The Fall of Numenor [Archive]

trolls' bane

03-05-2004, 09:43 PM

Ok then. My second character will be Sherlock's niece, Nariel Baskerville. She lives in Numenor, but often brings messages and news to me. Although it sounds too modern, I will call my laboratory a laboratory, but that's only because I don't know what else to call it.

Nariel Baskerville approached the door of the laboratory that her uncle, Sherlock, had built on his small island. When she got to the door, she knocked and called in "Uncle?"
She heard him holler "Come in, Nariel. Could you please leave the door open when you enter?"
This she did, and she found him working on a large, tube shaped...thing with a large hole on the end facing out the large door, and another(much smaller) on top through which he began pouring the black powder (gunpowder to us) that his father, her grandfather, had discovered. Then she remembered the sad tale of how her grandfather died. He was persecuted by Sauron because he posed a threat to his power. Sherlock had escaped, and set sail for a small island about halfway between Middle-Earth and Numenor, on which he was shipwrecked. She remembered when he left, too.
When he finished pouring the right amount in, he said to her "Get behind that wooden plank, and remember to cover your ears when I say to."
She went behind the plank and watched him through a hole where a knot in the wood once was. He picked up a large round rock and placed it in the large hole in the front of the tube. Then he cut a peice of thin rope, placed one end into the small hole on top, and lit it with a torch. Then he quickly yelled "Cover your....!" She didn't have time. His last words were lost to a deafening BOOM that shook the earth, then a crash, during which a skidding sound started and ended with another crash. All this happened within a second. Then, she heard her uncle start to cough wildly, and then she began to see and smell smoke. Her uncle, between a fit of coughs, managed to sputter out a few curses to his "accursed, worthless invention" and that it was safe to come out.
She came out and examined the room. Smoke was everywhere. Right next to the door was a large hole in the wall full of splinters, and just on the opposite of where the contraption had been, were broken and splintered tables (which were in a row throughout the lab from front to back), papers still floating around, and another larger splintery hole in the wall.
When he got ouside and his coughing died down, he thought Wonderful. Now I have to walk both ways.

I'll continue this later. My evil "One Laptop To Rule Them All:D " is in worse shape than ever. Now, instead of warnings and crashes daily, they're hourly, and my eyes hurt because it looks like someone put a net over my screen. I want an new laptop :( :mad: :eek: !

trolls' bane

03-09-2004, 11:08 PM

:o ...*gasp* I didn't know there actually was a mooter named Nariel...oh no, that's right. She's the one who gave nurv the cheesecake:eek:!!

elvishfaerie3088

03-10-2004, 11:42 PM

I'd join, but could you make the plot a bit more precise i'm really confused by it, so i'll join if you can make it more clear :D

trolls' bane

03-11-2004, 12:07 AM

The actual plot, or the plot for my part?

Beor

03-11-2004, 01:56 PM

I've never done an RPG before, but I'll join, if you'll have me.

Name: Demaethor

Race: Men, Numenor

Age: 97

Description: Tall with light hair, and a broad build, fought with Ar-Pharazon during the capture of Sauron when he was (age pending, must check UT for accuracy). Spent much of his life at sea or at war. Never loyal to Pharazon, he went to battle grudgingly, bound by honor to keep an oath to a dear friend who was lost in the war. Now war torn and weary, he seeks only to settle down, but it seems that the times will not allow this, as war is brewing yet again. Faced once again with the choice to do as his heart tells him, and abandon Pharazon, thus going against his oath, or to go yet again to war with a king who has abandoned honor for power.

elvishfaerie3088

03-11-2004, 11:08 PM

Just the plot, not the plot from your view no offense

Beruthiel's cat

03-12-2004, 12:42 PM

This sounds interesting. I've never done an RPG before either, but I'd like to give it a try. I just don't know how much I'll be able to play or contribute, but I'll give it my best shot.

Character: Lysial (female); blonde hair, blue eyes, rather pretty
Race: Men, Numenorian
Occupation: Journeyman minstrel
Age: 26
Weapon of choice: Knife

Lysial travels around quite a bit and is able to use her femininity to uncover crucial information. Her master, the Master Minstrel Jathar, recently died (under mysterious circumstances) and he left her two "priceless" items, a lute with proportedly magic powers (though she hasn't figured them out yet) and a large male tabby cat named Bragi, who "talks" to her -- and only to her -- by telepathy. Unfortunately, she cannot communicate with Bragi mentally, so she has to physically speak to him to communicate (he understands human speech). This can cause problems when she's around other people. They think she's talking to herself and therefore consider her to be somewhat mad -- or just blonde -- whatever!

She's much more intellegent than people credit her (the blonde thing again), has a beautiful, soprano singing voice and has a tendency to be a bit klutzy.

What do you think? Can you use her? I'll probably need some assistance because (as I said) I've never done this before...

Beor

03-12-2004, 04:05 PM

Hey, neither have I, so what the hell, Demaethor's got your back.

Do we need to include a weapon? If so its an axe, Demaethor was never much of a bowman, perferring to get in close to his enemy, close enough to feel their dying breath, and smell his enemy's stink as his axe cleaves and crushes through tissue and bone.

Anyway, I got your back.

Valandil

03-12-2004, 04:15 PM

I dunno if it would be wise for me to get involved in this - since I am ALREADY just about to start my FIRST rpg ('Nomads'), and don't know how much time I can devote to this... however, if I do - I'd be something like:

Name: Esteldur
Numenorean male, age 14
Scribe's Apprentice at the Royal Palace
(EDIT: weapon of choice - pen)
Parents secretly raised him and his siblings to be of 'The Faithful'. His father was a scribe of the palace, but not very long ago, his parents 'disappeared' - while Sauron was making human sacrifices in his infernal dome. He can only fear the worst. The rest of the family was broken up... his older brother was sent to the east of Numenor and taken into the armada which is being prepared there. His younger brother is too young to scribe - so he was adopted into a family of Armenelos. His sisters... not sure. He's trying to keep a 'low profile' and attend to his duties as scribe.

I'm not good at making names... I can work on it though. If anyone has any suggestions...???

PS - Beor, your age works... Sauron was brought back to Numenor a bit less than 60 years before it was destroyed. In fact though, I think even one of the Faithful would have been proud / happy to be a part of that effort of Ar-Pharazon... after all, it was a conquest of Sauron, who was always the enemy of the Elves and Numenoreans. The Faithful may have even hoped that such a 'good' action might incline the King toward other good. You may have even sailed with Amandil and Elendil! :)

Beor

03-12-2004, 04:19 PM

Yeah, the thing is, he is oath bound to stay loyal to the king (though I havent figured out the oath), its like an inner conflict thing that hopefully will be interesting to see how it pans out...perhaps.

And thank you for the age clarification (97 is still youngish for a Numenorian, right?)

Beruthiel's cat

03-12-2004, 04:24 PM

Originally posted by Beor
Hey, neither have I, so what the hell, Demaethor's got your back.

Thank you, Beor! She's gonna need all the help she can get!

:D :D :D :D :D

Valandil

03-12-2004, 04:25 PM

Originally posted by Beor
Yeah, the thing is, he is oath bound to stay loyal to the king (though I havent figured out the oath), its like an inner conflict thing that hopefully will be interesting to see how it pans out...perhaps.

And thank you for the age clarification (97 is still youngish for a Numenorian, right?)

I think all the Faithful in the army or navy were 'in the same boat' (pun PURELY unintentional! :D ). Remember, this included Amandil and Elendil... so I'm sure you could talk to the big E! ;) Amandil tells him that there is a loyalty higher than that to the king.

Yes - 97 is still a youngish man for a Numenorean of this time. They were still living to be about 200 - give or take... maybe longer among the Faithful, because those who desired the immortality of the Elves got even shorter lives... non-descendents of Elros may have not lived quite so long - but after 3000+ years, probably a reasonable chunk of the island's population was related to him in SOME way.

The dates are in Appendix B of RotK... so you don't need UT.

Beruthiel's cat

03-12-2004, 05:01 PM

Originally posted by Valandil
if I do - I'd be something like:

Numenorean male, age 14
Scribe's Apprentice at the Royal Palace
Parents secretly raised him and his siblings to be of 'The Faithful'. His father was a scribe of the palace, but not very long ago, his parents 'disappeared' - while Sauron was making human sacrifices in his infernal dome. He can only fear the worst. The rest of the family was broken up... his older brother was sent to the east of Numenor and taken into the armada which is being prepared there. His younger brother is too young to scribe - so he was adopted into a family of Armenelos. His sisters... not sure. He's trying to keep a 'low profile' and attend to his duties as scribe.

I'm not good at making names... I can work on it though. If anyone has any suggestions...???

Hey, Val! Have you been reading my fan fiction attempt in the Writers Workshop??? Your character's occupation leads me to wonder, but, seriously...I know there are only so many occupations available. (Not everyone can be a warrior or wizard, right?)

Since you're looking for a name for your young scribe, I'm prepared to let you borrow "Nedron" if you like it. (I'll take it as a sincere form of flattery...)

:D

Valandil

03-12-2004, 05:11 PM

Originally posted by Beruthiel's cat
Hey, Val! Have you been reading my fan fiction attempt in the Writers Workshop??? Your character's occupation leads me to wonder, but, seriously...I know there are only so many occupations available. (Not everyone can be a warrior or wizard, right?)

Since you're looking for a name for your young scribe, I'm prepared to let you borrow "Nedron" if you like it. (I'll take it as a sincere form of flattery...)

:D

Actually, no - I hadn't! I'll scoot on over there a bit later and take a look though. Is it short? I have limited patience for reading off a screen - so good for you if it's long, but I may not make it through it all! :) I'll see about using the name - let me read what you wrote first.

I was actually thinking about a character like this for something else... have you seen my 'Unwritten Book' thread in the ME forum? Quite infatuated with Arnor, I am! If I ever get to writing all the stories I want, I had in mind that maybe a personal servant of Isildur's family (maybe even a squire or something) would be someone like this, who tried to climb Meneltarma when the island began to sink (saw Queen Miriel ahead of him), got swept away by the wave but managed to cling onto some piece of wood. Later he was driven by the storm to the proximity of Elendil's ships and someone (maybe Isildur's eldest son, Elendur) tied a line around himself and went after him, getting them both hauled into the ship. Even thought this might be a neat history for Estelmo - Elendur's squire from the UT account of 'The Disaster of Gladden Fields' who survived the attack of the orcs. If so, I guess he'd have been 'twice-lucky'! :)

Also - even as I wrote the description, it seemed like this character might prove quite useful to the game... having access to official written documents of Numenor, etc... ;)

Beruthiel's cat

03-12-2004, 05:21 PM

This is going to be hard work for me. I'm smack-dab in the middle of reading LotR again, and now I'm going to have to read the Sil (which I've never finished -- shame on me!) and UT (which I haven't even read, despite my rather clever 'Moot name -- double shame on me!) I have looked at your Unwritten Book thread, but it's been awhile. I'll pop over right away. Sounds very interesting!

Valandil

03-12-2004, 05:32 PM

OK - I checked it out a little. I HAD actually seen it before... and had scanned it a bit. I guess I was afraid my character seemed lifted RIGHT OUT of your story - like you had written one about a young scribe in Numenor at this time. :)

I dunno... :p Your story looks like a romance between Pippin and that young girl, right? Heehee... I just have a hard time imagining. But tell me... would a gal really maybe go for a hobbit fella? :D

NORMALLY I like the warriors myself though... this rpg just seemed like a chance to take off with that earlier concept I'd mentioned.

Beruthiel's cat

03-12-2004, 05:36 PM

Great ideas for the books, Val. You should pursue it. I'd love to see it!

As far as the story goes, I'll comment on that for you in the proper thread.

I really like your young scribe idea for the RPG (why wouldn't I) and again, I offer the use of the name Nedron for as long as you need it! :D

elvishfaerie3088

03-13-2004, 03:25 AM

Okay i'll join, but i feel like the only experianced one in rpgs in here, jeez that makes me feel old. Let's see a character....

Name: Malina
Race: of elves
Age: 316
Weapon of choice: Sword of elvish make of course
Description: i'll make it as short and simple as possible. Dark hair, blue eyes, light freckles, and takes her sword and battles very seriously, otherwise she's fun loving and care free. But when she finds out about the mystery unfolded she is outraged and that is why she has joined or is going to join?

Beor

03-13-2004, 03:46 AM

Originally posted by Valandil
I think all the Faithful in the army or navy were 'in the same boat' (pun PURELY unintentional! :D ). Remember, this included Amandil and Elendil... so I'm sure you could talk to the big E! ;) Amandil tells him that there is a loyalty higher than that to the king.

Yes - 97 is still a youngish man for a Numenorean of this time. They were still living to be about 200 - give or take... maybe longer among the Faithful, because those who desired the immortality of the Elves got even shorter lives... non-descendents of Elros may have not lived quite so long - but after 3000+ years, probably a reasonable chunk of the island's population was related to him in SOME way.

The dates are in Appendix B of RotK... so you don't need UT.

Man, you know your man-history, dude! I need to refresh on this stuff. What is a better resource in your opinion, The Appendix or the UT? I like the UT, but *looks around embarrassed* I've never really read the whole appendix. Never got past the war in Moria. . Anyway, I'll read up.

So, welcome, elvishfaerie3088, and hopefully my inexpierence doesnt piss you off (though it probably will;) ). Welcome to the team.

So, when we kicking this sucker off, and how many more people do we need? My axe is sharp, and only getting sharper! Pharazon is getting restless:D ;)

EDIT: Whoa, I just read the Appendix up to the end of the northern line and stuff. There is a lot of good info in there, like a whole nuther story. Incredible! And indeed it is cool that the Icemen of the Icebay of Forochel (Sp?) get mentioned. They were probably Minnesotans. And I never picked it up before that the ring of Felagund was there the whole time. That thing is old!

trolls' bane

03-14-2004, 01:08 AM

Oh, I guess I should mention my weapon. Ok, here it is: the "Tube."

P.S. Is anyone going to get to my island soon and leave me another boat? I'm kinda stranded now that my boats have been burnt...wait, did I post that yet:(.

trolls' bane

03-14-2004, 01:43 AM

Okay, I see that I havn't. Well here it is.

He walked North-Northwest first: out of the hole in back. He had stopped coughing. They found the "tube" behind a tree that had been badly damaged by a collision from the "tube." The "tube" was still smoking and a nearby plant was scorched. He rolled his eyes :rolleyes:.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Fingolfin crashed through the trees. He was terrified. His house was a smouldering ruin, his sheep...dead, his cows...dead. All that remained to him was the clothes on his back and his orange and white cat, Beleg. The cat followed him through the forest, over the mountains, over the plain, and he still was there. He was headed for the sea, since all of Numenor seemed to be chasing him. He made it to a small cottage where his cousin once lived, now also burnt, and found the boat that luckily hadn't been found. There he rested for the night and decided to set out the next day.
When he awoke, he did just that. He began uncovering the large boat and preparing to leave. When the cat was aboard, they set out.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sherlock and Nariel went the way the rock must have went, after carrying the "tube" back to the lab. They reached the ocean and had not yet found it, but when scanning the horizon, Sherlock noticed a small white rectangle, about a mile off. He instantly ran to where he kept one of his boats, and within about ten minutes, he was out on the water headed full speed toward where he saw the rectangle. He knew it was a ship, but what he saw surprised him beyond belief. He first saw the cat, orange and white, swimming in the water. Then he saw a boy about 10-13, holding on to the mast of a ship that was sticking out of the water. The odd part was that the ship, the bow and stern sticking up out of the water, had a large, gaping hole in the side. This embarresed him, but it alsoproved that part of his "tube" project had been a success. They helped the boy aboard, but had a little trouble getting the cat, since it kept bobbing away. Then Sherlock dove head-first into the water, toward the boat, and tied a rope to the stern.

When the boy was given fresh clothes and one of Sherlock's two guest houses, and the cat given food, and the boat “docked,” Nariel and Sherlock returned to his lab. This time, he built a new stand for the "tube" outside. Nariel helped him bring out sacks of powder, about three wheelbarrows full of more large round rocks, and a few poles, as they conversed.
"Now, what of your errand," he asked. "I'm sure you must get back to Numenor soon."
"Yes. I am supposed to be at a dinner next Saturday."
"Where are your guards? I haven’t seen them today."
"Oh, my guards...oh my god," she trailed off. She dropped the pole she had in her hand and stared out at the sea. Sherlock stopped what he was doing to look at what she was staring at. Out on the sea, about a quarter of a mile away, there was a small ship, with eight men aboard. Then Sherlock noticed that there was a column of smoke in the area where his small dock and that beautiful ship he and his wife had made...
He began fiddling with the "tube," and muttering to himself. He ran and got a lit torch out of the lab. When he returned he pointed the end of the tube with the large opening toward where the ship was. The rope had been lit. They heard the BOOM of the explosion, but following by a few seconds, a faint, distant lump-splash. They saw a column of water burst into the air about 30 feet from the boat.
"Now who's boat is going to end up wrecked!" Sherlock shouted at the top of his lungs, half mad.
He missed two more shots, but he had an idea. He took a rock that had a hole he had made in it. Heh, this is what you get for lighting my boat on fire he thought. He ran into his woodshed, and came back with a metal bucket. He poured a thick liquid out into the rock. Then, he sprinkled a handful of powder into the top. Then he hammered a cork in to the hole.
This time when he shot it, they heard a BOOM-lump-BOOOM. Nariel looked up and saw a column of fire where the boat once was, and fire was covering the nearby water.
“What was that!?” she asked.
“Mixed lacquer, powder, and lemon juice,” he said gleefully.
“What’s the lemon juice for?”
“So, if all else failed, their eyes would sting.”
“What!?” she exclaimed.
“Just joking. I just thought it was a good idea, but I don’t know why.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Food’s done!” Sherlock yelled from his kitchen.
Almost instantly, Nariel, the boy, and his cat ran into the room, all from different directions.
When they sat down to eat, Sherlock asked the boy who he was.
“My name is Fingolfin,” he said. “My parents were one of the leaders of the faithful. They came and burnt my house down, and I escaped with Beleg. Then I ran to-.”
“Beleg?” Nariel asked.
“My cat. I named him after Beleg Cuthalion. Anyway, I ran to where my cousin lived. His house was gone too, so I took the boat. Then, I sailed for three days aimlessly and when I saw this land, I decided to stop here. I figured that that stream over there was the River Harnen, or Gelion. I am on the coast of Beleriand, or the bay of Belfalas, right?”
“No, I’m afraid you won’t be able to go to either of those places, at least not soon. You are now on the Isle of the Baskervilles, or Sherlock Island as the Faithful call it, or the Isle of the Mad Wizard, or Deathtrap Island, as many others call it.”
“Oh, your that explosion guy, the one who was shipwrecked, and only came back in the boat that remained to pack up your house and shop. I’ve heard of you. They were planning to besiege your island and then destr-.”
“They would do no such thing! The hunters would’ve become the hunted. They would have regretted leaving their foolish master behind.”
“What was that you were doing earlier? I heard a few booms and crashes.”
“A new project, you’ll see.”
“Anyway, where did I leave off,” Fingolfin said. “Anyway, when I got within a mile, I heard a rumble and a crack. Then, when I peered overboard, I saw a rush of bubbles coming from the side. I had felt the impact. Then, it sank and then you came.”
"Now, Nariel, what of your message?" Sherlock asked. "Sorry there hasn't been a chance for you to finish it sooner."
"All it was, was that there is unrest in Numenor, and the king plans to sail to Valinor, despite warnings from the elves."

ooc;). I wrote this a few days ago, and just when I was about to post it my computer went mad.

trolls' bane

03-14-2004, 01:45 AM

I would have put it all in one post, but I had more than 7,500 (I had 7,937). So, here's the rest:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
BOOM-Kaplunk!
Although their guest houses were several hundred feet from eachother, Fingolfin and Nariel both jumped up at the sound.
BOOM-BOOOM.
They also could both hear the roaring of flames, but Nariel, already outside, saw smoke rising (it was early morning, approx. 5:00 AM) from the far side of the "mountain," upon which stood her uncle's house. She ran back in, dressed, and hurried toward Sherlock's laboratory, where the sounds came from.
BOOM-BOOOM.
She could see another figure running behind her, and a shorter shadow, which were Fingolfin and his cat.
BOOM-Kaplunk.
She began to wonder what he was shooting at.
Her answer came almost immeadieatly. She saw a light on her right, out on the water. Then, she noticed it lit something. She stopped, and out of nowhere, her uncle ran right into her, which saved her life, because just then a flame shot right over her head. It was a spear. Her uncle helped her up stopped Fingolfin, and motioned to them to follow him. He led them to his lab.
"Help me carry this up to the top my house," he said, motioning toward the tube, which was belching a black smoke. "The Dining Hall is the only way in. The main enterance is on fire."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When they had reached the top, he set up the base.

Valandil

03-14-2004, 10:00 PM

Originally posted by Beor
Man, you know your man-history, dude! I need to refresh on this stuff. What is a better resource in your opinion, The Appendix or the UT? I like the UT, but *looks around embarrassed* I've never really read the whole appendix. Never got past the war in Moria. . Anyway, I'll read up.
:
EDIT: Whoa, I just read the Appendix up to the end of the northern line and stuff. There is a lot of good info in there, like a whole nuther story. Incredible! And indeed it is cool that the Icemen of the Icebay of Forochel (Sp?) get mentioned. They were probably Minnesotans. And I never picked it up before that the ring of Felagund was there the whole time. That thing is old!

Yeah! Isn't that stuff cool! Maybe you're starting to see why, but that's a particular interest of mine... which is what makes it easy to learn. As far as sources... I'll use any of them. The appendices are great... and it's hard to really 'read' App B - but you can refer to it for things you get curious about. It shows there the years in the Second Age that Sauron was taken to Numenor and when Numenor was destroyed. Other sources (wherever I can glean stuff): UT, Peoples of Middle-Earth (12th & last in the HoME series - and the only one I have) - plus a bunch of those Michael Martinez articles... several contain interesting speculation (along with some 'facts' - in this fictional sense) about the history of Arnor, etc. :)

(EDIT: Oh - and of course the two stories in the Silmarillion book: 'Akallabeth' and 'Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age')

trolls' bane

03-15-2004, 11:02 PM

Anyone going to help me:p?
Anyway, here's the rest.

Some time later, when all but two of the attacking Numenorean boats had been destroyed, Sherlock was watching one of the boats with his glass. Upon it, he saw a very disturbing sight. A figure of a man was bound to a mast. The most disturbing part was that the man was someone he knew...his brother.
The realization hit him like a wave, he lost balance, and almost fell backwards.
Now he knew what he had to do. He went down into the house, picked out the longbow that he once used for hunting, and fastened the Mithril mail vest a dwarf smith had made him on an expedition to the Numenorean colony in Umbar. He then loaded his quiver with twenty fine-tipped arrows. If he still had the skill he had had when he was a longbowman in the raid of one of the temples where Necromancer had sacrificed his father, he could easily put a few arrows through a few men.
When he had reached the shore nearest to the boat, he hid behind a tree, the tree he planted where his ship had been destroyed.
He drew his bow back, and shot at the man guarding his brother. The arrow hit it's mark, but no one was alerted. The alert came, however, when he missed and shot the man at the helm through the hand, pinning him to it. He cried out in agony. The two at the prow of the boat turned and saw what happened. One ran for the cabin and returned with a bow in his hand, while the other drew a knife and put it to the bound man's neck. He would have slain the man, but recieved an arrow through the neck. The other ducked beind a barrel where Sherlock couldn't shoot him. Sherlock could still see the bow, however, and that it was drawn, aiming at his brother, Sir Charles Baskerville (yes, I know I've gotten worse with names :D). He could do nothing, other than watch helplessly.
Then the bow drew back more, and all hope left Sherlock...
A loud BOOM shook the earth, immeadieatly followed by a crashing sound. The barrel was there no more, just splintered wood the railing was gone, too. That left only the man at the helm, who now was howling with agony from the acid on the tip of the arrow. The man almost tore his own arm off trying to get the arrow out of the wood and his hand. Sherlock pitied him, and decided to go get the small raft that remained to him from the dock.

Valandil

03-16-2004, 11:05 AM

Originally posted by trolls' bane
Anyone going to help me:p?

Well... you DID kind of set yourself away from everyone else. And I don't think the game proper has even started yet... we still seem to be in the 'character creation' stage. :)

(EDIT: I'm not even quite sure who you're fighting or how it fits into the story setting... :confused: )

trolls' bane

03-16-2004, 05:54 PM

Rosie Gamgee

03-18-2004, 11:29 AM

Whoa! Sorry I haven't been here. It appears my RPG is getting away from me :D . Well, since there's a lot of people now (and I'm not sure exactly how far we've progressed in the story), I'll try to make a more clear outline of the plot:

Elendil's father has been away for sometime on his quest to Valinor. The Faithful meet in the house of Elendil, and there he tells them that he has learned of the King's plan to sail to Valinor. He knows this will be disastrous, and orders the making and equipping of ships to sail to Middle Earth. A few elves could be present at this meeting, and we still need three people to be Elendil, Anarion, and Isildur. I think I'll take Anarion.
Now, after this meeting we commense to building ships with all haste. We are thwarted by the King's bad guys, but we succeed.
Then, the big day. The King's fleet sails, and the Faithful board their ships- or not. Morning comes, and the adventure really starts. I suppose we can carry this all the way to ME, if we want to.

Okay, ic:

Gilwen ran through the streets of Romenna (spl?). She had to get back to her master's house, and she was in great haste. Her shopping basket was forgotton, and the eggs she had been sent to fetch for the cook were now dropping onto the street as Gilwen ran. She broke through crowds, and heard the crashes and cries of annoyance from the people she'd disturbed. What did she care? She had important tidings to carry.
Not more than fifteen minutes before, she'd been selecting eggs and squash for the afternoon meal. Elendil's new cook was getting aquainted with the kitchen, and sent Gilwen to fetch the food. Too soft, too firm- ah! Here was the perfect squash. Gilwen held it up for the merchant to see. He came from behind the cart to tell her how much it cost.
"Ah! Gilwen," said he in greeting. He, too, was one of the Faithful, but did a very good job of hiding it, and was not wanted- as she was- by the King's guard. Luckily for her, she dressed far below her station now, and no guard of the King would even notice her in the hubbub of a market square. "I see you've dug through all of my squashes to find the perfect one- faithful as ever."
Gilwen caught the word. It was a secret signal. He had news for her to bear to her master. "Yes, indeed, sir," she replied. "I do hope that you will not have only rotten squash."- meaning: "Was it bad news?"
The merchant nodded, keeping a smile on his face. "It seems that the crops of squash I've been reciveing of late are getting blighted." Ah, so this was bad news he'd recieved from someone else. He went on, "The King should look into what his ships are carrying."
Gilwen smiled, but tried to decern what exactly that phrase meant. Ships?
"But," the merchant went on with a big breath, "he is devoting much of his time to his navy, I think. Seems he plans to visit some Friends."
Gilwen's eyes widened. 'Friends' were the Eldar. The King was going to 'visit' them? Then it hit her. The King was planning an attack on Valinor, as had been rumored about. It was really happening.
She didn't even pay him for the squash. She began by walking, then quickened her pace until she was sprinting through the streets of the town, scattering people and pigieons alike.

