Inheroth stood behind the throne at the end of the hall before him. Lerinon began to process, his adherents were upholding the hems of his long cloaks behind him, and he felt as if he could see himself, at the same time that he embodied himself. It was a strange feeling. That feeling soon transfigured into a rapture of ecstasy as he outstretched his arms, approaching the throne. They draped his cloak beautifully around him as he turned to face the hall. He sat down on the throne, and felt a weight be placed upon his brow, by Inheroth behind him. And the chamber was filled with a spectrum of light, the light of Dior's Silmaril gliding brightly through the chamber. And the Sindar applauded. And Inheroth knelt before Lerinon, who stood, outstretching his folds with his arms, shining in his ecstasy of power and beauty. And Lerinon whipped his cloak over Inheroth, who stood, as the twain vanished beneath the folds, the Silmaril's light concealed between them. Lerinon kissed Inheroth deeply on the cheek, and he returned the gesture, and they embraced each other tightly, burying their faces in each others' hair. The room was filled with gleeful laughter. Lerinon outstretched his arms again, as Inheroth and others grabbed his folds, outstretching them beyond Lerinon's arms, as Lerinon grasped the Silmaril, gazing into its endless light and beauty, into its crystalline rainbow spectrum of light. He seemed a living monument of the ancient past. A cloaked figure entered the room. His hair was long, between blond and silver. His eyes sparkled. His silver cloak was lined with fiery tones of silk, long and magnificent. It was Thranduil, King of the Woodelves of Mirkwood. He approached and outspread his cloak on his arms, bowing before Lerinon, "My King...." And Lerinon was crowned with a crown of reeds woven in the shapes of antlers. Then Thranduil embraced Lerinon and Inheroth, who buried their faces in his long hair, his long cape folding around them, curling around their shoulders and then atop their heads. They deeply kissed each others' cheeks in all their revelry. They emerged from the cape, the rest of the Elves crawling toward them on their knees. Then Lerinon commanded a dance. Several Silvan ladies came forth in fancy capes and long, silvery dresses, and the harp was strung and the lyre plucked and their long, brown hair flowed in their dark beauty, whipping and flipping as they twirled. And Thranduil himself joined them in their revelry, and the madness grew even quicker. He whipped his hair, flipping it as he twirled, as the ladies upheld his cape, dancing in a circle. Lerinon's heart was pounding with the rhythms of the drums. Then Inheroth joined the dance. Lerinon felt ecstatic. Then they called for Lerinon, who arose himself, and he danced in the center, his own hair flipping, as the Sindar danced around him, to the point that he felt sick and dizzy. He felt as if he had drunk too much wine. The madness slowly sunk its way deep into his fea. Then, he recognized it. The dancing ceased. A darkly cloaked figure entered the chamber. The other revelers ran away from Lerinon. The voice of Macilon spoke, "Do you not see, child of Doriath, that none of this is real? A power vies with another within thine jewel. Awaken! For the next one to pass these mental doors shall be thine killer." Macilon strode in haste to Lerinon, who stood in shock, as Macilon whipped his cloak across Lerinon's face, the room vanishing into shadow. The Silmaril was the last to vanish. And then it, too, was gone. Lerinon opened his eyes. It was still the dead of night. He hid the artifact in his pack anew, and then he fell asleep again, and did not dream again that night. Edited by Ioristion, May 20 2016, 01:42 PM.
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| Ioristion | May 16 2016, 05:22 PM Post #25 |
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Chapter XXIV: A Last-Ditch Trek They awoke at dawn and Macil caught sight of something gleaming in Lerinon's satchel. He stormed-over and revealed the artifact. He stammered, "This was supposed to remain behind!" Lerinon rubbed his eyes, "Wha...?" Macil furiously grabbed the satchel, "I will carry this myself. It will be a wonder if we are not brought into the heart of the Golden Wood for questioning by her Ladyship herself. Inheroth, it is your solemn duty to keep Lerinon away from this satchel." Inheroth nodded. Lerinon stammered, "Get thee away! The artifact belongs to me now!" And, with that, Macil tossed Lerinon in the river, the others snickering standing-by. Lerinon was shivering from the cold, "You.... I will make you pay for this." Macil smirked, "Ever filled to the brim with cliches, are you? Get back into line. This is a deadly journey, not an excursion into Forlindon. These wilds are unnoticed. Let us hope that our presence will remain unnoticed." They gathered their belongings again and crossed their artificial ford. They crossed where the river was not terribly wide. They continued through the fens and marshes, reaching their end, and they were back in the plains again. They opted to press onward for fifty miles. Their provisions were running lower and lower. They followed the Anduin, streaming in its beauty. They camped at the riverside, and awoke at dawn again on the 7th, and their sluggish journey continued. They passed through the 8th and 9th with little incident. But now they were tired and sick of their burdensome journey, and the 10th finally brought them good fortune: the mallorns were rising beyond the forested hills ahead. The land grew strangely warmer and brighter. A golden haze seemed to set upon their line of vision. And as the sun set, they passed beneath the eaves of the Golden Wood without a word. |
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| Ioristion | May 16 2016, 08:22 PM Post #26 |
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Chapter XXV: Beneath the Eaves of the Golden Wood Macil called for a halt. He had had enough of Alcano's foolishness-in-command. Their limbs were weathered with fatigue, and something felt fresh and clean. It was a whisper of the West, the last true bastion of the High Eldar, Silvan folk, and Sindar, all combined and wedding beneath the golden eaves of this land. They set-up their makeshift camp, and Macil volunteered to take the watch that night. They awoke at dawn on December 11th, feeling strangely well-rested and at ease. The grass was soft beneath their heads. The flowers bloomed despite the onset of winter. The whole camp re-awoke. Cellindien and Aegnil had elected to come, though Aegnil had done so less willingly. He had seemed strangely resistant to the beauty of the woods. Cellindien remained near him, and as the camp arose and the once-Swordmaster remained at rest, she sat near him, as if on guard despite the beauty. Macil sat near them, on-guard as well. The words of Auruiron concerning Galadriel worried him. Cellindien had initially signed for Macil to be silent, but as time passed and Aegnil remained unaware she knelt beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder as no others dared to do. "Father. It is day." Slowly he turned on the bedroll, drawing back his cloak and sitting up. He did not speak, only nodded gratefully to his daughter. Lerinon turned to Inheroth, still in awe at the landscape around him, "Am I dreaming again?" Inheroth sat up, his eyes adjusting as he pulled himself out from their reverie. "Nay," he replied with a gentle frown, at ease but slightly confused. "Unless we share a dream." Alcano sighed, "This land....... it reminds me of grandfather's tales of the West of old....... even our home pales in comparison......." He came and sat by Inheroth and Lerinon. Inheroth turned to Alcano, stretching out his strangely rested limbs against the soft grass. "The beauty of the Golden Wood is legendary. In the Greenwood, even before the darkness came, its name evoked such visions." Amarthandor smiled, "I remember journeying here long ago, during the Last Alliance. This was one of the few pleasant parts of the journey." He sat nearby with his companions. "Do you agree, Arancir?" Arancir closed his eyes and sighed deeply, having at once lost himself in memory. His hair fluttered in a gentle breeze. "Indeed. Of the horrors to remember of that journey, this land was a balm. It continues to be now." Sainion sat silently, breathing deeply as he meditated. Auravon blinked, "We did not fear the Lady's presence then. Why should we fear her now?" Lerinon turned to Auravon, "Because of something terrible I did......... Macil has the artifact now. He caught me." Lerinon gazed sadly at Inheroth. Inheroth returned his brother's gaze steadily, his eyes soft and luminous with the gentle light filtering in from the trees. "I fear you have made our journey a little more perilous, gwador; even if that was not your intent." Lerinon nodded, "I snatched it from Ioristion's pack er we parted. Ioristion was taking a nap when I did so. I suppose standing on my father's battle-line tired him out. It would have worked its mischief in either party. I had the strangest dream several nights ago..... it was as if I was King Dior himself, and you were there........ but then a strange Noldo approached and told me, the next time I ever dreamed such a dream, some darkness would approach from beyond those mental doors and kill me, for real." Inheroth frowned, his brow lined with worry. "I am glad then that you are no longer in possession of such a thing, if indeed this dream came to you because you bore it." He sighed deeply. "Well then. We have always planned to avoid the Lady's people. We shall just have to be more careful...." Macil turned to Aegnil, "You seem troubled. What ails you?" Cellindien returned her father's respect and turned to go, taking her pack and walking towards the river. Macil shrugged his shoulders and turned to follow her. Aegnil's hand snapped out, quickly but gently catching Macil's arm. "Leave her. She is safe enough, and it is morning. Even a warrior such as she requires some privacy." Lerinon nodded to Inheroth, "Wait a moment...... Macil has the artifact, and....... he is sitting next to Aegnil. I know who Aegnil truly is, from Ioristion's stories that Macil told him long ago. Who is more unwise? Me or he?" Macil turned to Aegnil, "Oh very well. You still have not answered my question." "I am singed, you know that well, Son of the Harp," Aegnil chided. His voice was bitter, and harsher than it had been in past months. "I should not have come. Only evil can come from this... an oath-taker in the Golden Wood." "An oath-taker? How interesting!" a strange voice came from behind them. Macilon stepped into view as if nothing was wrong, his cloak draping across the golden leaves behind him. Macil turned, "You haunt me still, spirit, ally of the Mole? Be gone, before the Lady of the Wood notices your presence!" Inheroth shook his head slowly at Lerinon. "I know not. I think it dangerous for anyone to wield it. I would not," he admitted, casting his eyes downward. "Alas, it is amongst us now. It must be borne hence. He started slightly at the sound of Macil's risen voice, and turned to stare." Aegnil turned quickly to follow Macil's stare, but the forest was empty. His good eye narrowed and he drew his spear from where it lay beside him. "Macil... what manner of trick is this? What do you see?" Macil, sick of being deemed a mad-elf by his own Company, brought the artifact out of the satchel, "Touch this and find-out, Swordmaster!" Macilon laughed, "Do you truly wish to know how these powers have come into being?" He appeared into Aegnil's line of sight. "You are experiencing a vision, not a spirit, and yes, the Maia who is the true source of this power, has finally granted me permission to attend the truth." Aegnil hissed in anger, seizing Macil's arm and grappling with him, attempting to return the artifact to hiding. "You endanger us all, fool!" Macilon continued, "You must know, Swordmaster, Son of the Harp, that thine Enemy shall take thine weaknesses and use them against thee both. Know that I am, in truth, standing on the Isle of Tol Eressea, across the sea, past the Straight Road. By the grace of the Powers, I am permitted to appear in dreams, and even within slight visions, that blur with thine own reality." Macil resisted Aegnil's attempt to conceal the artifact, "Wait. Wait. I believe him. Are you meaning to tell us that you are not some fell spirit?" Inheroth made to stand, beckoning for Lerinon. "What is he doing?" "A swordmaster I am no longer," defied Aegnil. "I shall not lay hand to a blade again, nor shall I stoop to listen to the tales of a maia, be he light, dark, or cryptic!" Macilon smiled, "Through thine mind's own powers, I do appear. And so did Findekano long ago. As for you, Aegnil the Scarred, know that thou must listen, if thou desireth to be freed from thine oath." Lerinon shouted, "Macil! Are you speaking with a dark-clad Elf in a cloak lined with blood-red silk, standing before you?" Macil nodded, "How did you know?" Lerinon and Inheroth rushed over to them, "I dreamed of him! I dreamed of him!" Alcano stood, "Macil! Are you mad! What of the Lady of the Wood! Her sentries could be watching us as we speak!" "Begone!" Aegnil snarled, tearing himself away from Macil and staggering back, seeming not to notice the others. "Begone!" Lerinon was afraid to hear a shout of "Daro!" at a moment's instance. Arancir stood further from the rest of the company, his eyes boring into the depths of the trees, watching for signs of movement. Their raised voices may have caught the attention of something. Macilon did not depart. He approached even closer, "Tell me, Servant of the Fount. How much do you care for thine daughter?" They had caught the attention of the lone elleth, at the least, for Cellindien reappeared through the trees, running, hair loose and hanging wet about her shoulders. And Lerinon reached-out and touched the artifact, and beheld Macilon before his eyes. He grabbed Inheroth's left-hand, touching it to the jewel as well. Lerinon gasped, "Oh Phantom of mine darkest dreams....... why do you torture us?" Aegnil turned to flee and fell to his knees, hands clapped over his ears, face contorted in a grimace, his spear fallen beside him. "Daro!" an Elf-voice shouted from a nearby tree. His face was fresh and youthful, silver hair pouring down his head, framing his face, and he was robed in a light leather tunic, and his cloak was of a shining silver. But the Company did not notice him. Attention had shifted to Aegnil and the strange claims of a ghost haunting in their midst. Inheroth recoiled, but he did not pull away. His eyes went wide and he cast a look around. Macil turned to aid Aegnil. The air grew hotter. The eaves of the Golden Wood seemed to slip away. A stone courtyard surrounded them, the Harpist and the Swordmaster. There were cries and screams, and the sound of swords clashing, as flames bellowed and roared. "End this, Macilon!" Macil shouted. "May the Valar cease this foolishness! Who gave you this authority? This Maia? WHO IS HE!" "He is Uireb, brother of Amanuiron. Lord Irmo does not know the specifics, or does not care to inform us that he knows. But Uireb commands that you both return to this day that haunts thine memories and dreams." Macilon smirked wildly. Cellindien alone obeyed the Silvan command, halting on the edge of the camp, one hand on her sword hilt but no enemy in sight. Aegnil sprawled on the ground, mouth open wide, as if in a shout or scream, but no sound escaped. Macil appeared to freeze beside Aegnil. Neither were responsive. Still the Swordmaster fought on. He fought out of the courtyard, through the streets, stumbling back, falling, and the ground opened beneath him... a chasm, once a storage cave, now a burning pit of rubble and flaming timbers. Inheroth watched, utterly still, having lost himself in the vision; the woods around them had disappeared, and he stared into the maw of the earth. Heat flared in his wake, flames belching forth as if it to swallow their victim wholly. But Luingil was not left alone on the street to see it. He lay again in the burning rubble, felt the heat of the embers bubbling through his flesh, screamed with the pain. The Silvan Elf stared at them all curiously in reality. The Elf turned to Cellindien, "They appear to be in some kind of trance......." Lerinon stood beside Inheroth in the vision, "Melimwe must have already fled with Finlos, according to the tales I have heard. Oh poor Luingil......." Slowly Inheroth nodded. He knew these stories; to see it unfold was a very different thing. His heart hammered. Above Aegnil all light failed, in a billow of smoke. A timber above creaked, failing under the relentless attack of the flames. He closed his eyes, drawing in slow, agonized breaths that boiled his lungs from the inside out. And then... he rose. He screamed, choked, rolled to the side. Heaving, he dragged himself onward, seeing only darkness. But in the darkness, there was a cry... just for a moment, only a brief moment. And he knew that cry, better than he knew himself, better than he knew any other memory. His lips moved, and he knew no more. Macil was furious, and yet he felt deep pity, for the suffering of the Swordmaster. He turned to Macilon, "Why are we here?" Macilon smiled, "We are here because it is essential that Aegnil confront himself, his past, his agony. If he does not, then this shall be the last sight his mind will ever see within the confines of this world." Macil laughed despite all the carnage surrounding him, "So this is Guldrambor's fell power? I thought he would force us to see our deepest desires, tricking us!" Macilon nodded, "And, also, if that does not work its labor, he shall deceive you with thine greatest fears." In the Golden Wood, Cellindien's eyes flickered briefly to the Silvan Elf, than to her father. His chest heaved painfully, then suddenly went still, and she screamed, running to him. "Father!" In the vision, Macilon turned to Aegnil, "Confront thine fear. Thine daughter hath already done so. Steel thine nerve. You are safe within these visions, but not in those of the Enemy. The Enemy knows how to unseam the strongest minds, the greatest of hearts." Macil stammered, "Why does this brother of our Enemy not show himself!" "Because he is forbidden to intervene directly," Macilon replied. "Do you think that I enjoy seeing you all these leagues and a world away? Do you think that I enjoy being forced to do this? None of this ought to have happened. But thine Enemy escaped justice, and so, all that you have experienced is