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(Archive) The Fellowship of the Sword 60 - Coming to Rivendell


Short Summary: Thorondur leads the Company to the Vale of Imladris, where once he sojourned long ago. By this point in the quest, Maernus has changed his name to Erutirn. There is no record here as to why this change was made, but it is evident there was other RP going on between the previous episode and here.
Date (real-life): 2001-01-24
Scene Location: Imladris
 

================= Eldarin Calendar ==================
IC time is: Early Night < About 9:35 PM >
IC day is: Orgilion
IC date is: 44 Ethuil
Moon phase: Waxing Gibbous
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 142 o Yen 21, Nelandran o Endor
---------------------------------------------------------------------
RL time: Wed Jan 24 18:11:55 2001
=============================================================

The Forest Shore
This is a broad clearing in the lightly wooded southern side of the Valley. Sweet smelling wild-flowers speckle the grass which was absent under the shade of the trees. On the other side of the river is a gloriously green and pleasant landscape. Large shade trees dot open meadows, and the trail continues east towards the house. Crossing the river at this point is a narrow bridge. Standing right next to the river, you can hear the water splashing vigorously along the stony riverbed.

Contents:
Indilzar
Amano
Erutrin
Varinya
Morrandir
Thorondur
Cedar Wood Pile
Vanilor
Storage Rack
Obvious exits:
West, Bridge, Uphill, and East

The starry night sky above the cliffs is clear except for a few thin wisps of high clouds. The Misty Mountains loom against the clear sky in the east, shadows against the stars.

Starlight has served its silvery luminescence for the safety of Numenor's sons this night, for the trail down the cliffs was well-lit. From their camp above -- doubtless long since known to elvish scouts -- a triad of young Westermen have made the descent.

Now do they cross the open lawn between cliff-face and river-bridge, coming toward Vanilor: humbly and yet not without assurance. Two there are just come of age, or near enough -- yet while the one who leads them seems as youthful, at first, his eyes tell a different tale.

Without words between them, they pause beneath the cliff at his silent signal -- and now he gazes about, as if searching for something.

The early twilight stars sparkle brightly down upon the Valley of Elrond. A soft breeze dances bout the treetops joyfully even in the beginning of night. Crickets are heard all around giving a certain tranquility to this fair place. An elleth, pale as a fresh lily in the midst of summer, awaits the humans who have been noted by her kin. A few other elves stand back from her and perhaps more have melted into the forest, looking upon these newcomers. She heeds these elves no mind though and instead leaves her attention upon the coming humans.

One of the men seems to have trouble riding, his horse strays from the leader's side. Morrandir the one-eyed, to those who know him. The blue stripes upon his white tunic show him to be a blue-squire of Dol Amroth, the beautiful city in the distant south. As he rides he looks about the valley in awe, amazed at it's beauty.

Now the first one among them, the leader with the ancient blue eyes -- he smiles; and in the starlight it is a wondrous thing. For the silvertine glow of the heavens collects about the circlet he wears like an aura, though it cannot be more than a mere reflection.

Afoot though his squire rides, he steps forward again, and once more til he begins to glide gracefully across the grass; and to the elfmaid he calls gladly, "Hail, Varinya! I once spoke of a joyous welcome, if I ever I returned -- now it seems that I have it!"

Striding only slightly behind the first man, Erutirn holds his staff in his right hand as he walks. He glances around the area with the a similar awe to Morrandir. He looks towards Varinya for a mere moment, before returning to look at his surroundings. When he pauses behind the knight herald, he leans upon the staff holding it in both hands.

A soft aura radiates from the elven maid of old, encompassing her pallor features and crisp white gown. Though, it does now seem to diminish as the humans approach. The call perks the elleth's ears, as it seems familiar to her. It takes her a moment to sort through her memories of millennia, but as the figure comes closer, she finally recognizes him, though it does take another moment. " Ah, mellon. The scouts did say a group of humans were at our borders, but did not mention you." Her voice is softer than a whisper yet carries well so that all may hear. " It is good to see you again."

