(Archive) The Fellowship of the Sword 23 - Of Elves and Men

Of Elves and Men

Riverside Pathway along the Celebrant
You stand aside an energetic river, surrounded on all sides by the towering boughs of a winter 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:
Amano
Rowaen
Faengor
White Pavillion
Obvious exits:
Northwest leads to Western Riverbank of the Upper Celebrant.
Southeast leads to Western Riverbank of the Lower Celebrant.

[Arnafel(#29017)]
Calm and still, the camp of the Fellowship lies asleep in the clearing -- save for a lone guard who stands nigh the tents, leaning upon his spear. Yet, there is little need of such things in this place for the peace of the ages lies upon it akin to a coverlet woven of gossamer strands.

Yet, there is another who is awake, even the hour draws nigh to three past midnight -- by the river he kneels with his back to the camp, gazing upon the shimmering, moonlit beauty of the ageless woods upon the other bank.

[Faengor(#18480)]
Silently, a lone man moves trough the sleeping encampment of the Fellowship, huddled deep in his Ravenblack cloak as his steps take him to the edge of the Celebrant and the man who is knelt next to it while Tired eyes gaze at the Forest beyond with careful hope.

[Rowaen(#16595)]
A sudden stir, the flap of a tent being moved. And there a young lad steps into the blackness of the night. His raven-hair peeks into all directions, two sullen blue eyes sleepily gazing about. Clad in white is the lad, with three blue bands visible, betraying him as a Blue Squire of Dol Amroth. The young Nimothan, for it is Rowaen standing there, yawns sleepily, stretching, arms long.

It seems not clearly awake the youth is, for as he makes his way towards the river near, his walk is a bit unsteady. Furthermore his belt sits not as it should be, not straight. Only when he stands halfway comes a frown upon his face, eying fixed upon the lonely figure near the river. Curiously he blinks before silently continuing his way. The other he sees not, the cloak forming good coverage in this here night.

"Good eve..." speaks Rowaen softly, now kneeling down near the river side, two hands going under the surface of the glimmering river.

[Amano(#30032)]
With few things stirring in the silence that stretches along the banks of the silvery Celebrant, it might seem that the visit of the Elf-folk but a few hours ago the had just been a dream, vividly real yet real it had been, indeed, and upon the youth Amano's drawn, thoughtful expression lies proof enough that what had passed was no flitting phantasm of sleep. He emerges from a tent, hollows beneath his eyes, as though he had not rested enough ere waking, eyes still half-lidded in the half-light of the banked fire.

With careful, slow steps he brings himself near the fire's warmth, wrapping himself in the mantle he carried with him, his tall form bent toward the embers, long moments passing as he warms himself. It is only when he turns his head toward the forest, that the three others who had woken before him register in his sight and with a blink, he rises from his seat, joining them at the riverbank, though he sits a ways away on a log. "A good.." he glances to the skies above, where the stars have moved in their positions, and the moon hangs low in the western skies. "eve, sire.." Nodding to his fellow squire, and the guardsman, "Rowaen, Faengor..."

[Rowaen(#16595)]
At the sound of another voice, Rowaen holds his actions, looking at the side of the source. There his sleepy eyes fall upon the figure of Amano, fellow Blue squire. A grin curls around his lips, sudden disturbed by another yawn. Already the youthfull Nimothan grants a nod, yet halfway he suddenly halts and blinks.. Once... twice... Faengor? His brother?

Somewhat puzzled the lad looks round, only now discovering the one in dark cloak, being indeed... his brother! A gesture with his head, too swift for a nod seems to be given, before another name mentioned seems to pierce his with sleep clouded mind. Sire? Blinking amazed Rowaen looks aside, a more carefull eye given to the one sitting there, and yes it is the one his friend spoke off.

"My Lord... my apologies I had not seen it was you.. it seems sleep still has me in it's grasp.."

[Arnafel(#29017)]
Slowly, ever so slowly, the kneeling man leans forward -- and he raises cupped hands bearing the water of the river Celebrant. Akin to quicksilver akin to chill liquid fire akin to the light of Tilion given form it glitters with the reflected glory of argent moonbeams.

And as if it is a benediction, he bathes his face -- thus he remains for an ageless moment longer, ere rising. And to the three who stand thither, he says naught but, "Come."

And he is gone into the darkling shadows of the trees.

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:
Bird
Obvious exits:
Southeast leads to Riverside Pathway along the Celebrant.
Northwest leads to Union of the Silverlode and Nimrodel.