thine reality." Within the vision, Luingil rose, a shade from the body of Aegnil. He was silent under Macilon's demands, eyes distant. "I have found her," he whispered. "She cried out, and I have found her." Macil turned to Macilon, "Macilon....... end this vision before we lose our minds completely." The vision faded from their eyes, as the Golden Wood re-grew around them. Macil un-froze and ran to Aegnil beside Cellindien. Inheroth drew in a deep, steadying breath, already surmising their surroundings. He caught sight of the Silvan Elf and felt his stomach plummet. "We have been discovered," he whispered. Macil felt Aegnil's chest, "Why is he not breathing!" Aegnil remained still, chest motionless, scarred face cast over with a deathly pallor. Tears ran down Cellindien's cheeks and she cradled her father's head in her hands, searching for a pulse beneath his jaw, but it was not there. Macil turned to Lerinon, shouting, "YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS MADNESS! Give me thine cloak, NOW!" Arancir stepped over to Aegnil's prone form, looking down at him with grave concern. Macil covered Aegnil in Lerinon's cloak, as Rirossel began chanting. For he was beyond the point of athelas. Macil seized the artifact, and a strange scene unfolded before their eyes. Macilon stood on one side of Aegnil, and Guldrambor on the other. Guldrambor was naught but a dark shadow. A great light enveloped Macilon. The light warred with the shadow. And Aegnil appeared between them, hale, and waiting. A voice cried-out from the West. The light overpowered Guldrambor, who vanished. And then the vision subsided. Macilon whispered, "I am sorrowful for you all...... we warred with the Enemy for control over this bastion of his former power........ and the West has reclaimed it completely. But it was far too much for the Swordmaster's weathered heart." Only his voice had whispered, his appearance having faded. And then the voice was silent. Lerinon ran away towards the river. Cellindien gasped, clutching her father's robe with both hands and bent over him with a cry that turned into a sob. Inheroth stood still and stricken, looking between Cellindien and her fallen father, and Lerinon vanishing behind the line of trees. Indecision was in every line of his face, as was sorrow. The others in their Company sat solemn and silent. And the Silvan Elf declared, "Some fell sorcery has occurred within these sacred Woods. The Lady of the Wood will have felt it, through her Girdle, through the hidden power that she possesses. Doom never comes to those who seek refuge hither, unless they bear it with them." And then he fell silent, tears falling from his cheeks as well. The Silvan Elf's words sprung Inheroth into action. With one last searching, apologetic glance towards the others, he hurried off, following the sound of Lerinon's fleeing footsteps through the foilage. "Gwador!" he cried out, until he too disappeared. Cellindien moaned softly, still bent over her father. She seemed lost to the others, fingers tracing the lines of his garb. Arancir, his eyes full of tears, chimed in, "Please, no one can know of this..." The Silvan Elf smiled as he wept, "She may, or she may not. It is for none of us to know, unless she seeks us out herself. She may have felt this evil, but she has felt many evils, for the dark powers of Dol Guldor infringe upon the borders of this land, from north to south. The evil that we have sensed hither may have been masked by greater evil, flowing from across the river." Macil felt tempted to embrace Cellindien as she wept, to lend her comfort. But he knew better. He knew there was little comfort to be had. To his surprise, he himself was weeping. "Lerinon!" Inheroth called out. He was quickly approaching the shore of the River. Lerinon ran past the large, white boughs of the mallorn trees that flourished above him. He ran toward the river's edge. The land had arisen on a substantial height. And the river yawned beneath him, the dark forest of Mirkwood looming in the distance, as darker clouds gathered atop their eaves. He stared silently as the deep waters beneath him, "I killed him..... I have doomed us all....... this, this is the legacy........ of my branch of my House.................. me, like my father, who kept the Silmaril.................. uncle of Earendil, now may you hope, that thy nephew shall not see thee leap, from thy ethereal Light in the stars above." Lerinon prepared to jump. Inheroth acted without thought. It seemed that Lerinon, lost in his own dreadful musings, did not even hear him approach. His reaction was swift. He gathered Lerinon in his arms and wrenched him back violently. They stumbled down into the sand. The water's edge lapped at the tip of their boots. Lerinon stammered, "For once, Gwador, let me die! I am guilty! Let me die before another innocent perishes on this quest because of me!" A voice spoke in reply, "No. You will not stain this sacred land with thine own self-death. Stand and account for yourselves, strangers beneath the Wood!" "Cease this madness!" Inheroth cried out, his voice quivering. "Would you truly throw your life into these perilous waters; would you truly seek to rid thyself of friends and family for this...this...vision!" He was angry, again. He stilled only to hearken the words of the Silvan Elf, but his breath came out in harsh puffs. Lerinon abruptly turned to see another Silvan Elf standing, staring at them wrathfully. His hair was of a bright silver that veered toward blond. His garb was similar to his brother-at-arms'. Inheroth made to stand, pulling Lerinon up with him. His grasp on his brother did not lessen, his strength propelled by the myriad of his mixed emotions. The sight of the stranger only increased them. And then another Elf appeared at his side. "Come, we will return to the others. There will be a reckoning. For you have brought evil beneath the sacred eaves of this Wood." They returned to the mourning field where they had encamped. The first Silvan Elf spoke to his brothers-at-arms, "Palanelon. Circhon. Tell me, what shall we do for these strange folk?" Palanelon replied, "The cloak that the red-headed one wears... the older one...... We have seen it before, Limdor. Remember that Yucalwe, who used to live with us, centuries ago?" Limdor scoffed, "They have nothing to do with Yucalwe Ranyaro. Nonsense." Macil stood, "Think again. For we marched alongside him. Do you not remember?" "There were many Elves who marched beside us er we took the road to war. But we sentries did not go. We were not equipped." Macil tried to smile, "We came in search of you. Yucalwe is far north of the forest at the Old Ford. He sent us in search of provisions for a long journey. He even implied that you might come with us." Limdor's eyes grew wide, "You do know him! Well..... I suppose that we must lend aid. Our first service must attend to the burial of this body. Who was he?" Macil bowed low, "He was my father. Cellindien here is his daughter. I beg of you, give her peace. I am mourning deeply within and can barely speak to you myself." The other Elves remained wary, silent, and sorrowful. Limdor bowed low, "Mourn as long as you may. But a hroa should not be kept above ground for long. It, too, is sacred, and must be returned to the sacred earth." Macil sighed as he wept, "And how convenient it is..... that you were stationed here all the time......... terribly convenient." Cellindien raised her head from her father's chest. "....It is fitting. His fea is free..... let the hroa be... also...." Limdor tried to smile, "We seldom dwell in one place for long in this Wood. We travel from flet to flet. If we were not hither today, you would have found us eventually, if you followed the flets. As for your father........ know that true freedom is within the soil. He is not free above the soil, for the beasts of the wilds will seek to feed on him. Let him be buried deep, safe, and free forever. That is my counsel." Cellindien nodded. "Then... let it be cool... and soft. May it hold him gently." She staggered. "And may Illuvatar hold my own hroa firm... until it is no longer needed." She bowed her head, tried to step away, and collapsed. Macil ran over to her, getting himself beneath her, cradling her as she rested in his arms. Amarthandor sighed and went to the pack-horse, pulling-out a shovel, "I found this on the Eriador road once, some traveler must have lost it." Silently and sadly, he began to dig, until his arms tired-out, and then Auravon took-over, and by the time Sainion was finished with it, the hole was fresh and deep. Gently and reverently, they lowered the body into the pit, and then covered it over, taking shifts again, till the pit was completely filled. Then athelas herbs were sprinkled on its surface, and a Limdor brought forth a special marble stone, to place atop of it. And Limdor took-out his chisel, as Macil whispered the name, "Aegnil," which Limdor began to carve in Sindarin-script. When it was done, the stone was placed. So ended December 11th. Time stood still in Lorien as they rested. They preferred resting on the ground to Limdor's flets above. Limdor acknowledged that these events would force him to journey to Caras Galadhon, while the rest of them waited with bated breath. Edited by Ioristion, May 16 2016, 08:43 PM.
