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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 (3,114 Views) | |
| Ioristion | Jun 2 2016, 09:08 PM Post #81 |
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Chapter XVIII: Strife among the Beornings Mornhelm laughed heartily at Eldrand as they began sailing down the river again on the 24th. Eldrand spat on the water, "Bah! You think you've seen magic!" Mornhelm smirked, "That golden-caped Elf is a Wizard or a magician like old Beorn!" Eldrand laughed menacingly, "Which golden-caped Elf? The clever-tongued one who always makes talk with me, or that blonde one who appears to lead them all?" Beornor scoffed, "Calm it down, Eldrand. Ye can't turn all bear while we're a-rowin' this here boat!" Eldrand nodded grimly. Aertira and Salhera rolled their eyes at each other. Eldrand barked, "Fine, traitors. Have it yer way." He ceased rowing. "Oh come on," Beornor snapped. "Now isn't the time for this." Eldrand began rocking the boat. Beornor slapped him, "Enough! You may think yer so old n' wise, but think again. You are actin' like some petty child. You may distrust these here Elves, but I believe ma cousin, and find that they are like old Beorn in some ways. Stop it! We could drown in these here currents!" "This is why I hate boats," Eldrand muttered. "It ain't good for a Beorning to row a boat." He grunted and started rowing again. Aertira and Salhera said nothing. When they camped for their afternoon meal on rationed lembas, Mornhelm declared: "I'm switchin' boats." "So are we," Aertira declared. "Now you've done it," Beornor snapped at Eldrand. "We're going to have to row that boat ourselves." "Fine," Eldrand snapped, "I can take it. Go with them Elven folk, traitors." Mornhelm gazed at Eldrand sorrowfully, "Long you led us into the high passes of the mountains. Long you taught us how to commune with bear-kind. Long you trained us. But where is that wisdom now? Torn between honor and fear, Eldrand?" "He is right," Beornor grunted, "Your fear of these Elven folk is getting in yer way!" Eldrand growled. Beornor snapped, "You stand down, Eldrand. Stand down, right now. Think now on your honor. Can your honor not supplant your fear?" Eldrand walked away and sadly stared at the waters of the river. Beornor turned to the others, "Go with yer Elven friends. I'll stay with him." Mornhelm and the others nodded, and they spoke with Ioristion and Rostoriel. Cullasson's eyes perked-up, "Maybe we should alleviate your Eldrand's fears of us. Me and Cullastor and Rirossel will row with Eldrand and Beornor." Rirossel and Cullastor nodded. Cullasson continued, "The three of you will continue rowing with Rostoriel and Ioristion." And when they continued, Eldrand was panicking in the boat, as he saw the Elves approaching, his feral eyes gleaming fiery when they boarded the boat and took-up oars. And Beornor was laughing his head off. |
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| Ioristion | Jun 2 2016, 09:21 PM Post #82 |
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Chapter XIX: The Carnen By the time they reached the fork in the river, where the Carnen met the River Running, it was sunset on the 25th of March. Eldrand had slowly calmed down, as Cullasson whispered calming words to him, and Eldrand felt Cullasson's pulse. "Are you still afraid of me?" Cullasson inquired when they reached the fork in the river. "No, Eldrand replied, "I was never afraid of ye, but of ye magic. I knew all along ye were of flesh n' blood. It was them golden woods that got me all a-scared, and ye felt different when ye came out of them haunted woods. Thought ye were cursed or somethin'." "And do you still?" Cullastor wondered aloud. "No," Eldrand replied, "Not now. We Beornins are a stubborn lot, like our forefather, Beorn the Great. We don't lend trust easily to Elven or Dwarven or mannish folk. But we are an honorable lot, as I've said long ago. We don't abandon folk in need, not even those we don't trust, though we demand our pay as an act of trust. You paid us but then somethin' or another went wrong between us n' our kinfolk, and we wanted to get ye provisioned as we couldn't honorably leave ye in the lurch, but we couldn't go into them haunted woods, no way. Then we come back and find our home all a-ruined and me brother-in-law a-plottin' to kill me, and it all went sour from there. What would we do but follow ye? Into them long ranges of woods to spider-lairs and clawin' through their filthy webs, then avoidin' dyin' in some big fight with them accursed Orcs, then suddenly retreatin' into some Elf lair of tunnels, escapin' on boats.... that part of it felt cowardly, if ye don't mind me sayin', but I understand ye quest n'all, ye want to kill some dangerous foe that will a-ruin our Vales anyhow though our Vales are a-ruined already.........." A tear fell down Eldrand's cheek. And Cullasson embraced Eldrand, who wept on Cullasson's shoulder. Cullastor and Beornor clasped each other on their shoulders. Ioristion, Mornhelm, Salhera, Aertira, and Rostoriel, meanwhile, had a more pleasant time telling treasure-hunting stories and happier tales of their youthful days as they all rowed down the river. For the Beornings, adventurous tales involved speaking to bears, harvesting honey, baking honey-cakes, tending the livestock, or venturing beyond the Carrock to wilder lands, fighting wargs and goblins and Orcs when necessary. They had tales of traveling Dwarves and Elves and other folk, who all had to pay their tolls. "Our tolls are so high," Aertira exclaimed, "Because we seldom see any travelers. But we, of course, do not hinder any who are unable to pay. That would be dishonorable. We know the hardships of the wilderness. Others of our folk are not so forgiving........" Mornhelm nodded grimly, "Like that brother-in-law of Eldrand's." Rostoriel smiled, "My youth was not quite as exciting. It involved lots of standing and staring." Salhera rolled her eyes, "Well, perhaps we shall have to put an end to that!" Ioristion laughed. He could not stop laughing. And Mornhelm joined his laughter. Edited by Ioristion, Jun 2 2016, 09:28 PM.
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| Ioristion | Jun 2 2016, 09:42 PM Post #83 |
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Chapter XX: The Cape Uplifted Macilon felt a shiver run down his spine. His cape pulsed. He gathered the other five who knew his hidden secret. They quickly made their way out of sight as others prepared the camp. They descended one hill and ascended another, and at its peak, Macilon bade his adherents to outstretch his cape, uplifting it, and clutch it tightly, as he covered his face with its folds and closed his eyes, the others imitating him. They all felt the shivers and the pulses. And Macilon spoke, "I see...... a Seat..... a great stone chair..... sitting upon a high tower upon a pinnacle...... a tall hill........ overlooking two huge statues of men to the north, and a raging waterfall to its immediate south.... the largest falls I have ever seen, even of the Falls of Sirion that I passed on my journey out of Beleriand............ young men are gathered there, and young women, all caped........... some are wearing the same cape as that of the Maia Uireb..............and yet there are three of them, I did not receive foresight of this, I! Others are cloaked more darkly......." The others only saw flashes in their minds. Even Macilon's vision was vague and shadowy. The vision ceased. They all quickly sat down on the grass, their minds pulsing. "Alcano, tell your father, this and this alone." Alcano arose and obeyed Macilon. And then Alcano and Ioristion told Auruiron, Melimwe, and Yucalwe. Yucalwe's eyes grew wide, "Ivordir! They have reached what must be Amon Hen upon our maps! And that would place us," he pulled out the map, "Oh no..... I suppose we will not be meeting, at the bend in the river." Melimwe nodded, "I would suppose not. We presupposed most unwisely. Well, no matter now. It is clear that we shall be well into Rhun by the time Ivordir and his force reach this same spot we are standing now." Yucalwe shook his head, "They might not reach this precise spot. They may seek to, or they may follow the river. But they will make for the river, and that is all that matters. But it will be a long harrowing journey. I know the Kingdom of Rhovanion once existed between Mirkwood and the River Running. A Kingdom cannot function without water-sources. I would hope that those sources remain." "I would imagine that they would," Melimwe nodded. "Many are the currents of the River Running. There must be powerful streams flowing out of it. I have seen some such streams as we rowed." Yucalwe nodded, "Yes, I do remember them now that I recall them. They can follow the streams to the river and follow it south. They should know our direction at the least and have the sense to follow us. Ivordir is a smart young man, as is Daerfalas, and Abrazan knows me most of all. But where can we wait for them?" Auruiron sighed, "Let us see where the river leads us first. Then, may we choose a spot, with better knowledge of these lands." Yucalwe nodded reluctantly, "Very well. How do we know that Macilon is not deceiving us again with his imagination?" Melimwe sighed, "That is the point. We do not know. But if they have reached Amon Hen, then they are a month behind us... if not more..." "We cannot delay for them!" Auruiron stammered. "We MUST!" Yucalwe replied. "I am going to confer with this Macilon myself." Alcano wanted to tell them the secret, but knowing his Vow, his lips remained silent. Edited by Ioristion, Jun 3 2016, 10:09 AM.
