(Archive) Fellowship of the Sword 13

Dawn

Dawn. Scarlet shards of sunlight streak the pale grey skies of a Rohirric winter morning. Upon the cold, cold ground, the ashes of a fire are jostled into life by the last of the night\'s watchmen, awake long hours ere their sleeping comrades stir.

In the chill, frozen air, a few scattered snowflakes drift about the sky is doing its best to force the issue. Wrapped in his thick, sable cloak -- the gift of Denethor -- Thorondur Girithlin stalks the perimeter, alone with his thoughts.

Sitting by the dying camp-fire is Morrandir, bearing the scars of the skirmish with the orcs. He is clutching a staff, and is simply staring into the flames. He gives the embers a prod with his staff, then sits back and continues to do absolutely nothing.

Pausing in his solitary rounds, the tall and slender Lord of the Golden Star turns his heavy gaze upon Morrandir -- the squire who sits dejected by the flames. Shaking his head in mute, if mild, disapproval,

Thorondur draws a deep breath --

-- almost a sigh --

And starts toward the fire himself.

Noticing the Herald\'s approach, Morrandir turns, and gives him a friendly nod. \"Good day, Sir.\" he says, squinting up at him. \"Forgive me for not bowing, yet I fear my wounds would not permit it.\"

Exiting a tent in the early morning Maernus glances around. He raises his arms, crossing them for a moment before they extend as the squire yawns with waking. He catches the fire, squire and Herald and begins to approach towards them. He glances around the camp as he approaches the fire.

\"If you think you need maintain such formality in the Wild, Squire,\" Thorondur instructs Morrandir with a smile gone sour on his handsome face, \"then you have learned little from our clash with those maggot-folk.\"

Joining Morrandir now as Maernus begins his own approach, the Knight-Herald adds, \"We\'ve come far from Dol Amroth, lads -- and will go much farther ere we\'re done, I fear. Here, you\'ll grow into Men -- I expect you to act as Men ought, henceforth.\"

A rustle, perhaps of someone stirring in another tent, interrupts the morning silence, presaging the appearance of one of the White-Squires Amano, from his tousled thatch of raven hair, freshly washed, though a little clouded from sleep. He steps forth from the tent, straightening, his grey eyes taking in the ashes of the fire, and those in its close proximity, the drowsiness gradually falling from his broad shoulders.

Without much more delay he saunters from the tent to within a fair distance from the others who had woken before him, his greetings subdued, perhaps reminded of the events before this day, by the sight of Morrandir\'s injuries. \"A good morning, sire,\" he addresses Thorondur, drawing his cloak tighter about him and nodding to the other squires distractedly.

Turning stifly, Morrandir nods to Amano. \"Greetings.\" Reaching up to his bandage, he shifts it a little, wincing as he does so. \"Why oh why did I remove this last night? It has not been right since...\"

\"Men,\" Thorondur Girithlin says pointedly, \"do not whine.\"

And on that subject, he has nothing more to say.

Looking down at the ground, Morrandir nods slowly. \"You are right Sir.\" he says quietly.

\"I know very well how much different the wilderness is from Dol Amroth, sir Thorondur. If you remember it was a similar time of the year that I was made a squire.\" Maernus says approaching the fire. \"I\'ve also probably been on more campaigns than Amano and Morrandir combined.\" He stretches his arms for a few moments. \"However, I believe we will go farther on this envoy than most other men of Gondor.\"

\"You see far for a squire, Maernus Calgar,\" Thorondur allows, \"this once, at least.\" Again the irrepressible grin springs to his lips, seldom kept down for long, and he laughs.

\"Yet this journey will be no laughing matter. Indeed, no few of us have already taken wounds in its service. Mark me: these will not be the last.\" Yet to such a grim pronouncement, the knight tacks this note: \"But we shall persevere, for we are the blood of Westernesse.\"

The tall young Isilrim, who has until now stood quietly, listening perhaps to the exchange, now turns his head, his countenance clear and untroubled though the thought of many perils must have crossed his mind. \"So our road leads to.. Erebor, then, sire?\" he inquires, his words soft, though beneath them a thin layer of chill composure seems to rest.