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| Ioristion | May 16 2016, 08:42 PM Post #27 |
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Chapter XXVI: Enduring Winter During that time, Inheroth did not let Lerinon from his sight. If before they were always within close proximity, now Inheroth could not be swayed to leave his very side. His look was one of perpetual worry. He had thought that Lerinon's first attempt on his own life to be a singular impulse. Now he feared for his gwador's mind. Cellindien rested near the grave for a time, refusing any company. Then, with the following sunrise, she arose and took to walking the forest floor near their camp, sometimes pacing, sometimes standing motionless, silent. Then, at last, she returned to the others, aged, quieter, but hale. When she learned of the trouble with Lerinon she joined Inheroth's watch, determined that no more lives would be lost in the wood and glad for a purpose as they awaited the next step of their journey. And Limdor began supplying them with lembas, the Elvish waybread of the West, that the Lady of the Wood had planted in her glades. Some of Limdor's comrades had felt the reverberations of evil in the wood, but they dismissed it as something stirring in Dol Guldor again, and Limdor did not correct them. No word came from the Lady in Caras Galadhon. Macil stared at the grave-site, keeping the artifact hidden in his satchel. He maintained a long-standing watch over it. He meditated over his long years of wandering, of how he had locked himself in a perpetual adolescence, longing for his lost love. She had learned. He had not. He meditated on Aegnil's suffering in the vision. He meditated on his vision of himself giving his life to protect Cellindien. "I have tried too hard," he moaned to himself, "I have tried too hard." December passed and January followed, and the mallorn trees became even golder, and their time passed solemnly as they waited. Limdor forbade them from venturing further into the wood. They did not want to venture further, lest the Lady ensnare them, hindering their quest. Macil finally thought of Auruiron and Melimwe and wondered how they fared. North of the Old Ford, Auruiron paced back and forth in his war-tent. By now, their only food-source was Beorning honey-cakes, which the Beornings were loathe to part with. But the leader of the Beornings had introduced himself as "Eldrand" and was forced to smuggle goods from their kin in the north. Melimwe was growing impatient. He, too, was pacing. The winter for the Noldor was cold and wet. They suffered in frigid blizzards, and the river began to freeze. They warmed themselves with fires, and Eldrand refused to take the furs. Survival was now their goal. Tolls no longer mattered. "There ain't enough room in Grimbeorn's Lodge!" Eldrand had stammered. "This is as far as go before winter thaws." "This is the Helcaraxe all over again," Auruiron muttered to himself. "We have faced worse cold," Melimwe reminded him. "This is no Helcaraxe." Auruiron finally stammered, "Melimwe, we have had enough of this. We better get moving south to find them. It was wrong for our Company to split forces." They conferred with Eldrand, who agreed, "Grimbeorn's said he's refusin' to let you north now. He's cutting the provision supply. We have no choice. We will not go north where the Eotheod dwelt, in their cold, wet plains along the river. Nor will we take that cheerless pass between the Grey Mountains and the Forest." So they took their remaining provisions, packed-up their tents, and began their long march south, following the river. Over two weeks later, for the snow had slowed them down, and the ice on the Gladden River had made it difficult, they reached the eaves of the Golden Wood. And it was February 12th when Auruiron arrived, and learned of Macil's delay: the death of Aegnil Luingil. Auruiron's fury at their abandonment subsided, and even the five Beornings were moved to sorrow at the sight of the grave. Edited by Ioristion, May 17 2016, 07:35 PM.
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| Ioristion | May 16 2016, 08:55 PM Post #28 |
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Chapter XXVII: Redemption of the Feanorian Noldor, Gleaming from a Golden Wood Rirossel smiled ecstatically as she turned to see her husband and son approaching. She did not have time to speak to them for nearly two years. It ached her heart. Her smile widened. Cullasson strode up to her, "It reminds you of olden times, does it not?" Rirossel laughed ecstatically, "It does. How fares our son?" "I am well," Cullastor replied. "Hale and healthy." They began by deeply embracing each other. When their embrace was over, Rirossel frowned slightly, "Your absence was noted among us........" Cullasson heaved a deep sigh, "I was hunting........." "Hunting the Orcs who assailed us?" Cullasson nodded, "Cullastor was with me." Rirossel smiled, "He is a strong boy. You know...... you should not have left me alone with my sister and her kin like that. I trust you both did well dwelling in Minas Noldorion?" Cullasson nodded, "Why are we having this conversation now?" Rirossel blinked, "You know how shy I am. And we were busy. I was busy caring for Cellindien and Ros.... Macil. And for my sister, and for Ioristion, and for Alcano." Cullasson bowed, "We were busy, hunting game in Harlindon, roasted beasts for the fires. Fed our fellow exiles. You could have stayed with us, you know." Rirossel nodded, "I got too involved, between the Golden Bough and Rostoriel's household. Who feeds those who remain behind?" Cullasson smiled, "They are provided for. The provisions are preserved in salt for the winter. Worry yourself not. We hunted enough." Rirossel smirked, "And you could not bring yourselves to tell me this, as we were leaving Imladris? Or perhaps during one of our many encampments thus far?" Cullasson laughed, "My dear Rirossel..... you know we had not the time to speak of the past. We were trailed by wargs and orcs and goblins. We were taken aback by the presence of those Beor- I mean, our new guests in our Company. And winter was coming. We had to hunt for game on the western side of the Old Ford, as well as for our assailants. Those Beornings are strong folk. They saved our necks while we were out there." Rirossel nodded, "Well, I suppose I should consider myself relieved that you both did -not- lose your necks." They embraced as if they had embraced for the first time. Cullastor turned away, laughing, "Oh no.... not again......." Cullastor's heart sung. It had been well over a year and a half before he had truly seen his mother again. They had seen her during the travel preparations, but they were all busy, stressed, and unable to speak of their past adventures. It was difficult to converse of such things when the wargs were assailing them. And it was even more difficult when Cullasson and Cullastor were both taking scouting duties. The duties of the maintenance of a war-camp had split the family. By the time they had reached Lothlorien, they were exhausted. Now, for once, they could rest. It was not long before Rirossel turned to face him, "Young hunter, come over here!" And Rirossel and Cullastor deeply embraced. And