[Faengor(#18480)]
Silently, Faengor stands beside the man, feet firmly imprinted in the dirt beneath his boots. A paragon of silence as his gaze slowly turns away from the forest and falls upon Amano and immediately the guard nods to him assentingly, yet keeps his silence, his lips perched together tightly. Slowly then, his gaze turns to Rowaen, pupils widening as his eyes cross with his brother's, -- for oncemore, the Sergeant is reminded and disturbed of his presence -- yet, not a word is uttered, safe for an ugly grimace to the adress of Rowaen.

And upon the man's call, Faengor turns, silent and obediant, following the man to the North-West, without a word to signal his agreement, safe the thumping of his boots.

[Arnafel(#29017)]
There, with azure cloak drawn about him, the Lord of the Isilrim awaits the others in the moon-dappled shadows 'neath the spreading limbs of a great mallorn, nigh the river.

[Rowaen(#16595)]
Only brief is the silence he keeps, turning back his gaze to his hands in the silvery waters. Yet the moment Rowaen bends low, raising hands, ready to splash it into his face, then the man speaks... Again the young squire looks up, gazing about in wondering. Though no word he utters, standing swiftly, hands freed from the cold water, and following the man and his brother in their steps. And so he leaves the camp, not a single drop of water having yet touched his face...

[Amano(#30032)]
Quietly as he is able, though with a rustle and swish of fabric, Amano rises to follow the Knight's footsteps, paying no heed to the glance paid by Faengor to the younger Nimothan, nor to anything else that might stir the silence of the night. He walks swiftly, though with a tread lighter than the Guardsman before him, coming at last nigh to the mighty tree beneath which the Lord Isilrim stands.

[Arnafel(#29017)]
"Faengor. Amano. Rowaen."

To each as his name is spoken, the Silver Knight's gaze turns weighing, measuring -- thus he studies them, who is himself veiled from sight by the tides of night, save for glinting grey eyes.

"Two of you at least have seen the Firstborn and spoken to them...and the other will do so ere many days have passed, I deem. What think you of them?"

[Faengor(#18480)]
Silently, Faengor turns to Amano and Rowaen, his gaze falling upon them for a long time, a curious glint to be found in his still and dull eyes. Yet, without a sound his hands rustle beneath his cloak, drawing it nearer and tighter around his body as his gaze eventually falters and returns to the knight, ere respectfully taking a step back, for he has not met the First-born.

[Arnafel(#29017)]
"I ask this of all three. For..."

And to the Guardsman, Arnafel glances -- even if there is naught to show it, save the faint rustle of his cloak. And always, the bright glimmer of those eyes.

"...if you have not seen them Faengor, you have yet heard tales of them."

[Rowaen(#16595)]
Silently Rowaen stands, eying his brother curious the moment he steps back. Yet he says naught, not a single ill-look is given or wrong words spoken, perhaps assured this is not the time for their bickering to find continuation. Slowly his sleepy eyes return, resting upon Arnafel, as it is clear more words he wants to speak, the squire waiting patiently, his answer still hidden for others but himself.

[Faengor(#18480)]
"The tales contradict eachother, Lord..." Faengor speaks softly, daring not to disturb the peace of the night. Slowly, the words roll from his tongue, with husked and lazy tones. "The horselords find Fear the First-Born and their Lady." He frowns softly and turns to the Golden Wood, with a penetrating gaze "They are mysterious and secretive beings and although they have the wisdom of ages they seem seldom to share."

[Amano(#30032)]
Surprise passes fleetingly over the tall Blue-Squire's pale countenance at the Guardsman's answer, before he gives his own reply, his eyes dimmed with thought: "Fair indeed, sire, even more than legends say, far different and.. somehow removed from the trammels of the world, they seem, though from their eyes they have seen many mortal lifetimes and sorrow in equal amount..." here he concurs with Faengor, "yet veil their thought and gird it round with mystery. I cannot gaze into their eyes for long.

"They possess their own uniqueness, it seemed to me, that though they all have a beauty that far surpasses any thing I have yet seen.." he flushes slightly at this, "it was as viewing the same light through different, unearthly jewels with a thousand facets. A poor comparison at best," he adds, lamely, "but it seemed so, when they spoke. As we are different from the next person, so are they."

[Arnafel(#29017)]
"Rowaen?"

And no sign does the Lord of the Isilrim give of how he judges the Guardman and the Squire's answers -- still, patient as a statue of the Sea Kings untouched by the ebb and flow of time, he waits.