*****

Anarion sat in the garden outside his father's house. A foreboding feeling seemed to have crept into his heart while he was sleeping, and it would not dissipate even as the morning drew on. Rather, it heightened. Why? he wondered. He thought of telling Isildur, but then, his older brother was hardly interested in the intuitions of his younger sibling.
What was that? Someone was creating a big ruckus outside the garden, in the street. Fear immeadiately seized his heart. Were there soldiers come to take his father, and the rest of his household, away? Had they been discovered here? Was this the thing his heart had been telling him?
No, for now the back gate opened, revealing only little Gilwen. She look flustered, and her long hair was rediculously disheveled. She had but two eggs in her shopping basket, and one of them was broken. He almost laughed at the sight of her.
"Gilwen," he called, and she noticed that he was sitting there in the corner.
"Yes, m'lord?" She came over to him, but looked figity and anxious to get in the house. He wondered what was the matter.
"Have you hurried all the way from the marketplace to bring home broken eggs?" he asked her.
"Lord," she said, suddenly quite serious and ignoring his teasing query. "Is my Master Elendil within?"
He frowned. Why was she so serious? "Yes. What troubles you?" That gnawing feeling crept back into him as he searched her eyes.
"Come inside and I will tell you," she said in a low voice, looking at the walls of the garden as if she suspected they had ears.
Gilwen hurried for the door, and Anarion followed her. Perhaps she had recieved news in the marketplace. It happened often enough, although it was usually another servant who brought home the message. Gilwen was not often sent to fetch food.
As soon as the door shut, Gilwen exclaimed, "The King is attacking Valinor!"
Anarion stared at her for a moment. No. Surely not. The King was foolish, certainly, but not that insane as to blantantly defy what gods had decreed. "What?" was all that came out of his mouth.
Gilwen took a breath, and looked as though she'd just set down a great burden, though all she did was put her basket down. "The King is mustering his navy for an attack on the Eldar," she said, a little more calmly than before.
Anarion noticed someone in the hall before them. It was his brother, who'd probably heard Gilwen's voice and come to see what was happening. "Isildur!" Anarion called, and his brother emerged into the room, looking curious. "Where is Father? Gilwen has news from the market."
Isildur's eyebrows flinched. "He's in the library," he said. The threesome hurried that way.

Valandil

03-19-2004, 01:19 PM

(EDIT: OOC post)

Rosie, I got an idea if you're interested: How about if you 'godmod' those major people (Elendil, Isildur & Anarion) - and then we all play 'regular people' who are among the Faithful... trying to join Elendil's escape?

For ships... it would be a major undertaking to try to build new ones - and would attract the King's attention. Elendil and his sons were probably already scurrying around, trying to avoid getting shipped to the west side of the island, where the armada was gathering. I'd suggest that Elendil most likely got ahold of some 'surplus ships' - maybe those that had been at the disposal of the Lords of Andunie - and which had been used in the mission to humble Sauron about 60 years before.

Elendil and his family had been among the Faithful all along, but were discreet about it at first - to not attract too much attention. By this time, it's at least an 'open secret' - and he has made the pretense of gathering the last of the Faithful to bring as colonists to Middle-earth. The King's likely attitude is 'good riddance' - just so he's not aware that Elendil has a reasonable number of fighting men along with him (King Ar-Pharazon would want them for the 'assault' on Valinor).

Also - if we want to keep continuity with Tolkien's account, I suggest three other things: (1) Doubtful we're at Elendil's house - unless it's a 'second house' at Romenna or in the capital of Armenelos... the Faithful were all re-located to the east of the island - to Romenna - away from those pesky Elves to the West and close under the King's watchful eye - Andunie, the home of Elendil's family, was on the west side of the island... though it's likely he could easily have residences in Romenna and /or Armenelos. (BIG TIME EDIT: Rosie, you were right... Amandil (and one would assume Elendil had use of it) DID have a house in Romenna - it's mentioned in 'Akallabeth'!) (2) I think we have to go it without Elves... they hadn't come to the island for some time... even in the time of Ar-Pharazon's uncle, Tar-Palantir, who repented and was of the Faithful - the Elves didn't come to Numenor. (3) It took some time for the King's armada to reach Valinor... and that's when all heck broke loose. It was probably a month or so (we should really all re-read 'Akallabeth' in 'The Silmarillion' book - to re-familiarize ourselves with the setting and some of the details)... I think it might be best to set the start of the game before they sail - so we still have to worry about not getting caught and dragged off to serve in the armada.

Of course, I don't know much about these role-playing games, and how acceptable it is to 'bend' some of the 'historical' details... I guess my preference is to stay 'faithfull (*pun* :D ) to what JRRT tells us, and play within that context. I think it could still be fun that way... but does that make it too burdensome to the rest of you? :)

Beruthiel's cat

03-19-2004, 03:19 PM

I like your ideas, Val, and they have given me some insight as to how to set up Lysial's entry into the plot (I've been mulling it over for a few days as it is...)

I'm going to kick it around some more over the weekend, but I see Lysial as trying to get to the bottom of the reason behind her master's death and having the trail lead her to the Faithful. I haven't decided quite how to play it out, though -- whether she thinks they are responsible or whether she thinks they know something and can help her.

**Puts on Cap of Inspiration** working...working...working

Beor

03-19-2004, 04:24 PM

Demaethor looked out the window of his small flat overlooking the water. The massive fleet was gathered in the bay, looking extremely foreboding, especially in the twilight of the evening. Mariners were still running all over the place, tying a rope here, nailing down a board there, loading the ships for the big war that was coming.

The setting sun reminded Demaethor of just how much he didn’t want to go to the west. The promise of an immortal life was tempting, but no, thanks, that was not something he was going to try to attain by force of arms. Pharazon was crazy, he knew that. Yet, he felt an obligation to follow him. Captain Demaethor, one of the greatest of Pharazon’s captains, defecting to the Faithful. Yeah, that would definitely go over well with the king, and the court.

A large crowd had gathered around the dock directly below his window. Apparently, something was going on down in the square. As he looked down, he noticed that the crowd was gathered around two men who were fighting. He wondered what the reason for the quarrel was. It probably didn’t matter anyway, men had been fighting for no reason at all lately, ever since that “counselor” Sauron had become close with the king. The kings chief counselor, actually, and that didn’t sit too well with Demaethor, not too well at all. The devil could sway peoples minds, and he did. Men were going crazy, giving in to the mob, and following the kings ridiculous edicts (which Demaethor suspected to have something to do with Sauron’s whispering in his ear), sacrificing people to the One Dark God, or whatever they called their new deity. Demaethor preferred the Valar, at least Olwe and Unien, if they actually existed, didn’t demand sacrifice (although they got it, what with all their throwing of the seas).

The place was going to hell, and Demaethor found himself having trouble deciding what course to take. One was with the king, and that choice had a darkness about it. Not only that, but he didn’t want to invade Valinor. It didn’t seem right, even if it did succeed, which it might. The armada of Phrazon was quite impressive.

The other choice was to go with Elendil, and the rest of the Faithful.

It seemed ridiculous to think about, going with those old-fashioned Elf-Friends. The party was small, and he had done in some of them himself, at the kings orders. The thing was, that not one of the many wars that he fought in hurt him so much as executing three of the Faithful. His conscience still ached at the memory of that, and that ache was the root of this current feeling of confusion. Three young boys, couldn’t have been over thirty years old. Such a waste of life, and all over a belief. No, not a belief, a fear. The kings fear of the elves, and of those who love them still. Demaethor followed his orders, followed his orders exactly. He could still see the look on their faces when the axe fell. It was a look of forgiveness, and that is what effected him the most.

Demaethor sighed and moved away from the window to his table. His sword lie there, on a sheepskin mat. He rolled it up and placed it in a large bag and put it in his kitchen behind the fireplace. If he did decide to convert, he might have to have a few spare weapons lying around.

He put on his best tunic and trousers and threw on a hat. He wrapped a scimitar around his waist and headed out the door. The sun was down, and the night had begun, and he needed to ride. He saddled his horse and took off north. Maybe a brisk ride across the peninsula would do him good.

Valandil

03-19-2004, 05:52 PM

Esteldur finally caught sight of the coast ahead... with the sun sinking into the horizon. He had smelled the sea breeze for several miles. He knew the smell from trips between Armenelos and Romena - but this was the first time he had been to the west of the island. He reigned his mount to a halt to take in the sight, events of the days before his journey whirling through his mind.

He bore a message for the King... from the Lord Sauron himself! Unusual circumstances... he had been the very scribe to write it down, and men being occupied in preparations for the assault on Valinor, Sauron had commanded him to deliver it himself... with the greatest speed he could make. Being in the presence of Sauron had always made his skin crawl... so it was good to be away on an errand for several days. It was especially hard to be around Sauron since his parents had disappeared... Esteldur imagined he knew where they had gone. Likely sacrificied at Sauron's own temple, by Sauron's command... maybe even by his own hand! Yet Sauron had kept him around... in his position as apprentice of the Royal Scribes. It seemed to him that Sauron watched him closely these past weeks - since his family had been broken up. Maybe Sauron suspected him as well... and was waiting for him to reveal himself... to commit himself. His father, Nedron, had been a Chief Scribe. But his father had also spoken up for the Faithful. That very night, in the middle of the night, armed men had come and taken his parents away. His older brother was of age to fight... so he was sent west, to the gathering armada. At their mother's pleas, one of the men had taken Esteldur's small brother with him... to take him into his own home. The men seemed to dislike what they were doing, but as soldiers under command, they did their duties. They said his older sisters would make good "wives" for some lucky young soldiers... and they took Esteldur out of his father's home, which Nedron had by right as a Chief Scribe - and put him in the rooming house with the other scribe's apprentices at the palace.

The men had been kind enough to let his father speak parting words in private to each of his family. His father had told Esteldur to be brave, like a man... though he was only 14. He had told him to remember the teachings he had learned in his family... but now Esteldur wasn't so sure, with the ruin it had brought them to. He told him to hold his tongue... even though he hated Sauron who had destroyed his family. He told him to aid the Faithful if he could... but the very message he bore could mean the death of some.

He told him 'good-bye'... his father clearly didn't expect to live to see the dawn. The men took his father and mother away... away, toward the domed temple.

That was all less than a month ago. Then... Sauron had called him to record a message to the King. Esteldur didn't understand all the meanings... Sauron was a master at speaking in innuendo, cloaking his full message from all but those to whom he wished it revealed. But it obviously involved Elendil... and the small fleet he held off Romenna. Though the King seemed content to dismiss Elendil, perhaps sentimental from his childhood friendship with Amandil, Elendil's father... it seemed that Sauron wanted Elendil destroyed. Esteldur saw Elendil at the palace... once! He seemed a great man, greater than the King, if it was not wrong to think so. He was tall indeed! And he treated Sauron with great caution - and it was clear to all that Sauron's dislike of Elendil was mutual. Esteldur's wild imagination conjured up images of Elendil and Sauron engaged in a great life-and-death struggle... ending in BOTH of their deaths. It would be a shame for Elendil to die... but if he took Sauron with him, it would seem worth it to Esteldur!

Back to the task at hand... hated or not, he was accountable to Sauron, and it would go ill with him if he failed in this task... or even delayed more than needful. Let's see... it was 'take the road to the coast... south, which was left, along the coast - and he would shortly come to the armada'. He was to seek the King's encampment - and deliver the scroll with the message. Then he was to await the King and bring back whatever reply he would send.

With the setting sun, he knew he had good reason to camp for the night where he was, but something told him he was quite close... and that it would go ill for him if Sauron learned he had camped within a few leagues of the King at the end of the trip. Sauron learned the most incredible things too... so such a thing did not seem beyond him. Besides, the moon was out and the sky was clear. Though he was a bit tired, it seemed a pleasant night to be out riding... a nice enough change from the ominous weather signs of late, it seemed a veritable gift from the Valar... but he wasn't supposed to think that... certainly not to say it!

On to the coast ... then south along it...

trolls' bane

03-19-2004, 07:41 PM

ic.
"Ha-ha! we got ourselves a boat!"
Sherlock was overjoyed. However, he did not plan to use the boat...yet. He rowed himself closer to the small ship, devoid of it's crew, save his brother, and the man at the helm, who was still howling in agony, clearly too preoccupied to notice someone was rowing towards him.
Sherlock laughed to himself. It was like a comical play of the Lay of Leithian, in which the man was Charcaroth (is it spelt right?), after he consumed the Silmaril, and the hand that held it.
He stopped rowing. He just remembered something. There were two more boats...weren't there? He could have sworn that there were two left and glanced around. Nothing. Nothing but his island and a small group of gulls flying toward Beleriand. Well, he thought. That accounts for one, but where is the other?
He shrugged, thinking that either there was only one ship left when he had noticed that, or maybe they fled to Numenor. He turned to face the boat and was just about to start rowing again when a great noise arose behing him. Disbelief, but more horror, filled him when he turned. From where his wood/storage shed had been, smoke was billowing in a black pillar. And out of it, things were flying about, leaving a trail of smoke behind each. Whenever they hit something, they exploded, and some exploded in midair.
That was too much for him. The past few days he had gotten little rest, and much less sleep. He flopped over on his side, almost into the water. He lay there a while. This has got ot be a bad dream. I just need to sleep in more. No, this couldn't be a dream, because everything felt too real. Besides, if it was a dream, he wouldn't be thinking it was.
It was real, and all of the new exploding projectiles had been destroyed. A peice of charred wood fell into the water next to him. That made him sick.

Valandil

03-20-2004, 08:53 AM

The path along the coast was narrower than the road, but Esteldur gave the horse his head and let him go. The ride was exhiliarating... the clear night sky, the fresh sea air, the moonlit landscape... it seemed like a dream-world for a city boy.

Before long he noticed another rider... heading his way. It seemed a rather largish man, riding alone. Esteldur grabbed the reins to slow his horse to a walk. As they drew closer, Esteldur noticed his apparel... he was well-outfitted, apparently not a poor man. He had met few riders on the road... mostly farmers and merchants with carts and wagons... not many were out traveling far these days... and he had seen no other messengers. The last thing Esteldur expected was to meet another rider at night.

Decorum called for the junior or lesser of any two to greet the other first. Esteldur tried to clear his throat and raise his voice:

"Hail and well met! Greetings... I am Esteldur of the King's service, and I bear the King a message from the Lord Sauron. Do you know where I may find the King?"

Valandil

03-20-2004, 09:07 AM

OOC Post: Rosie...

Let me know if I've 'hijacked' this thread too much and taken it where you didn't want it to go. I haven't decided EXACTLY the contents of the message I'm bringing from Sauron to Ar-Pharazon, but I'm thinking he's probably asking the king to send forces to destroy Elendil and his people. Here are some possibilites for how this could play out:

1. The King gets the message, but decides not to do as Sauron requests... either for the sake of his old friendship with Amandil, Elendil's father - OR because it's too close to the time he intends to sail for Valinor - and he doesn't want to delay setting forth, or diminish the force he brings with him.

2. The King gets the message, and decides to send ships (15? 20? 30 or 40?) to Romenna to wipe out Elendil's group... however, this is a long way around and the travel might take a week or more (from the map, it looks like maybe 1200 miles around, with all those peninsulas - and some of the trip with contrary winds - it's less than 200 miles back to Armenelos and just over 200 to Romenna - so by horse, maybe 3-4 days to Armenelos and another to Romenna - at a good pace)... Esteldur and Demaethor could ride back fast enough to beat the fleet back and warn Elendil.

3. Esteldur could find a way to not deliver the message - or maybe he and Demaethor could come up with some other way to influence the King to not act on Sauron's wishes. All this of course, might put Esteldur in personal jeopardy with Sauron - so he may have to scoot on out of the palace...

And, Rosie... if you WILL control Elendil, Isildur & Anarion - would you also like to control Ar-Pharazon and Sauron?

trolls' bane

03-20-2004, 12:05 PM

Originally posted by Valandil
Well... you DID kind of set yourself away from everyone else. And I don't think the game proper has even started yet... we still seem to be in the 'character creation' stage. :)

(EDIT: I'm not even quite sure who you're fighting or how it fits into the story setting... :confused: )
ooc. I didn't know it at the time, but it looks like I'll be headed to Romenna soon enough. Yes, I will bring that "tube" though, but no powder. However, I will NOT be bringing powder. Too nervous after the former accident that left my charecter stranded anyway. I'll tell you how I got my powder...but not yet:p.
This is going to be a blast...literally:evil:!
As for who am I fighting, I am fighting a few lesser Numenorean soldiers that work for Sauron and don't plan to go.

Beor

03-20-2004, 01:56 PM

Demaethor looked to the sky. The star of Earendil was approaching its zenith, which meant that, as the mariner in him would say, that it was high time to change the watch, approaching midnight, by land standards. He decided to ride to the eaves of the forest north about five miles (sorry, don’t know how to make the conversion to leagues), and there to rest among the yavannamire, which were blooming currently, spreading their beautiful, calming scent across the plain, and the nessamelda, which had just finished its spring bloom, and was preparing to bloom again. Trees left by the elder, who never came to the island anymore.

He reached the forest about half an hour later, riding at a smooth pace. The trees were lovely in the starlight, reminding him of tales his father had told him of the days when the Eldar still occaisionally walked among them. He was sitting up against the trunk of a nessamelda that had just dropped its fruit, when he noticed a mounted figure riding west by south along the road that led to Eldalonde. In the dark, he couldn’t see much of the figure, but he didn’t look like a full man. More like a boy, or like one of the lesser men he had fought in the eastern lands across the sea, in stature at any rate.

He moved to the edge of the wood, leaving his horse grazing where he had stopped and watched the figure. As he neared, he noticed the garments that the boy wore, and the boy’s smooth face. And the emblem of the king’s counselor on the horses shroud. This was Sauron’s messenger, or a scribe of some sort. What in the name of the Valar (which were now taboo, and more of a curse anyway) was such a young boy riding alone at night? And what was the message, that Sauron would send him east? The war. It had to be concerning the war. The king was camped at Eldalonde, ready to go. What sort of message would he really need to heed? He watched the boy ride by, and puzzled himself with the query.

The Faithful. Sauron knew of Elendil and his band. People were arrested everyday to become sacrifices. The message had to have something to do with them. It must be pretty important, too, to send such a young boy riding across the island only days before the fleet was to sail.

He ran to his horse, jumped on his back, and spurred him out of the forest on a course towards the boy. Then he stopped. It would be more tactful to come around and meet him from the front. He didnt want to scare the kid away, or have him yell out. He didnt need anyone to know that he was trying to intercept a message from Sauron. He took his horse to the east, down a small valley running almost parallel with the road and brought his horse to a gallop, coming around the boy and ending up at the base of the wall of the valley, where the road ran through it.
At the road, he stopped, and let the horse catch its breath. The boy wasnt riding too fast, he was still a ways back. Demaethor composed himself, and turned Andacar up the hill on the road.
Just as he crested the hill, he saw the boy, and the boy obviously saw him, he could tell by the way he shifted in his saddle.

"Hail and well met! Greetings... I am Esteldur of the King's service, and I bear the King a message from the Lord Sauron. Do you know where I may find the King?"

"Aye, the King is encamped at Eldalonde, south of here." Had to be tactful, if the boy was truly loyal to the king, he would not be too keen on letting Demaethor slow him down, "Might I ask what the message entails, as many of the Faithful are about," he gave the kid a sideways glance, "and may mean to mislead the king into some..." had to sound like a loyal officer here, which up until moments ago, he was, "sort of folly."

trolls' bane

03-21-2004, 06:23 PM

ooc. Rosie, can I borrow the squash-selling-merchant for something (another charecter, Nariel's sister)?

Valandil

03-22-2004, 01:32 PM

Originally posted by Beor
Demaethor:

"Aye, the King is encamped at Eldalonde, south of here." Had to be tactful, if the boy was truly loyal to the king, he would not be too keen on letting Demaethor slow him down, "Might I ask what the message entails, as many of the Faithful are about," he gave the kid a sideways glance, "and may mean to mislead the king into some..." had to sound like a loyal officer here, which up until moments ago, he was, "sort of folly."

"Indeed it is a dangerous thing to be counted among the Faithful... as my very own father learned well - in his final hours. And some of them indeed say that the king is already misled into folly... but I am too young to know best of such matters, I am assured."

"Unless you have errand elsewhere, might you guide me to the King? My lord Sauron has pressed upon me the urgency of this message, and I have ridden over-long this day. If I may go direct to the King now, I can endure, if it be not too far."

"Might I ask though... is that the fruit of an Elven tree you bear? I have seen such before, but only rarely in these times... they are quite... beautiful."

Beor

03-22-2004, 01:48 PM

Orininally posted by Valandil"Indeed it is a dangerous thing to be counted among the Faithful... as my very own father learned well - in his final hours. And some of them indeed say that the king is already misled into folly... but I am too young to know best of such matters, I am assured."

"Unless you have errand elsewhere, might you guide me to the King? My lord Sauron has pressed upon me the urgency of this message, and I have ridden over-long this day. If I may go direct to the King now, I can endure, if it be not too far."

"Might I ask though... is that the fruit of an Elven tree you bear? I have seen such before, but only rarely in these times... they are quite... beautiful."

"Aye, it is, I have more if you like, for you must be hungry"

Demaethor reached into the saddlebag and gave the boy a fruit, "Indeed, it is not our place to decide what is folly and what is not, I deem, but we may have our opinions. I will take you to the king, it is not far, less than two hours ride, at a slow pace. Let us ride, and speak of matters of our time, and I will tell you a story of the elves, if you like. A boy such as yourself at Sauron's temple must not hear too much of them." He looked down at the boy from atop his horse, "I have marched alongside Gil-Galad, in the Middle-earth. He was a sight to behold, I tell you..."

Valandil

03-22-2004, 04:22 PM

Originally posted by Beor
"Aye, it is, I have more if you like, for you must be hungry"

Demaethor reached into the saddlebag and gave the boy a fruit, "Indeed, it is not our place to decide what is folly and what is not, I deem, but we may have our opinions. I will take you to the king, it is not far, less than two hours ride, at a slow pace. Let us ride, and speak of matters of our time, and I will tell you a story of the elves, if you like. A boy such as yourself at Sauron's temple must not hear too much of them." He looked down at the boy from atop his horse, "I have marched alongside Gil-Galad, in the Middle-earth. He was a sight to behold, I tell you..."

"Well... I was not hungry, but that fruit looks very delicious... so if I may indeed have some, yes... and I thank you! If I save the seeds, might I grow trees like to the ones which bear this fruit?"

"Gil-galad you say... I have HEARD of him... that's exciting! What of Elendil? I have seen him once... he seems indeed the greatest of men. But Elendil is an 'Elf-friend', is he not?"

"But... I fear it may go hard with Elendil if I discern the meaning in the message I carry. I believe Sauron seeks the destruction of Elendil... and asks the King to carry out his vile wishes... and the King seems inclined ever to hearken to Sauron's advice."

Esteldur catches himself. "But my tongue is over-loose... please remember not my words... the fatigue of my ride carries away my good sense. This fruit is good indeed... HOW is it named?"

They ride in relative silence for awhile (unless Demaethor wants to tell Esteldur stories about the Elves)... Esteldur anyway, is reluctant to speak further of his message, or Sauron or the King. 'You FOOL!' he says to himself, 'To endanger yourself so in the presence of a soldier of the King!'

On the outskirts of the camp, the two riders come upon a group of soldiers in revelry. And... women! Esteldur wonders why women are kept in this camp which arms for war. An outbreak of laughter, mixed with curses and threats catches their attention. Turning to look, they see, lit by firelight, a mob of drunken men, two in particular tugging at each arm of a woman... dressed in cheap imitation of the finest clothes.

Esteldur's jaw drops as a double realization strikes him. As a scribe-in-training, and the son of a scribe, he knows how OTHER men conduct themselves in the world to the east... but in Numenor, men treat their women with respect. A man who cannot restrain himself with women is not considered trustworthy of ANY responsibility... and women are to receive all protection and special treatment due them.

Esteldur realizes that something very wrong has taken hold in Numenor, and that men here will now treat women as they do across the eastern sea... at the same moment he realizes that the woman is his elder sister, Amariel!

He is far smaller than the men who surround her, but he is mounted, and not drunk. Esteldur spurs his horse forward, driving the men back. He jumps down and places himself between Amariel and the men. Stunned, the men just stare at first, and then they laugh and continue to say vile things.

Amariel's eyes water. She tells Esteldur that she has been dishonored, and forced to continue in this role. Indeed, would have taken her own life, but that it would imperil their brother, Forthon, and sister, Magwiel. Esteldur asks for news of them. Magwiel has been spared Amariel's fate, but is to be married tomorrow to a young officer - a man she has only just met! And Forthon, "Forthon is in the command of THAT man over there... he is a stranger to these tents, but ALL know Demaethor, great soldier of the King!" she says, pointing to Esteldur's riding companion. Then she turns back to Esteldur, "I would that your tender eyes and heart had been spared this sight of me. Best that you remembered me as we parted... for I love you, my little brother! Go on, leave me... stay out of this! Once our sister is married, and your brother departs with the armada, I shall make my final peace with the Valar. For though my body is betrayed, my mind... and my heart, remain Faithful." She hung her head in shame.

Tears welled up in Esteldur's own eyes and he did not know what to do. He was filled with such hatred for Sauron - and contempt for the King. "Be brave, like a man!" his father had told him! How? What was he to do? "Aid the Faithful, if you can!" Esteldur knew now... what he must do was all becoming crystal clear, and thought he knew as well what it was to face death - he was seized by a calm peace... but also by a great resolve.

Before any could stay him, he reached to his saddle-bag, pulled out the cursed scroll with Sauron's message for the King and thrust it deep into the fire. His hand was scorched, but he would not risk the message being saved. As he hoped, the flames quickly enveloped it - and it was soon gone.

