(Archive) The Fellowship of the Sword 24 - The Lord of the Golden Wood

The Lord of the Golden Wood

Riverside Pathway along the Celebrant
You stand aside an energetic river, surrounded on all sides by the towering boughs of a 1 forest of Mallorns. A clear path runs alongside the river's embankment here northwards you can see it leading into a well-protected alcove beneath the forest canopy, while southwards the forest seems to begin thinning. Across the river (which appears impassable here), the forest extends both upstream and downstream as far as you can see.
Surrounded as you are, you have the distinct sensation that you are being watched.
Contents:
White Pavillion
Obvious exits:
Northwest leads to Western Riverbank of the Upper Celebrant.
Southeast leads to Western Riverbank of the Lower Celebrant.

Althea walks along the pathway, following the Celebrant downstream towards you.
Althea has arrived.

[Arnafel(#29017)]
Noon brings a lazy calm to the clearing, and the camp of the Fellowship set thither. Golden warmth bathes the woods -- for in this hallowed place, winter holds no dominion -- and in the drowsy silence, the soft chuckling of the river and the trills of birdsong are soothing refrains.

Yet, even though the Men of Gondor may while away the day in their tents, there is one who does otherwise -- tall and clad all in azure, in the cool shade of a great mallorn by the river he sits, head bent over a scroll, raven hair veiling his visage from sight.

[Althea(#15659)]
At the edge of the tree line, where the river grass meets the gnarled trunks stands a figure. Dispite the warm day it is wraped in a long cloak. Like the trees themselves it seems rooted to the ground and seems to have stood there forever.

[Arnafel(#29017)]
Perhaps it is the sudden sweetness of the melody the birds trill which warns him or perhaps, the noon seems more golden yet for the coming of the Firstborn maybe it is naught save the presence of the elf, akin to silent song upon the wind -- but whatever the reason may be, the lone man looks up.

And his gaze falls upon the one by the river.

Slowly he rises, to put away the scroll and glance one last time towards the silent camp -- to the riverbank he makes his way then and in his eyes is not the fear many among the Secondborn hold for the Eldar, but in its stead, a grave calm.

[Althea(#15659)]
Althea steps forward from under the boughs of the trees, the sunlight catching her green eyes and sending highlights of gold down her dark hair. She raises a hand in greeting and speaks " I am told that you speak our tounge friend and I see in you the hints of the Faithful that left the Sunken Isle long ago. But are not Thorondur. What is your name?"

[Arnafel(#29017)]
At the edge of that dappled green canopy, the Man of Gondor halts -- and there he bows with his arms upon his breast. Fair is his voice in greeting, and clear -- for he speaks not in the common speech of the lands, but the rich, ancient tongue of the Eldar.

" Greetings, lady. Arnafel of the Isilrim I am known as, Dunadan of Gondor as such things are reckoned."

[Althea(#15659)]
Althea smiles " Be welcome in our lands Man of the West. But I see that Thorondur is not here, can you speak in his place?

[Arnafel(#29017)]
" If need be", the Isilrim inclines his brow, " ...then yes, I will speak for the Fellowship."

[Althea(#15659)]
Althea nods and casts a look behind the man at the distanct camp " So then..come with me across the river.

[Arnafel(#29017)]
Still of a sudden is the Lord of the Isilrim, his clear gaze turning from the elfmaid to the woods across the winding silver ribbon of the river. And softly he murmurs, as if to himself, " So...it has come at last."

But there is no hesitation in his reply -- measured and even it comes, " As you will, lady. Lead, and I will follow."

Yet, is it eagerness long held in check, but no longer, which brightens those grey eyes?

[Althea(#15659)]
Althea smiles and beckons as she follows the river to the North " Follow"

Western Riverbank of the Upper Celebrant
You stand amidst a winter forest. The trees here are of mixed varieties - oaks and elms and even quite a few enormous mallyrn. To the northeast, the Celebrant river rushes by noisily, swift and cold. The underbrush here is fairly light, and you can easily make out a trail following along the river's edge. However, the brush gets really thick in the direction of the river, where more sunlight reaches down to the ground, at least during parts of the day. Across the river you can also see a golden forest, comprised almost exclusively of mighty mallyrn. You feel uncomfortable here, and have the distinct sensation that you are being watched.
Contents:
Althea
Bird
Obvious exits:
Southeast leads to Riverside Pathway along the Celebrant.
Northwest leads to Union of the Silverlode and Nimrodel.