[Rowaen(#16595)]
Perhaps doozing off a bit, the look on the squire's face swiflt livens as the Lord speaks his name. Apparently awaiting other words spoken, he stands at first in wondering, slight confusement troubling his brow. Then a glimpse of recognition seems to shine in the sullen blue, Rowaen softly speaking his reply.

"Well... they are indeed a fair kin, one with many tales and legends written and spoken. Tis a legend on it's own their existence here. I fear I can add not much further, already my brother and Amano spoke what is generally known of them. Yet I share not this senseless dream of people standing in awe should one come near, not able to do as they normally would. Surely they require our respect for indeed they are wise and fair. Yet they have their own ways as such have we. In guarding our realm we seem the same, do we not have equal distrust in foreigners visiting our lands and cities? So I see no wrong in their protective ways. With all the legends surrounding them, tis not strange they prefer to be hidden then seen."

[Arnafel(#29017)]
Now in the end, Arnafel stirs -- forth into the patchwork of light and shadow he comes into that argent veil wrought of silken strands of moonbeams, "The tales contradict each other indeed, Faengor. From a lack of knowledge were they birthed for the most part, and such things are perilous. Yet, Amano and Rowaen have seen the Firstborn, and discerned something of the truth."

With bowed head he stands then as if in thought, raven hair shot through with stands of silver -- thus a little while passes, as such things are measured in these ageless woods, ere he speaks again, "A little of why they have becomes removed from us, I will tell you now...and perhaps, you will learn to see them as they are, not as we think them to be."

[Faengor(#18480)]
Faengor nods silently, closing his eyes for one moment as his head is inclined towards Arnafel in respect. Yet, once his gaze is placed upon the Silver knight, Faengor slowly bends trough his knees, grimacing and twisting his face in a painfull expression as he kneels towards the ground, for tired he is, yet his gaze is never removed from the knight.

[Rowaen(#16595)]
As the Lord Isilrim speaks, again Rowaen yawns, eyes falling half-closed. He opens them wide, sudden, frowning slightly. Soft words he mutters, before walking near the river, running near. "Excuse me..."
Swift is the descend to the bank, Rowaen kneeling down, hands stirring the surface of the water. They go beneath it, a cup made, and water splashed into his face.

[Arnafel(#29017)]
"In the deeps of time, when the Father of Men awakened and came forth into the western lands", begins the Silver Knight, "...they were found by the Firstborn, and a friendship grew between those two folk. Mighty were the Eldar in that age, first and fairest of Eru's children, and the flower of their glory had not yet begun to wither. And bold and doughty were the Edain who were their allies, rich in the lore they learned from the Firstborn -- few indeed of their kind walk now in Mortal Lands, but a handful may yet be found in Gondor and elsewhere. Thus they formed a leaguer, and long they fought together against the Dark One, of whom the Shadow was but a servant. Many were the Men who gained renown in that age -- Hurin Thalion, and Beren the One-Handed, Tuor father of Earendil, and Turin Turambar. But then..."

And a faint sigh escapes on a breath, "Then came the first sundering of Elves and Men. Know you how it came to pass?"

[Faengor(#18480)]
Silence prevails over Faengor as he listens to Arnafel with focused ears and widened pupils, yet his lips remain perched, for he does not know.

[Amano(#30032)]
A pause, before Amano essays a silent nod. Not yet weary does he seem, though his countenance belies it, along with the shadow that hovers in the depths of his eyes yet hearing more of the Elves, it seems, has given him more than enough energy with which to stay awake. The question that lingers in the night air, he attempts to answer. "The Battle of Tears Unnumbered." Nirnaeth Arnoediad, so he means, a name barely remembered perhaps in the memories of those mortal men born in these years. But he had not remained in the Library studying for naught, to say naught..

[Rowaen(#16595)]
Neither comes a reply of the younger of the two brothers, walking back up towards the other three, his face refreshed, the veil of sleep seemingly to be washed away by the clear water of the Celebrant. One hand finds it's way through the raven-hair, to try and create some order in the chaos at hand. Keen eyes, fully aware, he stands, still lips remain sealed, and as his Amano speaks, he listens with intens.

[Arnafel(#29017)]
"Indeed", the Isilrim inclines his brow to his kinsman. "For there was another race of men which had come forth from the East, and they took service with Maedhros the Tall and his brothers. Yet, some among them served the Dark One in their hearts, and they betrayed the leaguer in that dread battle. Thus was the might of the Eldar broken and humbled."