Esteldur turned toward Demaethor and, extending his hands forward that they might be bound, he said, "I have betrayed your King and his servant Sauron to my doom, for I have destroyed the message Sauron meant for the King. I surrender myself to you, oh Demaethor - do to me as thou must. I only ask that I may see my brother Forthon one last time before I die!"

trolls' bane

03-22-2004, 09:29 PM

ooc. I sure use a lot of onomatopoeias, don't I? Oh well!
ic. "Yaah!! Ouch!!! Get it off! GET IT OFF!!!!! Yaaaah!"
The man at the helm still comically danced around the helm in pain.
I've got to get up and turn that loud creature off. I could always make those things again. I made them in the first place. Sherlock thought. Must get up. Well now I know where the other boat went. Probably to the other side of the island, snuk ashore, and lit my shed on fire. Now the question is, did they escape?
He stood up, dove in the water (he had taken off the mail), and retrieved the oar, which had floated a ways after his several-minute-long swoon. He pulled himself onto the raft and paddled toward the boat. Immeadiately, he released his brother, who collapsed onto the deck. Then he went up the short ladder to where the helm was. The man was still howling with agony, but the pain was evidently subsiding. Sherlock was lucky enough to still the man so he could take out the arrow. The man stood silently holding his hand, which probably still hurt. Sherlock took the helm, wiped blood off where the arrow had been with his shirt cuff, and steered toward the island.
No wind, but he was lucky, for the tide was high, and the ship was within ten meters of the shore in a few minutes. Four meters. Sherlock jumped down with the mooring rope. He pulled as hard as he could to get it close enough to tie it to a tree, in which he succeeded.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Nariel jumped at the sound of a loud THUD, followed by a rumbling noise.
From where her uncle's wood/storage shed had been, smoke was billowing in a black pillar. And out of it, things were flying about, leaving a trail of smoke behind each. Whenever they hit something, they exploded, and some exploded in midair.
She was not on the roof anymore. Just then, one of the smoke trailswas headed toward where she was crouched. She jumped sideways just before it hit...
Nothing.
It just stuck in the ground. She was afraid to go near it, and crawled behind a rock. There she sat, wondering who that cloaked figure was who had pushed Fingolfin aside and shot the "tube" at one of the two boats. It couldn't have been her uncle, because a few seconds before she had been watching him sneak toward the coast and hide behind that tree she had been told was planted where her uncle's boat had been ruined.

After about twenty minutes, she peered around the rock at the object. It was still in the ground. She looked past it and down the cliff-face beyond it, where she could still see the coast, which went all around the island despite it's south-western cliff. Further south, near the southern peninsula, she saw her uncle trying to bring a boat close enough to the familiar tree.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Why can't I see!? I hope I don't walk off the cliff face or something. What happened to my vision?
Fingolfin was lost. Lost on a small island. A small island, I might add, with trees only on one side. The island was not even a quarter of a mile across.
One minute he saw, the next, he couldn't.

Beor

03-23-2004, 03:30 AM

Ooc: Val, I will get the next part posted tonight. Very very good, though, my compliments!:)

Beor

03-23-2004, 04:03 PM

Demaethor and Esteldur were riding into town, heading for the kings encampment, when the boy accidently let the message slip. So, the new orders were to attack Elendil. He supposed it was just a matter of time anyway. He didn’t feel like going into battle, not now, not so close to sailing across the sea. No battle seemed fair to him anymore anyway, but espically not against Elendil. He had served alongside Elendil on many voyages, and had fought within spitting distance of him in the war with Sauron. This was ill news indeed.

They trotted into town, and soon were amongst his soldiers, who were, in modern Numenorian fashion, attempting to belittle one of the women that Sauron had sent them. Demaethor never really liked that his men basically raped women, espically Numenorian women, but to put a stop to it would bring unnecessary attention to him from Sauron, and that he didn’t need, so he condoned it, and looked the other way.

He was lost in these thoughts when the boy, Esteldur, spurred his horse into the crowd of them and knocked several back, away from the woman. Then he started shouting something about his sister, and kept spinning the horse, pushing the men away. Demaethor sat on his horse, watching with amazement the fight of the boy. A fourteen year old boy fighting off several Numenorian veterans, for the right reasons. Had to admire that kind of courage. Then he threw the message in the fire, and extended his hands to Demaethor, requesting to be bound.

Demaethor could see the hope in the boy’s eyes, as if the boy was pleading with him to help.

“Esteldur, for your insolence and attack against the king’s soldiers, you must be brought before the king. Only his judgement will do in this matter. An attack on the kings men is as an attack on the king, and you will be brought before him.”

Demaethor looked at his sister, “and you as well, lady, for you have spoken ill of one of the king’s officers, and justice must be served to all.”
There is no justice here,” the woman snapped, and she spat upon Demaethor’s cloak.
The men lunged at her. In a moment, his scimitar was drawn and swooped a line between her and the men, “NO!” he yelled, “No one will touch her, no one! Demaethor will take her before the king, and no other! Is that understood?” he turned to his men, who were shocked by his sudden anger, “Is that understood?!” His men mumbled in agreement. He scanned them angrily, “Good, then back to your work. Get you ready to sail, and do not led whores such as this distract you again. Period.” He bound the boy and the woman, and led them behind his horse down the street.

Pharazon was sitting in a throne inside a large, overly-adonrned mini-palace that the slaves from Middle-earth had built for his short encampment. Demaethor led the two up to the gate, and spoke with the guard, informing him of the situation. They were admitted, but not the horse. He dismounted, and led his prisioners before the king.

The king looked at him with his usual hard glare, but his voice was soft, “Captain Demaethor, welcome. Who are these thralls that you lead into my hall, and why is one dressed as a messenger boy of the High Counsellor Sauron?”

Demaethor bowed, and answered, “My lord, he is dressed as such because he is a messenger of the Counsellor. He and this lady have caused a commotion in the streets among the soldiers, and await the judgement of the king on the matter.” He hoped the two would refrain from calling out, or any other rash action, the king could be gentle, but he did not appreciate insolence in his court. They held their tounges, and it was well that they did.

The king eyed him, “Surely a Captain of the Kings army, espically one such as yourself could deal with this in the street, as you should have, rather than bring them before the king.”

“Aye my lord, and the captain would have, but this messenger had a message to bring to you, and he burned it in the fire. I would not have known this, had I not ridden with him from the north. He was in my charge when the outbreak happened, and I assume some of the blame myself, for I did not constrain him, as I should have.”

“Dear Demaethor, stand, and look me in the eye. You are a proud captain of Numenor, not a babysitter. You are blameless. These however, espically the boy, will pay dearly for their insolence. You said he burned the message, who was it from?”

“Sauron.”

“Then they must burn.” He motioned for the guards to take the prisioneers, “Come Demaethor, and join me for a -“

“My lord,” Demaethor inturrepted, “Should they not be sent to Sauron, for the boy was in his trust to deliver the message, and I am certain that Sauron would like to deal with this…betrayal.”

The king met his cold gaze, and held it for a moment. Then he motioned the guards off, and said to Demaethor, “Captain, send the boy to Armenelos. The girl, sent her to my herum, there she will await me, with the rest of the stock.”

Demaethor almost spoke again, but decided that second guessing the king once was good enough for one night, “yes, my lord”

They exited the small palace, and made for his flat. “What are you doing?” The woman asked.

“Do not meddle in the mind of the Great Captain Demaethor, as you called me. You will know soon enough. Just follow like nothing is wrong. We are all going to Rommenos, and you will sail with one who’s name we will not speak here. I must go to my house and retrieve my sword and mail. Then we ride.”

Valandil

03-23-2004, 04:28 PM

Originally posted by Beor

There is no justice here,” the woman snapped, and she spat upon Demaethor’s cloak.

ooc post: You like a woman with spirit, eh? ;)

(EDIT: and very good yourself, Beor!) :)

Valandil

03-23-2004, 04:32 PM

Originally posted by Beor
They exited the small palace, and made for his flat. “What are you doing?” The woman asked.

“Do not meddle in the mind of the Great Captain Demaethor, as you called me. You will know soon enough. Just follow like nothing is wrong. We are all going to Rommenos, and you will sail with one who’s name we will not speak here. I must go to my house and retrieve my sword and mail. Then we ride.”

Amariel stopped in her tracks, stunned - but only briefly. She joined in stride behind him, head lowered and began to speak in a hushed voice: "Are YOU indeed then secretly among the Faithful? I marvel that you have lingered so long with the King's forces. But please, sir, if we go as you say,... my brother Esteldur and I have yet another brother and another sister in this camp... is there not a way to bring them with us?"

Beor

03-23-2004, 04:38 PM

"I will not speak openly, even in hushed voices, of where my alliegence lies, but suffice to say, I will not sail west.
"Your brother, Forthon, I believe, he is a soldier under my command? Then I shall send for him, as help for me in this journey. However, your sister may be lost, for I can see no viable way to gather her, unless by chance. There are too many soldiers about, and though they do not know that you were to stay with the king, they may soon find out, and then we will have problems to deal with. Please, I will send for your brother, but your sister may be lost. Praytell, do you know where she is?"

Valandil

03-23-2004, 04:55 PM

Originally posted by Beor
"...Please, I will send for your brother, but your sister may be lost. Praytell, do you know where she is?"

Amariel struggled to contain her excitement. "Yes! I know EXACTLY where she is! I am allowed... breaks... and I can visit both my brother and my sister. I was to be granted permission to attend her wedding tomorrow. May I go to her and bring her? Or send someone to retrieve her where she is?"

Beor

03-23-2004, 05:02 PM

Demaethor thought it over, "Yes, when your brother arrives, I will send him, but you must tell him what is happening, or he will assume I really mean to have you all executed, and no man would willingly bring his sister to the gallows. Once your brother arrives, we will go to my flat, and I will go upstairs, leaving the two of you to the care of your brother, tell him then, and when I come down, I will give him the order. Once they return, we will put all three of you on a horse, and your brother and I shall lead you out of town. Once we are beyond the city, we shall ride with all speed for Rommenos, assuming everything goes well. We must move quickly now, though, for soon, the king might be requesting your....services, and you will not be there for him, and we will be discovered. Come!"

Beor

03-23-2004, 05:32 PM

Demaethor rode on faster, pulling them along, but he did it for the sake of everyone watching. He did not want to draw too much attention, for he was already fearing that someone might suspect something.

When they got to his flat, he went up and grabbed his axe and his mail, and came back down. Forthon was there, and he had brought his sister, and two other soldiers.

"Forthon, what is the meaning of this? I sent for only your sister, not more men"

"My lord, these men are loyal to you," He put emphasis on the 'you', and wish to come with you to the court of Sauron to properly dismiss these prisioners."

"I understand you, Forthon, come, let us ride, and ride quickly. We will take the road directly to Armenellos, for we are in need of haste."

ooc: Val, take one, if you would:) . I kindof dont know exactly where to go right now.:)

Valandil

03-23-2004, 05:47 PM

Originally posted by Beor

ooc: Val, take one, if you would:) . I kindof dont know exactly where to go right now.:)

OOC post:

Will do, but have to wait for a good block of time... so will be later.

Nice set-up for me! :)

trolls' bane

03-23-2004, 08:52 PM

"Fingolfin"
He heard something and awoke, but his eyes remained closed. What had he just heard that woke him up? He didn't remember.
"Fingolfin"
It was a voice. More than that, it was a voice that he had never heard before. Who could that be? he wondered. He heard other voices in the background. He listened.
"Now what happened, Nariel?" the new voice asked.
"Don't know," Nariel's voice replied. "He was hit on the head hard, though. Very hard. Wonder who that strange looking man was."
"Tell the whole thing. I want to know what happened to my shed," Sherlock's voice said.
"First he pushed Fingolfin aside, and lit that "tube"...thing. He shot it at the boat you were after.
"Wait, you made that shot?" Sherlock's voice asked. "Wonderful shot indeed."
"Indeed?" the new voice asked, and sounded as if he wasn't convinced about something.
"Then he ran off," Nariel's voice continued. "And a few minutes later, I went down to go to my uncle. I ran down to the beach where he was, but he was gone when I got there. I waited a while, but then went up to the cliff ledge to look for him. There I waited a while , and saw him paddleing his raft toward the small ship. And then..."
"The explosion," Sherlock finished for her.
"Yes. I crouched down when on flew above my head, and I jumped aside when this one flew at me. I waited for a while, and saw you trying to tie the ship to the tree. I went down to where you were tying it, but on the way, I saw Fingolfin and someone else charging at a group of people, maybe five. Then, someone came up behind and hit him with a very large rock."
"Interesting," said another voice, somewhat like Sherlock's.
Fingolfin, filled with curiosity as to who all these people were, opened his eyes to see them. However, what he saw made his heart sink. He saw nothing. No light. Nothing. He knew his eyes were open, too.
This, however, apparently caught the attention of the people around him. They stopped talking.
After a few minutes of silence, another new voicce said, "Finally. If I didn't know that he wasn't dead, I would not have argued against him being buried."
"Shut up!" Sherlock exclaimed. "Leave the boy alone. After all, he did get knocked on the head hard and fell off a cliff just yesterday."
"Where am I?" Fingolfin managed to ask.
"That's what I am beginning to wonder," said the new voice. You've been unconcious since we foun you at the cliff-base. Took you long enough to wake up."
"As my brother said," the second voice put in, "shut up, Ivan."
"Am I dead?" Fingolfin pressed.
"No, because if you were dead, and you went to Illuvatar, he wouldn't be here," the second voice said.
"Now shut up BOTH of you!" said Sherlock. "You spend too much time rattleing and blundering on about nonsense when you should be preparing for departure."
"But I can't work, Ivan complained. "What about my hand. It's-"
"If you say that it's getting infected one more time, I will personally see to it that it does get infected. Now go out to the boat, and start preparing for departure" said the first voice.

All of the people present, the man whose hand was pinned to the helm, Ivan; Sherlock, his brother, Frank; Nariel, and Fingolfin, all stared at the man, although Fingolfin's gaze was somewhat to the right of where the man was. Even the warm, vibrating object that lay by Fingolfin's left leg (which he had just discovered to be his cat, Beleg) became suddenly alert. The two who were arguing obeyed after a long silence. Even after, there was a silence among those that remained in the room.
He turned toward Fingolfin, hwo now sat upright.
"Can you see me?" he asked.
"No"
"Do you know what happened to you?"
"No"
"Do you know where you are?"
"I can guess."

Valandil

03-24-2004, 10:57 AM

Originally posted by Beor
Demaethor:
"I understand you, Forthon, come, let us ride, and ride quickly. We will take the road directly to Armenellos, for we are in need of haste."

"Ride? Armenelos?" said Magwiel. Forthon explained to Demaethor that she had only just arrived... and also that, upon hearing of the plan, he had sent for these other two men, whom he knew to be Faithful, travel clothes and horses for each in the party. The plan was outlined to Magwiel.

"But when I saw Esteldur, I thought he had come for my wedding. I am to be wed tomorrow!" said Magwiel.

Amariel spoke up, "Magwiel! We have no time for such foolishness. You have only just met this man, Oronil. You are being forced into this marriage. Come with us and we'll start a new life among the Faithful."

"The Faithful!" Magwiel nearly spat. "Do you still cling to those notions taught us by our parents? How did it help THEM when Sauron's men came for them? Oronil will take care of me now! He is nephew to the Lord of Orrostar... and captains a ship in the fleet of Orrostar, which is part of this great armada. He will go forth and win honor and riches, and send for me - that I may dwell with him in a fairie home in Valinor - a mansion - with fair people as our servants... and I will be 24 forever! We will have all that we can take from Valinor, from Numenor and from Middle-earth. And how could we not? When have the Eldar ever assembled a force even one tenth of this armada? And the Valar have never had a fleet at all! The King looks on Oronil with delight! I will not stoop to be the wife of a... scribe, as was our mother! Nor would I live as you do, Amariel... and you call yourself 'Faithful'!"

Amariel was obviously stung by her sister's words. She collected herself and added, in a voice that was gentle, yet strong; "You know not what you say, little sister. For I was given a choice to do as I have done, or to have that forced upon you. Perhaps it was wrong to do so... to be untrue to myself, but it seemed the 'right' thing to do. I sought to protect you... but I see that I have not done so. My body has been enslaved while my heart remained free... your body was free, but your heart has become enslaved."

Forthon spoke up, "Magwiel, I beg you to reconsider. Ever were you less inclined than we to believe as our mother and father taught us. I beseech you now, to find it in you to accept those things. For, as desperate as our coming flight now seems, I deem it gives greater hope of life than to sail to Valinor... or even to stay here. Come with us, Magwiel... please!"

Magwiel seemed to waver, and Forthon's words caused Esteldur to think. For one, he himself had begun to doubt the Valar of late. For another, the words of Forthon rang true in his heart... and Esteldur wondered if Ar-Pharazon's attack might indeed doom all Numenor. He wondered if he had 'the sight' of his fathers, in some measure - and maybe Forthon had it as well. His mind went back to his vision of a mortal struggle between Elendil and Sauron... yet Elendil seemed so much... older. And Sauron in his vision was so hideous... while the Sauron all in Numenor knew was so fair - in form and in speech! Yet Esteldur just knew it was Sauron in the vision... maybe his mind just projected a horrific image of Sauron because of his hatred for him.

Esteldur was jarred back to the present by sudden action. As Amariel and Magwiel had continued to argue, Magwiel had become more set in her decision to stay. All at once, Forthon threw a piece of cloth over Magwiel's head from behind, and pulled it tight over her mouth. "Amariel, hold her hands!" he shouted. When Amariel hesitated he added, "Worry not that I would harm her, do it!" Soon Forthon had Magwiel tied and gagged, but arrayed her in what comfort he could with cushions and blankets. "Magwiel," he said, "I am sorry for such treatment, but for you to raise the alarm of our leaving would cost our lives - and I do not think you want that. As well, for you to know we left - and NOT have tried to stop it, would likely imperil you - even if it were only based on suspicion. To bring you as captive would slow us greatly and endanger our flight. Tied like this, and prevented from warning any of our flight, you will be absolved - and we will have several hours start. Now, as your big brother, I ask you one last time... will you change your mind and join us?"

Tears flowed from Magwiel's eyes, but Forthon's soft words had calmed her. Nevertheless, she slowly shook her head. Forthon kissed her on the forehead and the cheek, "Then I wish you well, my little sister, though I fear it will not go well for you. I think we shall never meet again, but I leave with you my love."

As Forthon got up to go, Amariel went also to Magwiel, kissed her and spoke soft words of parting. All had left the room save Esteldur and Magwiel. Esteldur put his arms around Magwiel's neck and kissed her cheek. "I love you Magwiel... I wish you would come with us. I hate Sauron and the King for what they have done to our family - and my life is now forfeit unless I flee." He went to the door and looked back at her, looking at him, tears still streaming down. "Magwiel, won't you come with us?" She lowered her head, shook it slowly and turned her face away. Someone pulled the door shut as she did so, and Esteldur was certain this would be the last sight he had of his sister, Magwiel.

Valandil

03-24-2004, 11:28 AM

In the outer hall, Amariel spoke to her brothers in turn; "Forthon, you have done a thing that was hard to do, but it seems you have judged rightly. I know father would wish most that our sister came with us, but I know also that he would be proud of you."

"Esteldur," she placed her hand under Esteldur's chin, holding his face before her and looking into his eyes, "YOUR coming has freed us - and allowed us this chance at escape. I KNOW that both our father and mother would be proud of you. I know that I am. I have always loved you dearly, but when you thrust that scroll in the fire, my eyes were opened to the man that you're becoming... that you've become! Some women my age are already blessed to have a son of 14 - and if you were my son, and not my brother, I think that I should be prouder still - and would indeed feel blessed! How is your hand?"

"Oh, it's nothing..." stammered Esteldur, somewhat embarrassed. "Besides, we can't let it delay us... it would be wrong for us to be trapped here while we attend to some scorched flesh."

"Yes!" Said Demaethor. "We must be off soon! It's nearly midnight. The camp will be asleep at last, save the guards - and we still have six hours to fly ere the sun rises."

Amariel turned to Demaethor and looked in his eyes. "My lord Demaethor, may I speak with you briefly before we go... in private?" Her eyes lowered with the final two words.

OOC: Beor, I'm assuming that's OK and will continue

IC: Demaethor led Amariel into another chamber off the outer hall. "Yes? What is it? We must be off!"

SMACK!

As a warrior, Demaethor had received many blows with much more force, but Amariel's slap caught him completely by surprise.

"I beseech thee, good lord, to never again call me a w***e!"

Demaethor recalled his earlier words: “Good, then back to your work. Get you ready to sail, and do not led whores such as this distract you again. Period.”

Amariel had turned to go out, but stopped, turned back to Demaethor and said, "Nonetheless, I thank thee deeply for rescuing my family... when you could have fled alone at much less risk to yourself. You prove why you are held in such esteem." She wheeled back around and went into the outer hall.

OOC: Beor - if thou hast aught to say in response to this, tell thee the tale. Otherwise, we go on...

IC: Esteldur was again bound, as a prisoner being transported - but loosely and in little discomfort. The group mounted their steeds... and they brought along the extra horse intended for Magwiel, as well as the horse Esteldur had ridden from Armenelos... it was too fatigued after the previous day's long ride, to carry a rider just then, but Esteldur was loathe to leave it behind... and it was agreed that spare horses could be of use.

Thus those six rode out from Demaethor's quarters; Demaethor, Forthon, Amariel, Esteldur - and Forthon's two companions; Behirien and Galdureth, each mounted, with two horses more behind. As they left, storm clouds again gathered over Numenor... as they had so often of late. Rain began to fall... and hail, at times... and the dark and quiet of night were disrupted by lightning and thunder from the heavens.

Beor

03-24-2004, 01:19 PM

Ooohh, I like it, Val, its good, really good:eek: :D .

I think Demaethor's stunned silence goes good there, by the way;) .

I will post most likely tomorrow morning (for me, which is three hours ahed of Greenwich Mean Time)

This is getting really good, too:)

Valandil

03-24-2004, 03:11 PM

The group rode slowly through the camp, keeping their horses to a walk. At the perimeter, the captain of the guard detail hailed them. "Halt! Who goes there? State your name and business, to be leaving this camp under dark of night."

Demaethor spoke to the captain, explaining that they had a prisoner to send right away to Sauron at Armenelos.

"And you even go yourself, Lord Demaethor? Surely, he must be an important and dangerous prisoner, though he looks but a boy!" replied the guardsman, with a smile creeping across his face.

"I will have none of your cheek, soldier!" said Demaethor quite crossly. "For rumor has it that some who would free him are on the road... I would see my own guard take him at least a day's ride out, as he is my personal responsibility. My sub-alterns are quite capable of seeing to war preparations of my own detachment. Pay heed to your own duties and leave me to work out mine!"

This satisfied the guard, and after asking Demaethor's pardon, he stood aside to let them all pass. The party rode on into the night. Five miles up the coast, Forthon rode up beside Esteldur and grabbed the reins of his horse, halting the two of them. Taking his dagger, he cut Esteldur's bonds, then turned the dagger handle toward his young brother. "Here Esteldur, I have still a bow and a sword to defend myself, with which I have received some training - and father taught us a bit of the bow himself, did he not? If any beset us, they will seek your life, and it were better you had at least this to defend yourself - that you may strike a blow of some sort in your own defense."

They continued north until they reached the road... which Esteldur had left not eight hours before - only shortly before he met Demaethor. Esteldur realized how tired he was... but they needed more miles behind them. Once on the road, they picked up the pace, and the three siblings rode side-by-side.

Amariel was the first to bring it up. "We have yet another brother, and owe it to our parents to bring him with us as well."

Forthon added, "I have learned that Anardil is in the home of Aegnarth, of the guard... not far from where our own home was in Armenelos. A good man by all accounts, like so many, trapped in unpleasant duties"

At dawn they passed a small town along the road. Men were out, going about their tasks, as the storm raged on. Esteldur could not believe his ears... at the curses these men hurled at the Valar about the storm; the rain, the clouds, the hail, the lightning. It seemed to him almost that each curse was echoed by a flash of lightning and a burst of thunder. Then, to all their amazement, a man who stood on the town square, fist upraised, cursing the sky, was struck by a bolt of lightning right before them! They went on, glad to leave that town behind them.

Forthon drew his horse near to Demaethor's. "My lord Demaethor, we have yet another brother. When our parents were taken, he was brought into the home of one Aegnarth of the guard, in Armenelos. In faith to our parents, we would retrieve him, that we may assemble all in our family that we could, having already lost our sister Magwiel. He is but four years old, and his name is Anardil. To detour around Armenelos would cost us much time - but to pass discretely through the town, and take him as we go, would be but little delay. Can we rescue also our little brother?"

OOC: If any female 'Mooters out there would like to play Amariel, let me know... not sure I can properly handle this tension between her and Demaethor! ;) :p

Beor

03-24-2004, 03:19 PM

ooc: You are very good at names as well.

I will post tomorrow, if this is where you want me to pick up. I will post in the morning (if all goes well), its the money thing, man, I am not trying to hold up the game or anything. :)

Valandil

03-24-2004, 03:27 PM

Originally posted by Beor
ooc: You are very good at names as well.

I will post tomorrow, if this is where you want me to pick up. I will post in the morning (if all goes well), its the money thing, man, I am not trying to hold up the game or anything. :)

Also OOC:

Thanks, and no problem! That was what we agreed. I look forward to your next post. Hope you get a good night's sleep! And save all the money you can... you can use it when you get back stateside with the fam... OR for you 'Grand Tour of European Entmooters'! ;)

Take care Beor... keep your head low, and stay safe out there! :)

Beruthiel's cat

03-24-2004, 04:04 PM

Well, kids, I've finally gotten this far! (What with computer problems and time problems -- I mean what is this 24 hours in a day thing...we need MORE! More time, I say!)

Please let me know if you think this will work into the story. Sorry I'm so late, but I've been trying to work out the kind of character Lysial is. I think I've got it now.

Introduction to Lysial

Lysial was drained. There were no tears left. Just loneliness, grief and – ANGER! Jathar was dead, his rooms ransacked. What happened? She wanted to know.

“My – lady?” The question in the constable’s voice probably stemmed from her appearance as much as anything. Her clothing was old and travel-worn, though it had been of fine quality when it was new. Her outfit consisted of a linen tunic of dark green, a brown linen skirt over tan suede trews* and sturdy brown leather boots, worn from much time on the road, but very serviceable. Her long, blonde hair was drawn back and tied with a leather thong. At her waist was a belt hung with several pouches, a carved flute, and a sheathed knife with a finely wrought hilt. “Are you his next of kin?”

Lysial looked at the man without seeing him. His question registered dimly. Next of kin? “I suppose so. Yes. As close as anyone.” Jathar’s body lay on the floor, waxy-white in death. Three days ago he had seen her off to play at a wedding less than a day’s ride from Rommena. He had seemed well, his usual, vital, humorous self. The only unusual thing about their parting is that he asked her to take his cat, Bragi, with her.

Now, Bragi sat on the floor next to her, tail thumping in agitation. “You can bet he saw this coming. That’s why he sent me off with you. He didn’t want you to know. That’s not unusual. What is odd is that he didn’t want me to know. I’d be annoyed with him if he weren’t dead.” The cat’s tail slashed around her ankles in emphasis.