Now limned in the light of the stars, and clad in the halls of the Greenwood after the fashion of the Grey-Elven folk, the elleth's own people, this first among the Dunedain reaches Varinya. His bow is elegant, as might befit a princess of his homeland.

Only upon rising does he speak again, and while joy wars with weariness in his eyes, his voice is given entirely to the former. " And you, Istheryn," he says. " I never thought to return here, but I have done -- though alas, in direst need. Yet that is for later. Let me be glad, a little while longer."

The squire slips off his mount, and muttering a curse in Adunaic. As he leads the horse he looks to the Knight herald and says, "Why oh why did I not take your advice Sir? But no...I wanted to ride down the cursed path..." He sighs and looks down at the horses hooves.

"Nothing in this valley, Morrandir," says Thorondur, laughing as he looks to the squire upon his right shoulder, "is accursed. Say rather the blessed path, for blessed it is, to lead you out of hunger and peril to the House of Elrond." And though his words seem a reprimand, their tone is indulgent and kindly.

Laughing only slightly towards Morrandir, "Because, Morrandir... you can never do something the way it should be done. First you must fail, then you'll get the point." He glances towards Thorondur, "Perhaps it is his horse that is cursed and not the path, then, Thorondur?"

As they all approach closer, the maid takes on a more formal tone, greeting them in Quenya, as would seem proper for one of her position, 'Elen sila lumenn omentielvo.' A silent breeze flutters the Istheryn's white hair about her tender features. Varinya nods in response to the others bow, though it is out of respect. " Aye, we can speak of need at a later date." She glances quickly upon the others the Knight-Herald has brought with him. " But come, you must tell me who your friends are."

"I do not believe in curses, Sir Erutirn," says Thorondur, the Herald of Imrahil, to his other young companion.

Then does his gaze return to the elfmaid, and laughing once more, he gestures to one and the other. "Of course! But I warn you, they do not know your tongue so well as their own. The rider is Morrandir, my squire -- and upon my left is young Sir Erutirn, but lately sworn a knight."

Morrandir looks now upon the elleth, the look upon his face almost seems as though he is recalling some fond memory. He smiles, and bows before the maiden as he is introduced.

"Morrandir son of Barrandil at your service m'lady."

Varinya nods to each in turn as Thorondur introduces them, though it is not as respectful as to their commander. " Would you rather I spoke in Westron then, mellon, or something else perhaps, Adunaic?" She looks at the Knight-Herald awaiting an answer.

Nodding at Thorondur, he turns then Varinya and bows. "Erutirn Calgar, and as the Knight-Herald pointed out... I have been not long a knight." He stands, returning to a position of leaning on his staff. "Well, I speak not for Thorondur, but I can speak rather little Adunaic myself."

Now Thorondur smiles toward the ancient maid once more, this Varinya who seems both old and young at once -- and rests a hand upon his breast in heartfelt words. The elventongue flows freely and with eloquence from his lips, and the words -- even to those who know them little -- paint a picture of loyalty and yet, a subtle and endless longing.

" Your scholarship shames us, my lady; though some among our folk have studied it, no Man of Gondor speaks the tongue of that Isle which is lost to us forever," and then he sighs, and a moment's sorrow passes.

"The Westron," says Thorondur, now heartened again, "is spoken most often among us, now -- though many yet speak the Elventongue."

The squire nods, looking from the herald to the elleth. "Sindarin or Westron, it matters little. Though it is always nice to hear the elven tongue spoken by the firstborn themselves..."

And there, from the rim of the Valley he approaches, a tall figure clad in blue and silver, his bearing proud and sure. Swiftly does the distance between he and the gathered group of Men, and Eldar.

With little time does this one come to stand at the side of the Knight-Herald, nodding once to the man even as he speaks, "Hail Lord Girithlin," his voice comes forth, this his gaze falls upon the one to whom he is speaking, "Hail to you, Noble One."

Varinya nods regally at the Knight-Herald, a visage of sadness painted upon her starlit face. "Very well then, mellon. It pains me to hear such things. The loss of knowledge breaks my heart." A slight shake of her head with her eyes closed and the sorrow melts away like the waves upon the shore, a calmness taking over her bright violet eyes. "And it would be rude of me not to introduce myself also. I am Varinya, Loremistress, or if you would prefer Istheryn, of the Istfariath."