Steady, the eyes that swing to meet Amano\'s -- steady and hard and more blue than the Seas themselves, like the sky out of memory at the world\'s first dawn. The sapphire eyes of the Girithlins have long been a thing of contention and mystery -- but here they are only steady, level and firm.

At length, that probing, questing gaze abates, broken by a smile too wan to be radiant. \"Our road,\" Thorondur says, \"has yet to be discussed. The Lord Indilzar and I... each heed a different wisdom.\"

Maernus grins, \"Thank you Thorondur.\" He glances towards Amano, then towards Thorondur, \"If we reach Erebor will we go south for Gondor or will we then go for the halls of Elves in the north?\" He stops his strecthing, though he continues to glance around the camp.

Leaning on the staff, Morrandir rises to his feet, gritted teeth the only indication of the pain he feels. \"If you could excuse me, Sirs.\" he says to the trio. \"I...I need the dressing on my leg changed.\" He turns, and hobbles away like an old man.

Drawing a deep breath, Thorondur closes his eyes -- something in the words of Maernus, perhaps? Visibly relaxing, the taut tendons of his neck going slack, he raises his face to the sky as if to search the distant horizon... with his eyes closed.

But when he does so, he whispers, \"Do not ask me where our path shall lead. I cannot discern it, and those ways are closed to me now... it has been too long. Too long.\"

As though he were mulling the Girithlin\'s reply in his mind, Amano remains silent for long moments, the cold wind tugging at the cloak wound about him, his eyes lowered, as if studying the rocky ground before him for what answers he sought. Though nothing lies there but the barest patches of snow, and sandy soil. \"I can only hope, sire, that which path we may finally take will bring us to what we seek. I have but little wisdom, and have not strayed once past Gondor\'s borders.

\"But I would ask, if it is not too bold.. have you walked these ways before? To the faraway halls of the elves, which are to me but legend.. or the mountain of the Dwarves?\" The question seems hued with a faint eagerness.

Turning to Maernus, in response to his query, the Isilrim can only say, \"I know naught of how they plan their strategies, for that was the first time I had seen them. Such creatures must have some concept and knowledge of war... they were in a troop that was disorderly, true, but a troop it was.\"

\"The goblins,\" remarks Thorondur suddenly, his eyes again open and alert and his voice now certain and confident, \"shall not return. They are a cowardly race, and they fear our steel. The Riders will drive them back into the hills, I think. Much as would Dwarves,\" he adds with a nod to Amano.

Now does the Herald admit, \"Though to answer you, squire -- I have never walked their halls.\"

Of the Elves, he does not speak.

Maernus nods. \"Yes, the Rohirrim are good allies, however the goblins have troubled the lands north of Rohan before. Personally, I think that though cowards they be that they will try to attack us again, perhaps when we return and are weakened.\" He looks at the fire, \"Though I hope I am wrong.\"

\"We will not travel this road again,\" the Herald says to that, simply.

The other squire gives a small smile, though without humor. \"It is well, then though once beyond Rohan, we will be far indeed from home. These Dwarves, I have never seen before, truly, though I have heard rumors. And Elves.. I know less still. If in their lands the orcs do not wander, it shall be a glad thing for me.. and to leave this path behind. I am not too eager to stay longer.\"

And then a silence settles -- a thing unwilling, it seems, to be broken by the voices of Men. Yet afar and about in the land, life continues in all its constant cacophony, though these things are no more than the sounds of silence to Thorondur and the squires.

Finally, the Girithlin speaks again. \"Only as a last resort will I allow this company to steer towards the lands of the Eldar,\" he tells the pair of a sudden. \"For they are distant from us now, and removed their reverie ought not be broken by the likes of this...\"

And with that, he waves a hand about at the camp, a look of mild disgust appearing upon his noble features.