[Althea(#15659)]
Althea turns to Arnafel " Know you how we cross the river?"

[Arnafel(#29017)]
" By the rope? Aye, I do."

Faint and sudden, a smile fleets across the Dunadan's visage, " Indeed, I found it little to my liking when last I was here...but needs must outweigh wants, as ever."

[Althea(#15659)]
Althea nods and whistles softly. the sound hardly carring across the river. Swiftly a slim grey rope is thrown across and Althea ties it to a tree before walking across.

Naith of Lorien
You stand riverside, in Dwimordene, amidst the grey bowls of the mallyrn and the conceiling underbrush on the eastern banks of the river Celebrant. It is here in these golden woods where the rolling foothills of the Misties come to an end and in the Elven realm of Lothlorien, often called Dwimordene or Dreamland by men, begins. It's Winter, and the mallyrn's golden leaves fill thier boughs as they sleep the winter away. Presently, the late afternoon sun casts lengthening shadows across the Wood as it begins its descent.
Contents:
Althea
Travel party(#22710Ve)
Obvious exits:
UpStream leads to Upper Riverside.
DownStream leads to Harbor Pathway.
Northeast leads to Forest Path.
Across leads to Western Riverbank of the Upper Celebrant.

[Elf-Guard(#6427)]
There is a rustling in the branches of the trees above the path as
the Elf-Guard watches carefully over your entrance into the Golden Wood.

[Althea(#15659)]
Althea says in Sindarin, "Follow me closely, it would not do for you to get lost"

Path through a Grotto
You have now ventured deep into the forest, and you are enchanted by the strange beauty of the place. Time seems to have slowed, for you have been walking for a long time, yet you are neither tired nor hungry. The strange feeling of being watched still lingers, but you dismiss it as merely an additive to the mystery and beauty of this ancient grotto. You think for a moment that you spy a single gray feather among the trees, but when you try to focus on it, it is gone.
Contents:
Althea
Obvious exits:
Northeast leads to Meadow along the Forest Path.
Southwest leads to Forest Path.

[Arnafel(#29017)]
Silent is the Isilrim as he walks beside Althea -- but there is little need of words to speak of the wonders of the golden land he passes through. For the light in his eyes is enough.

[Althea(#15659)]
Althea watches the human closely, but there are other eyes watching him as they walk deeper into the woods

On the Bridge
This bridge crosses over the mist-filled moat whose depth, even though you now stand directly above it, cannot be essauged. To the south lies the long white road, and northwards you can see the termini of the east and west runs of the continuous green wall which encircles the city. Here, they overlap as if arms embracing the citidel. Between the embrace, a gap is formed and within it you can spy the great Gates of Caras Galadon which secure this sole passage inwards.
Contents:
Althea
Obvious exits:
Northeast leads to The Gates of Caras Galadhon.
South leads to White Road.

[Althea(#15659)]
Althea stands before the gates of the city, which reachs up into the treetops. Beyound the gates you can see a golden stare wich vanishes into the trees. Much closer are sevral guard who look sternly at the human as he walks up.

[Arnafel(#29017)]
No longer are the thoughts of the Dunadan veiled as is his wont -- for clear now is the wonder in him, and sparkling delight. Indeed, are there any who could be untouched by the sight of fair Caras Galadon, even though they see it not for the first, but the hundredth time?

Yet, by the gates he halts, and there he glances to Althea with arched brow, " Do we go within, lady...or will the ones who have summoned me, come to us?"

[Althea(#15659)]
Althea smiles slowly " You get to see what most humans do not know exist let alone see. Behold Caras Galadon. But we will be entering and I will escort you to the one who wishes to speak with you."

[Wooden Horn(#37)]
Taking the horn to your lips, a clear note sounds out louder than you had anticipated. The noise carries upwards, deep into the heart of the city beyond the gates...

[Something(#37)]
From far above in the city, the horn call is answered three times.