"Ah," says Thorondur Girithlin at the approach of another Man, and Varinya's introduction for that one's sake and the others'. "And this man is our Young Prince, the Lord Erchirion," he explains, introducing the arrival with a gesture of his hand.

Now smiling softly down upon the loremistress, the knight Thorondur replies, "It is studied still, in old and quiet places. Yet none of us who know it will speak it -- for we are ever Exiles, and the sorrow of our fathers is ours in turn."

Bowing slightly towards Erchirion, "Greetings Lord Erchirion." He watches the talk between Thornodnur and Varinya. He looks up towards the sky for a few moments, then at the area for a few more. "Yes, most are exiles from the land of their fore fathers, a few of us were not so lucky... more the woe brought upon us that are not so lucky."

The words of the Herald are quickly discerned by the young Prince, who in turn speaks, "Aye, there are many who can still read the text of old.." then his head hangs, "But that age has passed.. and few know, or care, to learn that which is little used..."

And even as he speaks another greeting comes, and to this the Prince turns and smiles, "Hail to thee my brother Knight, has the weight of your title found a comfortable home upon your shoulders?"

Varinya tilts her head curiously at the prince before nodding in respect, but the nod is as with the newly knighted one and the squire, merely respectful. "Elen sila lumenn omentielvo," she echoes a greeting the same as her earlier one. "It seems odd that one so highly born among your kind would venture out this far." Her words are soft and twinged with the hint of questioning, or curiousity perhaps. Quickly though, she reverts her attention back to the Knight-Herald. "Tis a pity you do not. We have a gathering of Arnorians here whom I am certain you will like to converse with." A smirk etches itself upon her face at something she decides not to reveal just just.

At this news of his northern kinfolk, the sapphirine eyes of Thorondur widen slightly -- as if in surprise -- and his words are touched by a certain eagerness new to their inflection. "It has been many years," he admits, "since I rode with them. I wonder if old Elorian still lives, and Aralan; Bronwe his wife -- and their captain too."

And now he looks to Varinya, and in the secret mind of his speech is a question that is given no voice.

"Aye," the Prince replies, "Though in truth it is not common for one such as I to venture this far from our homeland.." Erchirion stops for but a moment to look to the Knight-Herald, "I come with a request for the Lord of the Valley, and before him all shall be made clear as to our reason for coming this far."

"But in truth, I am Prince of no man, my title is merely out of respect for my Father, the Lord of Belfalas from which we hail," His smile is warm, "I have heard many a tale of our Northern Kin, yet I have never before now had the chance to speak with them.." Again, his words draw to a close, "I pray there will be time for us to speak.."

"I have never met any of our northern kin before..." murmurs the squire, glancing behind the elleth to the lights of the house behind her, as though hoping to see one. "I suppose they are not all that different to us."

"I would converse with them, for never before have I met men of thier kind." Erutirn says, he rubs his chin slightly. "Perhaps they will know more of an extremely odd poem told me on this journey." He grins slightly, "Extremely odd seems not quite the right word, but close enough."

Varinya shakes her head sadly at the Knight-Herald. "I am afraid I must tell you that they do not, mellon. Though my memory may have them confused with others, I do doubt that. My condolences to you." She looks to the young prince with an eyebrow raised, "Ah, I see. I thought as much that you would have come to ask the Herdir something. To make this journey for anything less would be unthinkable." Her words seem more addressed to her previous speaking partner, though with her face turned toward the prince, who can be certain.

"They are lean Men, and hard," the Lord Thorondur tells his youthful companions. "They are as we are, and yet not so. There are ancient secrets, long lost in the South, that perhaps are still kept among their seers." And of this he says no more, but falls silent into thought of his own -- or would, save for the elfmaid's speech.

It is to Varinya that the Herald turns again, and explains, "It is true, what you have discerned -- we seek aid, in our dire need. Yet let me mourn a moment for my companions of old...."