“Oh, do be quiet, Bragi!”

“Pardon, my lady?” The constable looked at her quizzically.

“Uh...he seems so – quiet! There are no marks on him at all, yet our rooms are in complete disorder. I wonder why. What could Jathar have had that anyone would want?”

“Me, of course!” Bragi’s voice intruded into her mind again. “And maybe money.” He turned a guileless green gaze up at Lysial. The young woman promptly frowned back.

“Well, can you tell if any valuables are missing? Jewelry, money, anything at all?” The constable took a blanket from Jathar’s bed and covered him.

The carved chest where Jathar kept his money lay broken and empty in the corner near the work table. It had been quite full. A master minstrel had reason to demand high pay for his services, and people were happy to pay what he asked. Some coins had rolled around the room, as if whoever stole the money didn’t care if he left any behind. Or perhaps he was in a hurry.

Lysial picked up the chest and set it on the work table. “The money is gone.” She steeled herself and pulled the blanket away from her master and examined him again, paying closer attention to the state of his clothing, his hands, his facial expression. His hands were clenched, his face was drawn in a pained expression. His death had not been easy.

“His Master Minstrel’s ring and brooch are missing. They were amethysts set in gold.”

The constable nodded. “I can ask at the pawn shops to see if any such things have been traded. But I doubt that the thief would bother to sell it here in Rommena. Everyone knew Jathar and those things would be recognized. Even I recall seeing that purple ring of his. Mighty fine, it was.”

Lysial was numb. About half of what the constable said actually registered. Finally, she sank down on a chair. Her legs could hardly hold her. Bragi jumped up into her lap.

“I’m convinced it’s murder! But I doubt this thick old sod does. The only thing he’d understand would be if he saw someone run Jathar through with a sword. It’s poison. Mark my word.” Bragi sniffed the empty cup next to them on the work-table. “I smell it. The wine is tainted!”

“Why would anyone poison Jathar?” Lysial stroked the large grey-striped cat thoughtfully.

“Oh, I wouldn’t think that, Lady. Most likely it was his heart that seized on him. It happens quick like that.” the constable replied.

“Then who would know that he was dead and come in and ransack the place?”

The constable pondered a moment. That thought hadn’t occurred to his slow-thinking mind. “There’s thieves and then there’s thieves, if you catch my drift, m’lady. Some’s got honor and some’s got none. There’s thugs hereabout that just wait for any opportunity to prey on the less fortunate. They must have happened by and seen the poor soul was dead.” He shook his head. “There’s all kinds in this world, both bad and good.” He smiled kindly at Lysial. “I’ll send the undertaker by to take him away and you can make arrangements. And I’ll send word to the palace. The king’s family spoke well of him, I know.”

“Yes. Thank you, Constable.” She felt a fresh spate of tears coming from somewhere. They started down her already tear-stained cheeks and fell on Bragi’s silver and black-tipped fur. The constable withdrew, leaving her to her fresh misery. Bragi began to purr softly and rubbed his face against hers.

“Cry, if it makes you feel better, Lysial. I am grieved, too. He was a good friend and a kind master. He understood cats as well as he understood people. And because he had friends, he had enemies. That’s a-certain.”

Lysial stopped stroking the cat and looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“You are exhausted, child. Go and rest. We will discuss this another time.” He rubbed his cheek against her hand, encouraging her to continue her petting.

Bragi was right. There was too much going through her mind to make sense of anything that was happening. The undertaker arrived for Jathar’s body. She briefly discussed a remembrance service with him, telling him that the Palace might want to handle the arrangements.
She gave the man a silver piece and he left with the now shrouded body.

***Continued next post***

Beruthiel's cat

03-24-2004, 04:06 PM

Continued from previous post...

She wasn’t ready to surrender to sleep just yet, so she began to tidy the wrecked room. Jathar’s papers were scattered everywhere, some torn, some crumpled, some untouched. Putting them in order would help her make sense of things, she decided. She gathered up the portfolios and began arranging the papers into categories, as Jathar had taught her. Time passed quickly as she replaced the manuscripts, noting any that would need to be re-copied. In time it became apparent that one of the folios was empty. It was a new song-cycle that Jathar had been working on, a cycle he had titled: “Songs of the Faithful Friends.”

The realization hit like cold water – Jathar had been involved with the Faithful. He hadn’t let her see the songs – he had told her they were still works in progress and not ready to be shared. But she remembered two of the tunes.

Jathar had kept an old lute under his bed. It was ancient, made in the West, he said, and it possessed some magic, so he told her when she first came to him. She searched beneath the bed now, but nothing was there. “They must have taken that, too!”

Bragi started clawing at a floorboard between the bed and the table. It was loose. Lysial pried it open and found the lute, carefully wrapped in an oil-cloth bag. She took the instrument out and strummed it, trying to determine how badly it needed to be tuned, but it was in perfect tune. Perhaps this was part of its magic!

She tried a scale to get the feel of it and it was if it had been made for her. She began playing one of the tunes she recalled Jathar composing. Everything became quiet, as if the world was listening to her play. When she stopped, it was if the world began to breathe again.

“How odd.” She placed in lute back into its case. Bragi lay on the bed, paws tucked underneath him, green eyes slitted in meditation.

“It is a powerful song.” She heard Bragi’s voice within her mind and it was tinged with awe.

“I wonder what it means?” she asked.

“I believe we will soon find out, my girl. But first we need food and sleep. In that order.”

And so Lysial attended to the simple task of fixing supper, little realizing that this would be the last time she would be doing such a mundane, simple and homely task for quite some time.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
* “trews” are sort of like trousers or leggings (explanation offered for the more sartorially challenged amongst us!)
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Comments are welcome. Please let me know if this fits in with the setting. PM me if I'm REALLY off the mark!!!

Thanks! :) :) :) :) :) :) :)

trolls' bane

03-24-2004, 10:12 PM

ooc. I think it fits well, Beru. Fits better than mine, I suppose, but not for long. Hey, would you mind if it's later found out in the story that Beleg (Fingolfin's cat) is akin to Bragi?

ic. "We're ready, 'Mad Wizard'" Ivan said, with some humor in his voice.
"Sure you are," Sherlock answered. "You packed it all?"
"Yes"
"Including the upstairs?"
"Uh...no."
Sherlock said "Yes, I have a storage room up there. I'll help you pack now. First, however, we must lead Fingolfin around the island. We'll put him in the one those sabatuer's left behind. Most of us will be in there."
"Okay, Mad Wizard"
"Shut up, Ivan." It was Fingolfin who said this.
"What is it with you people?" he said. "You keep copying eachother."
"Hmm," Sherlock said. "Now, Ivan, are you one of the Faithful forced to steer the boat, or are you one of the King's men? Whose side are you on? You don't seem like one of the King's men. However, nor do you seem like one of the Faithful."
"Suppose I'm with the King's men, if they are setting sail to anywhere. I know that something could happen to me. Don't like it. Odd that you should ask that. Some guy at the market square in Romenna asked me that. He was selling squashes. I bought a whole bunch of them, and left. When I was further down the street, the girl who came up to him just after me bumped into me. Kid sure was in a hurry."

ooc. Rosie, is that ok if I borrow him? Not quite as I planned earlier, but, it worked.

ic. "You'd risk your life just to sail somewhere? That's it?" Sherlock asked, astounded, but eh thoughtWell, this rock-headed sailor will be easy to convince not to sail west. Perhaps not-wait! I've got an idea. I wonder if...
"Ivan," he said, "have you ever heard any strange sounds in the water? Perhaps coming from the water? Think. Take your time."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"All your stuff packed, Nariel?" Sherlock yelled from the boat to shore.
"Yes, uncle," she answered.
"I need your help taking my project from the roof. You too, Charlie and Ivan."
"What pro-" Ivan began to say. "No, I will not touch that accursed thing! Keep it in the boat in tow."
"Sorry, Ivan, but we might need to have it on board the one we'll be on," he answered. "You don't have to help, this time."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Everyone, get into this boat. We'll be leaving soon. We're going to tow that one," Sherlock yelled to the shore, gestureing toward the smaller boat close behind at the stern, which was very low in the water. "Is the cat on board?"
"We put him with the boy," Charles yelled back, now nearing the larger boat that Sherlock was on.

Beor

03-25-2004, 05:58 AM

Demaethor looked at the group of them and sighed. Going through Armenelos would be faster, no doubt about that, but how hazardous would it be? Sauron controlled that place, and even with most of the army at port in Eldalonde, there was still a sizeable amount of soldiers there. If they had been made, which by now they probably had, Sauron would definitely know. He had a way of finding these things out quickly. Messages usually only came from him, rarely did they have to go to him. The looks on the faces of the family before him glowed with hope, and Demaethor couldn’t remember the last time someone looked upon him like that. Actaully, he could. It was when the axe fell on the necks of the Faithful he had executed under the kings orders. He made the wrong choice then, but not this time. He would not betray the Faithful again.

“We ride for Armenelos. No need to bind anyone, by the time we get there, they will be aware of our sessecion. Only the two of you,” he pointed at the two soldiers, “will enter the city. You are not known to be among us, so your prescence will not arouse as much suspicion. You will take Amariel, and go to get her brother. Now we ride with great haste, for the night is waning, and soon dawn will be upon us. Come…” he trailed off. (cue track 16 from LOTR soundtrack J) Something caught his attention. The sound of hooves could be heard. He looked towards Eldonde.

A squad of Numenorian Guards was galloping at them, and several twangs from several bows rang through the night.

“Ride!” he shouted, he saw a small knoll among an array of stones and rocky earth, “Ride for the knoll! We have no hope on the open ground. In the rocks, their horses will be less useful, and we may be able to defeat them.”

They rode to the knoll as quickly as they could, with Forthon leading them and Demaethor trailing, and the riders were getting closer fast, “Dismount! Everyone down, make a spearline! At the edge of the rocks, hurry!” They got down, just in time to meet the riders. Spears cracked, and horses whined, and blood was spilled before long. Demaethor saw Esteldur get launched back by the onslaught of the riders. He lunged upon the mounted rider and threw him down, and chopped his belly with the axe. Demaethor rised up and swung, but was blocked by a sword, when the others body was open, he thrust a dagger into his stomach, and chopped off his head. Forthon was busy with two guards to his left, and the others were fighting furiously, but they were obviously tired. He jumped over a row of rocks and took one from behind, then moved to help Forthon with his sortie.

Amariel. Where was Amariel? He looked to the plain. She was being dragged out from the fray by two soldiers, kicking at them and biting, but she was no match for the heavy guards. He let out a roar and charged at them, swinging his axe like a hurricane. The first fell before he had time to turn around, the second raised his sword, and it clattered to the ground with his forearm as the axe cleaved first his arm, then his chest.

Demaethor turned to see Forthon had defeated one of his enemies, but the other was still upon him. Behirien was down with a wound in the side, and Galdureth was caring for him, deeming that Forthon could deal with one opponent. Then from behind a rock, came a large figure with a sword. Demaethor yelled out, but it was too late. The sword came down upon Forthon’s back, banging against his armor and doing little damage, but it knocked him forward just as his other man thrust his sword forward. The blade pierced his chest under the armpit, and he fell to his knees.

Esteldur’s eyes went wide, and he jumped forward yelling like a warrior twice his age, and slashed the man in the face with the dagger that his brother had given him. Demaethor didn’t even notice that he was charging to the fight until he was upon the rearward enemy, chopping him down with his axe. The last few seconds seemed to go extremely slow, as the axe fell again upon Forthon’s enemy.

Amariel ran to her brother’s body, crying. Esteldur stood motionless with the dagger in his hand, and Galdureth was helping Behirien to where they stooped over their fallen comrade and brother.

Demaethor knealt beside Forthon and stripped his armor, to look at the wound, “It will be fatal,” he said somberly, “the sword penetrated deep. He will not last long. There is nothing I can do for him.”

Amariel looked at him with tears in her eyes, “how can you be so cold?” she sputtered.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Esteldur spoke first, “Dear sister, he can do nothing. He is a warrior, he speaks plainly, and it is rightly so,” The boy was proving to be more and more surprising every minute. Esteldur looked upon his brother, tears in his eyes, “Forthon, it’s me, Esteldur.”

The dying man looked upon his brother, “Esteldur,” he choked, “ride with this man. Get our brother, that he may live. Demaethor will guide you on the right path. He has been a good captain to me. Is he here?”

“I’m here, Sergeant.”

“My captain, please take my remaining family to Rommenos, see them to the Middle lands, where they can be free. Sorry to have failed you, sir.”

“No, you have failed no one. Your deeds will not be forgotton, Forthron. Rest now, and go where Iluvatar would send you.”

And Forthon passed.

“We must go. Already they attack us, and soon more will come. We ride with all haste to Armenelos, to get your brother.”

“What about his body?” Esteldur asked.

“If you value dead flesh, bring him, if not, leave him here, for we have not the time to put him to the earth. Burn him or bring him, I am sorry to be blunt, but we need to go. Now.”

Amariel looked at Esteldur, then at Demaethor. Tears were welling in her eyes, where so recently tears had been. He looked to the empty horse that was Forthon’s, “Wrap him in my cloak. He will ride his horse to the sea, following us.” He hopped down and helped them wrap their brother in the cloak, and lifted him upon his horse. He mounted his, and took the reigns of Forthon’s horse, “Come, we must ride.” Towards Armenelos they rode, in the middle of the night, with heavy hearts and one riderless horse.

Rosie Gamgee

03-25-2004, 10:35 AM

ooc: Whoa! This HAS gotten away from me! I don't mind in the least, btw. I like where it's going, though. Mush more interesting than my first ideas. Sure, Valandil, I'll godmod the bigwigs.
Um, I just read through all of this, but was doing it rather hurriedly- golly, there's a lot- and I was wondering, Would somebody do me a big favor and summarize what's going on? And, I think, if no one minds, I'll take Amariel, since my characters aren't really in play just yet.
Sorry, very sorry, I haven't been online here. Please, someone, give me a summary!!!
Thanks,

Rose.

Valandil

03-25-2004, 10:45 AM

OOC Post:

OK Rosie, I'll make a 'Discussion Thread' a little later - and save some spots at the start for character bios and plot summary.

Also - if the action with Beor and myself gets too close to the 'fall' for some of you (I figure we're within a week of when Ar-Pharazon sets sail - and maybe a month or so from the 'Big Cataclysm' - that happens when Ar-Pharazon reached Valinor) - you can easily start your characters earlier and work up to where we are... this may even become a collection of stories of people who sailed with Elendil... and how each came to make it aboard one of the nine ships. :)

btw Beor: another great post! I've some ideas... do you want to post another, for me to post next, or shall we chat to work out the next moves?

*He killed Forthon!!! Ahhh... :eek: *

( don't worry... we had it all scripted! ;) ) :p

Beruthiel's cat

03-25-2004, 11:02 AM

Originally posted by trolls' bane
ooc. I think it fits well, Beru. Fits better than mine, I suppose, but not for long. Hey, would you mind if it's later found out in the story that Beleg (Fingolfin's cat) is akin to Bragi?

ooc: I sort of expected things to go that way...and Bragi would certainly like it better than if Beleg were just a plain, ordinary cat (if, indeed, there is such a thing..!). You can be sure Bragi will always have a thing or two to say about the situation.

Valandil

03-26-2004, 03:53 PM

They had ridden for two hours after the attack and dawn was beginning to break. As the light grew about them, Demaethor noted how pale Behirien was become.

He dropped back next to him. "Let me have a look at your dressing, soldier." He didn't seem pleased with what he saw. "Who bandaged this man up... Galdureth? Don't you know how to dress a wound?"

Galdureth looked on, "It must have fallen away during our ride, Lord Demaethor." he protested.

"Hmmmph!" They paused long enough to re-bandage the wound. Behirien would likely be alright, but had lost more blood than needed - and likely couldn't help out if they had to fight again soon. Demaethor considered his situation: They had left the camp at Eldalonde some 30 hours before - and with just a short rest at mid-day the day before, had made reasonable time and covered half the distance to Armenelos... but they were slowing from fatigue and the aftereffects of battle - and couldn't keep up the same pace without a good rest. Besides, he had started with a woman, a boy and three soldiers - and now he had a woman, a boy, a wounded man, a corpse and an idiot - judging by how Galdureth had stopped mid-battle to bandage an ally - when enemies were still about - as well as how he had botched the bandage job itself.

That wasn't all that bothered him. Still no further signs of pursuit behind them, but he knew what he would have done if he were the hunter. He would have sent a group of 'sprinters' and a group of 'distance runners' out. To evade the first, the prey must themselves sprint - and would tire enough for the second group to catch them. If the prey ran at the pace to go a great distance, the first group would catch them - and if not defeat them, at least slow them until the second could catch them and finish them. It must have been six hours at least before it was suspected that they had fled... and at least eight before pursuit was organized. The 'sprinters' had closed on them fast indeed... but a second wave was likely coming.

Just ahead was a bridge crossing a small stream, and there were woods on each side of the road, set back a furlong or two. The stream flowed down to the right - or south. Demaethor led the group over the bridge, then down into the stream on the left side of the bridge - then through the shallow water under the bridge and back to the of the right of their original direction - downstream, hoping that the tracks down would be less noticeable or the double-switchback might aid in throwing off pursuit. In this way, the group went into the forest by way of the stream, another furlong or two past the edge, then went up the left bank and stopped for a rest.

Despite her need for rest, Amariel busied herself right away, giving Esteldur directions on some things to gather, getting Galdureth to help her take Forthon's body off his horse and start a fire for her, gathering water from the stream and setting it to boil.

Behirien made good use of the stop to rest - and Galdureth joined him as soon as he finished Amariel's tasks.

Esteldur grumbled a bit about how tired he was, but went about the woods, finding some things that would meet his sister's requests. When he was finished, he took up his brother's steel bow, which he had salvaged - and thought to practice with it. It was difficult for him to draw, but he managed to take it back a little. He only shot about 4-5 arrows for practice - enough to tell him this would be tough to master quickly - and that the pull was much greater than the wooden bow he was used to. He stopped then to consider... he had shot arrows at targets, and at small game - but never at a man. That recalled to his mind the things he had been avoiding... the horrible things! He had struck a man with a dagger! His brother Forthon was DEAD!!" He felt that his life had certainly taken a turn for the worse some 4 or 5 weeks ago - and that now it was just getting bleaker. Finally, he laid himself down to get what rest he could.

Valandil

03-26-2004, 03:55 PM

Demaethor sat with his back to a tree, contemplating his axe - unable to sleep himself. He had been a fearsome warrior for the King of Numenor... all along the coasts of Middle-earth, from the Gwathlo River to Harad. Yet never, until this morning, had he needed to kill a fellow Numenorean in battle. These had been men of his own company. He felt again the loss of strength of this party. As well, he had come to like Forthon already. He was the LAST of those three he would have liked to lose - and not just for the sake of Amariel and Esteldur - but he seemed the better soldier, fresh recruit though he was - and the better man. Demaethor began to wonder about the father of whom Amariel and Forthon had spoken so respectfully - wondering just what sort of man he had been. And here he had lived such a different life, his only family his axe. Demaethor had fought just to fight... some men, like Forthon - fought for something else, defending something! He wondered just what that was like... to have family. He had decided before that such a time had come and gone for him - but was there still time to change? To marry? To have children... and raise them?

Amariel interrupted his thoughts. "My lord, I have made soup - without dipping into our scant provisions. Just water from the stream and whatever edible roots, plants and herbs Esteldur could find close at hand. Have some." She held out for him a bowl.

He thanked her, took the bowl and began to eat. She continued, "As well, lord, I have cleaned my brother's body and wrapped it - and even washed his blood from his horse. I would like to bury him here. It would attract far to much notice to carry him through the streets of Amenelos, astride his mount." Her voice trailed off. This was obviously hard for her to talk about, but she was trying to be brave.

So they buried Forthon there, beside the stream, in a shallow hole, which they mostly dug with Demaethor's axe - and they covered him with the dirt from the hole and with stones from the stream bed. Then they rested more and ate all the soup that Amariel could make for them. Demaethor deemed it best to wait for nightfall before moving on... that they might benefit from a full day's rest. That meant it would be at least the evening of the third night after before they could reach Armenelos... but trying to get there on the second night already seemed out of the question.

Esteldur was awakened late in the afternoon by the sound of horses. Their own horses were tied up further downstream - these sounds came from the road. He woke Demaethor and together they crept to the edge of the wood, looking toward the road. Demaethor saw the second wave of their pursuit... his own personal bodyguard among them! Eight men he had hand-picked to fight right by his side... each one nearly his match in size and strength. Anxiously, he watched as they neared the bridge... closer, closer... they were on it... across it...PAST it! Good! They were stout men in that group - and there were at least 20 all told, including the 8 - but they didn't have the best trackers with them. Demaethor watched them as they went on eastward... the peak of Meneltarma now visible in the distance beyond them.

Well, he sighed... best to stay off the road, for certain. Armenelos could still be reached on the third evening that way... but it could be difficult going.

As the day ended, and the party made preparations to move on, the earth shook beneath them. Earthquakes had become a part of everyday life in recent months... though they had been always unknown in Numenor before that. And as the sun dipped toward the horizon, the island was again covered with 'the sign of the eagle'... a great, dark cloud - shaped like an eagle - coming up out of the west, blotting out the sunset and firing bolts of lightning from its underside. Demaethor began to feel that Numenor itself WOULD be doomed if Ar-Pharazon broke the ban of the Valar and sailed west to Valinor.

Valandil

03-27-2004, 08:49 AM

It was getting dark and the rest had done them all some good. Demaethor, having re-mounted his horse, was ready to start off again. Behirien seemed to have benefited most from the stop - maybe not quite to where he could fight, but the rest and food had restored some of his strength... would that it could have cured Galdureth's thinking. Then he saw Esteldur and Amariel, hand-in-hand, standing beside Forthon's grave. He checked himself... he had been about to command them a second time to mount up. He paused a moment as they stood there, then he got down from his own horse, walked over to them, stood behind them and put one hand on each of the siblings' shoulders.

"Your brother was a good man... and I'm sure you loved him dearly... and that he loved you just as much. I am... sorry... for your loss." Words of comfort were hard to find... Demaethor had never in his soldiering years had need to search for them, until now.

Esteldur looked away from the earth and into his sister's face, "Amariel, we cannot linger here long. We would not have Forthon's sacrifice be in vain."

Finally, Amariel and Esteldur turned away from the grave and toward one another. They embraced and tears just flowed from their eyes. Demaethor turned back to his horse... not quite sure how to handle their tears.

Then both brother and sister seemed to gather themselves. They said a final 'good-bye' to the pile of rocks and mounted their own horses. For much of the day there had been a break from the rain, although it had been gloomy. Now the rain started up again... and the riders set off from their camp - east and a bit south - to go toward Armenelos after veering a bit further away from the road.

As Amariel mourned her brother, her mind turned again to her sister. Had Magwiel been married yesterday? Or did the circumstances around their departure throw her life into yet more turmoil. Would a woman marry when she had been discovered bound up that very morning. Would Oronil still desire it? Amariel imagined so.

Magwiel had had suiters enough in recent years. Of course, none of the men satisfied their father. It was not that they lacked station, or wealth... those were not why he had turned them away. He wanted his daughters to marry among the Faithful, though he could not say as much to those suiters - and young men whose hearts were true to the Valar, instead of being filled with jealousy of the Eldar, were rare in these times. It had been the same for Amariel in her day, not many years ago. It used to be that Numenorean women did not marry until 30 - but with the current obsession with prolonging life, youth in a mate was highly treasured by men of position. She still retained her beauty, she was told, but most men desired a bride in her 20's, not her 40's - even though Numenorean women could have children well after the age of 100 - some even 150 or 160.

In fact, while she tried to not be vain, Amariel had seen glances come her way even from the men who would come to inquire about her sister. Even now, she smiled at the thought. Her own hair was quite fair - as was that of the little one, Anardil. Their siblings in between all had shades of brown - Forthon's had been lightest, Esteldur's was the darkest. Some esteemed a woman's fair hair, like her own. Of course, she had loved her sister - and had never sought to be her rival. After all, twenty years older, she felt herself quite apart from her in such matters. Although, of course, she had expected to be married herself well before Magwiel would have come into her own.

She sighed... and now... after the life she had been forced into - since her family's home had been destroyed... now what hope did she have of marriage? Of family?

She caught herself. They had ridden nearly a mile, her dear brother Forthon lay in the ground behind her, dead at the young age of 34 - and she could only grieve about herself! He had shown such promise... been such a good young man. Always helpful to father and mother. Keeping company only among respectful young men. And while he had learned to scribe, and apprenticed for it, as Esteldur did later, he had not yet entered the King's service as a scribe. Amariel had always felt he would have a bright future. Though Numenorean men usually sought to advance themselves before seeking a wife... she had wondered if Forthon's heart was beginning already to turn to a certain young lady from the countryside. They shared many things, but he had not opened his heart to Amariel on that matter... but, she thought, smiling again, maybe that explained those late hours he spent alone with father. Now... there would be no wedding for Forthon.

Amariel turned her mind away from her family and back to the trail. It just seemed less painful that way.

Beor

03-28-2004, 03:16 PM

The group rode on in this manner: Demaethor was in front, leading them through the dense wood that they had been in for quite some time (which in his opinion, wasn’t a bad thing at all), then Ameriel, then Esteldur and Forthon’s horse, behind him, was Behirien, with Galdureth bringing up the rear. They had been riding for some many miles, and Demaethor had been lost in thought, he was planning what to do. They had to get to Armenelos, which by now, was waiting for them, get Ameriel and Esteldur’s younger brother out, and then get to Rommeneos. Not an easy task, for any Numenorian. The night was fair, though, and judging by the far off sound of hooves, their enemies were some distance ahead of them, most likely not looking behind them, which was good and bad. The good part was that they were less likely to get attacked in the wild, the bad part was that they would definitely make it to Armenelos before them, and have ample time to warn the Councellor. But they had no choice. Their road was not an easy one now, but one that they could not turn from, but through death.

They rode on the south side of the river Nundunie, on towards Armenelos. The Meneltarma loomed ever on their left, and though the land was shook and the sky was ever blackened, the Meneltarma seemed strangely calm and bright, as if the light of Iluvatar had not completely forsaken them. A light cloud of dust rose on the horizion, the trail party was now far ahead of them, and was no longer a concern to Demaethor, at least not while they were outside of Armenelos. As long as the soldiers ahead of them kept moving, they did not have to worry. If they stopped, they might be attempting to ambush them, so they would have to be wary.