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| Ioristion | Jun 3 2016, 10:42 AM Post #84 |
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Chapter XXI: Exiles Beneath the Black "What seek thee hither, son of Yuale?" Macilon smirked inside his tent. He outspread the folds of his cape and bowed, "How might I serve thee?" Yucalwe scoffed, "You are too pretty...... to have been a wanderer." "Am I thus?" Macilon slowly opened his tunic, revealing terrible scars across his chest. Remnants of old lash-marks from terrible whips streaked across his back. Yucalwe nodded, "Fine. Then what has happened to you since, to make you so... overconfident? So youthful? My pains and long leagues of travel and toil and travail have aged me....." "Your cape was not as mine, throughout those years," Macilon boldly replied. "Look at Auruiron... his griefs are aged, but his heart remains young... he is the young ellon he always was, cloaked in his long centuries of experience......" Yucalwe nodded, "Yes. Regardless, tell me. What did you see when you wore the cape, when it pulsed, apparently?" "Did Alcano not tell you as I commanded?" "He did. But I want details. How was my son, Abrazan? He would be tall, of darker complexion, wearing the same cloak as mine." "He may have been there.... but he was beyond my sight.......but you need not fear for him, Yucalwe. For you, too, are a student of dream-craft. You were given a gift of foresight, regarding they who camp this night nigh the Seat of Seeing. Come, shall we probe, together, into thy imagination further?" Yucalwe nodded reluctantly, "I will return in a moment." Yucalwe went into Auruiron's tent. Auruiron and Melimwe tried to dissuade him, but Yucalwe insisted on taking the artifact from its satchel. He returned with the orb-shaped jewel into the tent of Macilon, who bade Yucalwe rest beside him. They wrapped their capes around and over each other, forming an inner tent, the artifact gleaming before their eyes. "Remember," Macilon whispered, "It is in thine own imagination. Come and behold thy greatest fears and deep desires." Yucalwe closed his eyes. He found himself in a great manse nigh the Citadel of Tirion. "This is all a fiction," he told himself. "This is your memory of Tirion personified. It is not real." A fiery-toned-haired Elf came toward him, in fiery crimson lined with fiery orange, his hair draping down below his shoulders. Yucalwe's eyes grew wide, outspreading his cape as he bowed low, "How may I serve you, my Lord Maitimo Nelyafinwe?" His mind's projection of Nelyafinwe replied, "Come, my Lord Seneschal. Embrace me!" Yucalwe ran into his arms, burying his face in his silky hair, kissing him deeply on his cheeks, tears streaming down his face, as the mirage of Nelyafinwe draped his cape atop their heads. And Yucalwe noted, "This behavior is highly uncharacteristic of Nelyafinwe. It is mine own mind playing tricks on me again.........." He felt a deep heat well beneath him, and looking down he saw the flames. The cape whipped back and they descended, faster and faster, the Silmaril shining, vanishing deep into the flames. Yucalwe screamed in excruciating pain. He was being roasted alive. "Control it! Control thyself!" He heard a distant, wailing voice, of Macilon yell. Yucalwe found himself in Edhellond. He saw Lord Ballithor and the Knights of the Silver Swan standing proudly. He saw Baralinor and his brothers. He opened his eyes. Macilon remained next to him as before. And Macilon declared, "Thy deepest fears and desires are many..... and our foe will break you if you let him." Yucalwe nodded sadly. They placed the artifact back in its satchel. And Yucalwe wandered sadly in the fields that night, until he fell asleep, beneath the stars. |
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| Ioristion | Jun 4 2016, 07:17 AM Post #85 |
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Chapter XXII: Songs of Black and Gold Macilon left his tent moments after Yucalwe did. He climbed a hill to find a strange procession down below: Mornhelm held the rear, Aertira and Salhera outspreading the sides, of Ioristion's golden cloak, as Ioristion processed with the Staff that he once believed to have belonged to Findekano. Aertira and Salhera were grinning as they processed. Mornhelm was smiling even more widely. He had dubbed Ioristion "The Gold Magician." "I really wish ye could turn into a bear, Gold Magician," Mornhelm scoffed. Ioristion smirked, "I would transform into a Gold Eagle if I could.... but that power is beyond my nature...." Mornhelm nodded. "You can, if you -imagine- yourself doing so," Macilon interjected. They all nearly jumped. Ioristion turned, "And why do you stalk us, pray tell, last living Prince of the Mole?" "A Mole!" Aertira laughed, pointing, "He can turn himself into a Mole!" "No! No!" Ioristion corrected, "It is his House Sigil." "What is a Sigil?" Mornhelm wondered aloud. Ioristion laughed, "A Sigil is a symbol. A representation. Like a painting or a coat-of-arms. It represents one's family. You could call the Bear your Sigil." Salhera nodded, "What's a painting?" Aertira smirked, "A coat-of-arms?" "Never mind!" Ioristion scoffed. "Why are you here?" "Why... to share in the mirth!" Macilon laughed. "I have been so lonely... for ages.... after all." "There are reasons for that!" Ioristion scoffed. "Stalking me and my household about, serving us in secret, giving us nightmares and garish visions, toying with our minds. Between you, your cape, and the artifact, I do not know which is worse!" Macilon smirked, "There are powers that I would show thee.... I wager none of these Beornings have had a decent dream in their lives!" "Not true!" Mornhelm yelled, "Not true! I once dreamed that I was running on all fours through the forests of the Vales..." Aertira flipped her hair slightly, scoffing, "Oh sure ye did! Ye did not think that up! You -were- running on all fours through the forests of the Vales!" Mornhelm grumbled. Salhera imitated her sister, turning her head quickly, "Still.... I am curious.... the gold cape of our Magician here made us transform without any pain... and gave us pretty fur coats, I might add......" Macilon smiled, "Yes..... but for me.... I wear the cape of dreams......." Mornhelm smirked, "We Beornings -do- dream sometimes, on the occasions that we do sleep. All creatures need rest, even men who transform into bears." "And -women-", Salhera scoffed. "What is your name again, Dark Elf?" Ioristion smiled, "Pardon Salhera, Macilon, she does not know our customs regarding the sharing of our names." Macilon folded his arms, smirking, "You just shared it." Ioristion's face fell, "I...." "No matter," Macilon smiled. "Our customs are old and dry in any case." He outspread his cape, his dark red folds glinting in the moonlight, "How might I serve thee, Salhera?" Salhera laughed, "Thee? Thee? He said 'Thee!' Who is 'Thee!'?" Macilon laughed, "I meant to say, You.' I suppose it is fortunate that we have all learned Westron over the years...." "I would suppose so," Aertira laughed. "Old Eldrand and Beornor and even Mornhelm here enjoy toying with strangers by speaking hard-to-speak dialects. We know how to speak 'correctly,' though we's perfer aur Andauin Vailes." Mornhelm chuckled, "It's aw gos rare for us to have any of 'em 'cultural exchanges' with stranger-folk. Are ye a 'Magician' too, Macilon?" Macilon smirked, "You have called me thus." Aertira laughed, "Thus? Thus?" "That," Macilon smirked. "What do you desire and fear most, in life, Aertira?" Aertira shook her head. Edited by Ioristion, Jun 4 2016, 07:50 PM.
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| Ioristion | Jun 5 2016, 09:52 PM Post #86 |
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Chapter XXIII: The Doomed Duel "Stay clear of him!" A voice shouted from the brush. Macil approached with Cellindien at his side. Macil continued, "And what madness has brought you, brother, to consort with such a traitor!" Ioristion turned, "Brother, I do not believe that he..." Even Aertira's face tightened, "What is the meaning of this intrusion on our mirth?" Macil frowned, "Stand back away from him, all of you." Macilon scoffed, "And how do I owe you this pleasure?" "Macil," Cellindien warned, "Have a care." "Tell me, Macil. Have you yet conquered your deepest desire? She will destroy you!" And Macilon drew his sword self-defensively. Macil unsheathed his blade, "I have had the care enough to remain silent thus far, for the sake of the peace. We had larger problems. Spiders. Orcs. Trolls. Fell-beasts. But now, Macilon, you have peddled your fell sorcery long enough! It is time for you to answer....." At once Cellindien stepped between them, her hand on her own sword. "You, too! Let the one who first draws steel be the one to worry about destroying!" Macilon sank into his old battle-stance, the old traditional formation of the House of the Mole, "I have longed for peace throughout these years. Do you hear that sound, brother? It is Guldrambor, laughing at us mockingly!" Macil did not bat an eye, "You drew steel first, brother!" He stepped alongside Cellindien, "No, love. Let me handle this." Salhera was seething. She slowly withdrew up the nearest hill. Cellindien scoffed. "Both of you! Macilon, sheath your sword, and let that serve as a proof of your innocence if you maintain it. Macil..." She gave him an incredulous look. "If you think I'm going to step aside you are sorely mistaken." Macilon balked, "Careful Finlos. You might get hurt. It would disappoint thy Swordmaster gravely..." She gasped, narrowing her eyes and seized her sword, drawing it an inch before forcing her fingers to release the weapon. "....You endanger your cause, Macilon... I warn you, do not speak in that manner again to me, I have had enough of your foul games." Macilon scoffed, "Fine. I will withdraw my sword. But you both shall withdraw yours first, to demonstrate your faith and fealty!" "I stand in self-defense," Cellindien declared firmly. "Let the one who drew first withdraw first." And Rostor Macil rushed him. He did not wait the conclusion of any words. His mind flew wide open. He did not experience any visions. He needed only to place his mind back then, upon that wall of Gondolin, his foe seething before him. "Careful, brother, you may trip again this time!" Mornhelm and Aertira had vanished up the hill, trailing Salhera. Loud screams could be heard amidst the chime of battle. Macilon parried to and fro aggressively. He did not counter-attack. But Macil countered at every turn he got. Cellindien cursed loudly and plunged in alongside Macilon, striving to disarm him before Macil could cause injury. Macilon laughed grimly as he parried them both, "Did Macil ever tell you his dream, Finlos?" He retreated up toward the high ground, sweeping his cape out of the way as he backed-up. Macil grinned grimly, "You are going to trip again!" "It is no concern of yours!" She shouted. "Surrender, Macilon. You cannot match two of us!" Macilon took advantage of the brief rest, unclasping his cape, flinging it at them over their heads as he turned and darted up the hill. Macil swished the cape out of his face, "Ha! Reminds me of the elder days. Get back here!" He started up the hill. Cellindien ducked it neatly, more than accustomed to such ruses by this time, and ran after him, several paces ahead of Macil. "Macilon, leave the weapon and this will end! Abandon your pride!" Macilon seized the high ground, scoffing, "What did you tell her, Macil!" Macil laughed, "I told her that she appeared to be some majestic Queen of the elder days." Macilon smirked, "Surely you paraphrase! Did you forget!" "Keep still thy tongue, traitor, or I shall remove it for you!" Macil charged and clashed. Macilon fought him off tooth and nail, "Longer silver hair! All three cloaks gliding on the wind! Oh how you kissed her!" Macil's fury grew darker, "And you said that my next such vision, would be our foe, killing me! But I shall