"Maybe such secrets shalll guide us on our errand," says Indilzar coming down the trail. He bows to the Elf-Maiden and declares..."

"A star shines upon the hour of our meeting Lady."

Listening to all that is said, the young Prince elects to remain quiet for a time, even as the Lord Bragollach comes along the trail to join them.

Now again is Thorondur bereft of the silence he seeks; perhaps it is for the better that Indilzar comes, brash as is ever his wont. A smile comes unlooked-for to the Herald's lips at his coming, and the Dunadan knight laughs once more. Yet, "Do not count upon them, Indilzar," is all that he says.

"Maybe Thorondur, Thane-herald," replies Indilzar Bragollach. "Yet pardon my interruption."

He takes a step back and stands next to Erchirion.

Varinya nods respectfully, more so than for anyone else, to the Knight-Herald once again. Leaving him in his moment, she turns now to Indilzar, who has just come down the trail to the valley. A soft breeze flutters her white hair and gown about her and the glow still remains. "Elen sila lumenn omentielvo," she speaks in a whisper still heard easily even by those elves watching from the forest. Her violet orbs are calm now, the smirk washed away in replying to Thorondur's question of his friends. She awaits for the humans to finish their greetings to their friend.

And to the Lord Bragollach does the Son of Imrahil look now, "Greetings to thee upon this night my friend," and then he turns a hand to the elven woman before them, "I present to you the Lady Varinya, Istheryn, of the Istfariath." And then his other hand passes to rest before Indilzar, "and to you my Lady I present, the Lord Indilzar Bragollach, Knight-Thane in the service of my Father and the Swan-Knights, head of the House of Bragollach."

Bowing low Indilzar takes up the official greeting but is silent. Rather he looks into the eyes of the elf and recalls if can be imagined, another dream now long passed.

"Greetings, Indilzar. You remember that odd poem that Rhuarc told me, don't you think I should ask the men here about it?" Erutirn says, grinning slightly. He watches Erchirion introduce Indilzar. "Though perhaps you should talk to the Loremistriss... she has a much larger store of knowledge from which to discuss with you."

Indilzar nods grimly to Erutirn and says, "I would knight. But recall the words of the Lord of Gondor: Seek Elrond Half-elven, greatest of loremasters of Middle Earth."

"Ah yes...I remember that tale! The one Rhuarc and Laerlinn told us of." Morrandir looks at Erutirn with a grin. "Perhaps we may meet their mysterious friend, though I still wonder at it's authenticity."

Varinya nods in greeting to Indilzar in the fashion she has to all of those save for the Knight-Herald. She turns to Thorondur, an eyebrow raised, "Have you brought many more with you? And all of such high rank among your kind? Something must be truly grave indeed, even for you to be here."

As his countrymen converse among themselves, the Herald of Imrahil smiles softly, almost sadly. Watching them as they speak together, he draws nearer Varinya and addresses her quietly. " Perhaps five more. I am reminded of many things, here in your Valley," he admits with a sigh.

" I am like them... and yet, I can never be like them again," the Elf-Friend tells the elfmaid, and not without some small dismay.

Varinya nods gravely, her eyes holding a questioning and curious look. " Five? Is this truly not enough or are there even more who wish for glory and honor among your kind? I cannot believe you would bring so many." She shakes her head once before continuing, " But perhaps it is for the better, I am sure many of those wretched creatures are about and the more among you...." Her voice trails off sadly, almost with a forlorness of too many years spent upon this world.

Indilzar looks at Varinya and seems uncomfortable. He touches his hip lightly, as if reaching for his sword.

The words of the Elven woman find there way into the ears of the Prince, and his gaze falls upon her, "We come not seeking glory.." he replies quickly, "Nor honour..." And only with force does the man cast the edge from his voice, yet the fire in his eyes burns low and grim.

"We come as we must," he says when again the Son of Imrahil speaks, "With those that would travel with us, for even as we stand here both Gondor and the reason for our journey rest in peril.."