Rirossel, finally, forgot the pain of waiting. So ended the 12th. On the eve of the 15th, Auruiron gazed at the stars as he stood in the wilderness. His comrades were asleep, his family and many others. Inheroth and Lerinon were sleeping, their backs against a tree. Their other brothers were sleeping near at hand. The twain were clearly dreaming and not staring at any objects in their reverie. Auruiron noticed that the wind had blown Lerinon's cloak into a pile on their laps. He gently tucked the cloak around their shoulders, kissing them quietly on their cheeks, without rousing them from slumber. Auruiron felt a sudden urge. He came down to the waters of the Anduin. They within the northern part of the Golden Wood. Auruiron played on his harp, singing softy, so that his voice did not carry above the sounds of the surging currents of the river. It had reached Midnight. As he sang, he thought he heard the sound of a gown trailing softly down stairs of stone. He thought he heard the pouring. He thought he saw a Golden Ring within the shadow of his mind. As he sang, he heard a voice inside himself: "Hear now the Third Theme. May the Hosts of Melkor be forever silent." The Third Theme. The thought grew brighter and more brilliant in his mind. He swooned as he sat playing. He swooned at the thought of that Theme. As he plucked his string, he gazed at the Ring within his imagination, a thought rather than a vision. He wanted to imagine himself reaching out his hands to seize it, but paused, and in pausing, lowered his imagined hand and arm. He thought he heard the sound of an elleth's voice. He turned around. Silence. He continued to sing and watch the river. As he sang, the following thought came unbidden within his mind: "Ye have passed the test. 'Tears unnumbered shall ye shed.' Tears of endless joy. The Host of the Eldar shalt return. The Great Journey, they shall conclude, as was bidden at the time of their Awakening. Unto the Lonely Isle, they shalt be welcomed, unto their kith and kin. Exiles, they shalt be no more. The son who surrendered the Light shalt be restored, unto his kith and kin, and all who will follow him, from the Uttermost East unto the Uttermost West. The Restored shall they be forever." The words had come into his mind spontaneously. They had entered without the need to hear them from voice or vision. He heard them from his own thoughts, and as he sang all the more deeply, the stronger the words became within his mind. And far south, down the Anduin's currents, beyond the Golden Wood and the wide Lands of Brown and flower-ridden fields of Celebrant and the marshes of the Undeeps, beyond the golden Rohirric fields of the Wold, beyond the rapids of Sarn Gebir and the stony canyons and the great Argonath, the Kings of Men standing tall and proud, and beyond the still surface of Nen Hithoel, beyond the surging falls of Rauros and the wide angle of the Entwash's Mouths, beyond Cair Andros, beyond Osgiliath, and the band ringing around the Rammas Echor and the Pelennor, Minas Tirith shining in the moonlight, down to Pelargir and up the Sirith's currents, a surge of hope grew within the hearts of Ivordir's Company, a hope that infiltrated their dreams. The Elves remained in the Golden Wood for another month. The Beornings took to eating lembas, which they complained about, and they preferred to stay a league north of the Golden Wood, away from elven arrows that might mistake them for wild bears. Time continued to pass slowly in the timeless land. And Auruiron scolded Ioristion and Lerinon, and took control of the artifact himself, leaving it in hiding. Auruiron had sung lays of mourning at Aegnil's grave. Limdor told Auruiron that he should not fear the Lady of the Wood, for she was preoccupied with greater matters in southern Lothlorien. Limdor, Palanelon, Circhon, Yucalwe, Ioristion, Macil, Amarthandor, Auravon, and Sainion, all spent their time telling old war stories about the Last Alliance and their time in the Golden Wood long ago. Saelbainor Mistaro listened and contributed where he could. And Cellindien's watch over Lerinon ever resumed at daylight. Edited by Ioristion, May 20 2016, 01:12 PM.
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| Ioristion | May 17 2016, 07:22 PM Post #29 |
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Chapter XXVIII: Lingering in the Wood "Melimwe, why do we linger?" Auruiron inquired. Melimwe sighed, "We linger because we are stubborn. We love the peacefulness beneath these eaves...... alas that Cellindien has strugged..... alas for Aegnil....... alas that this beautiful land has been marred grievously by such sorrow...........stare at it, my brother. Stare at the grave and see it." "I see Annunon and Astarseron's bodies beneath that stone as well......... I see every Noldo who fell in Eregion...... I see every Elf who perished under my command...... and for what? For what purpose? Brave Macalaure did not even....." "He would have come, if you had -allowed- him to come." "I could not risk...." "YOU COULD NOT RISK!" Melimwe's eyes were stern in their countenance. "You must understand. We gave up everything for him, and now he rests, in peace, beneath the Golden Bough! Oh Auruiron, if only I could go back, if only I could return to that fateful day, I ought to have bound and gagged you! I ought to have prevented that Affirmation from slipping from thy lips, and from anyone's lips! I ought to have locked you in your Lord-Father Alcarin's manse and left you there, until High King Finarfin returned with his penitent followers, an illustrious ruler in all his glory! But you, Auruiron, would have none of it, would you? Oh alas and woe upon thy lips! Thy song is cursed. Thy strings are over-used. Thy voice is silenced. Did Macalaure ever care? We were his annoying followers, whom pestered him, leaving him no peace....... save when his brothers -saved- him from us....... Who records our songs among the lays of mighty deeds? Who sings of -you- in the Hall of Fire? No one. I seek not glory. Nor do I seek greatness. I follow you now, to seek a final end to this, this tragedy of our lives that has seethed within me, singeing my fea. Long did I wait for you to love me as a brother, to find in me, what you found in Macalaure. And if you but did, long ago, Aegnil might be living, standing tall before us, and Astarseron and Almareon might have stood beside him. But no. Here we stand, my brother. Here, in our revelry. Winter must pass before we can march, but we will march all the sooner, without the threat of snow, of frost-biting nights in the harsh desert climes of the East." Auruiron was on his knees, sobbing before the grave of Aegnil. And Melimwe took advantage of the moment: "Should Macalaure decide to remain beneath the Golden Bough, if ever we return beneath it, you will choose......" "To leave him behind, and sail to the West without him," Auruiron wept. "No," Melimwe replied. "We will bind -him- if we must. I will not see our centuries of bloodshed be rendered void by his pitiful father Feanor's Oath. Oh no, my brother. We shall not depart these shores without him, not after having sacrificed so much to find him. But, we will see to it that he comes willingly." Edited by Ioristion, May 20 2016, 09:55 PM.