not see that accursed vision again! I already have..." Cellindien fell back as they neared the peak of the hill, allowing Macil to pass her. She hung back, anger and fear warring within her. How dare Macilon speak of such things, how dare he goad them! But at such a height, and Macil was not guarding his blows. She was no kinslayer. Macilon strangely smiled as he clashed, "You did not tell her what happened next, did you!" Macil laughed grimly again, "As a matter of fact, I did! I will take the arrow for her, if that be my doom! But first I will try to live for her..." Cellindien's heart pounded in her chest from fear and love. "Macil," she appealed, softly, then louder, shouted in command. "Macil! If you live for me, cease!" Macilon clashed ever more wrathfully, "Your greatest fear is to fail, is it not, Finlos! It once was thy Lord-Father, but no more! And is thy greatest desire... rest and peace when all is over!" A voice yelled: "Macil, cease!" The apparition of Findekano glimmered brightly. The Beornings charged around them, circling slowly, on all fours. Ioristion swished Macilon's cloak over-top of him from behind, pulling Macilon back, wrestling him down unto the ground, and Ioristion yelled: "And what is thy deepest fear!" And Cellindien ran forward at the same time as Ioristion, placing herself in front of Macil, facing him and seizing his wrists in her hands. "Macil!" Macil breathed deeply in and out, hindering his hyperventilation. He stared at Cellindien blankly, in awe of the whole scene. Macilon cried, "Nay! Nay!" He felt himself plunging through the Doors of Night, Guldrambor's shadowy arms latched around him, Uireb turning away from his failure as he fell. Then he found himself on the shores of Tol Eressea, his debts repaid, his life fulfilled. Uireb was honoring him. Then Ioristion yanked the cape back. Ioristion stammered, "The next time thee seeth these things, ye shall die!" Findekano spoke, "Enough!" as Ioristion concentrated, folding his own cape around his arms. Macilon looked up at him, "Do not consciously try to manipulate him, Ioristion. Let your innermost mind flow freely....." Cellindien had gently taken the sword from Macil's hands, dropping it and embracing him. Her hands were shaking as she watched the scene before them. Findekano spoke: "It is commanded that this violence shall cease. It is commanded that ye shall bond. It is commanded that ye unite. Or all of ye shalt perish. Keep well the promise. Namarie......" And Findekano vanished. Ioristion clasped his own head, "No! No! Do not vanish! We need you now!" Nothing happened. The vision did not return. Ioristion closed his eyes sorrowfully. The Beorning-bears came over to him. He nodded and tossed the cape over-top of them. Their forms gently decreased in size. Ioristion whipped back his cape, revealing the three of them, stunned and speechless. Macil sustained their embrace. He gazed deeply into Cellindien's eyes, "I........." She shook her head, speechless, and lowered her eyes. Macil asked, sneering at how obvious it was, bluntly, "What should we do?" Ioristion stood with authority, "The Prince's commands were clear. Let us return to the camp." Cellindien nodded, retrieving Macil's sword and leading him towards the camp. When they reached the tent where Cellindien and Macil were staying, Ioristion announced: "The Prince commanded you to make peace or die. I, for one, refuse to see the latter happen." And he shoved Macilon into the tent and stormed away. The Beornings smirked as they followed Ioristion. Macil stammered, "What in the name of..... bah!" He entered the tent, "Now see here, Macilon....... you started this mess. Now you give me a reason not to have you thrown into the river!" Cellindien put a hand to her forehead and took a deep breath before following the two of them inside. "And it had better not be that you acted in self-defense because I know better." Macilon was too weary now to scoff, "I feel ill....... I was tossed into the Doors of Night already......" Macil glared, "So you have suffered from your own tricks this time? I suppose we could call it justice. But you have never seen the Door of Night, and nor have I. How could you have....?" "A mental picture is enough," Macilon sighed. "My deepest fear....... and all I have ever desired, is to return in peace..... to find that peace again, the peace we once had, long before the Mole betrayed the High Crown......and the Fount......" Cellindien sighed wearily. "You seem to recall that peace differently than I." "Tell us everything," Macil demanded. "What do you think is going to happen to you?" "Disaster," the word escaped his lips. "A horrible darkness............And yes, Cellindien. I know...... I know far too much........ perhaps it would have been better if I had died in those mines...... or at thy hand, Macil......" "No!" Cellindien interrupted. "We survive because we have a purpose to fulfill. Do not dismiss that so easily." Macilon nodded slowly, "Well then. Please understand that I would have told you everything if I could. But our foe pierces more than six minds. Far more. I cannot wrap my mind around it myself..... I would not have chosen they who now know...... but some higher Power has chosen them, and they must steel their nerves, and I as well....... our foe will try to unseam our minds.... you think you wage a war of swords? Oh no...... that is the easy part of it. There is more..... far more........ imagine yourselves drowning, dying in your own minds.......... forever............" Cellindien shook her head. "No. I can imagine fear. I have experienced much of it. It comes far more easily to me than joy or hope. But I choose to imagine myself fighting, rising to the surface, striking and winning." "If you are that strong," Macilon replied boldly. "I hope you are. Well, I tire. I am sorrowful for our duel..... but call it good practice for the fights to come." Macil scoffed, "Fine then. Sleep. But I will be watching." Macil was the last one awake, staring Macilon down as the latter rested. Then Macil could not keep his eyes open any longer. Edited by Ioristion, Jun 6 2016, 09:58 PM.
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| Ioristion | Jun 6 2016, 10:33 PM Post #87 |
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Chapter XXIV: A Reluctant Peace Macil awoke at dawn. Cellindien was still asleep. Macilon had not stirred. Macil slowly and quietly drew his sword, pointing it down at Macilon's throat. Macilon slowly opened his eyes. He did not seem surprised to see the sword before him. He stared down the sharp edge of the blade, glinting in the morning sunlight that shined through the opened flap of the tent. Macilon turned toward all the sleeping Elves around him, and whispered: "Can we take this elsewhere?" Macil nodded. Macilon arose. Macil kept the blade pointed at Macilon, who nervously went outside, his cape draping behind him. Macil pushed Macilon all the way up another hill nearby, out of sight and ear-shot of the rest of the camp. "Do you seek to kill me?" Macilon ventured. Macil nodded, "There can be no peace between us. Exile yourself and wander the East, or perish here." "You cannot do this!" A voice shouted. Alcano had seen them departing from the camp and followed them. "Stay out of this, nephew!" Macil shouted. "You are ruining everything, Macil......." Alcano spoke sadly. "My noble ancestor....." "What did he say to you!" Macil demanded. "I am sworn to secrecy," Alcano solemnly replied. "Even before you." Macil stared Alcano down, the sunlight glinting off the tip of his sword, as Macilon outspread his cape, bowing sadly before Macil, as a lamb before the slaughter, as the bull before the sword pierces it. Calm, cold water flowed down the adjacent River Running. The water glimmered. The sun made blind the shining currents. Wind billowed through the rough pale grass. Then the sun was covered by the darkened clouds, deep grey. The sun no longer gleamed on the fiery folds of the cape. The folds were dull red as the blood that spills upon the rough pale grass, as cold, wet, steel refuted hot iron. The rough pale grass sank down beneath the thud. Macil's blade no longer glinted. He raised his blade that charged as if a thousand charging Wainriders upon their chariots, as if a thousand brutish Balchoth rampaging across the rough, pale, plains. The blade fell. The clash echoed loudly. The clash was firm. The clash stood tall. The clash echoed a thousand Rhovanion riders, thundering as they charged, as the thunder struck. Red silk spilled o'er the grass. And Macil fell to his knees. Alcano stood tall, still grasping his sword, pointing it toward his "noble ancestor." The dark cape of Macil poured behind him as if the blackened blood of Yrch intermingled with the red, fertile, blood of the Eldar. And Macilon bade, "Enough!" Down they went on all their knees, weeping, in each others' arms. Edited by Ioristion, Jun 7 2016, 09:11 PM.
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| Ioristion | Jun 7 2016, 09:41 PM Post #88 |
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Chapter XXV: The Tears that Fell And there they were, weeping in the rain. On their knees, muddy, ridden, of their past's extravagance. Wet hair, sopping, down soaked backs, drops form into currents, down their folds, streaming, down their dry folds, their waters flowing. With warm tears, fell the cold rain. They returned to the tent of Macilon, where Celebressel, Malfinseron, and Findistedis were staying. But they were all elsewhere. The tent was empty. Macilon and the others entered, and settled down to dry, cold and wet. Tears fell anew, warm and deep welling eyes, gazing. Macilon shook his head, flipping his hair, waters sparkling, glistening. Macil and Alcano performed the same. They were all too wet to complain about it. They all rested within Macilon's dry cape of dreams. Within its folds, each others' cold, wet cheeks, they warmly kissed, burrowing deep into the recesses of deeper memory, deep into the depths of the long-forgotten past, the past before the wars and sorrows, the fall of towers tall, halls harrowed, founts unwrought. Their past became their present future. Time faded with the wind and rain. The sun shined again. And on the pale, gentle grass, a myriad of droplets, glowed as crystal. "I now am doomed," Macil whispered. "The fell deed was not done.... it is undone.... washed away with the fading rain.......and I forgive you, Rostor....Macil..... Will you ever find the heart to forgive me?" Tears fell anew. "I already have...... and thank you, Alcano. Thine ancestor art not so noble." And Alcano embraced both tightly, "No....... you are the noblest of them all......" Macil shook his head, "No........ you are." And they stood in triumph, processing onto the hillside, their capes billowing in the cool, gentle breeze, fiery in sunlight. Celebressel, Findistedis, and Malfinseron joined them on the hillside, azure, silver, and diamond sparkling. And then came Lerinon, his gold, shining. Celebressel took her place beside Alcano. Alcano moved to kiss her, but Celebressel raised her hand: "No. There are other times." Alcano relented. Macil spoke softly, silently, slyly, his cape slithering as it billowed nigh the grass behind him: "I think I have guessed the secret. But I will not speak it. I will not even tell Cellindien that I know it......for her sake......." "How can you be certain?" Macilon wondered aloud. "I am not....... but I feel it..... strongly........" "How?" "The fact that you are standing alive upon this hill." And then they were the Seven, their capes gushing behind them in the ever-brightening sunlight. Then the camp was soon packed thereafter, and loaded back onto the boats, and their journey continued down the slick, silvery, surging currents of the river. They were now four days from the Sea of Rhun. And on the second day, they would reach the bend of the river, on the 27th of March. Edited by Ioristion, Jun 7 2016, 09:58 PM.