[Wooden Horn(#37)]
When the 3rd horn sound fades, you notice one of the Guardian elves nod to you quietly, as if granting you something.

Great Stairway
Lamps of green and gold and silver shed light on as it stretches up into the arboreal city of Caras Galadhon, and down to the Bottom of the Hill and the city gates. The trunks of the mighty mellyrn rise like massive silver pillars to either side of the roadway, and their great boughs buttress a vault of gold high above. Here on a leveled spot of the path, the worn dirt trail turns to a marbled staircase rising further up the hill.
Contents:
Althea
Obvious exits:
Up the Steps leads to Great Stairway.
Down the Path leads to Green Roadway at the Gates of the City.

[Althea(#15659)]
Althea looks up the stair " We shall take breaks if you need it as we climb

Royal Chamber
You catch your breath as you look around at the magnificent chamber you have entered. Its floor is a talan as wide as the deck of a great ship, set high up in the boughs near the center of the Great Mallorn tree. The chamber is oval in shape, with walls of gold, the leaves of the Mallorn. The trunk of the tree grows through the center of the chamber. By the side of the chamber is the white ladder which leads down to the bottom of the tree.
Two thrones, one of silver and the other of gold, sit at one end of the chamber on a raised dias.
Contents:
Althea
Celeborn
Silver Throne
Eriant Patrol
Golden Throne
Obvious exits:
East leads to Hallway.
Down leads to Intersection in the Tree.

[Eriant Patrol(#5463)]
Eriant Patrol's commanding officer recieves a note from a page as Arnafel enters, and intones almost ritually, "Arnafel...Knight-Admiral of Dol Amroth, Lord Isilrim, Elf-friend, The Silver Knight."

[Althea(#15659)]
Althea waits for the guards to announce them before entering the room. She bows to the Lord Celeborn who sits upon his throne "Mae govannen Lord. I have brought before the Duindane Arnafel"

[Celeborn(#22343)]
It is a cool winter day, in most parts of the world. Frost rushes down the Anduin, while a harsh, sharp wind flows up the Celebrant. Many parts of the Rhovanion already have snow. But no, not here in Lothlorien. This evening a cool breeze enters through the open windows of the Great Hall, exposing the reddening horizon, all that is left of the setting sun. In Lorien, it is always summer -- not a hot oppressive one, but the warmly remembered one that would remind many of days, idled away as a child.

Even the royal hall displays some of this warmth. It is mostly empty, but except for that, it is a cheery abode. A crackling hearth blazes at one end of the hall, casting long shadows of flickering flame over inlayed silver, and wrought gold along the walls. The polished wood floor gleams as well. And at the far end, a wide dias rises from the floor where two magnificent thrones sit. But for the guards and the door Herald, there is only one more notable fixture in the room. A tall, Lordly elf of silvery hair, in stunning white sits quietly in the throne of silver.

[Arnafel(#29017)]
Not of the Eldar is he who comes forth in the wake of the Herald's announcement, and not for long years have his kind come to this place -- for he is numbered among the Secondborn, tall and proud. And bright with the glory of Lothlorien are his eyes, and in them is joy well-remembered and awakened again -- for the beauty of this realm is not one of which men may ever be sated.

Thither, where the crimson light of the dying day and the golden warmth of the fire mingle and flow into each other, he bows to the elven lord as he might to a king among his own kind.

" Hail, Lord of the Golden Wood!"

[Althea(#15659)]
Althea steps back, away from the Gondorian Lord, closer to the wall. Her hands behind her back she remains silent after the introduction, her gaze flickering between the the Quendi and the Man.

[Celeborn(#22343)]
For a long, solemn moment, the tall Lord of the Wood watches the approaching man. Aye, a Second Born -- a rare creature beneath the eves of these woods, much like his own kind are legendary among the lands of the rest of Middle-Earth. Finally, as the man reaches the point before him and bows, he rises himself and returns the bow with a nod. Still, his eyes are stern as ever. He has seen the work that flattery does and it has already cost him one kingdom. Perhaps two, depending on how one looks at it.

"You speak Sindarin well, Arnafel of the South," compliments the Lord's low and solomn words. Celeborn's firey eyes pierce down towards the man before him, and although the words were cordial, one could not just assume that the feelings behind these were anything but complimentary. He, of course, does not speak in the common tounge of Westron. Since this man knows his birth speech, then they may use it.

