(Archive) The Fellowship of the Sword 57 - The High Pass

Elendor - Sunday, January 21, 2001, 12:23 AM

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Location: The High Pass in the Misty Mountains

The path here twists and turns about a dangerous drop. Clouds of mist loom both above and below. The footing on this cold and muddy ascent is tricky at best. The pathway leading down forks to the north into a small canyon, while it also continues westward. Above you to the east, the worst of the climb remains.

The rain beats steadily down upon the quiet Gondorian camp. The few tents that are set up, lie close to a cliff wall, withdrawn from the trail, and the deep drop that hugs the path. Snow still lays on the chilled, wet ground, making the rain all the more treacherous for any on foot, and the cold even colder for those unused to the heights. A small covered fire is lit in the center of the camp, but it is low, and gives off scant heat to those who would seek it.

Yet there stands alone a figure at the edge of the precipice, staring out into the mountains that surround him. So does Drenlyn look out upon a brilliant but strange world. A cold wind blows out of the east, making this young knight draw his cloak about himself, and forcing the knight\'s stride towards the low fire of the camp.

Rain, driven into icy needles by a wind that touches not the skeins of mist, lashes against the tents huddled against the stone, dripping in seemingly never-ending rivulets down the grey cloth. Taking shelter beneath a makeshift lean-to set near the fire, yet away from its smoke, a figure swathed in an oiled rain-cloak sits despondently upon a log beneath what little protection the flimsy roof can provide.

Eyes grey as the dreary spring skies gaze out from beneath the hood of that oiled raincloak at the approach of Drenlyn, the figure stirs, turning its wearied regard to the knight who bends his step toward the circle of light cast about that dismal stretch of muddy ground.

Amano, named rather by his voice than the pale features shadowed beneath his hood, nods to Drenlyn by way of greeting, uttering dryly, \"It may be that before this day is over, the rains will sweep us away. The very heavens seem to be weeping, and I know not for what. Merrier company may be had, but not here.\" He tosses a stick at the fire, sparks crackling from the damp wood. \"I long for warmer environs, but I suppose we cannot pick and choose, high in the mountains.\"

\"Stand stout, Drenlyn, it is not yet as cold as it will be.\" Maernus says, the cloak the Steward gave to all no where to be seen upon his body. \"It is not even as cold as it has been on the deck of some ships.\" The squire stands by the fire, seemingly bright for such a dire area. \"Though, nearer the top I shall wear my cloak... though hopefully it will remain intact to see it back to his chambers.\" He glances towards Amano, \"Cheer up, we shall only get to see a merry spot of company should we get over this pass alive, but remember... watch out for goblins and orcs and... well anything that moves, for it moves outside our camp it is surely not Gondorian and surely out to harm us.\"

Nodding a greeting in return to Amano, Drenlyn smiles as he crouches by the fire, \"No we can not choose where we camp every night. But I have heard that Elrond the Half-Elven\'s house is warm and joyous indeed, though our purpose may mar much of the comfort that we find.\"

Tilting his head upwards to Maernus Drenlyn grins, \"We will be on the look out indeed, but I believe that if orcs and goblins try to attack us now, they will be washed into the chasm by these torrents of rain.\"

\"Quite cheering, Maernus,\" chuckles the young Isilrim, as yet unfazed by the thought of having to watch out for goblins in the dismal rain, let alone being beset at this hour by foes. \"But if it is as they say, indeed,\" he addresses Drenlyn, \"of Rivendell, then no rain, bitter cold or orcs lurking in the dark should stay our travels.\"

He mutters, just enough to be barely heard, \"It is to my hope that therein we shall at the very least have our quest come to fruition.\"

\"Ah, but the hardest part of this quest has not even begun, Amano. We go now through the long, though easier, part of our journey.\" Maernus says, slowly thinking as he talks. \"If I remember rightly, the final piece of the sword we seek will lay in the shadow of the enemy itself back home in Gondor.\" He shrugs it off, \"Though... perhaps Elrond of Rivendell will tell us more and of where all the pieces rest.\"

Nodding at Amano\'s response, Drenlyn adds, \"Yes this is the longest and one of the more pleasant parts of our journey. It is as you say Amano, the final piece to the Key of the Amrothos\' prison lays in the shadow, and under the guard of the Enemy. That will be our greatest trial, but we must enjoy what beauty and piece we may find as we go towards the end of this quest.\"

Nodding at Maernus\' response, Drenlyn adds, \"Yes this is the longest and one of the more pleasant parts of our journey. It is as you say Maernus, the final piece to the Key of the Amrothos\' prison lays in the shadow, and under the guard of the Enemy. That will be our greatest trial, but we must enjoy what beauty and piece we may find as we go towards the end of this quest.\"

Little does Amano\'s expression convey, but a thoughtful curiosity, barely veiled in his hawk-like glance. \"What think ye both on Erebor, and the Pearl that was promised to be sent by the Dwarf-king? I do not doubt that they will keep their word, though the need for wariness seems to lie heavy not only on this riding, but those folk who guard their own lands. Small love, it seems, do they have for those of other race, though if I am wrong in this, hesitate not to set me aright.\" He expels his breath in a sigh, misting into a cloud of smoke into the frigid air.