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| Ioristion | Jun 7 2016, 10:13 PM Post #89 |
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Chapter XXVI: A Tightened Boat Throughout their journey, Fahnraen had guided the boat from its bow, at the front of the makeshift fleet. Fareon and Lerinon had rowed quietly with Inheroth, Agarwaenor, and the four boat-guards: Amarchon, Calemir, Caranor, and Malchon, who were the Earth Brother, Green Jewel, Red Fire, and Gold Brother. Their elements were fused into their temperament. Amarchon was golden-brown-haired and grey-eyed. He had been most comfortable in his earthen domain. Calemir was raven-haired and the youngest, and he had gravitated toward Lerinon in the first place, and Lerinon had never known it. Caranor was brown-haired with reddish hues, and he had within himself the fiery passion for service to a King, first to Thranduil, and now, he journeyed bereft, of one to serve. Malchon, too, was young, his hair was golden-brown, and he had gravitated toward the twins, for he had caught sight of Lerinon's golden cape as he passed Inheroth's dwelling-place all those many years ago. The four were all tall and grey-eyed. They wore traditional armor of the Woodland Realm: chain-mail laden with jewels, with leather straps and protective guards, and bronze helms. Their blades were of a bright bronze. Their capes were silver lined with fiery orange. But they preferred robes and capes, in restful garb, that most reflected the colors of their names. Amarchon preferred velvet. Calemir preferred velvet and silk. Caranor and Malchon only preferred silk. The silk had been acquired through trade with the Dalemen, who in turn acquired it from the Sindar and Edain of Dorwinion, who in turn acquired it from the great Empires of the East. The four guards had been compelled, and duty-bound to disavow their compulsions, the unknown surges within their fea'r that made them fear and wish to serve the twins. They had had a long time to ruminate over it all during their boring tasks nigh the boats. They had despaired of ever sighting those twins again. And then they saw them. They did not need to make a choice. They followed. But they greatly feared Agarwaenor, Herald of King Thranduil, and so it was that they were stricken to silence in his presence, attempting to commune with the twins through hidden signals, minor motions of their hands and heads. Fareon had understood them. Lerinon remained oblivious. They all rowed beneath the cold, unforgiving eyes of Agarwaenor, who had ever remained at the side of his brother. This tension steadily worsened, day by miserable day, down the cold, sullen river. And Lerinon escaped from it all whenever he could: to the relative safety and comfort of the presence of Macilon, who had been contending with tensions of his own. And Fareon had endured it all gracefully, remaining silent, shaking his head with Amarchon behind their backs. They passed through the 26th uneventfully. They found neither friend nor foe along the river. And on the 27th, they reached the bend, and camped deep into it, as the river slowly wound toward the east. They saw neither Mumakil nor Banners of the White Tree, and Melimwe and Auruiron gazed at the trackless lands with concern. But then Yucalwe told Melimwe: "No. They have seen us. From the Seat of Seeing. They know we are far ahead of them. We must press on..... for if that Easterling army near Erebor is forced to withdraw, it will follow the river this way.... toward us......." And so it was that they continued beyond the bend, throughout the 28th, the forests of Dorwinion rising ahead of them upon the 29th. Edited by Ioristion, Jun 8 2016, 09:27 PM.
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| Ioristion | Jun 8 2016, 08:37 PM Post #90 |
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Chapter XXVII: Saelbainor's Gaze Saelbainor gazed across the remaining plains before the forest. He thought of all he had learned long ago. The ruins of old Gondorian frontier forts dotted the ruined lands, where the streams still flowed, sparkling among the burial mounds. He thought of the ancient rites, the Druids of Rhovanion, the old rituals that worshiped the Valar as if they were deities unto themselves, worshiped in their Rhovanion tongue, named differently than High Quenya. White flora blossomed among the mounds. There Vidugavia once ruled, as Saelbainor heard tale from Rhovanion travelers, exiles, who had come from the downfallen Kingdom. The Kingdom had been settled by the Atanatári long ago after men first awoke in the East and journeyed west in waves across the centuries, or so the old tales spake, and the Kin-strife in Gondor had been born from the marriage between the two Kingdoms. Saelbainor had journeyed in those lands in the First and Second Ages, as wayward Mistaro in search of Daeron, long before the birth of Vidugavia, one of Rhovanion's last greatest Kings. Nomadic tribes had settled along the western shores of Rhun, mostly Edain, while the Sindarin Realms concealed themselves within their cavern-halls and forests, their sacred groves playing host to vineyards of the finest vintage. Men seldom journeyed there, but some had settled, and become Elf-friends, men of the old houses of the Edain, of the Atanatári. Trade once flourished along the rivers, between Greenwood and Erebor, and Dale, and Esgaroth, and the Iron Hills, Naugrim, Edain, and Sindar, all supporting each other. Trade also flourished between the Elves and Edain and many tribal folk and merchants and citizens of the great Empires of the East that were farther east than the Sea of Rhun at the time. But the nomads turned violent, warring with each other, and the Sindar hid within their caves. On the eastern shores of Rhun, other nomads dwelt, for the old Empires were far further East. T.A. 1248 Rómendacil II of Gondor sacked the entirety of the eastern shores, driving folk back away, toward the Empires nigh the Mountains of the distant East, along the river that flowed from them through the vast forest along Rhun's northeastern shores, till it reached the coast and flowed into the sea. In the Mountains of the East, marble, gold, iron, steel, and bronze were mined, cities were built, monuments erected, and the great fiery worms were tamed, till gradually they dwindled to extinction, fading into lore and myth. But the cities remained strong, their Kings and Emperors were mighty sorcerers. One such King was offered a Ring of Power by the being Annatar in the Second Age. This King's name was Khamul, a Sorcerer and King of great renown, who would become one of the Nine Servants of the Enemy, a Ringwraith, a Nazgul. In the beginning of the Third Age, and onward, the Kings and Emperors and Sorcerers often squabbled among themselves, in vain political games, till they found themselves their common enemy, as survivors of the East relayed the truths of the sacking: Gondor became Rhun's deepest foe anew. For it had been long since Rhun had played its role in the defense of Mordor against the Last Alliance. And so Empires expanded, and they retook the eastern shores of Rhun, and built the great cities, including Sakuta along the southeastern shores, just below the forest, where a deserted waste met the city, lands of sand and dirt and stone. The marble and gold were hauled on barges along the rivers from the Mountains of the East. New cities were built. New monuments were edified. And the eastern shores of Rhun came to rival even Gondor. Their wainrider armies were strong. They rampaged into nomadic territories. The Elves they could not subdue, for they were crafty and greatly feared, and the vineyards and the forest were not laid waste, for men feared to enter it, and would not obey their commanders, if commanded to enter the haunted wood. The brave few who entered seldom returned. The Edain of Dorwinion then took-up the role of trading with the East, serving as middle folk between the Easterlings and the Sindar and Silvan Elves. And so it was that the Kingdom of Rhovanion became the new target: and the wainriders conquered it, enslaving its folk for 43 years, as generations toiled and suffered in Rhun's southwestern mountains along the sea. Guldrambor and his followers had concealed themselves within these shadows. Saelbainor had n'er discovered him, and by now, Saelbainor had been long gone, dwelling in Edhellond. And Gondor retaliated as Rhovanion rebelled in 1899, and although they won, their victory was dearly bought, and Gondor came not to discover the existence of Sakuta and the other great cities that had been built in its wake. And Rhovanion disbanded, its folk migrating southwest, all the way to Gondor, from whence Saelbainor had learned the tales, of all that he had missed, when he had departed from the shores of Rhun. And the immigrants who came to Gondor, the few who spoke with Saelbainor in Edhellond, did not know the fate of the Elves. Saelbainor recalled all of this as he stared at Rhovanion and Gondor's ruins. Then, he turned away, as the forest drew ever closer, as they rowed ever forward. The trees were tall and vast. The boats approached them. Edited by Ioristion, Jun 8 2016, 08:53 PM.