[Arnafel(#29017)]
No less courteous is the Man's speech, in the tongue of his host -- thus, and by his mien, fair and lordly, he may be marked as one of the old blood, "Not all in my land have forgotten the old tales, lord...nor the lore which was brought over the Sea."

And yet, keen and bright though his gaze may be, it cannot hold that of the elf lord for long -- for in these dimished days, the glory of the Dunedain pales before the Firstborn.

[Celeborn(#22343)]
To these words, a slight, but true and genuine smile touches Celeborn's lips. But not for long, though. "The old tales are not so old to me, Arnafel," he replies, "But, for all their age, you are wise in remembering them. An old sharp sword, is still sharp." Steping down from the dias to meet Arnafel face to face, a weighty presence seems to follow him and settle about his shoulders once more.

A gloved hand is raised towards the windows where rows of chairs rest offering space to view the wood outside, although dark right now. The Lord murmers, "Please. Come and take a seat. I would not leave a guest standing, when there are places to rest weary legs. The walk is long to my City."

[Arnafel(#29017)]
"I thank you, lord. The beauty of your realm I had remembered well, even if memory is but a faded reflection of the truth -- but I had forgotten..."

Sudden and startling in one grave of demeanour as the Dunadan, a smile flashes upon his visage, "...how wearying was the path which led thither." And to the seats he makes his way then, there to await Celeborn.

[Celeborn(#22343)]
Following closely behind, Celeborn nods as if expecting this. "Certainly," he says to the Dunedain, in a seemingly agreeable manner. The chair he chooses is a comfortably padded one, with deep cherry wood grains and a red cushion. "It is a long walk," he continues, "But, I imagine you've done more travelling than just that."

[Arnafel(#29017)]
And at this, the shadow which has driven the Men of Gondor so far from their land tarnishes the Dunadan's delight -- faded and lessened it seems even as a tapestry undone by time, and grave is his reply.

"Long leagues lie between Gondor and the Golden Wood, lord...but yet we have come, for we could do naught else."

[Celeborn(#22343)]
The tall Lord of Lorien, stern of countenance, and grave of demeanor, nods to those words. As he speaks, his eyes do not stray, taking in everything that is this man from Gondor. Is there judgement there? Yes. Definitely. A weighing of great scales.

"'We'... I have been told that you have more of your kin upon my borders," he says, "How many, and for what purpose do you have this number?"

[Arnafel(#29017)]
And perhaps, the Isilrim is not unaware of being judged thus -- for who may bear the weight of that gaze and not feel it? Yet, calm he is, and unflinching even as his measure is taken.

"The Fellowship numbers a dozen men. But not lightly did we come to the fences of your land, lord -- nay, not even desire to witness the beauty of the Golden Wood again would have driven me to it. This tale I have told in full to your emissary, Eldin...would you hear it again?"

[Celeborn(#22343)]
The Lord does not respond, but instead lifts his chin and gazes upon Arnafel beyond his nose -- a dreadful silence spreading through the room around him. Even the crackling of the cheery fire seems to diminish with the Lord's look. Down at the end of the hall, the warriors that guard this hall seem to become aware of the Lord's mood and shift -- nervously, perhaps.

Finally, he says, "No. I will not hear it again. Not tonight." He rises from his seat, a fluid motion but calm and measured still, "You shall be escorted down to a spot along the lawn, Arnafel, where you may rest and take refreshment. And I will send for your men to come here with you. We shall discuss your desires another time."

[Arnafel(#29017)]
Foreboding is the silence which shrouds the chamber breathless and still, awaiting the judgment of the elven lord. And as a statue hewn from stone is the Dunadan, his eyes lowered -- for he will not, cannot, defy the will of Celeborn.

And there is no mistaking that faint sigh when the decision is made, and spoken of -- and rising, again he bows to the Lord of the Golden Wood, "I thank you, lord. Indeed, you have given me more than I had dared hope for. Great is the beauty of your land, and it will bring fresh hope to the Fellowship whilst we await your summons."

And thus, escorted by the guards, he makes his way from the chamber, and into the land of emerald and gold which lies without.