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| Ioristion | May 17 2016, 07:35 PM Post #30 |
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Chapter XXIX: Celebressel of Lothlorien The camp had grown considerably on Auruiron's arrival. Grimbeorn had presumably permitted Eldrand and the others to travel south without their normal consequences, if for the normal reason of removing the stranger-Elves from their lands. The Beornings were naturally distrustful of anyone not of their own ilk. But, even still, they were not dishonorable. Even Beorn would not refuse to aid a company of Dwarves, folk he loathed and despised. But the Beornings feared the Golden Wood. Alcano wandered through the glades beyond the camp. It was the 16th of February. His silken-red cloak drifted on the golden leaves that showered the ground. The grass was as soft as silk. The horizon glimmered in golden tones. He turned to look upon a tall hill. A Lady stood there. She was shrouded in white and silver. The sunlight showered around her. Alcano knelt before her, "Lady of the Golden Wood. Forgive my intrusion, I......." The Lady laughed lightly, "I shall take thine words as a complement. But I am not the Lady of the Golden Wood." Alcano gazed at her more closely. Her hair was long, a mantle around her shoulders, but it was of silver, not of gold. He continued to kneel all the same, "You are wondrous all the same...... my Lady....." The Lady climbed down the hill and approached, "I foresaw your coming to the Wood. And this is why the true Lady of the Wood does not appear. For you must know: the Enemy is constantly at odds with her girdle, her golden mantle that caresses this land....." "How did you foresee our coming?" "My dear Alcano, and yes, I know thine name, know that while I am not friends with the Lady herself, I do serve those who serve her. I remember cleaning.....the water-basins in Caras Galadhon, sacred vessels of her Mirror. I remember...... many Ladies who clean her basins. I remember that to clean them is a great honor. One night, I peered within its waters, when no one else was present in her glade. And I beheld you. All of you. I can speak no more." "And how do you prove your worthiness?" "Through noble deeds, from graceful tending of the vines, to scouting on the flets, tending the glades, aiding any who are in need of aid. It is not the tasks themselves, but the heart that passes within them." Alcano nodded, "So you have foreseen us." "I remember.... that the Lady's handmaiden caught me, one night. She forbade me from ever returning to the glade. For we washers of the basin are forbidden to gaze within it. I betrayed the Lady's trust. I have been exiled from the city until the Age should reach its ending........ and so I have come........." Alcano gazed at her shyly, "Tell me, my Lady. Do you think your Lady despises you for this?" "I will never know........ but I remember her staring at me in the middle of the forest...... she was smiling and her palm uplifted peacefully............. I wonder if she knew the vision I had foreseen........." Alcano nodded, "We will never know. And perhaps that is for the best. Tell me everything you saw, my Lady. Since you know my name, then first, pray tell, the name by which I should address you." "Celebressel. My sister is not far behind me, she is coming. She refused to abandon me alone into exile. And she is Findistedis. We came upon a traveler, who overheard the name 'Auruiron' slip from my tongue. He refuses to leave us alone....." "Alcano!" A darkly familiar voice spoke. "So I have caught you, at long last." "You are far from your quays, Malfinseron of Mithlond." Alcano eyed him darkly. Edited by Ioristion, Jul 26 2016, 06:33 PM.
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| Ioristion | May 17 2016, 09:19 PM Post #31 |
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Chapter XXX: A Relentless Pursuer Malfinseron balked, "I thought I heard wind-singers, when I was traveling through the Shire. I felt confused, distorted. I knew not what to do. Should I forgive the Feanorians, or should I leave the sea behind, at long lost, and hunt them, to the ends of the earth! Should I avenge my fallen grandfather, Lamaen, who fell to Feanorian blades, in Sirion! And I came to the Golden Wood in December, with travelers from Imladris, one of whom was an errand-rider, sworn to great secrecy. I entered Caras Galadhon. I was welcomed. I forgot my troubles for a time. And then I followed -this- Lady, watched her in that glade from the bushes, and oh, did I inform her master, handmaiden to the Queen herself! And...." Alcano turned to Celebressel, "You suffer his presence?" Celebressel nodded, "As strong as I may be, I cannot confront him. For my crime was true." Alcano sighted Malfinseron's knife. Alcano's eyes blazed with near-Feanorian rage, for now it appeared that Malfinseron had threatened the twain sisters. Findistedis appeared sadly behind Malfinseron. She sighed.... Alcano seized Malfinseron by his collar, "You....... shall be tried by the Golden Prince... for your deceit and treachery! Come, Ladies, bind his hands. You know you cannot resist, Malfinseron, grandson of Lamaen. To draw blades against thy kindred would breech the Lady's peace......... that I know has settled on these sacred Woods......." Malfinseron surprisingly yielded to them without a fight. And they returned to the camp of Auruiron. Edited by Ioristion, Jan 29 2018, 05:45 PM.
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| Ioristion | May 17 2016, 10:04 PM Post #32 |
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Chapter XXXI: The Trial of Malfinseron Malfinseron was brought before Auruiron's tent. The others in the Company gathered in a circle around the tent, robed in their resplendent garb. Auruiron's eyes blazed in disbelief, "How came you hither!" Malfinseron balked, "The same way as thine own way. I came across the plains and forests, and indeed, I have crossed mountains! But why hath thou fled from Lindon? That, I pose to thee." Auruiron laughed grimly, "End thy fanciful banter. You are armed and have threatened travelers within this Wood, have you not? I call the first witness." Celebressel gleamed as she approached, "How may I serve you, my lord?" Auruiron smiled, "We will speak later of thy visions. Lady Celebressel of Lothlorien, what has Lord Malfinseron done to you?" Celebressel replied, "He has borne a dagger behind me." Auruiron called Findistedis forth, "And did you, Lady Findistedis, feel threatened by Lord Malfinseron?" Lady Findistedis was clothed in garb similar to that of her sister. But her hair was grayer, of a darker shade, and her eyes were piercing. "No, my Lord, I did not. For his dagger was sheathed and strapped behind him." The crowd murmured. Auruiron turned back to Celebressel, "Lady Celebressel, thine own sister disputes thy claim. Attend thereof. How has Lord Malfinseron threatened you?" Celebressel nodded, "He told my master of my misdeeds...." Auruiron nodded, "You gazed into the Mirror of the Lady of this land, without permission?" Celebressel nodded sadly, "Aye, my Lord. For I was drawn to it." Auruiron smiled, "For this, receive forgiveness." Celebressel nodded, "I thank you, my Lord, but it is not thine own place to forgive such a crime. It is the Lady's province alone." "This trial is a farce," Malfinseron balked, "I threatened not these Ladies. I merely told them to tell me everything they had foreseen.... I would not have told her master thus, if they had cooperated...." Auruiron laughed, "And he admits it! Not even thy grandfather would have behaved so bold. So be it, then! What is to be done with you?" Findistedis whispered something in Auruiron's ear. Auruiron's eyes grew wide. Auruiron laughed again, "I suppose that this trial is a farce. Malfinseron, you have but one route of escape. You may go free from our Company, but you must wed Findistedis for her sister has foreseen you, and dreamed of you, from powers I cannot hope to fathom. You may travel with us bound and forced to suffer death on the battlefield, or you may travel freely, with my daughter. Decide." Malfinseron's eyes grew wide. He was taken aback. The circle stood silently in awe, yet there were murmurings: "He cannot declare such a match, he is not of that authority," and Auruiron heard them all. Malfinseron was screaming inside himself, Wed myself to their accursed line! Betray my grandfather, my father, and everything they hold so dear? How dare.... He stared at Findistedis, her dark silver long hair, her sparkling eyes, her crimson dress and cloak, her beaming smile. He stared into the eyes of her fea, She..... no, I must not. I must resist........ this is a Feanorian trap! I will die on the battlefield in any case! Why....... but her eyes..... her eyes betray the truth........ she did dream of me..... how can I doubt her...... I....... He let his fur cloak unfurl to the forest floor behind him, falling from his shoulders, revealing his azure-blue sparkling cloak, lined with bright white-silver, and shimmering, silver robes, as his silverly-blond hair flowed down his shoulders. Findistedis' heart was throbbing as she stared at him, he, the master of her dreams. Malfinseron outstretched his arms and bowed before Auruiron, kneeling, "I bend the knee before you, murderer of my grandfather. For doom has brought me into your arms, against greater wisdom. Doom has wrought my fate thus thence. But I will not surrender to you, accursed Feanorian. But she....... I can tell.... is not Feanorian. She cannot be blamed for your House's many crimes........ and for her sake, I bend the knee." Auruiron smirked, "He bends the knee, and will not surrender!" Many in the circle started laughing at him uncontrollably. But the laughter ceased when Findistedis approached Malfinseron at the center of the circle, her crimson cloak streaming behind her, shining a fiery red tone in the sunlight. And she declared, "Oh you. Forget such vengeance. Have not enough Ages passed?" Malfinseron was dumbstruck, "I.........." For, in truth, he had sought the Palantir of the Tower Hills on pilgrimage, and the stone, facing West, revealed unto him an image: her smiling face, strong despite the tidal waves that surged around her. "Fine, I surrender," he spoke to her face. He thought to hear a lightening strike at sea far away, but he heard no sound. She was soon kissing him on the lips, chastely, as the circle applauded around them. Celebressel folded her arms obstinately, and turned away, processing to a nearby glade. And Alcano followed her. Edited by Ioristion, Jul 26 2016, 06:36 PM.