They rode up a small hill and stopped just southwest of the smooth peak of it and made a quick camp. Demaethor took the first watch, while the others rested and grazed the horses. Ameriel examined and redressed Behirien’s wound, which was getting better, thankfully. Behirien was proving to be quite the soldier, moving though the woods quieter than his partner, while wounded, and he hadn’t complained yet. In fact, Demaethor had to check on him occasionally to make sure he was okay.

Esteldur walked up to where Demaethor was sitting, watching. He stood next to him, leaning on his brother’s steel bow, watching in the direction that Demaethor was watching. Demaethor looked upon him, admiring the boy’s spirit.

“Esteldur.” He said.

The boy looked up, “Yes, Demaethor?”

“I saw you practicing with that bow earlier. You have talent, tell me, have you hunted game before?”

“Yes”

Well, to kill a deer, where do you try to hit?”

“Right under the shoulder, to kill him quick. He will not run far, if he runs at all.”

He nodded, “Indeed, you have little practice with a steel bow, I would imagine.”

“Aye”

“Well than, let me train you, for you may have to kill a man, or many men, before this journey has come to an end, in fact, I am sure of it, and I would that you knew how. Here, see that tree to your right?” The boy acknowledged, “go ahead and shoot an arrow. Aim for the knot halfway up its trunk.”

The boy drew shakily back and loosed an arrow. The bolt went wide, past the tree, and landed in the ground. “You need to hold the bow lower, Esteldur, this is no wooden bow. The standard Numenorian steel bow is made to fire shots of range while keeping penetrating power. If you hold it just above the backward curve of the bow, you will find it will be easier to control. Try again, but hold it here,” he adjusted Esteldur’s hand on the bow, “

Esteldur raised the bow, he still shook it a little, but he managed to hit the tree, though high. “Was that easier?” It was, “Good, then practice while I pull watch, and I will give you help if you are in need of it.” Esteldur smiled up at him, “Esteldur,” he started.

“Yes?”

“I am sorry for your brothers death, but it was an honorable one, and you should be proud of him. Tell your sister to weep, if she must, but in this line of work, you do not mourn the dead, you honor them. Perhaps it will comfort her, perhaps not, -“

“It’s okay, Demaethor, you are a soldier and your business is killing,” Ameriel said from behind him, “Your words are well spoken, and I thank you. Forthon would be pleased to know that his captain was watching over his family.” She looked him in the eyes, “Thank you once again, Captain Demaethor.” And she turned and went back down to the camp. Demaethor watched her walk away, and for the first time since this all started, he noticed how outwardly beautiful she was. Her hips swayed smoothly as she walked away, and her hair flowed across her back. Such a woman should not have to be in the woods, suffering the company of such men, and plodding thourgh the wood. He thought back on when he had gone to the great lands and they had captured Sauron. How high of spirits they were, to see all of Mordor, including its lord, cower before them. It was a sight to see, the vast Numenorian army arrayed in such splendor, with the sun glistening off such mail and armament as he had never seen. He was younger then, and the whole world was full of wonder. He had won great renoun in those days, many men fell at the blade of his axe. But, he felt, and this was a feeling that had just come to him, watching the sway of her hips, that if he could take back the valor and put Sauron back in Mordor, he would, if he could save this woman, and her family, the grief that had now befallen them. Sauron must pay, and he would. One day. Not tomorrow, though, tomorrow, they would be in Armenelos, but not for battle, hopefully.

trolls' bane

03-28-2004, 09:57 PM

Originally posted by Beruthiel's cat
ooc: I sort of expected things to go that way...and Bragi would certainly like it better than if Beleg were just a plain, ordinary cat (if, indeed, there is such a thing..!). You can be sure Bragi will always have a thing or two to say about the situation.
ooc. No I mean he still would be a plain, ordinary cat.

ic. "Is that land, Charlie?"
"I don't know, your the mariner, Ivan."
"Well, no doubt of that, but I have never sailed much in bad weather like this," Ivan said as he tried to steady the boat: there was a storm nearby, and large, black clouds were coming form the west. "Ugh. I am going to have to sail into that? I hope Mr. Mad Wizard can find some way of getting me out of that fleet. I'd gladly sail with the Faithful, anyway."
"Believe me," said Sherlock coming up from behind, "I think there is only way to get you out of that. You want to know?"
"What is it?" Ivan asked.
"You must...defect."
"What?! Are you really a mad wizard? What are you thinking?! I would, but I also must think of what would happen if they caught me. That would go ill for me if Sauron, the King, or even if that Demaethor character found out. Then, if Sauron found out first, he would send his new scribe, what was his name again, and tell either, probably the king."
"You are not a captain are you? He would never notice until you were well in Middle-Earth. And besides," Sherlock began rubbing his hands and speaking gleefully, "even Sauron himself would find trouble getting past a little surprise I have in store for anyone who dare assail us. Now think about it. We are nearing Numenor. I'm going down to see if the stranger can do anything for Fingolfin's vision."
As he walked away, Ivan called to him over the constant sound of thunder, "Mad Wizard?"
"Yes?"
"How did you know we were nearing Numenor?"
Sherlock smiled, and tossed Ivan something, and said, "Catch." Then he walked away.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Meow" Beleg meowed, as Fingolfin stroked his fur.
"Macow" he meowed again.
"I had a cat once, Fingolfin," the strange looking man (except to Fingolfin;) ) said.
"You did?"
"Yes, some interesting type of cat, too. Strangest color I have ever seen on a cat, except a Siamese (or whatever someone form Arda would call one). It was too big to be one, however, and didn't have the right face for one, either. Rarely meowed, and when it did, it was rather, uh, unnatural."
"Could have been a Tonkanese."
"Mcoo. Mooo, mcaw," Beleg meowed, as Sherlock entered.
Sherlock went to Fingolfin's side, and began petting the cat.
"Mcaww" he meowed.
"We are nearing Numenor," Sherlock said, continuing to pet the cat. "We are far off course, however. We are in the north, I think. There is a peak further north of us, Sorontil, probably. We are going to dock in the little coastal town there, and then go south along the coast."
"Perfect," the usually silent, strange man said. "I will not proceed with you along the coast. I would, but can't. I will go west over the high moors, to Ondosto, and then south-east along the road, past Meneltarma, and into Armenelos. I will get a horse from the town."
"Why would you go to Armenelos instead of Romenna? Your not...?" Sherlock stopped short, and then continued sternly, "You will not leave this ship, Servant of Sauron! I knew I should have never trusted you! Going off alone to Armenelos. No faithful would do something that stupid alone! Never!"
I actually wasn't planning on going alone, Sherlock. I was actually hoping for your coming."
Sherlock stood speechless for a while, but finally said, "I'll go, but you must tell me why."
"Let's just say, that you have a joke to play, and I have another."
"I expect you to tell me what to destroy on the road. But, why are we going all the way to Ondosto?"
"I have a 'friend or two' to meet there."
"Somehow, I think that you belong to some sort of secret society. Well, you better let me in on more, because I was too, once."
"You will find out what is happening in time."
"That's what worries me. So, this is what is happening: you and I get off there, and ride westward with all haste, while they go to Romenna, and await our return."
"Close enough."

ooc. I'll do two seperate posts, just to be safe.

trolls' bane

03-28-2004, 10:39 PM

"Farewell, everyone," Sherlock called to the ship. "We will leave now accross the moors tonight. Ivan, Charlie, head strait for Romenna."
With that he turned, and went up beside his companion. "Ready?"
"When you are."
They spurred ahead at a gallop.

It was nearing midnight when they stopped. Sherlock had glimpsed some other rider also riding in their direction in the early evening, but now they had to stop and rest. They camped, if you could call a fire, two horses, and no other gear besides a sword each and Sherlock's longbow. If they were going to Armenelos, Sherlock had the tools necessary to start a distraction. After all, he had lived in Armenelos once, and, if none of the new tennants of his house had found his secret storage and exit tunnel, which his father and uncle had built long ago. It was well hidden, and you had to have a key to open it, anyway.
He picked up his sword, and got up himself. It was his watch. He swung the sword, which he had not done since the well-known (to the Faithful and the King's men) raid on the temple. He got the feel of it, and kept swinging it. When he had finished, he went back and sat down with his back to a rock. His sword he kept drawn, however, and began unscrewing the end of the hilt. When that was off, an old, complicated, skelaton key emerged, attached to the peice.
Sherlock looked at it for a moment, and with a nod of satisfaction, screwed it back into the hilt.

The next day, they left early morning and rode again, hardly stopping, and by the early evening had gone over a hundred of the two-hundred miles between the small town and Ondosto. Sherlock glimpsed a mounted figure far behind them, but they kept on. They stopped for another night, this time earlier, and rose again later. They had gone farther than expected, and the horses needed rest.

Beor

03-30-2004, 02:31 PM

They headed out before dark, just after they had eaten and redressed Behirien’s wound. They rode across the vast grassy plains towards Armenelos, and as they got closer, the land got more and more hilly, but they were rolling hills, and nothing too steep. The party was in high spirits, as high as the situation would allow, except for Galdureth, who seemed to be troubled by something. Demaethor didn’t blame him, though, he was young, and had not fought many battles. Demaethor guess that he was worrying too much about what would happen after the battle, rather than trying to worry about trying to avoid one. Demaethor was planning where they should go once upon Armenelos. He didn’t want to draw any unnecessary attention, but that really didn’t seem possible, espically since the entire city would be alerted to their “treachery”. He needed to find a safe place to stage the rescue attempt from, as well as somewhere to rest, because though Behirirn’s wound was healing nicely, he was still not fully capable of fighting.

As they neared Armenelos, they began to see more and more settlements and farms, but many of them looked abandoned, some still had a few heads of cattle, but for the most part, everyone was in the citys, or part of the Armada back in Eldalonde. Or in Romenelos with Elendil and the Faithful.

They rode across the plains until they were about a mile from the outskirks of where Armenelos began. There was a farm house off to their left about fifty ranges from their location, and Demaethor decided to make for it. If anyone was home, he couldn’t tell, but it was well off the road, and several bushes and small trees stood around it, obviously planted by the owner, and it was high ground. A perfect position for concealment and observation.

They didn’t have to worry about inhabitants, as the place was empty, and had long been abandoned, except for an empty bottle of ale in the middle of the floor, no evidence of any living man existed.

“Okay,” Demaethor said, “we will set up here, Galdureth, take the horses to the barn, be sure to lock them in, we don’t need to attract any attention here. Feed them, water them, and latch the door.” Galdureth nodded and went out the door.

Behirien spoke up from the chair where he had plopped himself down, “So, sir, what do we do now?”

“Why, we go for Anardil, of course, right Demaethor?” Ameriel asked, almost pleadingly.

“Yes,” Demaethor sighed, “We go to get Anardil. Problem is, we cant all go, too many people will know who we are. My personal guard and the others arrived yesterday, while we rested, and they will have warned Sauron. I am sure many traps are set. Sauron knows Esteldur, he has undoubtedly perceived his thought before, and he will have some inkling as to what he will do. And too many people know who I am, and going into Armenelos, though no one guards the city, and there is no wall, will be very difficult for me to do unnoticed.”

Esteldur spoke up, “then I will go.” They all looked at him doubtfully, except for Ameriel, he continued defensively, “I am not well known to any but Sauron, and I can change clothes, so I don’t stick out. I will take the bow, many carry bows, even steel ones, throughout town. I can shoot it, you taught me how, Demaethor. I will go to Aegnarth's house where Anardil is held, I know the way, and once I have our brother, I will back to this farmhouse. I will go under the cover of darkness, which as of late, seems to be almost absolute.”

Demaethor smiled, “It is a daring and brave plan, Esteldur, but I am afraid I cannot in good conscience let you go into Armenelos alone. I would be sending you to your death, or worse. Nay, if you will go, I will go with you.”

Ameriel spoke up, "Esteldur, surely you would not go alone, I will not allow it. You are but a boy, and Amenelos is a dangerous city now. It is foolish!"

Esteldur looked at her, “Dear sister, I have lived here for a while, I know where to go, I am small, and I am quick. I can go. If it will make you feel better, I will take Galdureth, he is not known well here, am I right, Demaethor?”

Demaethor nodded reluctantly, “No, he is not, but Esteldur, he is not the finest soldier-“

“Nor do I trust him,” Ameriel broke in, “he puts a certain darkness on my mind, as if he is hiding something.”

At that moment, Galdureth came in, they all looked at him, wondering if he had heard the talk.

“Send me then,” spoke Behirien, “This wound is almost healed, and I have never even been here. I will go.”

“What is the plan, Captain?” asked Galdureth. Demaethor looked at him, “Esteldur is going into Armenelos to rescue his brother. However I will not send him in alone.”

“I will go with him, my lord,” said Galdureth, “I will protect him with all the strength and will I have.” Demaethor looked at Ameriel for acceptance, and found little. Galdureth spoke up again, seeing the hesitation, “What is wrong, my lord. Have I not been ever faithful to you?”

“Yes, Galdureth, you have, but Esteldur is not my kin. You must convince the Lady Ameriel, for she is wroth to let him go at all, and needs to know that you are worthy to protect him. Are you , or are you not?”

Galdureth took it well, “My lady,” he spoke to Ameriel, “I will protect your brother if it requires my life to do so. I give you my word, I will stay by his side, through pain and death, if it comes to that, I swear upon Iluvatar alone, an oath unbreakable.” They kept eyes for a minute, before Ameriel finally spoke, “Galdureth, soldier of Numenor, I entrust to your care Esteldur, my brother. Please, do as you say, and protect him.”

“I will, lady.”

Demaethor spoke up, “Good, then you will go at sunset. If anything goes awry, come to the farmhouse, we will meet you, and escape to Rommeos.”

They left that evening, and headed by more or less concealed ways into Armenelos. They took backroads into the city, and through it to try to avoid attention. The city was busy as ever, though, with many people gambling, fighting, and basically acting like swarthy men, no better than the men from the Great Lands that they had conquered not too long ago. Finally, Esteldur led them to Aegnarth's house, where Anardil was held. There was a short wall around it, but nothing he couldnt climb, with the help of a couple of trees that overhung it.

"I am going to go up, Galdureth, please keep watch, and if there is any sign of anything going bad, let me know. I will go to rouse my brother, and if possible, anyone else who can come with us. I will not be long."

"I will watch, and wait, but you must hurry. I fear that Sauron is aware of our coming."

"Indeed," And he climbed up the tree, over the wall, and into the backyard of Aegnarth.

****

Galdureth waited for Esteldur to enter the orphanage, then left him. There was surely a hefty reward for the turn in of the Faithful, Sauron would see to it. He wandered gaily down the street to the first garrison he saw, "Hello, gents, want to know a secret?"

Rosie Gamgee

04-01-2004, 01:03 PM

Amariel watched her brother's form fade into the dusk, flanked by the big soldier that accompanied him. She sent up a prayer for their safety. She watched until she could see them no more. Looking out into the growing darkness, Amariel felt anger swelling in her chest. She turned sharply from the window to face Demaethor.
"Sir," she began, her voice hot with annoyance. "I have put the life of my little brother in the hands of a man I do not trust. It is because of your recomendation of the man that I do so, and if harm comes to him, you shall pay, sir- and by my own hand, if the Valar grant me vengence."
Demaethor looked taken aback, as he almost alway did when she spoke her mind. Amariel made her anger subside. She turned from him and surveyed the little house. There appeared to be a small, overgrown garden behind it. She told the captain as much, and announced that she would go out and attempt to find food enough for a meal, if any was to be found.
It was dark outside now, and there were angry clouds overhead. They did not spill any rain, however, and Amariel waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness before rooting around the garden.
What exactly did Demaethor think about her, she wondered? Whenever she spoke to him, he seemed surprised. What did he think she was? He had called her a w**re once, and she wondered if that was really how he saw her. Did he expect her to be quiet, submissive, and willing to let him do as he wished, as so many other men had expected her to be? Did he not understand that she could not possibly be any of those things? She had lost half of her family, and the remaining half looked to her for guidance and protection- not to him, some strange, rough Captain. She had to be mother, father, sister, and now brother to her siblings. A tear slid down her cheek as she thought of Forthon. He had been a good man, a good brother. He was dead now. Why? Because she was not a man. If she had been able to fight those two men who had grabbed her that night, he would still be alive. Another tear fell, and another. It was wrong, she knew, to question the Valar. It seemed the King was about to do so, and she knew in her heart the outcome would not be good. Yet here she was, weeping and bitter, wondering why the gods had not made her a man. Could their wrath against her questioning be any less than that of the King's? Perhaps that was why she was losing her family.
There was a creak behind her, in the house. Demaethor must have been moving about. Amariel sniffed back her tears, wiping her face with her sleeve, and set about finding food.
There were a few gourd plants here with fruit still on them. Most of it was old and soft, but she found two that were reasonably good. A vine of string-beans had overgrown its trellis, but there were a good many beans still on it. Amariel filled her skirt with them.

She brought the food back into the house a few minutes later, after making sure that her face was free of traces of her tears. There was a fire in the hearth, but neither Demaethor nor Behirien were in the kitchen. There was a bucket of water here, however, and Amariel set about shelling the string beans after putting the water on the fire to boil.
Her thoughts returned to Demaethor, although she did not wish them to. She was sorry now that she had spoken so harshly to him. How did she ever expect men to think anything of her if she always treated them so roughly, she asked herself harshly. But, then, Amariel thought on all the men she had... met, over the last few months. None of them were of any account whatsoever- evil, malicious, comtemptable and without honor, all of them. A bitterness crept back into her heart as she thought on the things they had done to her. She tried to shut the memories out of her head, but they left only anger and shame. Shame, deep shame for herself, and anger and bitterness for all men save her brothers.

Valandil

04-13-2004, 10:12 AM

OOC: please note that I make extensive use of the Numenorean standard measure of a 'ranga' - this is from 'The Disaster of the Gladden Fields' in UT - and we're told that it is approximately 38" - so it's just a bit more than a yard and a bit less than a meter (96.5 cm?) - if that helps you visualize it better. Also, a 'league' is 5000 rangas, which is almost exactly the English league of 3 miles - and very close to 5 km.

On to the story...

Esteldur and Galdureth had left the farmhouse on foot, thinking they'd attract more attention if mounted or leading horses. They soon came to the outskirts of the city. Armenelos had no need of walls and gates - there never having been war on the island... so as the city grew, it just spread further out, sprawling in all directions. Part of Esteldur's scribe duties had involved property deeds and knowledge of boundaries. He recognized the 'farm lots' on the outskirts... 20 rangas wide - or 40 or more for the larger ones - in 20 ranga increments, by 200 rangas deep - a furlong (less the half-width of the road). Here families supported themselves, at least in part, by stock they raised or crops they grew - and some of these brought their goods to market deeper into the city. Here, the city slept already, just a bit after dark. The families had turned in with the fading light in order to get an early start the next morning. Even here, Esteldur noted that a number of the homes seemed empty. Although it was already late in the harvest, it was clear that several of these lots had gone fallow this year.

On into the city - and at this hour, it was still active. Most of these lots here were small - usually just 5 rangas wide by 20 rangas deep - with no alleyway. Often, buildings were 2-3 stories high, and in most cases, the front of the first floor was a small merchant's or tradesman's shop or a pub. Esteldur knew that the rear was often open - with a small courtyard, or garden, or chicken coop. The population was denser here, and many people were still out. The further into the city they went, the denser it became - they went from a mix of 1-2 story buildings, to 2-3 stories - to where 3 was predominant - and there were some 4's. Still, nobody bothered them - as it was nothing unusual for people to be out. Streets criss-crossed in a regular grid - and Esteldur mapped out in his mind which turns they needed to take to work toward the right section of town - and still avoid spending much time on a major street. Even in these busy streets, Esteldur noted that maybe one in four homes seemed empty... some shipped off to Eldalonde, some families destroyed by Sauron (as his own had been), some had fled to the countryside... and others had already migrated to Pelargir... colonists to Middle-earth.

Finally they reached Esteldur's old neighborhood. Lots of 8 rangas wide by 40 rangas deep... held mostly by men of some position - whether somewhat wealthier merchants, or those in mid-level service to the King, as Aegnarth was... and as Esteldur's father had been. Passing his old home triggered the thought. It still appeared unoccupied... surprising in a way, that someone loyal to the King and Sauron was not given it as a reward... and yet, there were so few to take it. One part of this neighborhood that suited Esteldur's purposes now... there was a 4 ranga wide alleyway on the back side of each lot... as well as the broad, 16 ranga street and parkway in the front. Esteldur knew which house was Aegnarth's... he marked its location and then he and Galdureth made their way to it through the alley. Here, nobody was about, and it was an easy climb over the 2 ranga high fence to the rear yard. It was all laid out similar to his own - the 2-story house was 16 or 20 rangas deep from the front - and the rest could be a courtyard, gardens - in some cases a guest house or a work shop or stables.

Aegnarth had no guest house - and he didn't have a guard dog. The rear yard was a bit cluttered, as they tended to become. Esteldur found what he had hoped for... a ladder! He guessed that any children would be in the back of the upstairs floor - and there was an open window... for the night breeze was only a little cool. He knew that all Aegnarth's children were long grown and had moved away. He and his wife had lived alone - so Anardil was likely by himself in the room beyond that open window. Esteldur had Galdureth help him get the ladder in place, and hold it while he climbed.

It was darker inside, without the light of the moon and the lights from windows around them. As his eyes adjusted, he saw, there... on a small mat, lay Anardil! Esteldur's heart leaped. He crept quietly over to him and gently shook his little brother.

"WHAT!" Anardil woke with a start, and then... " 'STELDUR!" throwing his arms about Esteldur's neck when he recognized his long-lost brother (for a 4-year old, Esteldur knew that a month had been a long time). Esteldur quickly hushed him and listened for sounds... quiet so far. He told Anardil that he was taking him away. "To mommy? And father?"

"No... but you'll be with me... AND with Amariel." Anardil's face brightened at his sister's name... but he STILL wanted to be with mommy and father too. "We'll see!" said Esteldur, hoping just to get his brother out quietly.

"What'sa matter Anardil?" came a soft voice from the door... the door opened a crack and then the voice came a bit louder, "Who... who are YOU?"

Esteldur saw a girl... a little younger than himself, likely - reddish hair, skinny. No good making up a story... the truth might sound the best - so he whispered, "Quietly please! I am Anardil's brother - Esteldur! I am taking him with me to Romenna... where we hope to leave Numenor with Elendil. Now who are you?" he said sharply at the end, trying to regain the upper hand.

This time she whispered back herself, "Silaewen... my little sister Olaewen and I were taken in by Aegnarth as well... when our own parents were... well, his wife needed help with Anardil. We had lived on a farm. Take us with you! Please! Aegnarth is a kind man, in his way... but we want to leave here. We are of the faithful ourselves... as were our parents and brothers!"

Esteldur sighed. He wondered if Elendil's ships could contain all the orphans in Armenelos. "Alright... but be quiet... and be quick! Get your sister and your things."

In less than two minutes, the girls were there and ready to go - and Esteldur had Anardil ready as well. He thought he could go down the ladder holding his brother and that the girls could follow. As they turned toward the window, the door to the room opened behind them once again, loudly this time.

"Hey! What's going on here?!?"

It was Aegnarth. He seemed a bit sleepy... but he was coming out of it now. Esteldur grabbed his dagger... Aegnarth was a big man, and a trained soldier, so he knew he didn't have much of a chance... but maybe a lucky blow...

Valandil

04-13-2004, 12:17 PM

Aegnarth stiffened as he appraised the situation. Then he knitted his eyebrows and raised a hand to his cropped salt-and-pepper beard. "Why... you're just a boy! Say... aren't ye Nedron's boy? Why yes... YOU'RE Anardil's brother aren't you?"

Aegnarth relaxed a bit, and Esteldur couldn't help doing the same.

"Come to take him back from me, eh? Well... we've loved having him, but I suppose ye've more right to him than we. Don't worry lad, I brought him home to spare him worse... and it'd warm my heart if he could be with family again. I hear you're wanted though... a lad with a price on his head! I suppose you're off to Romenna to try an' board with Elendil, eh sonny?"

Aegnarth sighed. "Well... can't say as I blame ye. In all my one hundred eighty years, things have always seemed a bit less happy on our island each year... and now's worse than ever. I was on board with the King's Men whole-hearted, as a young man. It just seems... the more we've chased this dream... the further it's gone away from us. I don't know... I suppose we've been wrong about all this..."

Esteldur finally spoke up, somewhat surprised that Aegnarth did not intend to stop them. "Then would you come with us, sir? You could leave as well, and sail with Elendil!"

Aegnarth sat on a bench and looked at his feet. "No lad... too late for me. This island has always been my home - and my wife's. Making a new start is for the young, not the old. I'll just stay now... come whatever may come. Something hard, I fear. Our other Kings had strayed far enough aforetimes... but oh, this Sauron sure has THIS King twisted up! I fear it may go hard with us all for it... with us all." Aegnarth looked up at Esteldur and went on, lifting his voice as he spoke, "But go! You go... NOW! Take ye the girls too... I see what you're about! Take all these young ones and go... it's their best hope, I'll wager. And when I tell my wife where they've gone, that hope will overcome her grief at the loss."

Esteldur turned again to the window, not wanting to lose this chance. Looking out, he saw the ladder on the ground below and no sign of Galdureth. Good, he thought - Galdureth must have feared attracting notice - maybe smarter than Amariel or Demaethor thought he was. "Galdureth! The ladder! We're ready to come down!" No answer... no movement. Had something gone wrong?

Just then, they heard pounding on the front door of the house. "Open! Open! Traitors are about!"

Aegnarth quickly sized up the situation. "Your man below left ye, eh? By the sounds at the front door, I'll warrant he turned ye in. Here now, cut the end of this rope off. I'll tie the other end up here and throw the rest down. It'll look like ye lowered your brother, climbed down, then cut him loose. Meanwhile, all ye youngsters scoot down the stairs and out the alley... assuming they don't have men out there yet! I'll stumble my way to the door as just awakened from sleep and slow them if I might, now go!"

It all happened about as quickly as Aegnarth said it. He waited a few moments before going down the stairs himself... slower by far than he was able, but slow enough as might be reasonable for a man of his years just roused from sleep.

Meanwhile, Esteldur carried Anardil and ran, the girls close behind. He paused only to pick up his bow and quiver, still laying by the ladder in the back. Then out to the alley - all clear. The end to the right was closer, but that's the way the guards would come - so they took off to the left, running as fast as they could. "Halt! Halt!" came cries from far behind. Esteldur didn't even look to see if it was men rounding the corner of the alley far behind - or men coming through Aegnarth's back gate. They were almost at the end... once they turned, Esteldur felt he could lose them, by zig-zagging back and forth through the nearby streets and alleys.