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| Ioristion | Jun 8 2016, 11:13 PM Post #91 |
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Chapter XXVIII: A Greenwood Conspiracy They camped on the eaves of the first patches of forest that dotted the land, including the Flet-City of Aurbain, while most of Dorwinion remained a land of rich, green hills flowing with fertile vineyards blooming as their berries glistened 'neath the sun. Yet near the eastern reaches was a wide stretch of forest, and within the forest were hidden halls delved down deep: the Halls of the Silver King. It was the night of the 29th. After Agarwaenor and Fahnraen fell asleep with some of the Noldor in their shared tent, Lerinon roused Inheroth, bidding him to remain quiet, as they sneaked away with the four guards. Amarchon could scarcely believe it. The tension had finally swelled to action. Lerinon had reasoned that now, on the borders of Dorwinion, they could escape Agarwaenor if need be. They gathered elsewhere in the camp. By starlight and moonlight, they rested beneath the eaves. Lerinon wore his golden cape openly. Calemir and Malchon remained at his side. Lerinon turned to Inheroth, "Finally.... after these many days.... we can speak in peace. I did not want to risk it along the river. There was nowhere to flee to then if trouble struck again. But now...... it is safer. What shall we do about your brother, Inheroth?" Inheroth winced, unafraid to be so candid now that they had the privacy to do so. "I had thought his heart would soften to our cause by now; alas he is more stubborn than I have given him credit for. He thinks us traitors," Inheroth looked each of them in the face, brows furrowed thoughtfully; "though I hope his mind may yet be swayed." "Still," he added in a moment's after-thought. "He would not betray us. The same stubbornness that gives him his silence will also be a boon to us; this is the path he chose, and however hesitantly, he will walk along it in time." Calemir stammered, "Let him walk then. He serves the Elven-King. Someone had reported us. Then the King placed us on boat-duty. We have lived in years of boredom ever since... only the wine of this land we now approach gave us any solace. Thranduil is a cruel leader to those who cross him." "Aye," Amarchon noted, "He made us pay for -your- escape, Princeling. You and your brother made fools of us. I hear that Agarwaenor vanished with you as well...." "Now do not blame him," Caranor interjected. "They -had- to escape from Thranduil. He would have kept them locked in those cells forever!" "All leaders are cruel to those who cross them," Inheroth replied flatly as he turned to the former-guards. "Some less so than others. Your Lord did not starve you, or put you in a cage to waste away." He sighed suddenly, and shook his head. Malchon nodded, "Our 'Lord' humiliated us regardless. Everyday, coming and going, hunters and trackers, traders, all down the Forest River, and back again, and more wine to unload........I, for one, am glad to be rid of Thranduil. His halls became our prison. We did not require cells." Calemir nodded, "And the worst crime of all..... he prevented us from getting wed and building our Houses." Amarchon scoffed, "Ye..... and I have a name for thy brother, Inheroth: 'His Imperiousness!'" Lerinon nearly laughed, but covered his mouth, not wanting to insult his gwador. Inheroth paced, pausing only to cast a brief look up towards the stars. He let out a frustrated huff. "I understand, and cannot fault you for wishing to leave. I did the same, those years past. And now we are all free...yet still I take offense at ill words cast towards the King." He sighed, and rolled his eyes. "And my brother." "He is no true King......" Lerinon's eyes glared strangely at them all. "He is a pretender.......... the true line was n'er of Oropher, nor of Amroth, nor of Amdir. The true line began long ago, and his name was Elwe: Elu Thingol, the majestic King of all the Sindar. And Dior was his Heir. And then....... come I forth to claim what is rightfully mine." He swished his cape around himself imperiously. "Out of respect for you, Inheroth, my gwador, I shall attempt to restrain these ill-suited words to this occasion. And for thine sake alone shall I seek to gain the respect of thine brother. But know this, gwador: should he refuse our path, he must stand aside, or reap the consequences. My line held sway over even Beren of old! Over the scion of the line of Numenor, of Arnor, of Gondor... as my brilliant nephew sails across the skies, his Star shining brightly. He shines upon us now. And so unto Thranduil doth I say, nay! And unto Greenwood, I do say nay! And unto Lorien, I do say nay! For I am as constant as my nephew's Star, whose Light now shines upon us." He did not notice the Silvan Elf watching them from the bushes beneath the eaves. Inheroth smiled at Lerinon, but his brows remained pinched, and guilt marred his otherwise fair features. "Of course, gwador," he replied smoothly, but he did not look enraptured, as he would have done under the boughs of Imladris where they once embraced frequently. "Oh," he said suddenly. "I have let Agarwaenor's strange silences effect my mood. You are right, of course...for it was Elu Thingol my father once followed, even if it were unto his very death. I would do the same for thee, brother." Lerinon's face fell, "Forgive me.... gwador...... for the Elves of Greenwood needed a King. Oropher was majestic, as you have told me..... and so is Thranduil....... but that line sought to imprison me till the end of time. I thank you, gwador, for thine loyalty." Malchon deeply smiled, "Now that is better. You had me worried, Lord Lerinon, Heir of Doriath Downfallen. I believe that you are truly Elurin, for my part. But what share will your other gwador, Elured, have in all of this?" "Fareon does not share your candor, gwador," Inheroth said with a nod. Lerinon sighed sadly, "Fareon.... does not seek such things as lost power..... as I do. The House of Auruiron has gifted me with many things. A family, more than one hearth, a palace to call home, and people to love and cherish me, as I have learned to love and cherish them. But all of them were Feanorians. And the Feanorians betrayed my true household. Their debt is not paid in full, until I sit again upon my Throne, a new Throne, set in lands that will n'er sink to the bottom of a sea." Caranor nodded, "I agree, my Lord. But what shall we do concerning Agarwaenor? I for one am not comfortable with maintaining the status quo. He must be dealt with, sooner rather than later. I would have us speak openly now in what remains of our journey, than paddle further in subjected silence in the presence of a Herald of a King who is now far away." Inheroth resumed his slow pacing. "I will speak to him then. Such a conversation has been long forthcoming. I agree, we cannot endure as we have until now...I may not be able to sway him at first word, but such a thing can be done." Amarchon concurred, "I, too, agree. He could prove a greater threat than you know. Dorwinion is formally an ally of King Thranduil, hence all the wine shipments by way of Esgaroth, or at least until the Easterlings burned it....... and Smaug the Golden before them. We must act before Agarwaenor can betray us to the Elves who dwell within these woods." Inheroth looked up sharply to Amarchon. "I will forgive you now for speaking thusly of my brother; you do not know him, and so you cannot be at fault, but he would never betray me, and by extension our party, no matter his second thoughts." Calemir nodded, "This suspicious bickering is nonsense. We are far from Thranduil now. To answer your question Lerinon: Yes. We gain our vintages from this land through trade. I hear these Elves have their own Elven-King, and that their realm is as majestic as that of Thranduil. In fact, Thranduil relies upon this land for its trading, for silk and velvet and wine and other finery that the forest of Mirkwood cannot produce on its own accord." Lerinon rolled his eyes, "Oh no........... not another Elven-King......... another pretender..........." "Daro!" The ellon in the bushes shouted finally. He had understood most of their words. His dialect differed only slightly. He wore a forest-green tunic and brown gloves and boots, leather straps and armor, and he bore a silver bow with sharpened wooden arrows in a silver quiver. Inheroth frowned, turning to the Elf half hidden by shadow. Amarchon drew his bow and aimed, "Who goes there in those bushes?" "I am called Hallothanar. I serve the Silver King. I aid in guarding the borders of these lands. You do not appear to be Easterlings. And I have overheard much of your speech. Tell me, illustrious royal one, how can you call the Silver King a 'pretender,' when you have never met him, in all his royal majesty? I already know of thine response: Thranduil of Mirkwood treated you most unkindly, from what I gather. What seek you and your Company within these lands?" Lerinon bowed out of respect, "We seek the wastes of a land called Rhun. A fell evil dwells thither. We seek to defeat it." Hallothanar nodded, "My dearest brother vanished in the eastern wastes long ago. He was among our strongest protectors. I warned him not to go, that it was a fool's errand, but he did not hearken to me. I hope a Company of your size can handle whatever fell force ruined my brother, hindering his return. If he is alive, then it is strange for him to wander. But I believe he perished. Beware these lands beyond the Sea. For they are perilous to our kind. We have hidden in -our- land for many long seasons, countless. Only the Edain of our land we trust. But you need not fear our land. These lands are sacred, protected. No Easterlings venture here. You say that you have a Herald of Thranduil with you. The Silver King shall wish to speak with him. But I shall whisper to the Silver King of thine plight. But first, you must recant thine foolish words, Prince of Sunken Doriath. Speak that our Silver King is no pretender, and thine ignorance shalt be forgiven thee." Inheroth stepped closer to Lerinon and gently brushed a hand against his arm, imploring silently for his brother to be diplomatic; at least for now. Lerinon felt flustered. He knew what Auruiron would desire. And so he outstretched his arms, his golden cape gleaming palely in the moon and starlight, as he bowed most graciously: "Forgive my foolish wordcraft, Hallothanar of Dorwinion. Thine Silver King is good and just. And he is no pretender." Hallothanar bowed as well, "You truly are the majestic Prince you claim to be, in my eyes. Our Silver King is not Thranduil of the Greenwood, fear not! Our King is a most gracious host. Now, do you lead this Company?" Lerinon shook his head, "My foster-father," he was careful to say, "Leads this Company. He is Auruiron son of Alcarin. But now he is likely asleep within his tent...." Hallothanar nodded and smiled warmly, "Then let us not disturb his slumber. I shall wait to reveal myself to him on the morrow. When all our pleasantries are finished, I will lead you all to the Halls of the Silver King, a day's long march from here." Lerinon bowed, "I thank you, -worthy- Sentinel of Dorwinion. We shall look forward to it." Hallothanar bowed and then returned beneath the eaves of the wood to wherever his flet was hiding high in the trees with their emerald-green leaves.Hallothanar bowed and then returned beneath the eaves of the wood to wherever his flet was hiding high in the trees with their emerald-green leaves. Lerinon turned to Inheroth, waiting till Hallothanar was out of earshot, "This is surprisingly easy. It should not be easy. I fear these Halls may, too, have dungeons......" "Every Hall has dungeons," Inheroth replied smoothly, not betraying the knot of worry in his stomach. "The trick is to avoid being thrown into one. What will your Father say, do you think?" Lerinon sighed sadly, "He will say that no Elf-Lord, even be he High-King of all the Eldar, will hold he and his army prisoner. I fear for what he may do should it come to that....... But as to this invitation, he will accept it, guardingly. We have no choice but to pass through these lands. Our provisions are running ever lower....." Inheroth nodded once. "Yes, it must be so. Until then, heed me gwador; follow Auruiron's lead, and speak of thine desire to rule over a Kingdom to no other. We must not ruffle any feathers." Malchon nodded, "I concur, my Lord. But I fear this scout has already heard all of it....." "Be that as it may, we have no choice but to enter, whatever doom may befall us........." Lerinon frowned, "And here I may have doomed our entire Quest, all because of my own stupidity. I did it with the artifact, and now I have done it again............." His face contracted into the old, bitter nervousness, the same nervousness that nearly led him off a ledge. Inheroth lifted a brow. "If we speak of it no further, then he may mistake Lerinon's words to be...and forgive me gwador," he cleared his throat softly, "the...ah...posturings of a young and proud Elf. And nothing more." Lerinon nodded, his face still pained. He suddenly enveloped Inheroth in his golden cape, embracing him tightly, gleaming palely in the moonlight. The others smiled as they embraced. Inheroth returned the gesture warmly, though he did not know what had brought it on; he let it comfort him nonetheless. Lerinon feared it would be their last. Edited by Ioristion, Feb 1 2018, 09:15 PM.