Maernus slowly begins to laugh, \"Surely you jest, Thorondur? You can not honestly think that taking a different road will prevent the goblins? They must know the land between here, where the Riders protect the land, and the north, where the dwarves lay, better than than any.\" He looks towards Amano, \"You\'re right...\" He glances towards Thorondur again, \"Perhaps, Thorondur...but if not from the knowledge of the Eldar, how do you suppose we rescue the Lord\'s Prince\'s son.\"

\"Even so Lord Girithlin,\" says Indilzar now coming into the circle of the camp, \"whatever our doom is, it is clear we cannot remain here much longer. Our quest is before us.\"

\"If you think I am afraid of goblins, boy, you have a long road to travel yourself, ere you find any wisdom--\"

A mild rebuke for Maernus, yet it is broken when Thorondur is interrupted by the Black Knight Bragollach. To that one now he turns, and says, \"Then let us seek this \'lonely mountain\' as the wizard has told us. For I will not lead this lot by the hidden ways, if even i could find them again.\"

\"That shall be easy enough,\" says Indilzar drawing out a scroll. He unfurls this and seats himself, \"For here is the journey of Numandil to the Lonely Mountain itself. We can follow his path up the Anduin Valley.\"

Opening his mouth as if to speak, Amano hesitates, as the knight approaches, continuing only after a considerable pause, and nod of greeting. \"So it is to Erebor that we bend our steps,\" he utters, finally, seating himself on a stone beside the cold embers of the fire, taking a stick and stirring the ashes as though half-lost in thought. \"How many days should we take to traverse that trail, at a goodly pace?\"

The Herald only nods at the map\'s presentation, distant and seemingly lacking in interest. \"Then we shall do so,\" he murmurs, looking off beyond Indilzar and behind him, rather than at the man even the question of Amano does not distract him from his... sudden distraction.

\"It is many leagues,\" says Indilzar answering the squire. He then shows the squire the map, \"We must transverse the breadth of Wilderland and then plunge through the Mirkwood ere we come to our end.\"

\"Perhaps so, Thorondur.\" Maernus looks towards Indilzar before he has even finished. \"Greetings sir Indilzar. How many weeks, think you Indilzar, it will take to get there? Perhaps even a fortnight or two?\"

Indilzar suddenly laughs and says, \"Nay Maernus, more like a month or two ere we find the way. It is a long way, and probably never again shall you travel so far. At least until you meet your doom and leave this world.\"

\"Time... time... time,\" replies the Girithlin, poaching the answer of the squires\' questions, looking back to the group with a sudden, fey sparkle in his azure-lit eyes.

\"Time is meaningless in the halls beneath the Mountains. Amrothos will suffer no more and no less if we pass a year, or five of them. Yet still I agree, we must hasten... for he and we are mortal flesh, and he and we, we too must pass...\" And in the wake of this odd pronouncement, he sighs.

\"Mirkwood?\" Judging from the intrigued, hushed utterance of that word from the squire, the word evokes stories of a lowering shadow, and a furrow creases his brow, as if darkness had passed over him fleetingly, only to dwindle and vanish. \"Do not evil things walk in that forest? I admit, I have not heard but tales of these lands, yet..\" He trails off, as if not wishing to speak of what he had heard.

\"There are evil things there squire,\" says Indilzar slowly and grimly, \"That is why it is not named Greenwood anymore, but Mirkwood.\"

\"Months? That is some far distance...\" Maernus says, glancing at Amano for a second, before turning his dark eyes back to Indilzar. \"Evil things? Well...I shall ask you what they are later, Indilzar. I think I will return to a tent currently and prepare my things.\"

Indilzar nods, \"Yes, we shall not tarry here much longer.\"

Now upon Thorondur\'s brow does there settle a faraway peace, as though some unseen aura of contentment has come upon him, and calmed him and in his eyes the fey brilliance warms, softens though it does not fade. Yet silent he remains, regarding the sky itself and nothing more.