"And the Second Sundering...do you know aught of it?"

[Faengor(#18480)]
Oncemore, Faengor holds his silence.

[Rowaen(#16595)]
And again no answer Rowaen can give, the Blue squire standing still silent, eyes shifting from Amano to the Lord Isilrim as he spoke. Yet now, as another question is asked, the blue curiously gazes first at his brother and then to Amano.

[Amano(#30032)]
Wry now is the expression Amano turns, mingled with regret, to the Lord Isilrim. "Nay, I know not, Sire. I wish that I had read more than merely the pages that I took to heart! But of this Second Estrangement.. " he trails off, awaiting what may come in reply.

[Arnafel(#29017)]
"Akallabeth."

Quiet is the answer, and soft even as the night wind among the trees, "For the Dunedain grew overproud in their might and glory upon the isle of Numenor in the Second Age. Their empire spread to the farthest reaches of the world, and yet, they desired more. Thus, seduced by the lies of the Dark One, they turned at last against the Firstborn, and dared even to sail to the Blessed Lands."

"And Numenor was cast down." Unchanged yet, that voice -- for it bears the weight of a sorrow too great to be set down with mere words the loss of all that once was the destruction of that which all Men of Westernesse yearn for in the dreams which steal unbidden o'er them in darkest night.

[Rowaen(#16595)]
A sad nod is all the youthfull Nimothan gives, if by hearing the words again, all comes back to him. No words he still speaks, slowly his gaze venturing downwards, as if carrying all shame of the foolishness the Lord Isilrim spoke.

[Faengor(#18480)]
Grimly Faengor listens to the tale with focused ears, his gaze fixed upon the fair face of the Silver Knight. "O', why did we imprison the Dark One on the isle of Numenor? O' Why did we allow him to influence even our king? His chancellor he became when we were on the top of our glory, and look what shambled remains are left now that we allowed him to rule?" Sadly Faengor speaks in soft reverie, his words adressed to noone safe the thin air.

[Arnafel(#29017)]
"Why indeed, Faengor."

And after long moments of silence, the Silver Knight speaks again, "In the years which followed, the Two Kindred grew ever further apart, for they are unlike each other in most things. The Firstborn mistrusted Men for their past betrayals, and the Secondborn feared the Eldar for the knowledge they had, and envied them for their power and their freedom from the dominion of Death."

"Thus were the tales born, for the Children of Eru understood each other little."

[Amano(#30032)]
The tall Blue-Squire's gaze darkens, a shadow passing between him and the bright river, a hollow sadness in his mien for what had passed. "So came the rift between our kinds," he says, heavily, his very voice a lament by its sound. "A breach that I fear may not be healed easily, and never forgotten. I do not wonder now at the mistrust of the First-born."

[Rowaen(#16595)]
"Strive for glory and power... tis not worth it all, or so it seems to me. Tis a dark virtue, ever wanting more, never to be pleased..."

The words come soft, whispered even, for really the story told, the memory of the wrongs made, burdens the young Squire. Understanding for the foolish actions, he seems to have not, mere pitying those responsible for such sadness and foolish ways.

[Arnafel(#29017)]
"Would that all men thought as you do."

Distant is the Silver Knight's gaze, as if he looks beyond the mists of time to that which was -- and never can be again. But not for long -- to the two Nimothan he glances of a sudden then, sharp and swift, "Rowaen. Faengor. You are brothers, and yet, there is ill will between you. This I perceive clearly."

[Faengor(#18480)]
"There is, Lord" Faengor speaks grimly, narrowing his eyes as the subject is brought up. Slowly his hands move towards the cold ground as the Guardsman attempts to raise up from the ground and stand tall in front of the knight, placing one hand on the brooch of his cloak, keeping the cloak tightly against him while his other hand moves to the pommel of his sword in habit.

[Amano(#30032)]
In this having no business, Amano remains silent, despite his the curious look he gives the two brothers. Seating himself upon a rock, he draws his cloak about him, shutting out the winter's chill, his breath frosting upon the air in small puffs of smoke.

[Rowaen(#16595)]
An annoyed sigh cannot be surpressed by the younger of brothers, once more their feud here to darken both moods. How many words already spoken between the two, all leading to more anger between them, their distance increasing only... Yet his respect Rowaen upholds in regard to the Silver Knight.

"Yes, so it would seem my Lord..." comes the answer of the young one, spoken clear. Only once his eyes come across with those of his brother! Ah and what darkness it brings upon the fair features. As a second shadow, not to be lost by the squire, forever his part...