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| Ioristion | May 18 2016, 12:53 PM Post #33 |
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Chapter XXXII: Blooming Blossoms "And just where do you think you are going?" Alcano stammered. "What did you foresee in that Mirror?" Celebressel ceased running. "I......." She began to laugh mischievously, "Tell me..... what do the outsiders think of our Wood?" Alcano sighed, "That it is haunted by an Elvish witch, and all her evil spirits." Celebressel turned her head slightly, "They speak of the Lord and Lady. But in truth...... I......... am far more of a witch than she is!" Alcano rolled his eyes, "How so?" She outspread her arms, holding her silvery white folds aloft, "You will see........... for I am far less subtle than my masters." Alcano approached her slowly, "You should have foreseen that I will never fall for it. Once, I exalted love. Now, I despise it. My supposed aunt was denied her love, as was my uncle, my so-called 'noble ancestor,' whom I exalted. Now, they can barely march in the same line together. They have tried to grow close again. But now, with her father's death, I fear it has ended forever." Celebressel nodded sadly, "Her father's death was gravely tragic, but her father also found peace within this land, a lasting peace. He is safe in the Halls of our ancestors now. But let us not speak, now, of tragic things like death. For now is life's finest hour. The blossoms bloom. I foresaw the opposite. No, Lord Alcano, son of ancient lineages, you are not forsaken of love. And nor is that of thy aunt and uncle. I foresaw many things.... things that were, things are, and things that may yet be. Peace was my Lady's gesture on our parting. Not woe. Oh Lord Alcano...... I have foreseen you..... plunging into mine arms........." Alcano was weeping. He could not tell if it was sorrow or joy that made him weep. Celebressel turned, her face radiant, as if all the golden light in the golden trees and golden horizon suddenly coalesced around her silver, white, shining figure. Alcano outspread his own fiery folds, bowing low, "How may I serve you....... Witch of the Haunted Golden Wood....... for your visions haunt me now...... and I cannot resist them................" Celebressel's eyes pierced his fea, "Dance for me, my beauty. My fiery Eagle." Alcano did not even ask which dance she wanted to see. He knew instinctively. It was the dance of Rostor and Finlos. He twirled and spun and his cloak spread wide and whipped to and fro around him, he dove down low, landing in her arms, and they both withdrew within each others' folds. He felt Celebressel's warm breath touch his face. He heard her whisper, "Now rest, my love..... and dream a pleasant dream........." Days later, they met in the glade again, in the moonlight, and Celebressel's cloak shimmered, draping behind her, flowing onto the fallen mallorn leaves that showered the forest floor. They looked up and noticed that not a single leaf was missing on any of the trees. The paradox left Alcano speechless. Celebressel laughed, "The leaves only change in color. But we do not clean the forest-floor of all the fallen leaves from past ages. The leaves do not decompose. For this is a timeless land." And they embraced each other deeply beneath the stars. They did not kiss until their wedding, held in the camp one fate-filled week later. No one revealed what they had seen in the Mirror to their newly betrothed fiancees. It was a double-wedding. For Malfinseron and Findistedis were wed as well. All Macil could do was stare at Cellindien throughout the ceremony, his own heart burning. But he stayed for the sake of his nephew and kept his sorrow to himself. He stared at Celebressel strangely, for she strangely reminded him of his dream of Finlos, and he then felt sick at heart, knowing how wrong he was in that dream, knowing how childish he had been. And deep was his sorrow as he saw his nephew and new niece beginning to repeat he and Cellindien's own immature adolescent love-behavior that they had exhibited in their long-gone youth. Yet a part of him did not want to say a word to Alcano, who had not wandered for centuries, who blossomed at his proper time. He did not envy him. Edited by Ioristion, May 25 2016, 06:15 PM.
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| Ioristion | May 18 2016, 08:28 PM Post #34 |
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Chapter XXXIII: The Sisters' Plot Malfinseron and Alcano had told their new wives as much as they could about themselves. And then both sisters conspired: Celebressel was furious, "So...... Malfinseron despises Auruiron and Alcano for something that happened Ages ago....." Findistedis balked, "At least -your- new husband tried to make peace with him....." Celebressel flipped her hair, "To which -your- new husband re-declared his father and grandfather's bigotry!" Findistedis slipped beside her sister, "Well....... I believe there are several things that we can -do- about this dilemma! Tell me, does Alcano still desire peace with Malfinseron?" Celebressel shook her head, "Were you not paying attention as Alcano bound the hands of your future husband?" "Of course I was!" Findistedis balked. "Of course. But I knew that Malfinseron was no threat. His knife was only there to look pretty in its sheath behind him. Alcano clearly overreacted." Celebressel laughed, "He had reason to, apparently. Sister, tell me. How did we, heiresses to a long-lost Doriathrim line, end-up in this mess? And how do we tell our parents?" Findistedis sighed, "When we cross the sea........ I am still much cross at them for leaving us, when we barely came of age." Celebressel nodded sadly, "And that is what we have most in common with Malfinseron. His parents were lost as well in such a manner." Findistedis shed a tear, "So what do we do?" Celebressel nodded, shedding a tear herself, "You tell me. I tell you this: allow me to handle Alcano. He is already wrapped tightly around my finger." Findistedis nodded, "And I will work on my new husband. You do not have to do this, you know............... we need not depart from these lands...... you need not depart from these lands..................." Celebressel tried to smile, ignoring her points, "We had better do this separately. Neither husband must discover our arrangement. And, moreover, it will still not prove easy to unseam ages of discontent between our now unified Household." Findistedis nodded, sighing, "Come, then. Our husbands await us." Edited by Ioristion, Jul 26 2016, 06:37 PM.