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| Ioristion | Jun 9 2016, 09:50 PM Post #92 |
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Chapter XXIX: A New Embassy Hallothanar approached the Company at sunrise, and Auruiron was prepared to greet him. Yucalwe, Saelbainor, and Melimwe stood at Auruiron's side. Auruiron had preened his hair and wore his majestic cape, shining in the sunlight, to improve upon his impressions. Hallothanar gazed at him in awe and bowed. Pleasantries were exchanged. Hallothanar agreed again to lead their Company to the Halls of the Silver King on the far side of Dorwinion. Auruiron jested inside himself as they packed-up their camp and continued downriver, with Hallothanar guiding their ways along its currents: I wonder if they, too, have a hidden refuge, and call it The Silver Bough of the Leaves of Telperion. He nearly laughed aloud. As they journeyed, they entered into the lands of the Edain, where old fishermen and fisher-kings fished, and towns were nestled among the trees, including a large city on the eastern shores of the river. They passed the quays and barges. Their culture was reminiscent of distant Dale and Esgaroth. Then they rowed along the coast, paddling through the waves, along a long stretch of coast, with naught but the tall cliffs rising high above them. Then they came docked their boats and hide them among the bushes, and passed through several cave-entrances into halls carved beneath the cliffs, for they had arrived at the Halls of the Silver King, and the sun was setting when they reached its gates. Hallothanar entered the central Hall of the Silver King and returned several moments later. The King had bidden him to show the Company to the Guest-Chamber wing of the Halls, that had been erected for traders, merchants, and other travelers in ages past, including for traders from Mirkwood. They would hold their new embassy on the morrow. Edited by Ioristion, Feb 1 2018, 07:24 PM.
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| Ioristion | Jun 11 2016, 12:56 PM Post #93 |
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Chapter XXX: The Ballad of Eldrand Eldrand hyperventilated. He hated caves. They reminded him of Dwarves. He liked the dens of bears, but despised halls of carved stone. Once, he wandered through the East Gate of Khazad-dum. He wasn't Orcs who gave him fear. He saw two red eyes blazing in the distant darkness across the Bridge. Flames began to erupt, and Eldrand ran for his life on all fours, clawing and slashing at any Orcs who dared stand in his way. He never enjoyed running from a foe. But that visage of shadow and flame gave him nightmares. He was younger then and had been too curious. He wanted to know if the legends were true concerning the fall of the Dwarves, Dwarves whom he despised. The legends were true all right. Too true. He feared halls ever since. He had felt the pulse of the Elf Cullasson. These Elves were flesh and blood, yet feral, magical, strange. Eldrand couldn't stand it. He had wept on Cullasson's shoulder for many reasons, not only for the downfall of his Vale. He had wept because he knew his fate had trapped him. He had lost kindred, hearth, and home, with no one to trust but himself. He thought the three younger Beornings naive. He had called them cubs for this reason, many times in the past, and Beornor's presence could not comfort him. Finally, hours into the night in his guest-chamber, he had had enough. And Aertira, Salhera, Mornhelm, and Beornor, all awoke to the sound of a door being ripped to pieces, and Beornor saw the great bear that was his dearest friend, as if a brother even, charging down the halls in madness, Sindarin and Silvan nobles cowering and running away from him. Beornor's heart was bounding as he ran after Eldrand. He did not need to see what happened. For he had heard the twang of a bow, the whisper of an arrow. Eldrand lay on the cold floor of the hall as if a rug. Beornor collapsed to the floor and wept, not knowing how could he have been so careless. He had thought that Eldrand was hale and strong of heart and spirit. But now not even honor had saved him. Beornor asked who fired the arrow. It was Hallothanar. Hallothanar wept with Beornor bitterly when he realized who the bear really was, Beornor spouting what bits about Eldrand's life he could, and the more he spouted, the more sorrowful Hallothanar felt, for Hallothanar had believed that he was protecting the Halls from a wild bear, and he did not know there were skin-changers among the Company, nor did he know that any such things existed in the world. He had heard legends of Elves transforming into sea-gulls and swans and sparrows, but he had not heard much more than legends. Beornor knocked on Melimwe's door, and Melimwe, too, wept bitterly with him. Hours passed and Beornor decided that he could not stay in those halls any longer. So Melimwe gave him a task: to explore the lands of the Edain across the river. Beornor took what provisions he needed and left the halls. Melimwe remained in sorrow with Auruiron. Mornhelm, Salhera, and Aertira, too, were weeping bitterly. They were still weeping when Ioristion entered their room. Edited by Ioristion, Jun 11 2016, 12:58 PM.
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| Ioristion | Jun 11 2016, 01:24 PM Post #94 |
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Chapter XXXI: Of Death and Doom "He's gone........ It should not have been so! He journeyed with us, he survived with us, he came to a protected place, and he got himself murdered!" Mornhelm wept. Aertira's face was already laden with tears, "He called us traitors. He did not trust us. Not even his kinsfolk!" Salhera said nothing and looked away. Ioristion sighed sorrowfully, "Yes, it never -should- have been, but it is....... it seems poor Eldrand could not stand being among our kind. He was strong, brave and honorable, and he withstood our presence........ until it broke him.......... passing into yet another Elven realm must have been too much for him. Why did he enter? Why did you not remain behind as you did nigh Lothlorien?" Salhera blinked, "Because of you..... our Gold Magician.... we wanted to follow you this time.... and he must have wanted to follow us, not trusting your kind or what you might have done to us," she wept. Ioristion bid them come and rest beneath his cape. They rested, the gold gathering about them in the gloom, weeping and yet consoled. Ioristion had not known Eldrand well, but he wept regardless. Finally, Ioristion spoke: "Do any of you fear death?" Aertira solemnly nodded, "Our lives must be as a mere breath of air compared to yours!" Ioristion closed his eyes, "Do you envy me?" They all nodded sadly. "Well, do not. Envy is not just." "Do not presume to lecture us at a time like this!" Mornhelm stammered. "I........" "Mornhelm of the Vales, be peaceful. I say to all of you again: do not envy me. I have lived through nearly two Ages of this World. Once, I journeyed and tarried in disguise among mortals on a long and twisting road through the lands of Eriador beyond the Carrock and the mountains, as I journeyed from Lindon to Rivendell. It was one of several such journeys, and throughout them all: I saw a great Kingdom rise from its infancy, and glorious Kings and princes processing, and noble Houses in all their glory, and their banners on the breeze, flowing, far above Lake Nenuial, Evendim of old, great marble palaces of stone, brick and mortar, raised upon the heights, towering upon the heights, as sparrows sang their songs, gliding, glistening on the winds, the golden Baranduin flowing, from cold, bright, crystalline azure waters, as if the spirits themselves gathered in the winds. Then I went to war. We all went to war. We came to know the smells of blood, death, and ashes, ashes filling our lungs with the soot throughout seven years, till the Enemy fell, and not forever. And that northern Kingdom split in three, generation after generation, parents growing old and dying, youth growing into parents, and the cycles continued with the seasons, day in and day out, till all that remains of the Kingdom are scattered, broken ruins, where none now dwell but bird and beast. "I have lived to witness these things. Consider the child who was born and left the circles of the world upon his death, the banners of the Kingdom still flowing in the breeze, the land not yet broken. For death, I tell you, is not a curse, but a gift: you should not seek to linger, century after century, and even in my deepest madness, I learned this. My father has existed since before the Eldar crossed the sea from the West. Can you only imagine what he lived and witnessed, long before my birth? A doom and exile, bereft of Paradise, forced to toil throughout the Ages, a glorious continent sunken beneath the sea, waves rolling over fields and hills, across fen and forest, swallowing all beneath them, till they lapped only on the shores of my father's House. Do not fear death, Aertira. It is only sorrowful for those who remain behind. But from all I have seen and witnessed: there is no glory to be had in battle. Think on the sixteen of my kindred, friends whom I have known since birth, who are now gone from these shores forever...... crushed by the clubs of trolls. It is better to die on one's sleep, peacefully dreaming, till one's dreams become reality, and one's body, a passing thing. "For I have learned, children of the House of Beorn, that death is not an ending. That death is an ending and a doom is a lie wrought by the discord of the Enemy. Eldrand is not gone. His spirit has passed onward, beyond the circles of the world, taking his consciousness with him, the power that once flowed through him, when he was living. But elsewhere he is still alive, I believe. I do not know if his spirit wanders through green pastures on all fours, but I suspect he might. We Elves do not know what becomes of mortals, only that their spirits are real, your spirits, and pass beyond the circles of this world, elsewhere, wherever that may be. There is something else you gain, by being mortals: you can cherish every moment you are alive. We Eldar live forever, lest we die in battle, but there is much of life that we have missed, lingering in our deep, withering sorrows. Findekano tried to tell me once, of the light of the sun and of the songs of birds, and of the gentleness of the breeze upon a hillside." Aertira wiped her tears, for Ioristion's words were beautiful. Then, she said: "I believe you. But there is much we mortals miss as well. Much that we forget, year after year we are alive. And there is toil and pain for us too. The toil and the pain prevent us.... from seeing what you wish to see, all the time......" Ioristion smiled warmly, stroking her hair gently, "But you have seen it. And felt it...." They all embraced each other warmly. Mornhelm deeply smiled, "Then let us live onward. And let us live for Eldrand. Then his life and death will not have been lost of meaning." Ioristion gently kissed Mornhelm's cheek, "They will not be bereft of meaning regardless. For even the lives of the birds have meaning." Mornhelm's eyes gleamed in the torch-light, "What will we do with the body?" At dawn, several Elves gathered, and it would be several hours before their Embassy. The Company gathered as Eldrand's body was buried beneath fresh soil, and hyacinths planted over-top of him, and the sparrows sang. And busy bees buzzed nearby, collecting their honey. |