" Ten riders were sent by the Prince of Dol Amroth, and another pair joined to the company by Denethor, Steward of Gondor," Thorondur tells the elfmaid, still speaking in fluid speech and quiet tones. " Alas! For our need is great, and I will tell you this much: Erchirion's brother is taken, and is held by hands beyond the circles of this world."

And he pales in the saying, as if at some memory, but his voice remains certain and strong.

Another figure approaches from the trail leading down into the valley, tall, by his footstep named one among Men and not the lissome Quendi. Though in the dark of night his garb is near-black, a faint glint of silver and blue marks the youth as he arrives at the gathering before the bridge to be crossed, and in the shadows the clear visage he turns to the assembled is expectant, what cares or worries that might have there lain seemingly smoothed away.

His step bears him nigh to the knights from the South, inclining his brow in respectful silence to the elleth standing before them, and to all gathered here. His grey eyes spark briefly as words come to his ears, but as yet he says naught.

Then his eyes narrow, and Thorondur says to his Prince's son, "Enough, Erchirion. She knows of your sorrow. The people of Elrond are friends to all." In his voice is a subtle reprimand, as an older knight to a younger, regardless of station.

Varinya looks curiously to Thorondur and ponders at his explanation. " So this man has been taken? The prince's brother no less. Yes, that is indeed something which needs to be rectified. Has he been brought all the way out to near our valley? I cannot see a reason for you to be here otherwise..."

Glowering at the Knight-Herald the Prince says only this, "Do you speak to me with the power granted you by my Father?" but without waiting for the answer, Erchirion turns to Indilzar, "If you would, friend, speak the words of our tale of woe.." And then the Prince crosses his arms before his chest, shifting his weight from one foot the next as he waits for the tale of his brother.

Now the Herald's words take another, more solemn turn, and his lips turn down somber as he says it: " Taken, and held by the unquiet dead." Thorondur touches his brow, as if weary, and then asks Varinya, " Now you must see why the wisdom of Elrond was sought?"

But to Erchirion he does not respond, unless with sadness and silence -- and perhaps that unspoken disappointment is enough.

"Oh, here comes another of our morbid clothed numbers." Erutirn says with a slightly grin, "Greetings Amano, how fare you in the travel down the path to this blessed place?" He shifts his position, now only leaning on his staff with his right arm. He then realizes what the other knights are discussing and rather quickly falls silent.

Varinya turns her head quickly to the prince, a sharp look upon her pale features. "I fear you misunderstand, Erchirion. I will hear the tale from my friend for it is his words I will trust above anything you could ever utter. Your rank is nothing here, save among your own kind. It has not been earned among us as well. A prince you may be elsewhere, but you are no prince of mine." Her words and sharp and biting, a pale fire shines in her eyes. "I will not see a friend to my kind spoken to in such a manner inside of our boundaries. Outside of them, you may do as you wish, we have no say there." She turns back toward the Knight-Herald, her voice now calm as the ocean waves on a sunny day, "Please continue, mellon."

Indilzar glances at Erchirion and Thorondur and says, "Oh Erchirion, great you are, and great too is the Lord Thorondur, but permit me to speak to you both, for the road has been long and full of grief. Cool your anger and let the Herald do his peace. He is the voice of this company and know we well of that grief of yours that strikes your kin. A babe but caught by the clutches of the damned? Yet still, let our trust go to disorder. And to you Thorondur, come now down from your pride and feel the anguish of Erchirion. There are many valiants here and there is no need to quarrel."

But now Indilzar looks at this... elf maid indignantly, "We come not to entreat with you, but your Lord, Lady. Pray know you that we have all passed through the Golden Wood and Celeborn has blessed us one and all."

Sharp is the gaze cast at Indilzar, but only for a moment does it hold, and then the young Prince's eyes are cast to the ground, "Aye," he says finally, "You speak the truth of it Lord Bragollach," then to the elven lady does he turn, "My brother's torment rest heavily upon my mind, moreso with each passing day -- Yet that is little reason for me to speak as I have"

"Yet as I have said, I hold no dominance over any man, or one such as yourself, and never would I dare to try for that is what we stand against. For my words, and my actions, I ask your forgiveness." And then his gaze turns to the Knight-Herald, "And yours as well my Lord."