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| Ioristion | May 18 2016, 09:17 PM Post #35 |
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Chapter XXXIV: Bickering in the Glade Alcano and Malfinseron were bickering in the glade. Malfinseron balked, "You Feanorian spawn. We may be brothers in the eyes of the Powers now, but I still loathe you and your kind!" Alcano balked, "I may follow Feanorians now. But my line was of Gondolin!" "You Noldor are all the same to me!" "You are the same as your loathsome grandfather!" Celebressel and Findistedis marched into the glade. The bickering combatants turned, outspreading their cloaks and bowing low. Celebressel balked, "Oh, stop slouching, you two. Now, Malfinseron, no one will change the fact that your grandfather perished in a Kinslaying." Findistedis whispered, "This is why we were pleased to have been raised in Lothlorien." Celebressel laughed, "And, Alcano, no one will change the fact that your grandfather followed Macalaure into the East." Alcano nodded sadly. Malfinseron rolled his eyes, "Your point being?" Findistedis stammered, "The point.... being that the past is already written, and there is nothing that either of you can say or do to change it. If we are to live together as a family, beneath the same roof of the same united House, you must cease this bickering at once." Malfinseron balked, "Ha! I cannot simply set aside my past as if it were naught but a wet cloak to hang to dry!" "A sea-salty wet cloak," Celebressel whispered. Findistedis laughed. Celebressel sighed, "Ending this feud will be no simple task. But I believe it can be done. Come, my dear sister, it is time to kiss our respective grooms, and make them forget their pasts." Alcano was swooning before he had any time to react otherwise. And Malfinseron realized how daft he was to remain sad and alone for so long. |
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| Ioristion | May 18 2016, 09:43 PM Post #36 |
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Chapter XXXV: A Temporary Resolution When they had finished kissing, the couples rested alongside each other on the soft golden leaves on the soft grass of the soft forest floor in the glade. Malfinseron was resting next to Alcano. Alcano smiled, "My dear Celebressel............ thank you." Alcano yawned, "Oh, this place is so restful, what are we doing, Malfinseron? The quays of Mithlond are far away. The quays of Sirion, Brithombar, and Eglarest, are drowned." "Alas, they are.... drowned." Malfinseron admitted. "Surely you do not expect me to relinquish my long-held feelings with such ease, do you?" Alcano sighed, "No, of course not. But our wives are right. We should, at the least, set them aside for now............ why doom ourselves in such a beauteous place?" Malfinseron nodded, "It would prove foolish, I suppose......... maybe I was just angered at my parents for leaving these shores." Alcano nodded, "It was not your fault. They had taught you to despise my grandfather, and so you did." "Alas, I still had the choice. If only I had listened.......... I might be with them in the West right now. No, wait! This is nonsense. Why am I opening myself to you like this!" Malfinseron hissed. Findistedis smiled, "We, also, have lost our parents to the West. It is this place, my husband. Do you not see? It is not a place for sowing woe and discord.........." Malfinseron turned to Alcano, "Fine. I will try........." Alcano turned to Malfinseron, "So will I.........." "It will not be easy," Malfinseron re-asserted. "No one suggested that it would be," Alcano re-affirmed. Celebressel sighed, "Oh you two.............." "Quiet, woman!" Malfinseron hissed. "You tried to have me punished by Auruiron!" Celebressel scoffed, "You did enforce our exile from Caras Galadhon. What did you expect me to do?" Alcano laughed, "Now, now, my beloved wife. Let us not sow discord in this blessed place." Alcano grinned. Celebressel scoffed again, "Oh you!" Findistedis was snickering. Even Malfinseron hatched a smile. Edited by Ioristion, Jul 26 2016, 06:38 PM.
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| Ioristion | May 19 2016, 10:36 PM Post #37 |
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Chapter XXXVI: Chasing through the Woods The sisters finally stood. Malfinseron and Alcano stared at them quizzically. Celebressel smiled, "Did resting not soothe thine gravest malice?" Malfinseron shook his head, saying nothing. Celebressel laughed, "Well then. Give chase!" The sisters darted out of the glade, their silver and white cloaks blazing behind them in a multiplicity of billowing folds as they ran, laughing. Alcano turned to Malfinseron, "Now, they are getting on my nerves. Truce?" Alcano stubbornly offered his hand. "Truce," Malfinseron conceded. Alcano smirked, "Our wives are getting away!" Malfinseron tried to muster a smile, "Fine!" They ran after Celebressel and Findistedis, who were several steps ahead of them, azure and silver and crimson folds flowing behind them, the golden leaves rustling behind them on the forest floor. And golden was the canopy above them. They ran back into the encampment. Lerinon and Inheroth were resting in the war-tent. Auruiron and Melimwe were meditating along the waters of the Anduin. Ioristion and Rostoriel were resting elsewhere. And the four runners entered the war-tent. |
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| Ioristion | May 19 2016, 10:44 PM Post #38 |
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Chapter XXXVII: The Orb The artifact was hidden away in a sack on the floor of the war-tent. Lerinon and Inheroth had bickered about going in there. But Lerinon used his honeyed, flowered words to soothe Inheroth into a near-sleep. And Lerinon had draped his golden cloak around them both, as he had in Thranduil's Halls so long ago. Celebressel sighted the sack, "Is that the orb within......?" "Artifact," Alcano whispered in correction. "It murdered a great warrior of our kin." Celebressel sighed, "And did -it- commit the murder, or did some other force?" Alcano sighed, "I do not know. Macil would tell me little.... other than that the Enemy and the West were grappling with it somehow....." Celebressel smiled slyly, "Ever are such powers grappled. Think of the Rings of Power." Malfinseron gravely nodded, "Why are we here?" Celebressel laughed eerily. Findistedis stammered, "No! Sister, do not! Are you mad!" Celebressel smiled, "I did not fear the Mirror. Nor shall I fear this!" Findistedis stammered, "Our peering in that Mirror made us exiled! This may do far worse to us!" Celebressel ran to the sack. Lerinon and Inheroth awoke. Lerinon shouted, "Nay! Do not!" And Lerinon reached for it, and touched it, and was dumbstruck. And now, Lerinon was entranced with it. He grappled with Inheroth over it, while Alcano and Malfinseron watched in horror, and then, darkness crept into the war-tent, blinding all of their eyes. |
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| Ioristion | May 19 2016, 10:53 PM Post #39 |
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Chapter XXXVIII: His Greatest Fear Lerinon wandered in the halls. He thought that they were Doriath at first, but he observed more closely. He passed through wooden doors into a throne-room after having crossed several great bridges. And there, on the throne, sat none other than Thranduil, Elven-King of Mirkwood. His hair was long of pale-silver bordering on gold. His robes were silver, lined with fiery red. His countenance was fair and terrible. His eyes glistened like mithril. And he stood, outstretching his folds, bowing before him, "Hail Lerinon of the Sindar. Hail Elurin son of Dior. Hail Usurper!" Beauty became transfigured into horror as Thranduil darted forward with his pale sword drawn. Lerinon drew his own blade in haste and parried the attack. They clashed and parried across the floor, their clamor echoing through the labyrinthine halls. And Lerinon tripped on his own cloak of gold, falling backward, and Thranduil leaped on top of him, stabbing his heart, leaning forward, lower and lower, till Lerinon could feel his breath, as the air turned chill around him, shock rising from his apparent blood-loss. And Thranduil declared, "Farewell, and usurp no more, son of Dior, son of Thingol, child of a sunken realm long bereft, long forlorn." And then Thranduil kissed Lerinon on the cheek as Lerinon died, his eyes bereft in shadow. And Thranduil tossed his folds over Lerinon, and Lerinon pressed his face within them, as all turned black. And Lerinon opened his eyes, to see Macilon standing nigh, and Macilon declared, "You, son of a realm bereft, are not yet called unto Lord Mandos' Halls. But you shall hear Lord Mandos' voice, if you should fall to your greatest fear." Before Lerinon could interrogate him further as to the fate of Aegnil, Macilon swept his vast cloak over Lerinon, who plunged beneath his crimson folds, until Lerinon opened his eyes, to find Inheroth's face beaming down at him. |
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| Ioristion | May 19 2016, 10:58 PM Post #40 |
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Chapter XXXIX: Blood-Ridden Tides And Malfinseron had touched the artifact in the scuffle. And he had found himself along the shores of a mysterious sea, the foamy waves thrashing on the rocky shores. He found that he was gazing off a cliff. He turned to see Auruiron and many Feanorians rushing toward him. He stabbed Auruiron in the heart, and gloated in his satisfaction, but then he found himself surrounded, as the Feanorians uplifted Malfinseron, as he, Malfinseron, saw the world rising around him, as he plunged into the depths of the watery abyss of his wave-ridden grave, blood surging in the tides. He gasped for air and only salt-water poured through his weary lungs. A dark cloak poured through the waves, crimson lining surging with the blood, then coalescing, curling around Malfinseron's dying figure. And Macilon whispered, "You have seen thy greatest desire and thy greatest fear. The foe to whom thy foe doth march shall destroy you if these thus remain. Son of Gowestor..... hearken to my words. Make peace with the Amath Naru.... or you shall perish in the shadows, thy fea drowned forever." And this terrified Malfinseron, who whimpered, as the vision faded. |
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12:44 AM Jul 11