'Galdureth!' he muttered under his breath! Then a thought seized him. He hadn't mentioned his old house to Galdureth... might they hide out there? He began to work his way over. Soon, they had arrived at the rear of his old house, coming again from the alley. He climbed over, un-latched the gate, and let Anardil and the girls into the rear yard. He had to think. Before long, someone would find them - or someone would learn of his old home, and check it. It didn't seem he could leave the city now with THIS group... four children, between 4 and 14 certainly WOULD attract notice. But maybe he could slip out alone... bring back Demaethor... and Amariel... THEY'D know what to do!

Esteldur got the others inside the house. They kept it dark, lest they bring notice to themselves. Then, after giving assurances and calming fears, he slipped back out through the rear. Still not much uproar in the neighborhood. His house was 3-4 blocks from Aegnarth's... and searches were all to common any more. He moved along, keeping to the shadows as best he could, trying to work out a different path than they had taken in... hoping to throw off Galdureth in that way. It was later and the city had begun to settle down, though here and there a few were still about.

As he walked along, a squad of 8 men - 6 guards, a sergeant and Galdureth - turned the corner up ahead, not 40 rangas away... caught! No place to duck into. Galdureth saw him... he pointed to Esteldur. The men rushed him.

Esteldur started to flee, but knew there was no hope. He stopped, grabbed his bow and an arrow, took aim at the lead guard and fired, trying to do just as Demaethor had taught him... clean miss! He had time to string just one more and let it fly. This time, at point-blank range, it went right through the man he targeted. He dropped... but then the rest were upon Esteldur.

He knew this was it. The men were angry at having their comrade struck. Two of them held him, and one drew back his short sword, preparing to strike a fatal blow. "ALIVE, you fools! Bring him in alive! Sauron wants this one badly... and can't sacrifice a dead offering!" All seemed eerily quiet and time seemed to stand still. Esteldur heard breathing... he realized he was holding his own breath, but he heard the loud breathing of the men about him. He heard the wheezing of the man he had struck. He wondered if that man would live or die... he felt bad that he had let that arrow fly. What did it seem to matter? He was taken anyway... Why not just have left him to live?

Galdureth walked up to him, "Yes, this is the one! Esteldur, whom you say Sauron seeks!" He smirked at Esteldur, then turned to the sergeant, "And now, I can give you an even BIGGER prize... for an even greater price... I can give you DEMAETHOR!"

The sergeant divided up the squad: three to take Esteldur, now bound, to Sauron - be he at the palace or his temple, two to carry their severely wounded comrade back to the barracks - while Galdureth and the sergeant went to meet the men who had come from Eldalonde... Demaethor's bodyguard.

'Trapped!' thought Esteldur. 'Not only have I been taken, but now they will take Amariel and Demaethor at the farmhouse!' As they led him away, he felt that all they had done was for naught.

trolls' bane

07-13-2004, 06:39 PM

ooc. Well, not quite as far behind as expected! Don't start at once! I won't be on much and don't want to get too far behind. Now, I left off somwhere around here:

“Look! Over there!”
Sherlock and his companion had been backed into a corner made up of two boulders for hours, besieged by primitive arrows shot by what seemed to be nothing but rocks and bushes, and sometimes the arrows must have just popped out of the air. They had no clue who their assailants were, but they had come out of nowhere, quicker than any ambushes Sherlock had ever seen, in all of his thirteen years of his being a commander of a group of Faithful archers and warriors. “This is madness,” Sherlock thought, as he tried to piece the event together so it would make sense. He turned the events over in his head again.
*Flashback to Morning*
Sherlock awoke early, around 5:40, he guessed, to find breakfast cooking, and knowing his companion had gone to get some Athelas to put on his stab wound, Sherlock served up his own ration. After his friend had returned, and they both finished, Sherlock went to the top of the hill nearby where they’d camped to look around, for he was aware that there was someone tailing them. He saw nothing around him for miles, and guessed that they had given up, or had at least been shaken off their tail.
He went back down the hill towards their camp, which had almost been packed. They had only about ten more miles to go to reach their destination, and started off on the road to Ondosto around 7:00.
When they had gone around six miles, they stopped to give their three horses a rest. Sherlock thought about his friends back on the ship, which should be at Romenna by now. They got back up and went another half mile, when suddenly Sherlock noticed something out of the corner of his eye. He turned, but knew only that he had just been crashed into by something large, and that he was in the dirt on the other side of the road from where his horse was. His friend came and helped him up, and hadn’t seen a thing. After that they kept their guard, especially because they saw movement on top of the long mounds of dirt on each side of the road, but saw nothing definite. They continued riding, slowly, and they both took hold of their bows. They went another mile, and were just turning down a fork in the road which took them to the city of Ondosto, now only two and a half miles away, when they saw a strange man standing on the hillside mound. They hailed him in a friendly way, and greeted him with a friendlier shout. To their surprise, he shouted in a somewhat gruff voice at something behind him, and then blew a horn of some sort. Then, even more surprising, from they were also greeted by the landscape, which hurled another strange greeting: hundreds of arrows, stones, and spears, and their very own souvenir, a dead pack horse. To avoid being filled with arrows themselves, they jumped off their horses and ran to the corner made up of two large boulders.
*Back to Present*
Sherlock sighed, making no sense of the days happenings, looked at his friend, who constantly shot arrows at nothing, or from time to time, shot a boulder or a bush. They were running low on arrows, while their assailants never seemed to have less than enough. He continued to watch, and for a second he thought he saw a gleam of hope in his eye. “I don’t know,” he thought, then asked aloud, “Do you think that there’s any chance we’ll ever get to Ondosto… alive?”
To Sherlock’s surprise, his companion answered cheerily, “Quite a chance, my friend. Quite a chance! We shall get there, alive and better off than we were before. In fact, were going to be borne there in a luxurious wagon fit for King Elendil himself!”
Sherlock, never more taken aback by anything else, nearly missed the truth.
“Hark! An army! The horses and their riders!” he shouted.
Their attackers seemed to notice too, for there were nine score or more horses on the hills which hid Ondosto from view, and still more coming, most shooting drawn bows as they rode, some brandishing spears, some had lances, while some had swords or banners. They all wore mail and helmets, gleaming in the sun at their back. Their banners and shields all bore a white tree and the sickle of the Valar, the seven jeweled stars on each shield gleaming brightly in the fading light, these parts like the banners and shields borne by men of Gondor in later days. There was a gleaming Elven rune carved onto the tree; beset in gold on the silver tree on the shields (the banners had a silver, silk tree with a gold gleaming gold-colored silk rune). Behind the tree was a great, yellow and orange setting sun. Enemies began pouring out from behind small hills, bushes and boulders, while some seemed to be boulders and bushes that turned into men. Some seemed to pop out of thin air. Soon the quiet peaceful prairie the two companions had awaken to was in an uproar, the attackers running everywhere in a frenzy, ignoring Sherlock and his friend (one ran right into Sherlock, knocking him backwards), while the horsemen shooting arrows in the air, occasionally hitting one of the assailants. They apparently were stricken with fear and awe when they saw the horsemen, with shining shields, banners, armor, and helms (which also had diamonds upon them), and the sun glistening off the swords, spears and arrows. Sherlock thought they looked like the army of the Valar, while as far as the men who attacked him thought, it was the army of the Lords of the West.
Sherlock looked at some of the men’s faces as they ran, and wondered at them, for some had such looks of horror as he had ever seen, while others threw curses, while most were such full of horror and madness that they didn’t even run in any particular direction. The horsemen still came, thought their numbers more than doubled in size, now 23 score at least. As their attackers fled, they dropped weapons and left their own men behind.
The horsemen had finally reached the place where Sherlock and his friend were. The number, around 30 score in total, had stopped growing. Some scattered around the countryside, while others chased the fleeing men, shooting arrows in an almost leisurely fashion, as if to scare the men. One that was considerably different trotted lightly up to where Sherlock and his friend were. Sherlock, who had kept his bow drawn but pointing towards the ground, began raising it, but lowered it when his friend motioned his hand, silently saying not to.

trolls' bane

07-13-2004, 06:47 PM

ooc: Ran out of room. Here's the rest:

The man had neared, and Sherlock saw he was a middle-aged man, around 80 or 90, a little older than the rest. He had a sword with a carved, gold handle, with red, green, white and blue gems on parts of it. He had one major difference from the rest, which was his longer shield.
“ ‘ello Grittin,” he said in a strange, gruff voice. “Weer’ve you been?”
“Hello, Erb. Sorry I haven’t been able to attend any of the king’s parties,” Sherlock’s companion answered, smiling at his second comment. “I’ve been off at the Isle of the Mad Wizard,” he concluded with an even bigger grin.
“Ah, finally! Tis about time we got someone out dare! Should’ve gone and met him sooner, since we’ve been buy dare many dimes. And dis must be Mr. Baskerville himself,” he added, turning towards Sherlock. “Sorry ‘or not greetin you, sir.”
“That’s all right,” Sherlock answered, already growing a liking for this man “Erb.” “You are the leader of these men, are you not? You seen familiar, but I doubt you are the Erb I’m thinking of.”
“Yes, I’m the leader of these men, an I am the Erb yur a thinkin of. I was the Erb who commanded you on the firs trip to Middle-Earth. Now, we must be leaving, and we need to get rest, for we ride to Armenelos the day after oomorrow. We have a carriage awaitin us on the oter side of the hill. Don’t worry, we found yur horses. We camp on the hills tonight.
The man jumped off his horse and walked with them in the direction of where the carriage awaited them. “Grittin” and Erb talked like old friends, and so did Sherlock. When he turned around and looked back (they were the last ones to reach the hill) he thought he saw a silhouette of a solitary man on a horse, slowly moving in their direction, but it was probably one of the scouts returning to the group late, so he thought little more of it.

They reached the carriage, a very beautiful one at that, and the most luxurious Sherlock had ever seen. It was painted and carved with intricate designs, and had glass windows with shades. The driver’s seat was even covered, and cushioned. Even more to his surprise, Sherlock saw that it had a rug, four expensive lamps hanging in each corner, a small, fold out card table on the front wall (the driver sat on the other side), cushioned seats on the sides (they entered through a small double door in back), and two storage compartments under the rug. This small carriage had more luxuries than his gigantic two-story, mountain-top mansion (or fortress, because it had few large windows and the first floor windows were arrow loops).
Sherlock and Grittin sat on the left side of the carriage, while Erb and some other man sat on the right. The card table was folded down by the other man, who left the carriage. He returned with four plates of food, and then sat down again. Sherlock, still awe-stricken by the carriage then tasted some of the best food he’d ever eaten. When they had finished and the plates were hastened away by the man, he returned again with several pieces of paper, put them on the table, and sat again.
“Now,” Erb began, “you probably already know we are riding to Armenelos, and that we are going there to frustrate poor ole Sauron. You are probably vague on the details, so I’ll tell you why you’re here.” With that he took out one of the pieces of paper and unfolded it. It was a topographic map of a city. Sherlock recognized it from his raid on a temple there, after he left the Numenorean army. He was captured and was to be burned alive, but he escaped. It could only be Armenelos.
Sherlock remembered when they invented the measuring tools for making topographic maps, which were the closest to accurate than any other map. He was only a boy at the time. His brother made topographic maps for a living, until a happy life in Numenor came to an all time low for the Faithful.
“Now this bulge ere is the foot of the mountain, and the highest point on the ridge. You know the rest, the tree of you.” Sherlock saw it: the palace, a strange shaped black mark on the paper used to indicate a building; the temple, one of few round black marks; the city walls, the small street that Sherlock lived on, his very home (which was a very small black shape), etc., etc. Everything.
“Yes, I know,” said Sherlock, still finding more familiar landmarks. “Who makes these maps?”
“Believe it or not, this was made by the man who taught your brother.”

trolls' bane

07-15-2004, 07:51 PM

ooc. I guess I'll use ranges too. I'll add more tomorrow, if possible.

“Believe it or not, this was made by the man who taught your brother. Now, let’s git back to the subject. The basic reason e’re goin’ is to tear the city out from unner them, temporarily, of course, since Sauron will have his men out afer us once we march into the city bayin’ our ‘orns and trumpets, acting as if we were invited to some party or something. When that makes people nervous enough, we’ll send in the mumakil we captured in Middle-Earth. The sight of one mumak is frightening enough, even for a Numenorean. By then, Sauron will have men all over the place. And then…” a grin spread across his face, “…that’s where you come in. You ave some of that powder under yur old house, right? Well, while we’re causing enough confusion, you place bags of it aroun the city. Unfortunately, some must be placed under the city.”
“How can they be placed under the city? What would we tell the guards, ‘We’re digging in the middle of the marketplace or street because we’re building sewer?’ And why is that unfort --- oh, that’s what you mean? The sewer?”
“Yes, the sewer.”
“How do I find my way around?”
“You will have this,” said the other man, taking another piece of paper and unfolding it.
It was similar to the previous map, except underground structures were indicated rather than the city. All of the buildings were light so you could see underneath. Tunnels were indicated by double black lines, while basements and other underground rooms were shapes. Wells were indicated with their usual symbol and an added black line around them.
“You can also tie a rope to something near the entrance. We’ll also give you any lengths of the types of rope you will need.”
“How wide are the tunnels?”
“A range each.”
“That’s all I need to hear.”
“Then you won’t do it?”
“Yes, I have to, but I need a sharp pole, a long narrow oar, a box of long nails with loops, a large pick, a small pick, a hammer, a chisel, and as many bottles as possible. Oh, and I need a good pair of long boots and a boat.”
“A boat? How can you get a boat in? There’s no entrance large enough.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Do you see the river up in the corner of the map? Do you see where the sewer enters into the river?”
“But that opening is too narrow and it’s barred up. And it’s underwater. Since the current coming out is too strong because the passage narrows considerably, you’d be pushed out anyway.”
“I never even thought of entering there. I was going to enter here,” Sherlock said, pointing towards a near embankment area which was a few hundred feet upstream. “There’s a rock there, a large rock, which I placed there to block the entrance to a cave that I used to play in as a boy and later had to use it to hide in for several months to keep clear of the soldiers after me. There’s an area at the back of the cave that’s actually brick because when I dug further back I hit the sewer wall. The rock blocking the cave is rather flat, and light enough to push open if you were on the inside. I’ll need some men to come and help me, and two to come with me. I need to get there the night before, since I can’t just break open the walls of sewers and place bottles of powder in as I float by and actually trust them to stay.”
“Well, you seem to know more about what were doing than we do,” Erb said. Well, we’ll get you what you need, meanwhile, we’ll discuss how we free Boron…”

ooc. I'll post the first one from Nariel's, Fingolfin's, Charles's, Ivan's, and of course Beleg's.

Valandil

10-14-2004, 02:10 PM

Esteldur's mind was clouded as he was led along through the streets of Armenelos. He was on his way to Sauron now, and that would be the end of him. He would be sacrificed in Sauron's infernal temple, to an evil being, in despite of his allegiance to the proper Valar. He wondered how his father had taken it. And he wondered how well he would hold up. He braced himself... to try to die as bravely as he might.

They reached the palace and he was still led along, past the guards, down the corridors, to the Great Chamber. He had been here a few times before. The last time was when Sauron had called him in to deliver the message to King Ar-Pharazon... the message he had ultimately destroyed.

"A prisoner for Lord Sauron!" proclaimed the lead guard of the three guiding him, to the guard at the door.

"Sauron is away... at the temple... offering sacrifices." Came the muted reply from the other. Not all men under Sauron's yoke were pleased with their duties... and with how things had been.

"Good, good!" said the first. "Better yet, for Sauron will surely put this one right on the altar! Perhaps we'll get to watch, boys!" he said with a laugh, which was met by the smiles of the two men holding Esteldur. 'Well...' he thought, 'I DID badly wound their companion. Perhaps my death will give them some pleasure... but I WILL be brave that their pleasure may be less!'

They returned back down the corridor and turned left at the next major crossing. They continued through other passages of the palace complex, working their way toward the exit which would place them on the path toward Sauron's Great Temple to Melkor.

As they passed another crossing, they heard the sharp command, "Halt!" The men drew up and turned. To their left, at the head of some steps down the side corridor stood a regal figure, surrounded by at least a half dozen other guards.

The voice had been that of a palace guard. But the regal figure now spoke. "Who is this youth that you men-at-arms lead to Sauron's despicable desolation?"

The man of the company replied, "A prisoner for Lord Sauron, Your Highness. He is wanted, for he has defied Sauron."

"It would be better if many more defied Sauron, and followed their consciences." replied the figure. "Release him to me... for I have a use for this one!"

"But... but Queen Miriel... we were ORDERED to take him to Sauron."

"SILENCE!" there was a pause, and all was quiet. "I hold that none other than Pharazon may counter MY orders... and HE not even rightly so! Release him to me now, IF you value your lives." She glanced at the men about her, who advanced a step forward, hands on the hilts of their weapons.

The men who had led Esteldur in departed quickly at that. One of Miriel's guard cut Esteldur's bonds and she spoke to him.

"You are a scribe, are you not? I know you... and I knew your parents. Come with me. Come - we must be swift!"

Miriel turned back down the corridor, followed by her personal guard and Esteldur, bringing up the rear.

Rosie Gamgee

10-25-2004, 03:12 PM

Amariel sat in silence, watching the fire flicker on the hearth. Dinner had been a quiet, almost sullen affair, each one of them chewing and thinking, but little else. She had clean what pans and plates they had used, and tidied up the kitchen. The house belonged to someone else, even if they might never return.
Demaethor had left the room. Amariel did not know where he was bound, and was trying not to wonder. She had realized almost suddenly during dinner that Demaethor’s voice sent a little tingle to her heart- she liked it when he spoke, even though his words were often rough. And this vexed her. She did not wish to loose her heart to someone who probably did not care. To someone who, although a little kinder and certainly more honourable, did not seem to look at her any differently than any other man she had met in the past- as a thing to be used, and perhaps protected for a time, but only because it would be of use later. And yet she found her thoughts turning constantly to the doughty soldier. His melancholy at dinner pained her- the sadness she had seen in his eyes. She wanted to help- but quickly she threw that thought from her mind. No man was going to help himself to her, prey upon her sympathies to gain comfort at her expense.
Behirien was in the other room, resting. He looked better at dinner, Amariel thought. He had tried to make conversation a few times- but neither Demaethor nor Amariel were in the mood for talk.
Amariel’s thought turned to her brother. It happened almost suddenly- he was brought to her mind, and with his thought came a touch of fear to her heart. She dismissed it. He was headed into danger, yes, but she must remain strong, and keep hope. She prayed silently for his safe return, but even as she whispered, another pang of fear came to her heart. It was an almost tangible pain, and she rose from where she sat. Although she was loath to seek for comfort from anyone, Amariel found herself wishing Demaethor was there with her. Where was he, anyway?
Slowly she talked herself into going to the door and calling for the soldier. She was not doing it for herself, after all, but for her brother. It wasn’t that she was worried about the warrior, it wasn’t that she felt safer, more at rest, when he was with her- it was that Esteldur was in danger, she could feel it in her heart. Not the danger of what might happen, but danger of what was happening.
“Demaethor!” she called, even before she had thought it over. She trembled slightly. She would not loose another brother. She would not.

Rosie Gamgee

11-18-2004, 03:45 PM

He came out of the darkness (a thick, boding cloud seemed to have settled over the sky, blocking the stars) suddenly, startling her. Amariel gasped, and then drew a quick breath to recover.
Demaethor stopped before her, a puzzled look on his face- like one who is first alarmed, and then perplexed. "What is it?" he asked her, almost softly. The gruffness in his voice was only from alarm, she thought. Amariel noticed that he had his sword drawn, though it was lowered by his side.
Trying to quell her racing heart- her own panic was not subsiding, but growing- Amariel stepped aside to let him walk in. "We must go," she said, attempting to keep her voice even and calm. No soldier was going to take the counsel of a frightened, panicky woman, she knew.
Demaethor walked inside, his fingers visibly tightening on his sword. His eyes took in the room as he paced to the windows, the doors, obviously trying to see what alarmed her. He turned at her words. "What is wrong?" he asked, this time a little more forcefully.
Amariel shook her head. "Put your sword up, my lord," she said. "The danger is not here."
Demaethor did as she requested, but the manner in which he did it told Amariel that he did not do it because she requested. He was angry because she was being vague. But how was she to describe a feeling to a soldier?
"My brother-" she tried to begin, but then suddenly urgency struck her heart. "Something draws nigh," she whispered, her eyes growing wide with fear. "We must go." Amariel recovered and began to move about the kitchen, gathering her things. Demaethor stared at her a moment, until she turned to him and fairly shouted, "NOW."
He turned and walked out of the door, saying something about horses. Amariel hardly heard him. The footsteps of nearing soldiers echoed in her heart.

Rosie Gamgee

12-15-2004, 01:56 PM

The messenger felt as though he had been sentenced to death. He walked with the gait of a condemned man, and his shoulders sagged as if under a weighty burden. Why did he have to choose the short straw? The immense black doors loomed in front of him, and he drew in a breath, and could not help but fancy it might be among his last.

The doors opened, just a little, and he entered the chamber. It was dark, and smoke curled up in the vaulted ceiling and stained the air. A sable-clad page shouted, "A messenger from the prisoner-guard, my Lord Sauron!"

The fellow stepped back into the shadows, and the was silence like a great drop of black blood falling stealthily from a freshly withdraw blade. Then the drop came to the floor, as it were, and a black voice echoed up and down the chamber. The sound was enough to make one forget the words. "Let him come forth."

The messenger blinked, and then hurried toward the front of the chamber. He kept his eyes down, not wishing to see the figure he knew was seated before him.

"What is it?" the black voice said, and the sound stained the air more effectively than the smoke.

"The prisoner..." the messenger quailed. "Queen Miriel took him away, m'Lord."

The wrath of the dark figure was tangible- a roiling, seething rage. "Miriel." The word dripped with hate. The messenger gulped, but the voice continued, slowly, evilly. "Retribution will be swift."

Valandil

12-17-2004, 09:15 AM

Once in the saddle, Demaethor paused but a moment. His common sense told him to take to the road in front of the farmhouse and on into the city, to have the greatest chance of meeting Esteldur on his way back. His heart however, like Amariel's, distrusted that way and feared that something wrong was afoot. Esteldur was over-long in returning and may have been discovered. To go that way might be heading straight into a trap.

The night was dark, and now a mist had arisen in the hours before dawn. It increased the sounds about them strangely. He signaled to Amariel and Behirien to advance slowly and quietly, then turned his mount to head across the fields behind them, at a gentle walk.

Before long, perhaps less than five minutes, they heard noises, amplified in degree, but indeterminate in direction. The fog obscured the farmhouse from view, but Demaethor suspected that was the source of the sounds. He veered his horse to the left, that they could take advantage of a small stand of mostly bare trees, if needful to keep them from being seen.

Behind the trees, Demaethor dismounted and watched. The sounds grew; first there had been men riding, then sharply whispered commands, now there were shouts and crashes, as though they were breaking in. Torches were lit and their carriers evidently scurried all about. Finally, after an apparent fruitless search, Demaethor heard two familiar voices... first, one of his own guardsmen:

"You have tricked us! Demaethor is not here..."

Then, Galdureth: "B-b-but he WAS! He must have gone!!"

"You have taken us out here for nothing, fool!"

"But... I already turned in ONE whom Sauron sought - why would I lie about another? Besides... I was to have a reward even for the first!"

"Take your reward then... a TRAITOR'S standard fee!"

The conversation came to an abrupt end... Demaethor knew the 'reward' that Galdureth would have bought for himself... he WAS a fool. Now it all fit together - his slackness, his ineptness... he had hoped to slow them and gain some sort of reward all along.

Meanwhile, Amariel had drawn close to Demaethor at the sound of Galdureth's voice. When he spoke of how he had 'turned in one' she buried her head against him and began to shake softly.

All they could do was wait. Demaethor thought them safe enough for now... 200 rangar or more from the house. If they could pick up the trail by torchlight, they would make enough noise about it - and the group could mount and flee - but to do so now would only draw attention to themselves.

They didn't need to wait long. In short order, the men had set their torches to the farmhouse, remounted and turned toward Armenelos.

"Amariel... Esteldur is betrayed, and I fault myself for it. You distrusted Galdureth and I saw not his faithlessness. Esteldur is now beyond our help. Shall we make for Romenna?"

Amariel took a moment to gather herself. Finally, resolved, she said, "No... we came in search of Anardil. Perhaps we can still take him. If not for him... none of my family...*choke*... is left to go with me."

They turned back toward the field and a further entrance to the city, leading their horses at first. In this day, leading so many extra horses in the city would draw notice, so Demaethor stopped and turned to Behirien.

"Behirien, art thou true, unlike thy companion, Galdureth?"

"I am true, my Lord Demaethor."

"Have you healed well enough to ride with speed?"

"I have, my Lord."

"Go then, straight for Romenna. Take thine own horse, and all these that we lead. Seek to find Elendil and to join him. Tell him that these horses are a gift to him from Demaethor, and that I will follow. Make all speed. Amariel and I will keep only our own horses and enter the city Armenelos, in search of her brother Anardil."

Behirien bowed on one knee and took one of Demaethor's hands into his own. "Yes Lord, I will be faithful in this. And I will make preparations for your coming."

There was only the faintest gray to the east... with perhaps a tint of red, when Behirien sped away toward that east, and Demaethor entered the city with Amariel.

Last Child of Ungoliant

12-21-2004, 11:13 PM

hi guys!!
room for one more?

Rosie Gamgee

12-22-2004, 11:07 AM

ooc: LCoU, who do you want to play?

ic:
Amariel watched their last companion ride away. The horses moves swiftly as he spurred them on with a word, and soon they disappeared in the greyness.

The horse beside her, Demaethor's steed, turned at his command. Amariel did not stir, her eyes fixed on the horizon, her mind full of sorrow and anger. Demaethor had vowed Esteldur's safety. He had promised that her brother would be safe, and now... now it seemed all was lost. How could she make answer for all their lives: her brothers', her sister's? Tears sprang to her eyes, bitter and hot. She had let him go to the city. She had wanted the justification Esteldur's actions would bring; if he brought back Anardil and they three rode to safety, perhaps Amariel might be forgiven the loss of her sister and the death of her brother. How could she have lost him so selfishly?

Demaethor's gloved hand touched her bare fingers. The touch was almost gentle, but it brought her back to the present abruptly. "Come," he said, and his voice was soft. "We must go. For your brother."

Amariel's tears stung her reddening face. She twitched the reins and her horse spun around, reflecting her own indignance. "Do not speak to me of my brother, lord! He alone is left to me, and that is your doing, as you have admitted. You promised me Esteldur would return, and now he is lost with the rest of my kin." Her voice threatened to choke again, but she pressed on, her voice little more than a whisper. "I told you when he left that if any evil befell him, you would suffer it, too, and by my hand. That I will release you from, but only if you redeem your previous actions by aiding me now. Help me find Anardil, then let us away to Romenna, and trouble my family no more!" Sobs rose in her throat and she gasped for air, burying her fingers into her horse's mane. Amariel's head bent in distain of life. She clenched her teeth against the tears that threated to fall again. Please, she prayed, I beg thee: if mercy is to be found among the Valar, let me find Anardil alive!