Serene, through it all, the Herald remains; when he speaks it is the soothing voice of reason.

"There is no pride in speaking soft words to spare a man pain, Indilzar," Thorondur calmly tells his peer, the Bragollach; "And the Istheryn is dear to Elrond Half-Elven, and knows his mind better than you or I might guess. As you say, I have been here; I am known to the Eldar. Listen to me then, I pray, and give her your tale if she asks it."

Then to Erchirion he nods, once, and says simply, "It is yours, son of Imrahil."

Varinya raises an eyebrow at Indilzar, his words phasing her not, though her voice continues on in the calming tone but the edges are biting, "That is all well and good, and I continue to welcome you all, but the rest of you I know not, and the Knight-Herald I do. I will not see him treated as a child when he speaks more wisdom than any one of you could muster in a single breath. And if you wish to speak to Elrond at this moment, he may well be available. Leave your armor and weapons upon the storage rack, Vanilor will look after them. You are welcome to enter the valley and seek him out then." Her eyes are still centered sharply among this Indilzar, one who obviously needs a few centuries that will not be given to him.

Indilzar glances at this elf who obviously has had too many centuries of mind reading training and takes his weapons and armour and stores them in the rack. He turns back to the group and bows low, "May the Valar bless and preserve your graciousness fair Lady."

Turning to the young prince, the Istheryn nods, "I too understand grief in the context of yours. My own brother was killed quite long ago and I remember...." Her voice trails off even as her eyes wander into a seeming daydream-like state, which vanishes as quickly as it came. "I can forgive the mistakes of the young, and so I will yours."

A glance does the young Isilrim spare for Erutirn, that though normally not unmingled with a measure of amusement, holds none now. For the words exchanged before him, he cannot wholly be but affected by; and it is with silence that he answers for this moment, a flicker of thought in his eyes.

When that moment seems to have passed, he does give reply to the other knight, in a quiet voice, "Uneventful, till now, it seems."

Varinya turns toward Indilzar, her tone softening, though the edges still seem hard, "If you need it, refreshments are always prepared in the Dining Hall. I hope your stay in our fair valley is a pleasant one."

Indilzar inclines his head, "We are in your service Lady."

"Ah the food of the first-born is always a welcome change from that beastly stuff the Knights refer to as food which we have become accustomed to." Says Morrandir with a smile, clearly delighted at the prospect of dining in Elrond's halls.

Now at last again Thorondur can smile, and he does so -- then first in obedience as he is when in leadership, he unbuckles the clasp of his swordbelt, and hands it to Vanilor. "Then lead us within, when we are ready," the Herald says to Varinya, "if you will. I have long wished to see once more my friends the Twins, and so I too am grown eager for entry."

Following suit, the son of Imrahil places his blade and armour upon the rack, then turns quietly for the entrance into the city under the care of Elrond.

Varinya shakes her head to the Knight-Herald. "The sons of Elrond are not in the valley. They have gone off on one of their quests and have not been seen for many months. Perhaps they may return while you are here still." Her voice does not sound hopeful of this prospect.

"Speak not so badly of our own food, Morrandir... no, speak much more highly of that of the first born." Erutirn speaks the words as he walks towards Vanilor. He waits for Thorondur and Indilzar to hand over their swords, before he gives the elf his own sword. "Am I permited my knife inside the house of your Lord or is it also to be left here with my sword?" He points towards the knife upon his belt.

Varinya glances to the young knight. "Leave it here, mellon. If you are in need of anything within the valley, it will be provided for you."

In his turn, Amano moves forward, unclasping his heavy belt, and delivering blade and belt to the keeping of the Quende standing before the rack. His eyes linger not upon weapons, but stray to the bridge, and the promise of Imladris beyond it.

"Indeed, you are right," says Morrandir, unbuckling his sword-belt. "but you must admit our food is far from satisfactory." He hands them to Vanilor.


Date added: 2009-02-27 09:43:53    Hits: 56
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