Shaking his head, slightly, \"No, Amano... the Lord Prince would be no quicker to destroy an ancient heirloom and symbol of his line were a group of strangers from a far off land to come and ask it of him.\" Maernus says, slowly, \"But, you are right, I think they have no great love of the second born.\"

\"Yes, the people of Erebor hold small love for those who will not help them,\" frowns Drenlyn as he stares at the flickering flames. \"I think the King under the mountain did much more than was heard of by his people\'s history in many years.\"

Sighing Drenlyn pokes at the flames with a stick, \"But I will endeavor ever to repay the Dwarf lord\'s kindness. For only through a promise to return and assist the Dwarves travails does it seem that we left that realm with the Pearl.\"

\"Only fair and just, it would be,\" agrees the cloaked youth. \"What is it then that they need aid with? Surely it would be a dire peril, the folk of Erebor strike me as not those who would seek aid for small cause. No mention did they make either of their troubles, least not to those who did not go to the audience with their King. And doughty warriors indeed they seem. The tales were not wrong, in that sense at least.\"

\"No, they did not make mention of their need.\" Maernus says, slowly running a hand through his hair. \"I was at the audience and they made no mention of their need for which we would send troops to help. Though it was also promised of un-tarrifed trade between the Dwarves of Erebor and the Men of Gondor by the Knight-Herald.\"

\"Perhaps no word was spread of the need of there folk, or of the price of the jewel, but keen man may here much by simply standing in the street. I heard naught for certain, but it seemed that a deep gloom an threat hung over some of their folk, and I heard questions whether the tall southerners would use their swords rather than their tongues.\"

Standing up and shaking his legs, Drenlyn\'s gaze wanders about the landscape. Turning back to the figures by the fire he says, \"Un-tarrifed trade between the Lone Mountain and Gondor? That is indeed a price, but I fear that the dwarves would rather have Gondor\'s men to help fight, rather than the tariffs they save in trade. The darkness is spreading, and now I fear that even a caravan of the doughtiest Dwarves would not survive a journey to Gondor and back to Erebor in the coming months. The Dark Lord hates all who live free, and his attention is not only focused on Gondor.\"

A hazy yet warm sun makes a graceful arc toward the mountains. The approaching shadows lengthen toward the east.

A frown twists the clear brow of the tall Isilrim, and his words seem spoken in a voice cut-crystal and just as clear as it is sharp. \"What it might be that they fear so, I cannot imagine. Surely the shadow\'s reach can only go so far. Armies would need mustering, and weapons of no less potency - fear, the spreading of lies, as worms tunneling beneath the strongest of facades to wear away at strength and make valour a small thing that fades and dies...such as those assassins that are rumoured to haunt the walls of cities, preying on the guard, and those men he subverts to his dominion..\"

As if such conversations were not meant to be had about a small fire, in a deep pass over the Hithaeglir, the night falls, and light fades. Amano is not diverted, however, only saying quietly, \"I wish not to speak further of what bane the Dark Lord is devising such that even the stoutest of folk would be afraid. Or even if sending our troops would avail them if such were to fall over Erebor.\"

\"I think, Drenlyn, that the dwarves would find a way to trade with Gondor... with or without being attacked. Though I am sure it is for our men of arms rather than our men of trade they agreed to this.\" Maernus looks towards Amano, \"If such an army was about that the men of Gondor with the dwarves could not stop... it would have crushed Gondor long \'ere we left for this land. However, I would prefer to worry about what shall try to stop us from crossing this pass, at the moment, than to what the dwarves will ask of us at a time where I very well might be dead.\"

Throwing on a few more dry faggots on the small fire, Drenlyn sighs, as the red of sunset engulfs the High Pass, and fades quickly. Silent and still for a moment, Drenlyn stirs, \"No, such conversations are best done under the light of day if at all. And I do not talk of armies, for evil, as well as good, can be found everywhere.\"

\"I would not attempt to speak of hope at this hour, when we are well-nigh water-logged,\" smirks Amano, by way of reply to Maernus. \"But be not so gloomy the weather is bitter enough.\" He chuckles slightly, shifting to move closer to the fire and what little warmth emanates from it.

\"I can be thankful for one thing, that such inclement a night as this brings.. memories of home seem far more pleasant to remember.\"

\"Ah, you are right. However, I shall go and dream of being by the sea, nay... being on a ship.\" Maernus says, glancing towards his equipment. \"I need rest at this hour, so I may be prepared for the journey to come, rest well Amano... Drenlyn.\" He turns around, preparing some of his equipment into a basic, if rather wet, bed.

Smiling as he stands calmly watching the flickering flames engulf their new fodder, \"Yes, the night brings memories of more pleasant things, but the stars would bring back much more for me. But now I must go, and search for my own sleep. the day has been long, though restful, but we must begin our journey once again, and I can not go on unless I get at least one night of sleep for five days without it. Goodnight to both of you, and may your dreams be as blissful as your memories.\"

Doing as Maernus, Drenlyn makes his way to a small canvas shelter by the cliff face and raps himself in the skins and woolen covers of a crude bed. So does the fisherman\'s son fall a sleep, a smile upon his lips as the night encircles the camp on the High Pass.

Sleep does not come easily to the lone watcher by the fire. Of the three, only he remains, and of what thoughts he might dwell upon, cannot be told. The rain pours unceasing, rivulets of water trickling down the rocky path no other sound fills the night, but the seemingly endless rain. Reflected in Amano\'s eyes, the fire seems by the very sound pushed down into its bed of coals, until only a red glow marks the camp in the darkness.