The horses stamped impatiently, but neither Demaethor nor Amariel stirred for a space. At last she pressed her sleeve to her damp eyes and strove to breathe freely. The sky was brightening, she saw through her watery gaze. "Let us go," she said. "Lead and I follow." Demaethor remained speechless, but he directed his steed ahead, and Amariel followed.

Last Child of Ungoliant

12-22-2004, 01:29 PM

my character:
name - faligorn
race - numenorean
occupation - captain of ship, warrior
division - faithful
home - andunie
age - 47

hows that?

Rosie Gamgee

12-22-2004, 01:32 PM

Sounds cool. Be advised, however: the Amariel/Demaethor side of this story is really slow in the going. Be prepared to have a lesson in patience if you want to post in that storyline. :D

Last Child of Ungoliant

12-22-2004, 01:34 PM

okey-doke! thanks for letting me join :D

someone will have to introduce me anyway, i am really bad at making introductory posts!! :D:D ;)

Valandil

01-21-2005, 07:40 AM

As he followed down the corridor, Esteldur felt as though his mind was spinning. He had left his sister and Demaethor just hours before, but it seemed like months (oc: ;) ic: ), he had rescued his brother Anardil, found aid from Aegnarth, who should have opposed him, been betrayed by Gladureth, who should have helped him, been pursued and captured, led to be sacrificed by Sauron, then had himself been rescued by Queen Miriel... HERself!

As he struggled to catch up with himself - and to keep up with Miriel and her guard, he noticed that they were coming to a very familiar part of the palace complex. He was in the House of Lore, where the scribes lived and worked... where he himself was apprenticed! Once a beehive of activity, this part of the palace was now mostly deserted. It was early of course, but the sun would rise very soon, and the scribe apprentices - who were not so lucky as Esteldur to live so close (and to be the son of a great scribe like Nedron, his father had been), and therefore had to be quartered here - would normally be up and about, preparing for their daily duties under the supervision of a journeyman scribe. But the journeymen were here no more. they had all been made into soldiers and sent to the west of the island - to join Ar-Pharazon's Great Armament.

They halted, the Hall of Lore - the great library of Numenor - just before them, the sleeping quarters of his comrades just to their left. Miriel gave hushed instructions to one of her men, who then hurried off to the right. Then Miriel spotted a solitary figure... a lone boy who was on duty, another scribe's apprentice who was known to Esteldur, "YOU... boy! Come with us! You will assist us. Take as many of those sacks as you can carry." She pointed toward a pile of sacks which were used to carry scrolls.

It was Esteldur's best friend, Estelmo! They were about the same age - and they had delighted in their similar names from their first meeting, when they had first begun to learn their tasks as apprentices. Estelmo came meekly over to join them, surprised - but evidently pleased himself to recognize Esteldur. Esteldur winked at him, but then suddenly remembered... Estelmo was an orphan too. His parents also among the Faithful who had been slain in Sauron's purges.

The group proceeded into the Hall of Lore. Finally, in the main rotunda - where racks of scrolls lined the walls all around and tables with chairs for reading were placed, Miriel halted them and turned to address Esteldur. "I knew your father. He was a wise man - and great, when the heart is considered, and strength of conviction. He was slain, your family dispersed - and now, your own life is in jeopardy, is it not?"

"Y-y-yes," stammered Esteldur.

"You must go. You cannot stay here. My kinsman prepares to lead the last of the Faithful away from this forsaken Land of Gift... I know that he will take you with him. You will not go empty-handed!" Miriel began to turn away.

"B-but... my brother, my sister... Demaethor..." Esteldur had not spoken with the Queen before, and never with the King. He wasn't sure if it was OK to lodge even a minor objection.

Miriel turned back toward him. "Ah... you have companions. And even Demaethor is among the Faithful? Rumors have reached me that he is a wanted man. Nonetheless, there is nothing we can do for them, except... hope! And 'Hope' is what you are all about, is it not, young man?" Tall she was - for a woman, and though Esteldur was a bit above the middle height for one his age, she looked down as she looked into his eyes. She seemed to be reading him... and a faint smile crossed her face. Esteldur blushed beneath her gaze as she took note of his name... or was it that he was of the Faithful, that she played upon the word 'hope'?

Miriel continued, "Let us see now... thou wilt want these scrolls... some here of the Elder Days, when our forbears the Edain lived among the Eldar in Beleriand. And this - which tells of Elros and the ordering of this realm. Here is the story of Earendil... and this is ancient... ancient Elven lore of the world's very beginning. Here - this one is a record of Numenor's Kings. This one... well, I don't know if it's truly a love story, but it concerns King Aldarion." As she said each one, she pulled down one or more scrolls and handed them to Estelmo, who placed as many into a sack as it would hold, then picked up another sack.

"Now these - " she continued, moving to another rack of scrolls. "More practical, I would say... " she continued handing scrolls to Estelmo as she spoke, "Numenorean knowledge of building... healing... the sciences... mathematics... poetry and song... making of instruments... weapon-smithing, oh - that has instructions for making blades which are perilous to the most evil of Sauron's servants! Here are maps... and what is known of the peoples of Middle-earth... whither thou must go. We have room for more? Take this one then... and these here..." On she continued in this way, until their sacks were nearly full. The library itself seemed hardly de-nuded of its work though... there was much that could NOT be taken, but Esteldur knew as well that there were multiple copies and that Miriel had skillfully selected both those things which seemed most needful... and those things that would help any refugees... to remember who they WERE!

Esteldur pondered a bit, "But... how...??"

"Oh..." said Miriel, "How does The Queen know so much of the contents of this library, though you have not seen her here? Well... I readily admit that not all of Numenor's Queens have become so familiar with these works as I, but... I am myself of the Faithful, as was our last king, my father, Tar-Palantir. My cousin took my hand in marriage by force, in order to usurp the sceptre from that hand. Trust that our marriage has not been happy... yet I found solace in this place... nourishment for my heart... courage to go on, and to... hope!" She smiled once more, faintly. "Of late, as Sauron came into greater influence here, it brought undue attention for my visits to continue, so I stayed away. But I found a tutor... a conspirator who met with me, brought me those things I requested. I fear... it cost him his life."

Surprisingly, Queen Miriel's own voice quavered for a moment - or so it seemed to Esteldur - and her eyes grew moist. She quickly recovered though, brushed her hand across her face and smiled once more. "But now, is there anything that THOU wouldst choose to bring? What sort of duties didst thou hold here?"

"Well I... I... mostly dealt with deeds of property records and land surveys and ownership rights..." Esteldur didn't remember exactly when Miriel had slipped into calling him 'thou'... but also wasn't sure if he could address HER in such a familiar way.

"Of course! It sounds mundane... but there will be much land whither thou goest... here, these will get you started, and those over there."

Soon they were finished and turned to leave. Miriel spoke now to them all, "My coach comes, and horses for you guardsmen. We must be off." Then she faced Estelmo, "None must know of our coming here, and yet I am loathe to use my enemy's customs and have you slain." Esteldur shuddered at the thought of seeing his friend cut down before him. "Will you come with us? Have you ought to take with you?"

Estelmo seemed a bit shaken himself. "All I have... is my cloak, m'lady."

"Retrieve it then, and quickly! You," she gestured to a guard, "Go with him."

Miriel then faced Esteldur and raised an eyebrow. "We cannot, after all, leave your friend here now, can we?"

Esteldur felt he would wither under her gaze, but gathered himself to speak, "Whither do we go, My Queen?"

"To Romenna!"

Rosie Gamgee

01-25-2005, 08:27 PM

(ooc: *Claps hands* Lovely, sir!)

Last Child of Ungoliant

01-25-2005, 08:33 PM

my character:
name - faligorn
race - numenorean
occupation - captain of ship, warrior
division - faithful
home - andunie
age - 47

hows that?
ooc: anyone need a boat trip to middle earth?
i am waiting at the docks
still terrible at making intro posts, if anyone wants to introduce me:D:D

trolls' bane

01-25-2005, 08:43 PM

ooc: Oh, you joined this, Chrys? Cool! Well, after I catch up on reading this, I'll post where I left off. I'll continue on w/ Nariel/Fingolfin/Charles/Ivan and of course Beleg ;) first, then switch back and forth as easily as possible. If you are in the docks at Romenna, then they will be there soon.

Last Child of Ungoliant

01-25-2005, 08:47 PM

ooc: yes, faligorn was forced to leave his home in andunie around the same time as elendil and co were forced to move to romenna - he is a friend to isildur and anarion

Rosie Gamgee

03-16-2005, 11:27 AM

ooc: Sorry Val, I'm posting.

ic:
Demaethor rode silently, and slowly. At this unearthly hour it was perhaps unwise to even take their horses through the cobblestoned streets of Armenelos. But, he told himself, they had need of haste. If they were heard… Well, when the soldiers who’d set the farmhouse ablaze behind them found that Demaethor was not there they probably assumed he had gone to the city, anyway.

Behind him, Demaethor could hear the gentle plodding of Amariel’s horse’s hooves. Guilt smote his heart. He had indeed promised the safety of her brother, and that had failed. It was not the first time Demaethor had made a miscalculation, but it was the first time that he had ever felt so strongly about it. Errors were a natural part of military operations- rescues or battles. But he was usually a shrewd judge of character, and he had entrusted the life of the young lad Esteldur to a treacherous man.

This made the captain remember Amariel’s premonition before he had sent the two into the city. She had judged Galdureth’s true nature well. And he had ignored her, tossing her a promise he had no right to make and no way to keep. He was sorry, more sorry than he could say, that he had hurt her. But apologies do not come often or easily to the mouths of generals.

He turned in the saddle a little to glance back at the woman. Amariel rode well, he thought. Her posture was excellent, although her shoulders sagged as if under a heavy weight. Her eyes watched the road, but her head was down, and he thought he caught the glisten of tears at her eyes. Her hair spilt over her shoulders and the reins in her hands. Demaethor suddenly wondered what it would feel like to run his hand through those beautiful tresses, to trace her jaw with his finger, to make her deep eyes look at him with love.

He stopped himself. He had no right to even think such thoughts. He had wronged her, and before he could lay claim to any of her affections he had to make right what had been done. His mind turned to pondering Esteldur’s situation. It was, perhaps, possible he could be saved. But if Galdureth had told the soldier’s he’d been in league with who the lad was, Esteldur could already be on his way to prison- or worse. Demaethor checked his thoughts, not willing to contemplate the ‘or worse’ just yet. The hour was late, and they might have simply kept the lad in custody until the morning. That was what he tried to hope, anyway.

Rosie Gamgee

03-16-2005, 12:18 PM

Amariel followed Demaethor faithfully as they came into the city. They passed through the silent streets with little clatter from the horses’ shod hooves, and did not seem to attract any attention. But every shadow’s pensive gloom seemed to hide a threat, and Amariel’s breath began to come fast and shallow before that had gone very far. Her heart beat loudly and more than once she looked up to see if Demaethor could hear it in the silence. She swallowed hard, but her mouth was dry and cold. The only thought running through her frightened mind was for Esteldur. Something was happening to him; something, something, and she didn’t know what it was, only that he was in danger.

They came into a familiar part of the city- her family’s neighborhood. Amariel looked up and around, breathing deep. Same old smell, same air, same feeling. She felt her eyes grow warm again, almost picturing her parents walking in the streets, her brothers playing in the alley.

Abruptly the sick, nervous feeling in her gut disappeared. Relief washed over her, she knew not why, and she breathed a quiet sigh. Amariel blinked. Esteldur. Where was he now? she wondered as the worry in her heart began to subside. Hope began to creep back into her heart. Perhaps he was all right. Maybe he had escaped? She began to search every shadow, not for an enemy, but for her brother. Was he here?

“Amariel.” It was Demaethor’s whisper that broke into her thoughts. If she had listened when he said her name, she might have heard the softness in his voice, the tenderness. But she did not hear save her name spoken aloud, and she looked up. The captain had halted in the street, and he beckoned for her to come up beside him. She gently prodded her horse the few steps and then stopped.

Demaethor looked around, almost as if he hadn’t seen her. She thought for the smallest of moments that he looked embarrassed. Then he bent his glance on her. “Which of these is your street?” he said quietly.

She might have laughed, or even smiled, but his face, his voice- even his words- made her recoil with distrust and doubt. She prayed hard that Anardil would get out of this city alive. Lifting a finger, she pointed, and Demaethor nodded wordlessly and led them down the tight street. Amariel sighed and followed. She watched his shoulders from behind, following their movements as he twitched the reins. He was a strong man, a protector. His presence exuded safety, and she wished that she could feel that same protection. When she had broken down back at the farmhouse, when those horrid soldiers had slain Galdureth (she cursed his thought and wished his death had been slower), he had put his arms around her for the smallest of moments. She had missed that for too long- the solace of a man’s arms. Her father had been the chief one before- before. When she feared or when she cried, his embrace was always there to protect her. After that was only the clumsy, rude embraces of a hundred different men, none of whom cared for her feelings, seeing her as an object for their sick desires. Amariel had had to be her own protector for too long now. She had to be the one who cared for her little brothers, her sister- and now they were gone and their fates were on her head. She wanted, oh, how she wanted, to have someone relieve her of all that. Someone to take her in his arms and make her feel wanted, not ed after; to comfort her and even to love her.
She looked away from Demaethor, breaking her own thoughts. Now was not the time for self-pity. She looked up at the sky. It was brightening above the tall buildings here. Day was coming. They had to make haste.

A face caught her eye. There, in the window- but no, it was gone. She frowned, and then noticed the house to which the window belonged. Her house. It was deserted, empty and void. She could recall a thousand times when laughter had echoed within its walls, and now it was an empty, haunted shell. She looked up at the window again. That was her room.

“Is this the place?” Demaethor asked, noticing that she had stopped. He was looking back at her with a curious look on his face. She turned to him and shook her head.

"No, this is my house," she said. He continued to look at her, and she added, by way of explaination, "I thought I saw a face in the window." She led her horse up beside his again.

His look took on a different quality. "A face?" he whispered. "Are you certain?"

"Just a child's face- a little g.rl's, I think."

"How far is Aegnarth's dwelling from here?" he asked, looking about him. Amariel could see it from here, and pointed it out to him. He nodded, then dismounted. "Come." He held his hand out almost tentatively to help her dismount. Just as tentative, she slid her hand within the grasp of his big glove and stepped down. He released her hand quickly, and drew his sword. The slow, dark sound of metal sliding against metal made her cold. "We will go in," he said, and led her up the steps to the door which had once been so familiar to her. She swallowed hard as she stood there and watched him lift the latch. The door was unbarred, and it opened easily and noislessly, but for the little squeak that Amariel had all but forgotten. She suddenly remembered how it was that that squeak had announced the return of her father from his work each day, the departure of her mother to the market for food, and even the coming of the soldiers to tear her family apart. A lump formed in her throat as Demaethor entered the house almost as unfeelingly as they had, sword drawn and eyes sharp. She followed him inside, and the not knowing what to expect entering her own home frightened her.

Rosie Gamgee

03-23-2005, 11:16 AM

They stepped silently into a small, dark enclosure beyond which was another set of doors. The walls if the small entryway had a row of hooks for hanging hats and cloaks. A pair of boots yet lay on the floor beneath them, covered in cobwebs and dust. Demaethor swallowed at the lonely sight. A creak sounded above him and a sprinkle of dust fell from the ceiling, illuminated by the pale dawn’s light filtering in through the open door. Amariel drew in a breath audibly, and Demaethor raised his sword a little higher and stepped through the second set of doors. Beyond was a wide room full of overturned and otherwise disheveled furniture. All had a shroud of dust upon it, even the floor.

Wait. Demaethor stopped and looked at the dirty floor, cobwebs glistening in the light of the windows. Here and there the dust had been disturbed- someone had walked through here recently; and from the looks of it more than one lone child. He followed the ‘trail’ and beckoned for Amariel to follow close behind him. Another creak and pop of a shifting floorboard rang out above them. Demaethor ignored it and walked a pace further. A growl and a hiss made him start. He whirled to his right sharply— and there was a slim, slinky black cat blinking at him with glowing eyes. Amariel stepped closer to see what had alarmed him and gasped in surprise. Demaethor moved on. When he came to the base of a wide stairway, more creaks sounded in the silence. Whispers reached his ears, but he could not hear what they were saying, or guess what sort of persons they belonged to.

Amariel came up beside him, and he turned toward her. But she was looking about, her face sad and her eyes full of memories. For her, he realized, this was not a building, but a dead, mouldering shell of a former life. His head turned sharply when a light footstep echoed on the stair. A shadow stood on the landing above them, silhouetted by the window behind it. Demaethor squinted, trying to guess if the shadows were cheating his eyes or if the shape before him was indeed the form of a ragged child. He didn’t need to wonder long.

“Mummy?” the form said, and his voice was that of a frightened young boy.

Before Demaethor could react, Amariel gasped, “Anardil!” and sprang up the stairs to clasp her brother in her arms.

Demaethor followed her up the stairs, slower and more cautiously. He detected a pair of little shadows lurking in a doorway just off of the landing. Two little gi.rls eyed him with wonder and fear. He tried to smile an assurance that he was not the bad guy, but the effect only made them back a little further into the shadow. Demaethor turned to Amariel and her brother. The little lad had thrown his arms about the woman and was embracing her almost as tight as she was embracing him. Amariel was drawing in deep breaths as she held onto him, and Demaethor could see she was fighting tears.

“Mummy, I’m glad you came,” Anardil’s little voice, muffled in his sister’s shoulder, said. Demaethor’s brow knit. Mummy?

Amariel pulled him back to search his face, obviously taking in all the things about his features that remained the same and all the things that had changed. She swallowed and ran a hand through the lad’s tangled hair. “It’s Amariel, baby,” she said softly. Demaethor started at the sound of her voice, its softness.

“Amariel,” the lad echoed, blinking up at her in the shadows. “Where’s Mummy and Father?”

The woman’s tears threatened to fall again, but she held them back admirably. “They’re not here, ‘Dilly. They’re not coming back.”

“But Esteldûr said I could see them soon.” Amariel glanced at Demaethor, almost as if for help. He knelt down beside Amariel so he could be eye-level with the boy. “Who are you?” he inquired with all the audacity a child his age was wont to have.

“His name is Demaethor,” Amariel said gently, before the captain could answer for himself. “He’s a soldier, just like you want to be.”

The lad’s look took on a suspicious nature as he eyed Demaethor. “He looks like the big men that took Esteldûr away.”

Demaethor winced, then shook his head. “I’m going to keep you safe from them,” he said, and the boy looked appreciative. Anardil reached up and took his sister’s hand, and she drew him to herself in a protective manner. Demaethor put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Lad, besides looking like me, what did the men that took your brother look like?” he asked. He needed to know if it was Sauron’s personal soldiers that had taken the boy or the city guard. “What livery did they wear?”

Anardil thought for a moment. “They had shiny swords. They made a lot of noise and yelled a lot. All of them had black surcoats.” He looked up at his sister. “Another man was pointing at ‘Steldûr who looked like him.” He gestured to the captain. “They chased ‘Steldûr down that way and then brought him back with his hands tied up.”

Demaethor’s heart sank. And as the weight of what the lad was saying sunk in, he bowed his head. Despair quickly gave way to a frothing anger; anger at his own stupidity. He wanted to kick something, to shout. But all he could do was stifle the groan that escaped his lips.

“What?” Amariel’s whisper was shrill, almost panicked. Demaethor knew she had read his despair. Anardil backed away from him and closer to his sister as the captain stood. “Where did they take him?” she demanded, knowing that Demaethor knew.

Rosie Gamgee

03-23-2005, 11:19 AM

Demaethor, stout captain of hardy soldiers, veteran of many battles, could not summon the courage to look her in the eye. “Only Sauron’s soldiers wear black livery,” he told her. “They’ve taken him to the temple.”

Amariel stared, then shook her head. “You cannot know that for certain, lord.” She glanced about her, looking frightened and lost. Her breath was coming fast and Demaethor watched her vainly fight tears. “No, we must go after him; we must save him.” He reached a gloved hand out to steady her, but she shook her head more forcefully. “No; no. Perhaps they took him elsewhere- they cannot have taken him to Sauron.” Her voice was shrill and growing louder. “We must save him.”

He shook his head, catching her gaze and holding it. The truth hurt, but he had to tell her. “It’s too late, Amariel.”

Her eyes took on a mad, wild light. “No! We must go after him.” He shook his head and she cried, “My lord, please; he will die!”

Demaethor grasped her shoulders. Anardil stood by, tears in his own eyes, although he probably did not know why he was weeping. “He is dead already,” Demaethor said, his voice very quiet. Silence reigned for an eternity in a moment as her eyes melted.

Amariel began to choke. She sank to the floor and sobbed and gasped for breath, but no tears fell. Demaethor lowered himself beside her, unable to do otherwise; for her fingers had curled about his forearms, so much that her nails dug into his shirt and bit his arms. She continued to sob, shaking violently as her emotion possessed her. Demaethor hastily took off his gloves and moved a hand toward her. He bit his lip, and slowly and very gently cupped her face in his palm. As if his touch released something in her, Amariel leaned into his embrace and wept openly upon his shoulder. Anardil had moved close and was stroking his sister’s hair comfortingly, although, no doubt, the boy could not comprehend why she was weeping.

Amariel’s sobs were subsiding into shaky whimpers. Her grasp on his arms lessened and she pulled away a little. “I am sorry, my lord,” she gasped softly. Now she tried to regain herself, wiping the tears from her face and backing away. Demaethor let her go. She reached out to her brother and drew him close, sniffing. Demaethor glanced about him, realizing that the day was coming swiftly. The shadows had receded and the sun’s first light was in the window. He stood slowly.

“We must go,” he said quietly. He reached a hand down to the red-faced, tear-streaked woman who sat before him. “Come.”

She stood shakily, leaning on her brother and ignoring his extended hand. She took the strands of her hair that stuck to her wet face and pulled them behind her shoulders, drawing in deep breaths. Amariel took Anardil’s hand in hers. “I’m sorry,” she said again. Demaethor shook his head.

“What about Silaewen and Olaewen?” Anardil said in a small voice.

Demaethor remembered the two little gi.rls and turned about to see them standing almost exactly where he had first seen them, their eyes as round and brimmed with wonder and curiosity as before. Amariel, seeing them for the first time, let out a little cry at their bedraggled appearance. “Have they no parents?” she asked, her voice strained and halting yet.

Anardil shook his head. “’Steldûr was going to take them with us.”

Demaethor raised his eyebrows. One child was one matter— but three? They only had two horses, and they were still nearly spent from yesterday’s ride. But he could not stand there very long contemplating those two children when they were staring up at him, knowing their fates were in his hands. Amariel was looking at him, awaiting his decision. He nodded mutely. “Let us go.”

“Come,” Amariel said, and held out her hand to the two. They came to her willingly, holding onto her hand as she followed Demaethor back through the house and outside. Once there he had Amariel mount her horse, then lifted the two gi.rls up to her. Demaethor smiled inwardly at Amariel’s motherly manner with them as they squirmed and fidgeted in the saddle in front of her.

“Here lad.” Demaethor turned to Anardil. “You’ll ride with me.”

Suddenly the pale morning’s silence was shattered by the clatter of armour and arms. A voice cried, “HOLD!” The cold ring of a sword being drawn echoed in the street. Demaethor turned sharply toward the sound.

Rosie Gamgee

03-23-2005, 11:37 AM

Amariel gasped and reached a hand out toward her brother, though he was too far away for her to touch him. Whipping her head around toward the sound of the voices- although the armored men (seven of them, she counted, all wearing black livery) were all round them- she tightened her arm around the two little gi.rls in her charge. Their small hands gripped her arm. The fear they felt was tangible as their breathing came quicker and louder.

“What is the meaning of this, soldier?” Demaethor asked the man who had cried out and drawn his sword. Amariel noted he had not drawn his. Her heart beat a little quicker.

“Demaethor, you are under arrest for treason!” the soldier shouted, indifferent to the captain’s tone. He made a signal, and the other soldiers began to advance upon Demaethor.

The captain held up his hand with authority. “Stay where you are, if you value your lives,” he commanded. “You will not assail a captain!”

“You are forthwith stripped of your rank!” the first soldier returned, although the others had indeed halted on Demaethor’s command. “You are a disgrace to your King, your army and your race.”

Demaethor did not flinch or blink, but Amariel could see the words stung him. But he remained where he was, daring any of them to attack him. His eyes seemed to bore into the soldier. “Is this how faithful service is to be rewarded?” he asked scornfully, and Amariel blinked in surprise. Demaethor turned a bit to gesture toward her and the children. “I have brought my King and your master the prizes they have sought these past days: the children of traitors; and now I am to be counted among them?” Amariel’s heart stopped and a clipped cry escaped her lips. Anardil had turned toward her, and his eyes cut into her soul. They were betrayed.

Demaethor did not heed her cry. “What say you?” he demanded harshly of the soldier, but Amariel did not hear the words. Her mind sought a way of escape, but all their routes were cut off. A fire entered her soul, rage and shame, thinking of how she had trusted the treacherous man, how she had cried on his shoulder, how she had even thought she could have lo.ved him.

“Wretch!” she shouted, and the soldiers started at her enraged tone. Demaethor turned to her, his face a mask.

“Silence!” the soldier before Demaethor shouted. His eyes turned back to Demaethor, and there was doubt now in his voice. “We are ordered to deliver you to Lord Sauron. The charge is one of high treason. Our source told us you had joined the Faithful.”

Demaethor laughed. “You mean Galdureth?” he asked. Amariel’s head shot up. He had known Galdureth was false. Bitter tears stung her eyes. He continued, “Galdureth was a fool. And as for the charge of treason, here is proof of my allegiance.” He nodded toward them again. “These are children of Sauron’s enemies, the Faithful. Their parents have been exterminated- now their offspring will not plague us any longer. If you wish to thwart me, you may take it up with Lord Sauron.” The soldier’s sword lowered and he moved toward Amariel and the children, inspecting them. Demaethor’s frown upon the man deepened. “Well?”

Amariel’s anger seethed against Demaethor. “Thou cursed betrayer!” she shouted, her voice shaking and shrill with rage. “May thy forked tongue be damned; may thy black heart fail thee in a dark hour!”

The soldier before her laughed, and glanced at Demaethor. “Oh, she’s a feisty one,” he said, and his eyes bent on her. “Comely, too.” Amariel recoiled as the man’s eyes wandered over her shape, studying her in a way all too familiar to her. The soldier glanced again at Demaethor. “Tell me; must she be delivered to Sauron immediately?” Amariel’s heart faltered and she felt sick. She looked back at the man she had trusted, but he scorned her gaze.