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| Ioristion | Jun 11 2016, 01:53 PM Post #95 |
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Chapter XXXII: A Harp is Strung Auruiron had returned to his chamber after the funeral. Melimwe entered also. Auruiron gazed out the window at the glistening sea. "Our Embassy is in several hours; The Sun is passing on its climb." "There have been thousands of passings...... this sea is strange. It is strange to see a sea and not think of a West beyond it. The last time I gazed eastward across a sea was........" Melimwe nodded, "I know, my brother. I remember Alqualonde so long ago, its glistening walkways and quays.... Feanaro's crystals....." Auruiron smirked, "Macalaure whipping my gift around his shoulders, claiming it was as beautiful as something Varda would wear....." Melimwe gingerly fingered one of Auruiron's folds, "He was not jesting." Auruiron's smirk lessened, "I wonder if..... we are on the sight of our fathers' awakening.......... Helcar was an inland sea, after all.............. perhaps this was Cuivienen of old.........." Melimwe sighed, "The map has changed since then. I doubt it. But it is an intriguing thought........ do you ever miss Alcarin?" "Sometimes." "I miss Argon much......." "Your father was a better Ellon." "Your father was, too....... remember it was Guldrambor who sowed our exile. Not your father. He was an unwitting participant, we all were............but come, beloved brother, let us not weep longer for all that has already transpired...........the past is done. We must look to our immediate future............." "I cannot help myself, Melimwe. I live and breathe the past.......... do you remember that one tidal wave?" Melimwe nodded, "I remember. It left you sopping wet!" Melimwe laughed. "It is a pity we had to leave Fingaereth behind..........." Auruiron nodded, "Her makeshift legs could not have made the journey." Melimwe smiled sadly, "I know......... it is a wonder she has not faded............... she is well-tended back at home. Do you remember Faeleth?" Auruiron shed a tear, "With all my heart.......... her passing still burns in my memory.............." "As in mine," Melimwe nodded sadly. "In her I found a dearest sister.......... her long, glistening golden hair, her beaming eyes...........to think that Macilon served her.......... and that was how and why the artifact was buried.........." "And I had not time to consider that jewel........ not with my beloved wife perishing in my arms.................and all the long sorrowful years that followed it. Come, shall we sing a song for her?" Melimwe nodded, grabbing their harps from their packs, his own golden cape glistening behind him. And they sang of Faeleth in all her beauty, and of the horrific manner of her death, at the hands of Yrch: ~She glistened in a gale-filled glade~ ~Wind whispered through her hair~ ~A golden, fairest, much-loved maid~ ~Ever her life was fair~ ~She bore a wondrous golden son~ ~The Vanyar's greatest heir~ ~And then too soon her life was done~ ~No longer free and fair~ ~A golden cape, a golden dance~ ~A golden Elvish lair~ ~Sacked and burned and all undone~ ~No longer bright and fair~ ~They took her hroa far away~ ~All they could do was stare~ ~As her hroa neath soil lay~ ~The sun still shined so fair~ And then Auruiron transitioned into his Ages-old song for long-lost Maglor: ~He was born a great golden Prince~ ~With golden-brown fair hair~ ~A silver harp that gave great hints~ ~To voices loud and fair~ ~He was gifted a golden cape~ ~With his brother he sang~ ~The trumpets sounded, no escape~ ~And all the drums did bang~ ~He marched away to the dark East~ ~And blood was shed so dark~ ~His oath was sworn, there was no peace~ ~His doom was ever stark~ ~He wanders now so far alone~ ~His hair is ever black~ ~Yet in darkness, there still is hope~ ~He still may yet come back~ The song ceased. They put down their harps. Auruiron turned to Melimwe, "We should not have left him behind. We were to face the Shadow together." Melimwe shook his head, "No. He had seen and faced enough. It is enough that he will return West with us. And there are other ways to face the Shadow, even in Eriador." "I suppose," Auruiron took a sip of Dorwinion red wine that had been sitting in his crystalline glass on the nearby table. "Auruiron.......... Alcon.... listen to me. Macalaure, for centuries, had to face his doom alone, and so much you, with one correction," and Melimwe outspread his golden cape, bowing low, "You are not alone." Auruiron fell into his arms, "Oh Melimwe....." They deeply exchanged their kisses of brotherly affection on their cheeks. They held their deep embrace for endless moments, the sunlight glistening on the sea. And then they clasped each other on their shoulders, girding their hearts for the hardships to come. |
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| Ioristion | Jun 11 2016, 02:15 PM Post #96 |
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Chapter XXXIII: The Old Council of Himring Yucalwe summoned Cullasson, Cullastor, Limdor, Circhon, Palanelon, Rirossel, Amarthandor, Auravon, Sainion, Macil, Saelbainor, and Ioristion into his chambers. A map was laid-out on the central table. Yucalwe was hunched over, studying it. "Welcome, all of you. I did not summon Auruiron and Melimwe purposefully. They are not necessary for this." Ioristion protested, "You would seek to cloak my father and uncle's eyes from whatever you are planning?" "I remind you, Ioristion, of your father's actions in the First Age. All of their diplomatic efforts were rendered failures, and their so-called battle stratagems were farces at best. It is a wonder that Macalaure even tolerated him. And were it not for your uncle always cleansing him of his messes, your father would be dead, and you would not be here." "No, it is a wonder that Maitimo Nelyafinwe ever tolerated -you-." "Be it as it may, let us begin our business. Now sit down!" They sat around the map-table reluctantly. "Where is the artifact?" Saelbainor asked reluctantly. Yucalwe frowned, "It is safe, hidden..... at least from all these prying Sindar and Silvan folk who think they are sensing something amiss...." "They seldom receive visitors," Saelbainor replied sadly. "These guest-wings were built for purposes that were served long ago. It is a wonder that they even maintain them." "If I came here to discuss guest services, I would have hired servants," Yucalwe balked. "Be it as it may, no one should use the artifact, or seek to touch it, while we are within these walls. They may seek to confiscate it for themselves if they discover it." "I commend you for your prudence," Saelbainor tried to smile, "But you are already presuming that this Silver King is someone to be feared. Kings warrant respect, but not always fear. You should not antagonize those whom you do not know." Then Saelbainor fell silent. Yucalwe balked, "Perhaps you are right." The silence was deafening in the room as they all stared at each other: Cullasson and Cullastor in their fiery robes, Yucalwe in his dark cape, Limdor, Circhon, and Palanelon all robed in Silvan silver, Rirossel in her red gown and the only elleth present, Macil in his dark and fiery cape beside her, Ioristion in his golden cape, and Amarthandor, Auravon, and Sainion, all robed in azure velvet. Yucalwe's dark eyebrows bristled, "Well, what shall our strategy be?" Limdor cleared his throat, brushing his silver hair behind him, "I... recommend... that we explore these mysterious lands first. We do not know their geography or their history. This places us at a tactical disadvantage." Circhon nodded, wiping his silver-blond hair from his eyes, "I concur. We heard that the force that marched in the Last Alliance from Lothlorien and Greenwood the Great got themselves mired in the marshes and many were slaughtered, including the illustrious Kings, Amdir of Lorien and Oropher of Amon Lanc. If they had known their geography better in those regions, they might have avoided being chased into the marshes. They are Dead now....." Palanelon sighed, stroking his own fiery-brown hair, "We need to know our safe havens from our spider-nests." Amarthandor closed his eyes, "The Last Alliance was terrible. Our Siege lasted seven long years, which I am quite certain you remember, Lord Commander Yucalwe. We cannot afford a similar error. We cannot afford to fight for long years in these lands. We must seek a swifter conclusion to all of this, or it will prove the death of us." Sainion nodded in agreement. Auravon nodded, "We cannot.... allow ourselves to be surprised, again, either. The Dark Lord's sudden march from Barad-dur nearly proved the ruin of us. We cannot allow Guldrambor to do the same." Macil, Rirossel, and Ioristion sat quietly, twiddling their thumbs. Macil only wanted to return to Cellindien, but kept his longings silent. Yucalwe heaved a deep sigh, "It would seem that we can agree, at the least, that we have to at least spy-out these lands before thrashing through them. Saelbainor, you are right. Let us wait until we know more about the situation here. Then, after our embassy with the Silver King, we shall meet again, to determine who to send-out, provided all proceeds well. Between overconfidence and prudence, the latter is far superior. Adjourned." Cullasson sighed, "This reminds me too much of the olden days in Himring." Yucalwe's eyes gleamed darkly, "And there is no Maitimo Nelyafinwe to stop me this time." "We will see....." Ioristion balked. "We will see.........." "Careful," Yucalwe gently replied. "You represent your father and your uncle on this Council now." They all dispersed. |
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| Ioristion | Jun 11 2016, 02:32 PM Post #97 |
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Chapter XXXIV: A Love Requited Cullasson, Cullastor, and Rirossel gathered in their chamber. The fire in the hearth burned brightly. Their chambers were on the interior, away from rooms with windows overlooking the sea. Cullasson turned to Rirossel, "I wonder of this Silver King... be he friend or foe... I fear for the coming hours...." Cullastor sighed, "You fought in Kinslayings, Adar. If fight we must, then we must." Cullasson turned, "Do not ever speak to me in that tone again. Know that you are still young and do not realize how wretched a Kinslaying is. There is no glory to be had in it." Cullastor balked, "Fine, fine. Shoot at bears instead. See how the Beornings love it. I wonder if they will permit hunting in these beauteous woods...." Rirossel spoke calmly, "Go to your chamber, my son. I will have words with your father." Cullastor stomped away and shut the door loudly behind him. Cullasson sighed sadly, "Forgive me........ I am still angered at Yucalwe. He is repeating history again! He thinks that he is better than Auruiron. He is not. Oh I remember our crimson banners, our tall, dark walls........our folk all at work throughout the streets......colorful marketplaces..... the trumpets... the drums..... oh Himring....." "Let me handle Yucalwe at another time," Rirossel counseled softly. "Calm down..... we have been too aloof from each other throughout this journey. We have barely spoken since Lothlorien........." "My duties...." "Duty...... speak no longer to me of duty........ what of me, my love? Have I not also a duty, to love you endearingly as thine wife?" She gently stroked his dark hair, as he stroke hers. Then they kissed, their hearts throbbing. When Cullastor peeked out of his room, his parents were resting in each others' arms. He sneaked out of their network of chambers. He had decided to seek Ioristion. |