[Arnafel(#29017)]
"Peace!"

And the Isilrim raises a hand to the brothers, there where he stands in light and darkness, revealed in one, veiled in the other, "I do not seek to tell you how you must resolve this. That is for none to decide save the two of you -- yet, this I will say. Do not let what is between you, lead to rash deed or word...not here. The Firstborn know full well the grief that comes from strife between kin, and they little desire to see it again."

[Rowaen(#16595)]
"Then worry not, my Lord, none of such intent I would have, to seek bickering in a realm of the First Born. My promise you have, that I shall start none provoking while in this here woods, no ill-words, not even a single ill-glance or gesture. A promise, one that I will keep..."

The spoken answer is yet soft, eyes fixed upon the cold soil, as if the tensions between the two brothers was a shame for his person, even more now the Knight-Admiral warns them so...

[Faengor(#18480)]
"Do not expect a miraculous end to this fued, Lord. atleast not from my side" Faengor speaks with a high and pridefull tone, raising his chin as he adresses Arnafel, "This fued is embedded far too deap and I will not cast aside my dislike for my younger bother." The Errand Rider seals his lips together for a single moment, turning his gaze to the Golden Wood for a bare moment before turning back to Arnafel, "Yet, You warned Lord Indilzar, and now you have warned me, and I shall heed your warning, for I have sworn loyalty and will not endanger the fellowship with my anger towards Rowaen."

[Rowaen(#16595)]
"A friend once spoke to me, wise words, of how certain vitues can come between persons. The word he used was... 'pride'. Pride clouding one's common sense and clear judgment, preventing ways found to resolve matters, even worsen the situation at hand... Only this I will say, and no more, perhaps it as that friend spoke.." Here the speaking younger brother glances briefly at Amano, a faint nod seemingly to be given. "Of the House of Nimothan we are... one renowned for their strong will and state of mind... not easily will they give up... and not easily.. give in. Perhaps such a virtue.. is indeed within, in me, in Faengor, or in us both..." More he seems willing to say, yet obviously can not, for slowly Rowaen rises to his feet, eyes casted downwards once more.

[Arnafel(#29017)]
Surely, such words from the Guardsman will bring a rebuke from the Lord of the Isilrim -- and well they might have, were he to have spoken them at another time. Yet, for these few hours at least, the Knight-Admiral is subtly changed in manner.

And he says naught but, "It is all I ask of you. That and..." -- over all the three before him, his gaze sweeps, "...be ever courteous, no matter if some among the Firstborn are ill-pleased with our coming. Gentle words do not humble the speaker they show his wisdom."

[Arnafel(#29017)]
"Your friend was wise indeed."

And perhaps Rowaen's glance to his fello Squire does not go unmarked, for there is the faintest hint of amusement in the Silver Knight's voice, "But all that I wished to say, I have said...and kept you awake long enough in doing so. Go now and seek your rest...the night draws on."

[Faengor(#18480)]
"Your words will be headed, Lord Arnafel." Faengor speaks simply, never letting his gaze move away from the Silver Knight. "I shall show no signs of ill-will against the Elves of the Golden Wood, nor shall I comment on the foolishness of my brother." Upon finishing his speech, the Errand Rider bows timidly to Arnafel, ere turning to Amano and likewise inclining his head to him in parting.

Then, he returns to the camp with strong feet, huddling him in his cloak as he moves.

[Rowaen(#16595)]
A last sigh, one sad and grieved... "Yeah good night to you aswell.. brother.." Are Rowaen's last soft whisperings. And so the other of the brothers makes his way back to the camp aswell, yet not proud he strides, a mere normal pace, slightly bent, a hidden burden seemingly upon his shoulders. The white slowly fades, until completely swallowed by the blackness of the night. The younger of the Nimothan returning to his awaiting hour of guard...

[Amano(#30032)]
Slowly now does Amano rise to his feet, bowing his head to his kinsman, and to the departing brothers, before turning, his cloak shushing faintly about him. One last time, does he bend his gaze toward the silent forest of mallyrn. "I shall remember it so, sire.. and may our task here be favoured, in that we are allowed within the Wood." Without saying more, he sets off down the trail at a steady pace that belies not his tiredness, the white of his garment fading into the shadows.

[Arnafel(#29017)]
And as he had been ere the awakening of the three, thus the Lord of the Isilrim is again -- alone with the night and his thoughts in the pale light of Tilion.