By Uinen\'s Grace

Belfalas: Edhellond Countryside - Near the Mouth of Morthond(#14087RVhnto)

The air is fresh and clean, bearing a sea-tang along with the frangrance of pines and cedars. From its beginnings far in the Ered Nimrais, the cold Morthond flows ever southward through this country that Men still call Elvenland, where only a short distance northeast of here it joins the mighty Ringlo.

This rolling grassland is moderately forested, and between the trees grows hedges and thickets here and there among the pastures are pockets dense woodlands. Once the site of an ancient Elvish harbour, this land still bears the name of Edhellond, or Elf-Haven here it was that the Eldar built their Swan Ships and set sail over the western sea, never to return. Long since abandoned by the Elves, this area still retains the blissful rumour of those fair folk in both its tall trees and its name.

Dol Amroth itself lies to the southwest, along the Men Ernil east of this place. To the west is the ferry across the Lond Cobas, travelling to the far bank of the Morthond, and Anfalas. Northward is a paved road winding through the Eryn Laegol, \'Greenmantle Wood\' once beloved by the Elves of this counry there is situated the lands and estate of the Lord of Edhellond. The town of Edhellond is located to the southwest along a grassy cart-path.

The Sun is marching slowly towards the distant west, as the shadows begin to grow long, reaching to the east.

Contents:

Calenloth

Obvious exits:

North leads to Edhellond: Eryn Laegol - Avenue of Oaks.

Edhellond leads to Edhellond - The Commons.

Ferry West leads to Anfalas: Edhellond - Western Shore of the Morthond.

South leads to Belfalas: Men Ernil - East of Dol Amroth.

East leads to Belfalas: Men Ernil - South of the Ringlo.

[Arathis]

Some nights after Gondor’s defeat at sea, the moonlight illumes a small star barely above the mouth of the rivers Morthond and Ringlo, washing in ebb and flow upon the banks of Edhellond.

The metal’s gleam shows from the middle of a man’s limp figure, tossed over dark and broken wood.

[Calenloth(#27998)]

This eve, a small but festive occasion fills the nearby town guests trailing through the streets flit between walks and lodgings, music lilting from opened doors quelled by their close. Yet the host herself is long gone, maintaining the mantra of a memorable celebration. Word of a man - whispers traveling to the ears of Miyathel pull the young lady Girithlin from her peers.

A few bannermen lead her to mouth, gesturing to the figure, inciting her anger. \"Pull him,\" she orders, disdainfully, as if the men need any further direction they wade through the higher tides to pull upon the man. \"I would have no rumors of this,\" she instructs the lady who waits at her side. Perhaps a wayward attendee, she considers the figure, likely drunk.

[Arathis]

The Lord Arathis, veiled in parts by his sea-strewn locks and heavy beard, is lifted from what looks to be his wayward craft. His body is torn and bruised, and his breathing labored. A dark wound opens from a cleft at his breast.

Still, he coughs, awaken by the forces about him.

[Miyathel(#27998)]

\"Be careful!\" Miyathel\'s voice rings clealy above the lull of the river, casting annoyed wayward glances upon the soft ground that swallow the fabric of her slippers as her feet bring her closer to the bank. Her manner softens but the barest of hue - recognition of craft and bedraggled states save her the embarassment of vagrant guests.

\"Fetch a healer,\" she turns, an insistent hiss to her servant girl, waiting with impatience as her bannermen heave and hoe the unwieldy figure to ground.

[Arathis]

Prodded by the speech and handling, Arathis shifts to rise his strength however fails, and he at first only bends upon the ground.

He then points to his mouth, limply mimicking the drinking of a canteen.

[Miyathel(#27998)]

She meets the bannermen as they heft the man downward but no further requests are needed - the canteen around one snatched quickly away, pulling the strap free from around his shoulders. The second pulls his own cloak from his shoulders, spreading it upon the ground for Miyathel as she falls to kneel beside the prone man.

\"Water,\" the voice is charming, though firm,\" she offers the leather sac toward him, pulling the cap away. \"Your name?\" she probes further, blue eyes glowing in the moonlight.

[Arathis]

The water is drunk eagerly, and the canteen discarded aside. The same hand stays raised, bending then thrice inward in bid to be lifted upward to his feet.

Even as he rubs his eyes to better see the lady, the faithful captain answers her, \"I am Arathis son of Sirion, drifted among the wreckage.

\"Uinen has spared me where she has not our ships.\"

He hears then the music and falls silent. His hand retreats to his still gleaming pommel.

[Miyathel(#27998)]

\"Truly?\" Miyathel\'s hand reaches towards the man who calls himself Arathis, if to better see the face that might match her memory. The hand flicks forward, a twist of wrist and fingers, commanding her own men as they move to support Arathis\'s shoulders as he beckons.

The years have passed but the image remains sharp she peers through unkept beard and bruises to nod, the slight twist upward of her lips proves a smile. \"So you are,\" the statement replies, decisively. \"But risen from the wreckage yet - I should see you well.\"

[Arathis]

Now, at seeming recognition of the maiden\'s voice, Arathis\'s hand falls freely away from his pommel. He reaches so for the Girithlin men, and is heaved to stand by support of their shoulders.

\"I would see first my city,\" he responds then after settling, \"if I am truly by Edhellond, and Amroth is so near.

\"For what are the tidings, dear Miyathel? Ye sing here as if Southrons have not come.\"

[Miyathel(#27998)]

\"They have come in packs, short raids upon the shores but their forces do not follow.\" Darkness fills the soft blue of her eyes, the storm beginning to brew is cast aside to an easy air. \"Would they see us wait their moves with smoke and flame?\" she returns, spite dripping from her voice. \"Let them not see us fear, celebrate... while we watch.\" A narrow of her eyes pulls her smile to calculation.

But though Arathis stands, Miyathel remains unconvinced, surveying his stature with untrained but shrewd perception. \"To my own manse, I shall take you this eve,\" she agrees, \"But no further, not tonight, until I am assured you well to travel. For I shall not have your death upon my hands.\"

[Arathis]

Arathis waits to nod only to the lady\'s latter words.

\"For tonight,\" he answers then in turn.

\"Yet play no music before me I mourn.\"

He makes thus to return to the Girithlin manors in Edhellond.