“Put that sword away, soldier,” Demaethor said, “And I may let you keep her.”

The soldier turned back toward Demaethor, making no move to sheath his blade. “You may let me keep her? My orders stand, Demaethor. You will be brought to Sauron, and I shall keep her regardless.” He took another step toward Demaethor and never got the chance to regret it.

Demaethor’s arm shot up and a little dagger buried itself in the soldier’s throat. He fell to the ground, gagging, blood flowing freely from his wound as the dagger was withdrawn. The other soldiers drew their swords and advanced upon Demaethor. He turned about quickly, his own sword ringing as he drew it. The first soldier to reach him did not last long. Their blades met twice. Demaethor’s gloved fist struck the other man across the chin and he fell back. Demaethor finished the deed just as another soldier leapt upon him from behind. The captain swung about forcefully and the other man stumbled away. Another came to his aid, though, and Demaethor stooped quickly to pluck up the fallen soldier’s sword. Wielding both, he slew the pair quickly. By this time two more were on him. They had seen the mistakes of their comrades and stayed outside the reach of Demaethor’s arm, clashing blades until they saw an advantage.

Amariel remembered the one remaining soldier and wondered, too late, where he was. A gloved hand seized her wrist and dragged her down from the horse. The two little gi.rls screamed. Amariel landed on the ground hard, but the soldier dragged her to her feet. She screamed and fought him as he tried to haul her away. He ignored her and grabbed her other wrist. She brought her hand up and bit hard between his glove and gauntlet. The soldier shouted and let go of Amariel’s wrist, but only to bring his hand up and deliver a solid blow to her cheekbone. A bright white light popped inside her head and her face burned. She fell near-senseless while he seized her about the waist with one hand and grasped her by the hair with the other. The pain brought her back to consciousness somewhat.

“Stay away from her!” a little voice shouted. Anardil’s face came into Amariel’s hazy vision. He had a sword obviously to heavy for him in his hands and he whacked the soldier with it, only managing to dint his shin-guard.

“Anardil!” Amariel screamed as the soldier’s boot lashed out and kicked the boy savagely. He fell back with a pitiful cry. Amariel shouted and brought her fists up to pound futilely upon the man’s shoulder.

Rosie Gamgee

03-23-2005, 11:39 AM

Suddenly the hilt of a sword came out of nowhere, striking the soldier’s face, smashing the nose-piece of his helmet down into his skull with a sickening sound. Blood spurted everywhere. The soldier fell and his grip took Amariel down with him. A pair of strong arms caught her before she hit the ground. Demaethor pulled her away, back toward the horses. “Anardil!” he called to the lad, who had righted himself and was staring at the bloody bodies of the dead men. “Make haste!”

Amariel noticed, as Demaethor set her on her horse, that several townsfolk- her former neighbors- had come out of their homes and were watching the proceedings with interest. Demaethor swung up into his own saddle and pulled Anardil up after him. “Let us go!” he cried, grabbing the reigns and turning his horse about. Too hurried to think about it, Amariel followed him as he dug his heels into his horses side and took off down the close street.

They clattered through the streets with all haste until they reached the outskirts of the city, where Demaethor checked his steed a moment to make sure Amariel had caught up. She came up beside him, and her thoughts were a tangle as she looked on his face. Demaethor’s hand came up to touch her cheek, just briefly. “It was a lie, Amariel,” he said breathlessly. He opened his mouth, as if to say more, but then shut it and looked away.

Amariel had pulled back at his touch, but now she saw his apologetic look. A wave of relief washed over her as she realized he was not about to betray them. “Whither now, lord?” she asked. “Lead, and I follow.”

Demaethor’s eyes smiled back at her. He looked out on the horizon. “To Romenna!” he said, and with that they sped away.

Valandil

03-24-2005, 07:07 AM

ooc: Nice posts Rosie - and thank you! Somehow I didn't even notice those from the 16th until just now - I usually check in here when I log on, so I'm surpised I missed them. Nice work though! :)

I guess they didn't manage to sneak out of town quietly, huh? :p

Rosie Gamgee

03-24-2005, 01:23 PM

ooc: Lol, thanks, Val. I told you I wanted to write some action!

Rosie Gamgee

04-13-2005, 12:31 PM

They stopped a little ere the sun had reached its full height to rest the horses. They chose a spot overgrown with brush and weeds so as to stay out of sight. A little, choked beck provided enough water for the horses and their riders, and Amariel divided the last crumbly bits of some waybread of Demaethor's between the children. After they ate, Amariel put the children in the shade of a spreading tree and sat by while they napped. Demaethor sat further off, cleaning his sword.

Amariel watched his fingers slide the ragged cloth up and down the blade. The blood was dried now. He should have cleaned the blade before they rode away. Amariel glanced at her hand. Flecks of dried blood were there also, and they gave her a sickening feeling as she thought of Demaethor's sword smashing into that man's skull. She brought a hand up to her face, wincing as she touched her swollen cheek. No doubt a purple blotch had formed there where the soldier had struck her. Glancing back at Demaethor a spark of guilt touched her heart.

She rose from the ground noislessly after glancing at the sleeping children and stepped quietly to the general. He saw her approach and squinted up at her. 'My lord,' she said, quietly, 'I beg your pardon for my doubting you- back there, in Armenelos. You have been true and worthy, and I thought you false. These... these past days have been the most painful of my life- But that is not an excuse, merely an explanation. I am sorry.'

Demaethor shook his head. 'The fault is not yours, Amariel.' He might have said more, but at the moment Anardil stirred in his sleep and called out. Amariel went to him, and he woke sobbing of dead soldiers with bloody faces. She quieted him, and the little gi.rls did not wake.

'Amariel, where is Forthon? and Magwiel?' Anardil suddenly asked. His face was buried on Amariel's shoulder and his arms were around her neck. He pulled back a little to study her face when she hesitated. 'They are gone, aren't they?'

She nodded, biting her lip and feeling her eyes warm. 'Yes, Anardil. They are gone. We won't see them again.'

'So it is just you and me now?' he asked. His eyes searched hers and her own emptiness at the statement was reflected back to her.

She nodded, trying to smile. 'Just you and me,' she repeated hoarsely.

'And Demaethor and the gir.ls?' he prompted.

'And they, also.' Demaethor's voice was quite close to Amariel, and she started. She looked up to find him saddling the horses nearby. He was turned from her, and she wondered for a moment if he had said anything at all. But he turned and offered a small smile, and she looked away, not knowing what to think of it. Anardil seemed to mark the little exchange and smiled contendedly. Demaethor turned to Amariel once more. 'You should wake the gir.ls. We must keep going if we are to reach Romenna by nightfall.'

Rosie Gamgee

08-02-2005, 08:37 PM

The late afternoon’s warmth floated lazily about, drifting on the wings of a breeze whose coolness foreboded the night to come. Amariel blinked drowsily even as her horse loped onward. They had been traversing an expanse of wide wold for some time now, and still it stretched ahead to the horizon. The rhythmic hoof-beats beneath Amariel were muted in the deep grass that slipped past her ankles. Together with the synchronized breathing of Silaewen and Olaewen, it was slowly putting her to sleep. The wind passing Amariel’s ears gusted stronger once or twice and blew her hair across her face. She blinked again, wondering if she had really been asleep, or only imagined waking. Save for the breeze and the gentle sound of the horses’ hooves, there was hardly a sound. No conversation passed between Amariel and her charges. She thought once or twice some time ago that she had heard Anardil’s little voice—and Demaethor’s solemn tones in return—up ahead of her. Amariel wondered what they spoke of.

One of the g irls stirred, and turned slightly to look up at Amariel. “Are we there yet?”
she asked. Amariel smiled. Pity wrung her heart at the sight of these motherless, fatherless children. The fact that she and Anardil were also so bereft did not move her to pity herself, but rather made her feel all the more protective of the two little ones.

She recalled the question and replied, “No. I am sorry. Try to endure a little longer.”

Silaewen made a face that might have made Amariel laugh once. She turned back and said something to her sister, but Amariel was not paying much attention anymore. Her heart had suddenly, inexplicably skipped a beat. She looked about quickly, but nothing seemed amiss. No beat of hooves or shout of hound in pursuit reached her ears. Still, she urged the horse up beside Demaethor’s.

The former captain looked deep in thought, pondering something. He looked up, almost startled, when she came near. Then he smiled. “Are you keeping up well?” he asked, his voice only loud enough to be heard over the gentle lope of the horses.

Amariel opened her mouth but a littler voice spoke first. “I have to go,” Olaewen said.

Demaethor looked mystified for a fraction of a second and then glanced up at Amariel with a look of realization on his face. Amariel put her hand on the child’s head. “A little while longer,” she said softly. “We shall stop to rest soon.” She looked back at Demaethor and saw plainly that he had not planned on making any stops between now and dark. Obviously he was not accustomed to young bladders. But his face took on an air of acquiescence. He nodded once.

“Soon. But quickly,” he allowed, and within a half-hour they had stopped to relieve themselves.

Rosie Gamgee

08-02-2005, 08:39 PM

Amariel came back with Silaewen and Olaewen to find Demaethor checking the horses’ saddles, and Anardil standing by. “’Mariel,” the little lad said wearily and held his arms out to her. She smiled and lifted him into her arms, and marveled at how much heavier he had become in just a few months.

“Are you tired, Dilly?” she asked softly. She felt him nod on her shoulder.

Demaethor had looked up at the sound of her voice. “Are all of the women-folk ready to proceed?” he asked, and Amariel could not tell if he jested or if he was really perturbed at the break in their riding.

“Yes, my lord,” she said, bowing a little. Anardil squirmed a bit and she set him down.

Demaethor looked puzzled at her reaction, then smiled kindly. “I meant not to sound rough,” he said quietly. “The horses are also grateful for the rest.” Amariel smiled her thanks, but then her heart skipped again. Demaethor must have marked some change on her face. “What is it?”

Amariel shook her head. “Nothing, my lord.” At least that was what she was telling herself. “I am not accustomed to such riding, and my bones are weary, that is all,” she hoped.

Demaethor kept his eyes on her face a beat longer than she thought necessary—and she found a strange, warm sensation; she liked his gaze, his smile. He spoke. “I have seen before that look on your face.” Turning his eyes back toward the way they had come, he added, “The cause of it was far from ‘nothing’.”

She recalled, too, the earnest panic that had come upon her just before leaving the farmhouse. “When I was young,” she said, and Demaethor turned back to her as if this was the last thing he expected her to begin an explanation with. She went on, “seven or eight years old, our house caught fire. My sister Magwiel and I were in bed, and all the house was asleep save for me. A foreboding of evil had grabbed hold of my heart, but I did not leave the bed, wishing to protect my little sister and thinking that a monster or some other such childish fancy would appear out of the shadows of the room. Then the odor of smoke bit my senses, but in the city there is always the smell of fire and smoke. It was only when I saw the faint orange glow outside the door in the direction of the staircase that I ran to my father.” Amariel paused to remember. Her father had scooped her up into his strong arms and whisked her and her sister down the back staircase and outside. She hated the thought that he was gone now, her strong, kind father. “The neighbors awoke to help put out a fire that had started all because a servant had left a candle burning.” She finished the story, and turned back to Demaethor. “I have had this gift ever since—to know when danger draws nigh. I knew even before the soldiers came to take my parents away, even before Magwiel and I were separated from our siblings, that tragedy was to come upon us. Ever since that day I had lived in a cage of fear. My gift turned on me and became a curse, and never did the sense of impending horror subside, whilst horror visited me again and again...” Amariel turned away and hung her head.

Rosie Gamgee

08-02-2005, 09:00 PM

A pair of warm, callused fingers found their way under her chin. Amariel’s eyes snapped open and came to rest on those of Demaethor. His hand dropped almost as quickly at it had stolen to her face, but there was no apology in his eyes. She blinked once.

“And now?” he asked gently, but urgently, calling back to her mind the subject upon which they’d been speaking. “Do you feel that some danger portends?”

“I do not know. Perhaps it is only that pursuit has set out to find the slayer of your attackers this morning.”

Demaethor looked away briefly. “Forgive me that. It was a foolish deed: killing eight soldiers in the heart of Armenelos in the presence of so many witnesses. Now I have put us in further jeopardy; but I could see no other way out of the city.”

Amariel shook her head, although her throat tightened. “What have you to be remorseful for? You have done your worthiest to protect us, though we bear no relation of kinship or friendship to you.”

“And to what cost has your trust been put in me? You have lost two of your brothers and your sister since meeting me. I am afraid that for all my good intentions I have been only the cause of disaster to you and your kin. If not for me both Forthon and Esteldûr would yet be alive.” The mention of their names choked her a little, and Amariel shook her head, not trusting herself to reply, and blinked away the thought of tears. Demaethor’s silence and distance spoke of his remorse. At length he said quietly, “We should go now.”

She nodded, then turned back. He paused at her gaze, and she drew a breath. “My lord, for all those deeds, even for the lives of my brothers, I forgive you. Forthon loved you whilst he lived, and I know he counts himself honoured to have died with you at his side. Esteldûr has met the death we all would have, were it not for your intervention; I trust he met it well.” Amariel kept her gaze steady, even if her voice was less than so. “As for you, you carry the weight of both of them, and I am partly to blame for that. I placed blame where it was not due. I am sorry. Do not carry any longer the burden of the dead. It is a weighty load, and one you do not deserve to bear.”

Demaethor stood a space longer. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “Your words are a deep comfort to me, and my heart is lighter for them. But,” he added, looking into her eyes, “You yourself do not heed the lesson of your own words. The weight you carry is also undeserved. Will you not let the deaths of your kin rest on the shoulders of their Slayer, instead of your own?”

Amariel looked at him a moment, her heart yearning to believe him. It is not your fault, he was telling her, but all her spirit shouted the opposite. For a moment guilt and release battled in her heart. Eventually the guilt won out. Amariel shook her head with finality, wishing to speak of it no more. “Let us away-” she began to say, but a distant sound cut her off.

Both Demaethor and Amariel froze, listening. There it came again: hoof-beats, galloping hard, floated from where they had been. They shook themselves free of the surprise, and their eyes met for a brief moment. “That,” Demaethor said in a hurried, wry tone, as he finished tightening the girth of his horse’s saddle, “marks the last time I underestimate one of your intuitions, my lady.” He did not wait for a reaction, but motioned for Anardil-

“Anardil!” Amariel shouted; she practically screamed it. Neither the boy nor their other two charges were in sight. He was just here! The tall grass waved around them, and Amariel caught the sight of dark, moving dots on the horizon behind.

Demaethor’s hand caught her arm. “Your voice, woman! Keep your voice down,” he hissed. Then, only a little louder, in a commanding tone, “Anardil!” He gave Amariel a look, and she supplied him with the g irl’s names. He called them also, and Olaewen stepped out from behind a large tree, which the only obstruction in this open meadow save a small bank of bracken.

“Where is your sister?” Amariel asked her. “Where is Anardil?”

The poor g irl looked puzzled, and explained that they had “only been playing at hiding. The others are here somewhere,” and inquired as to the hoof-beats and whinnies drawing nearer even as they spoke.

Demaethor had already waded past her into the tall grass, calling for the children. Silaewen popped up at the same time from the other side of the horses, calling, “I’m here!”

Amariel’s heart-beat quickened, and she prayed quickly for her brother while grabbing the two g irls near. “Anardil.” The name escaped her trembling lips repeatedly as they waited for what seemed like an eternity. It was really only a few seconds later that Anardil shouted, “I’m here; what is it?”, and Demaethor plucked him up and brought him to the horses.

Demaethor set the children on the horses’ backs, speaking hurriedly. “Understand, Amariel, that we move on only because this open field is no place to fight a troop of trained soldiers in day-light. But neither shall we be able to out-run them.” He pointed out toward the distant horizon. “That thicket there is where we will stop. We shall reign the horses in, and you and the children will conceal them, and yourselves, in the deepest part of the bracken. When they get reach us,” he cast a glance over his shoulder at the approaching blobs, which had grown to horses with sable-clad riders, “I will attempt to...” His voice trailed away. In lieu of words, he knelt and knit his fingers together over his knee, offering her a boost up on her mount. She stepped up wordlessly, and looked down at him once seated. “If I am slain or captured,” he said quickly, making a pretense of checking her stirrup, “keep hidden until sun-down.” He moved toward his own horse. “Then continue on to Romenna as best as you can.” He gave her no time to answer, but swung up onto his horse behind Anardil, and it seemed that before he even rested in the saddle they sped onward.

Rosie Gamgee

09-06-2005, 05:56 PM

They came swiftly to the spot Demaethor had named. No words were spoken; all that needed to be said had been, already. Demaethor decended from his horse in one quick movement, armor and all. His eyes were already surveying the landscape he had chosen. He helped Anardil down from his horse, then went to Amariel and did the same for her and her two charges. Bringing the horses around, he pointed into the bracken wordlessly, directing them in.

Amariel told the children to walk in front of her and grabbed the bridles of the horses with her two hands. “Amariel.” She looked back. Demaethor strode up to her. “Take this,” he said. In his hand was a long dagger. “All this way you have gone weaponless. Now you may have need of one.”

She took it from him with a look of thanks, and he stepped aside to let her go. A sharp twang bit the air, and a whistle. The horses jumped as an arrow buried itself in the ground near Demaethor’s feet.

Demaethor’s reaction was swift, but he knew not where the arrow had come from. A voice rang out from the trees. “That was a warning, knight. I can kill you if I wish. Answer me: are you for us, or for our enemies?”

Amariel quailed and silently put her arms around the children, grabbing her brother near. Demaethor looked indignant. “How shall I answer you if I know not who you are? If you were for my enemies, surely you would have killed me. If you were friends, you might recognize my plight and aid me. But you have done neither. Perhaps you are but rabble of the forest; lawless men who have not been delivered to the jailers for the simple reason that even the jailers themselves are now lawless.”

“We are not rabble, nor are we lawless, save that we do not follow that foul traitor, Sauron. But any law made in favour of Him is not law or justice, but a mockery of it. So answer this: are you loyal to Sauron?”

“Nay! I am foe to Him and all His murderous followers,” shouted Demaethor. “If you will not hinder me, in less than an hour’s time I will have writ this declaration on enough of their crests, and with this pen.” He held aloft his axe.

“Then you are indeed among friends,” the voice said. All at once a half-dozen men emerged from behind rocks and bushes. They wore jerkins and cloaks of greens and browns, a rag-tag assortment of men and boys. All of them bore odd tokens of the King’s army: bucklers, bows, helms. A seventh fellow hopped lightly to the ground and strode with ease to Demaethor. “Here are a remnant of the Faithful.”

Demaethor looked about him, amazement on his face. “Soldiers of the King?” he asked, in a bemused voice. “Deserters?”

The fellow before him, who was young and sprightly, although a shrewd light shone in his eyes, smiled and said, “Indeed; traitors and renegades every one of us. As you are also, I see. Although I must tell you, if you are indeed among the Faithful, you would do well to step out of the livery of the army.”

“Well said. But no time have I to amend the situation.” Demaethor looked about him again. “Have you no lookout? Know you not that a troop of Sauron’s personal soldiers ride hard by? Indeed, they are almost upon you.”

The fellow’s eyebrows went up. “It is my watch. From my perch I saw you approach our resting place, but I marked no troop of soldiers.”

“Then you would do better to have your ear to the ground than your eye to the wind,” Demaethor told him mercilessly. He gestured then to Amariel. “This lady and children are my charges. We were to make for Romenna, but that is impossible with such pursuers nigh. Have you no place she and they may conceal themselves?”

He seemed to guess Demaethor’s plan and said, “The bracken runs deep that way.” He pointed. “There our horses rest. But we ourselves make for Romenna, and have sojourned here only since this morning, and have no fortifications nor keep.”

“It will serve,” Demathor said, as if the battle might be won by the force of his will. He turned to Amariel, and bade her and the children to go and conceal themselves. At a nod from their leader, one of the men came forward to lead Amariel. As they walked away, Amariel could hear Demaethor begin to give orders to the other men. Her heart jumped to her throat as the soft, menacing whisper of their pursuers' hoof-beats smote her ears.

Rosie Gamgee

11-01-2005, 09:02 PM

It grew quieter as Amariel followed the man deeper into the bracken. The brush became thicker, and the branches of trees now cluttered out the sky. It did not matter much: the sky was clouding up once again. It seemed the storm that had cleared briefly the night before seemed to be returning.

They continued to pick a path through the brush, but here and there branches and thorns had to be pushed aside to make way for them. Amariel’s dress was snagged on more than one occasion. She carried her little brother, and the g.rls walked ahead. They kept turning about, asking questions. Amariel shushed them, bidding them to hurry on. Soon she heard the snickering and stamping of more horses, and they came to a small clearing. Seven or eight of the animals stood or walked about slowly. A few of them turned their heads with mild curiosity toward the group. The soldier let loose the horses he had led and they trotted nervously about, aquainting themselves with the others.

“Stay here,” the soldier said brusquely, but compassion was in his eyes when he looked on the children. He turned and contemplated Amariel for a moment. Fair-haired and broad shouldered, Amariel saw he was younger than she had first thought. She wondered what he thought of her, as his face betrayed nothing of his thoughts. Perhaps he only wondered how she had come to be with Demaethor, as it seemed obvious that she was not his wife. Or maybe, perhaps, something about her reminded him of a sister or a mother, a memory of a home never to be returned to.

He seemed to come out of his thoughts, whatever they were. “If you have need,” he said in the same rough tone, “the sorrel and the dappled grey are the fastest.” He pointed out two of the horses. Amariel stared after him as he turned and left.

“I am hungry,” Anardil said suddenly. At the word Amariel became aware of her own hunger. Distant clanks and rustlings made her keenly aware of what was going on outside the sheltered clearing, made her heart beat a little faster. Still, she glanced about her and set to gathering a few herbs for the children to eat. They tried again to ask her questions, to find out what was happening, to understand what they could not.

“Sit down,” she bade them. “Don’t move.” She walked a few nervous paces, plucking leaves here and there. The ground beneath her feet began to vibrate almost imperceptibly. Above the trees, the clouds grew thicker, more boding. Her hands shook as a low rumble built. It seemed to make every other sound fade. Amariel’s stomach tensed painfully. She forced herself to move, putting the herbs she picked into her dress and moving back toward her charges.

The children looked up at her coming, fear filling their eyes. “Are we going to be killed?” one of the g.rls asked. As they rode and as they had walked, they had been trying to ask questions. Now it was only Amariel and them, and all the queries had boiled down to just that one.

“No,” Amariel said. She sat quickly. The sound of hoof-beats was now too loud to be ignored, and her hands continued to shake as she dealt out the herbs.

A sharp whinny rang out against the trees from where they had been. Amariel’s heart froze. She forgot what she was doing. The horses about them startled. A whistle sounded, and then another. More whinnies bit the air, and shouts. Loud clunks punctuated the whistle and twang of bows and arrows. A cold breeze moved by eerily, and a drop of rain touched Amariel’s cheek. Someone screamed.

Amariel’s arms closed about Anardil as he crept into her lap, burying his face on her neck. She could feel his little body tremble. The g.rls had begun to weep silently. They huddled close. More shouts reached their ears, the sounds of swords and armor, cries of men. Someone was yelling something: a muffled, indiscernible cry. It was silenced abruptly. Amariel’s hand found the dagger that Demaethor had given her, and she gripped it tightly, almost painfully, channelling all her fear into a white-knuckled fist.

The sounds seemed to shrink, but they were getting nearer. Shouts were perceivable: traitor!, dog! and even mercy! pierced the air, rang off of the trees. Brutal shouts of exertion coupled with cries of pain. Amariel’s ears sought the heavy sound of an axe finding its mark amid the ringing of swords. The breeze picked up, blowing cold air into her face, sharpening the sound of the fight.

Amariel started as sharp noise began to come closer. Someone was crashing toward them, screaming curses. The clinking of mail against armor echoed inside her brain, her dry throat. She caught the fear-filled gazes of the g.rls as they gasped in terror.

A sable-clad soldier crashed into the clearing but a few paces from them. His image imprinted itself immediately in Amariel’s mind: bare-headed, wide-eyed from pain, mouth twisted in grim distress, sword hanging limply from a gore-stained hand. Blood soaked his livery, streaming from a crimson rent across his shoulder. He was drawing a ragged breath, a joyless chuckle spilling from his throat at the sight of the horses that had jumped and skipped at his sudden appearance.

Amariel’s heart delivered rapid blows to her chest. Her sense of feeling, touch, closed around her heart and her grip on her dagger. She could barely breathe as for a second or two the soldier was unaware of them. Then one of the children whimpered.

The solder turned sharply, his sword springing up as if under its own power. His bloodied face went though a series of changes as he saw them. One great stride had him on top of them.

Amariel’s scream turned into a wild cry as she rose, shoving the dagger between the soldier’s breastplate and the mail about his neck. Blood spurted, flecking her face. She was up to her wrist in the hot, sticky liquid as the blade buried itself in the man’s throat. The sickening sound wrenched her insides. The soldier’s eyes grabbed hers. Pain, fear, understanding and confusion fused all at once in his hazel gaze. She could not take her eyes away from his as he sank to his knees, gagging, choking, flailing stiffly as if drowning in a frigid sea. At last he fell against her feet, raggedly choking on his last convulsive breath. As strangled noise escaped her as his body sagged with finality.

The sounds of battle ceased.

Demaethor came into the clearing, taking in the scene before him rapidly. The children had backed away from her. The horses, as well, stood apart, wild-eyed and skittish. A puddle of blood surrounded her feet, stained the ground, her face, her dress. One hand was still extended out, open and bloodied. Standing over the gory body of some wretch, Amariel looked like a statue, motionless and aloof.

Dropping his axe and sword, Demaethor stepped quietly to her. She stared at the crumpled body before her, as if unaware of him, until her eyes flitted to his for an instant, then lowered again. Demaethor grabbed her hand, dragging her away from the bloody mess at her feet. Her arm began to shake within his grip.

She stopped walking and tugged her hand away from his. “Is it over?” she asked in a calm voice, but she was trembling visibly.

“Yes,” he said. A shudder passed over her. She looked away from him, back toward the man she’d obviously killed. Shakily she lowered herself to the ground, closing her eyes. “Are you well?” he asked gently.

She nodded, swallowing hard. As if she had been holding it back, a sigh forced its way out of her. She still trembled. “I’ve never killed a man before,” she said.

Demaethor looked upon her handiwork grimly, and contemplated his own bloody hands. “It is, unfortunately, all too easy.” He turned to the children. “Anardil, g.rls; come. All is well. You are safe now.” Anardil tripped to his sister and the two shared an embrace.