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| Ioristion | Jun 11 2016, 02:52 PM Post #98 |
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Chapter XXXV: The Hunter The Beornings were still weary and grief-stricken, and resting beneath Ioristion's gold in comfort. Mornhelm stroked Salhera's golden-brown hair as Ioristion stroked Aertira's. There was a knock at the door. Ioristion seemed surprised when Cullastor entered. They had not spoken in ages. Cullastor outspread his fiery robes and bowed, "Forgive my intrusion..... I am sorrowful for Eldrand's death......." "Come and join us," Ioristion nodded. "Misery is better with company." Cullastor slipped down among them, next to Ioristion. Finally, Aertira asked: "Have you seen much death?" Cullastor nodded grimly, "Aye... Ioristion and I fought together, long ago....among thousands of men and Elves.... against tens of thousands of Orcs and other foes..... for ten long years...... we toiled.... in ash and soot..... on dusty, dry battle plains.... and some of us got trapped in pooling, festering marshlands..... and we besieged a Dark Fortress, darker than Dol Guldor.... for seven years.... part of the ten, the other three including other battles and our long marching away from home.....longing for more terraqueous lands, than trudging through the ashes...." Ioristion nodded grimly, "I tried to heal many of my kindred in those darksome days.... to no avail..... I learned that death, although a gift, can be taken cruelly..... and that it can be our common fate.....Let us speak of something different. Have you done much hunting lately, Cullastor?" Cullastor's eyes blazed brightly, "Not recently, not since entering this forest, I........... I have slain many deer, kine... and.......... bears......." Aertira's eyes were blazing, "How many?" Cullastor heaved a deep sigh and closed his eyes, "Thousands......." The room was deafly silent for a time. Ioristion sighed, "I should not have spoken of this....." "No you should not have!" Mornhelm roared. "But it is too late for that now......" Salhera closed her eyes, "We were raised to despise the murderers of our bear-kindred......." Cullastor slowly stood before them, outspread his fiery cape and robes, bowing low, "I offer you my life. Do with me as you will.............. for now I loath myself for all the bears that I have slain, and wish I had n'er done so..................." They stared at him in solemn silence. Finally, Mornhelm tried to smile, "Cullastor........ you were huntin' for food and warmth, no doubt. Not for sport, as some cruel men are oft to do. My words may not mean much, but I find ye honorable, and -worthy- of forgiveness........" Slowly, Aertira mustered it: "I forgive you." Salhera nodded sadly. Mornhelm rose beside him, "But ye must kneel before me, and vow n'er to slay bears ever again." Cullastor knelt before him and did so. Then they all sat down beneath the gold again in silence, the gloom gathering about them. |
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| Ioristion | Jun 11 2016, 06:46 PM Post #99 |
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Chapter XXXVI: Wine of Dorwinion Amarthandor took a slug of wine. He was very drunk and began ranting about the old wars. Saelbainor opted not to partake. Auravon took another slug of wine, as did Sainion. Finally, Saelbainor cried, "Another of this! How do you drunken sots think you are going in front of a King in an embassy, behaving this way!" "I wish I had behaved this way, right straight up in front of Gil-galad's face!" Amarthandor hissed. Auravon sang mockingly, "'And into darkness fell his star,'" Saelbainor grabbed his bottle away from him. They had already eaten their lembas. Sainion sighed, "Oh maybe we should have died, in Mordor long ago." He took a deep drink. Saelbainor grabbed his wine. Amarthandor laughed, "Are ye still sore at us, Saelbaini!" Auravon laughed. "That's Saelbainor to you," Saelbainor stammered. "You cannot go in front of a King, such as it is. This is absurd. You are supposed to be veteran soldiers of a by-gone Age!" "And indeed we are!" Amarthandor laughed. "We are veteran soldiers of a by-gone Age. Can you not tell? Most veterans are drunk, or should be." Saelbainor heaved a deep sigh, "I am going to recommend that you stay at the rear of our Company when we are presented before the King. They should never have given us wine before an embassy. What do they seek to do? Embarrass us?" Sainion laughed, "Yes! And they are doing a thorough task at it! They might as well give us a whole cask and be done with it already!" "Give me that bottle!" Saelbainor stammered at Amarthandor, who yielded it unconditionally, saying, "I... surrender! We are doomed to failure, we Noldor. You do know that, right, Sinda? You do realize that we cursed your realm because you cursed yourselves with that Silmaril! A bloody Jewel it was, Feanaro can rot in Mandos for all I care...." Saelbainor blinked, "You truly are drunk. This wine is cursed, from the looks of it! Its poison, I tell ye! Poison!" Auravon sighed, "Come onward, Amarthandor, you know there's still a bit of hope. We are alive, are we not?" Amarthandor shook his weary head, "I do not know. Are we? Are we? We're living ghosts, Auravon! We might as well have faded...." Sainion shook his head, "If the two of you could only hear yourselves....." Then he felt even more hazy from the deleterious, dolorous effects of the wine. "All I miss is my dead betrothed... we were going to be married that autumn..... and then Annatar turned traitor and the fields were swarmed with Yrch and evil men..... and we were overwhelmed....." "Give me that bottle back," Amarthandor stammered to Saelbainor, "We have earned the right to drink ourselves to death, on this weary, wary, worrisome road...... Give me wine over some Easterling cowards.....as those who put the Feanorians to the sword." Saelbainor scoffed, "Those were -different- Easterlings.... these folk have little to do with the folk of Ulfang." Sainion did not relent, "My betrothed...... her eyes were glassy grey.... her hair a lighter tone of black..... she was gorgeous....... the Yrch murdered her..... I was away with the contingent when they raided our homestead........ and you know, I have slain countless Yrch since then, and do you know what? She's still dead....... still caught in Mandos for all I know...... though I hope she has been released by now.....I should have sailed West to find her." Amarthandor sighed, "Let me pour you another glass, brother. The doom's still on our heads. It is no use trying to think of sailing West. Who will welcome us back first? The Teleri, whom our forefathers slaughtered? The Noldor who stayed behind? Or the Vanyar who wanted little to do with us outside of that one lovely period that gave Auruiron his golden hair, and outside of the War of Wrath? Or the Valar who doomed us to exile from the uttermost West to the uttermost East? Who? Tell me, who?" Sainion stammered, "We should, NOT, have to suffer... for our parents' choices!" Amarthandor balked, "The same choices that spawned us?!" Saelbainor sighed, "Listen, you drunkard veterans. The Valar pardoned you. They still might, if you live to cross the sea. Who do you think they are? Morgoth? We may yet win the day and all may yet be well in Tol Eressea. Now enough of this nonsense!" The room was as silent as a graveyard. Saelbainor scoffed and left the room, thinking, And maybe I should stay..... with these kindred.... and forget the West until I fade......... anything to be free from Noldorin angst! But what of Melimwe............ we are not as close as we used to be. He finally has acknowledgment from that brother of his......... Yet still, Melimwe saved me, even as I tried to slay him, in Menegroth's ruins so long ago....... oh well. I will decide later. |
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| Ioristion | Jun 11 2016, 07:00 PM Post #100 |
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Chapter XXXVII: A Family Sundered Ioristion finally returned to his own guest-chambers, sunlight streaming on dark stone walls, slick as marble. He fell under the cross gaze of Rostoriel. She stammered, "So now you have returned to me, at least! Tell me, how are the Beornings?" Ioristion balked, "Fine now that I have been there to comfort them!" Rostoriel fell silent, "Something is terribly wrong. No, I do not mean poor Eldrand's death, that was wrong enough. And I suppose the Beornings need their 'Gold Magician' to guide them in their confusion. Sadly, I happen to know, their guide is most confused. You are still mad, my husband." "No I am not!" Ioristion stammered. "I am free from that finally, and nothing will make it return." "Oh? Oh? What about our son?" "Well, what about him? He is old enough to follow his own way, is he not?" "He takes after you. He has your madness. And then he reinforces it upon you whenever you two are together." "Not quite so recently. And not so fast. Do you not know? Macilon's influence is deep.... he even explained Findekano's appearances to me." "Deceptions from your own mind?" Ioristion shook his head, "No. Not deceptions. Not completely. It is difficult to explain." Rostoriel turned away, her fiery hair flaring behind her, "You must know.... my husband..... your son will not heed us. He will not heed me... his own mother..... he even rows apart from us now...." Ioristion sighed, "He is married now.... have you forgotten?" Rostoriel sighed, "But they were.... I do not know. I fear the delirious effects of the Golden Wood have had their way with them." Ioristion shook his head, "Macilon has had his way with them...... and you are right..... he...he did inherit my madness..... oh poor Alcano!" And Ioristion broke down in tears. Rostoriel could scarcely believe it. Rostoriel deeply embraced and kissed him deeply, "Oh Ioristion...... forgive me..... perhaps you are not as mad as I have thought....... but we have to mend wounds with our son, we have to. What did we do wrong that made him side with Macilon so rashly?" Ioristion shook his head, drying his tears, "I.....do...not...know....I...fear.....it must be his youth....... I was once young and foolish as he is.........he feels things too passionately....... I think Macil's return spurred something in him........" Rostoriel gazed blankly, "Shattering his dreams. He did always venerate Rostor! But the real Rostor must not have accorded with...." "Everything he thought Rostor was..... everything I told him....... Macilon must more resemble the Rostor of his longings......... but, my dear.... we must let him learn his way around it on his own. He is wed...... he will have to learn..............give him time." And Rostoriel nodded sadly. |
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12:44 AM Jul 11