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Member No.: 255
Joined: 8-February 06
(The Land of Ice and Snow roleplay continues upon the arrival of the host of Fingolfin to the outer lands of Middle-earth)
In the prior roleplay the great host of Fingolfin wandered long in misery, but their valor and endurance grew with hardship; for they were a mighty people, the elder children undying of Elu Ilķvatar, but new-come from the Blessed Realm, and not yet weary with the weariness of Earth. The fire of their hearts was young. Led by Fingolfin and his sons, and by Finrod and Galadriel, they dared to pass into the bitterest North, for the FŽanorians had taken the white swan ships over sea and burned them thus abandoning their kin on the shore of Araman. The people of Fingolfin (NolofinwŽ) endured the terror of the HelcaraxŽ and the cruel hills of ice. Few of the deeds of the Noldor thereafter surpassed that desperate crossing in hardihood or woe. Upon the ice ElenwŽ, the wife of Turgon, was lost. Many others perished as well. It was with a lessened host that Fingolfin set foot at last upon the Outer Lands. Small love for FŽanor or his sons had those that marched at last behind him, and blew their trumpets in Middle-earth at the first rising of the Moon in the west.
All the world lay then in wonder at the coming of the Moon. Seven turnings of the moon later as the host of Fingolfin marched into Mithrim, the Sun rose flaming in the West. Fingolfin unfurled his blue and silver banners and blew his horns once again, and flowers sprang beneath his marching feet. The ages of the stars were ended. At the uprising of the great light the servants of Morgoth fled into Angband, and Fingolfin passed unopposed through the fastness of Dor Daedeloth while his foes hid beneath the earth.
Note 1: Both the Moon and the Sun rose in the west before the Valar decided to change their course to that which we are familiar with today. Note 2: While Fingolfin was crossing the grinding ice, weeks after the burning of the ships, the FŽanorians had climbed east into Hithlum to the north shore of Lake Mithrim and set up a fortified position. At this time they were beset by an onslaught from Angband and FŽšnor was slain by the balrogs of Morgoth. In this time also, Maedhros, first born son of FŽanor, was captured by Morgoth in a parley of deceit.
We now shall take up with the host of Fingolfin as they near the Outer Lands of Middle-earth just before the moon rises. We moved ***LAND OF ICE AND SNOW*** to the Halls of Mandos and this thread is a continuation as a second chapter of the roleplay.
Member No.: 349
Joined: 11-September 06
Sentries watched her but let her pace the sandy shore alone. Artanis needed solitude to watch the stars and to listen to the murmur of the waves. They had arrived but a short time ago. This land was new to her, though it was where the Eldar first saw the new-born stars reflected in the Lake of Cuivenen. She wanted a new vocabulary for the vast rolling plain that stretched to the east, for the wind that blew the white caps into spume before they reached the shore, for the flowers that nodded their heads before the march of their arrival.
Her people no longer suffered from the extreme cold, the unending whiteness, the lack of food. They had passed over the Grinding Ice. They had learned how to endure. She had learned how much she could endure as well and now felt she was at the end of her ability to wait. Yearning so strong that tears heated her eyes filled her. And certainty. Whether it was in the rocky voice of the stream that slipped toward the sea or in the shift of the wind that whirled carrying the deep tang of pine in its eddies, Artanis knew that she would come to her own kingdom in these lands. But not before strife and not before the fate of the Silmarils had been sealed, all of their destinies were inextricably tied with the Shining Jewels.
Turning to look back at the neat rows of patched tents and pavillions, she noted how many less fires there were than when they started. But song rose, a harp rippled praise to to the Star-Kindler - they rested before the inevitable meeting with Feanor. He was fey, she thought as she made her way up over a dune to look out at the sea, but never without a strategy. His lust for the beauty of his own creation made him forget his true self, she pondered for not the first time. I pity the greatness of his fall. The blood on his hands has completed the transformation that Melkor began nor have I ever loved him or trusted him. She stood for a moment longer listening to the wind and her thoughts and then turned back towards the High King's tents.
Radiance lies on her face and enmeshed in her bright hair capturing the light of the Blessed Realm.
Member No.: 126
Joined: 29-June 05
"What is your wish now father?"
The candle-lit interior of the tent made shadows of those who sat upon the frayed cushions in contemplation. The ground under them was solid, no longer did the blue ice known so well during their journey threaten them with its danger. Just that day the great trumpets had sounded their entrance to the outer lands along the shores of Endore. The joy in those thrilling notes had caused his heart to leap into his throat at the significance. All the time and hardship they had faced was now over and they would march into their heritage from this point on.
Silence was thick and close in the tent as his father contemplated his words. To the other side and on his own cushion, was his brother accepting a cup of ceremonial drink from the attendant. His face was wan but he seemed now to be accepting the death of his spouse. If not for ItarildŽ, his daughter, TurukŠno would now be in the halls under NŠmo's care. FindekŠno wondered how his brother felt without his wife. Not having married he nevertheless could imagine the huge hole made of his brother's fŽa at the loss of ElenwŽ.
The silence as he awaited his father's decision was unnerving. Would things come to a confrontation between his father and FŽanŠro? How could any diplomacy bring their people together? Surely any trust had been destroyed. Would Maitimo be able to speak to him about the actions of his father? Would they still be friends, even now? There were many questions he had in his mind but none could be answered with certainty until the time came to play out the results.
The tent constricted Fingon's thinking, causing in him a longing to see the great outdoors and take in the fresh new air. Outside the stars would shine upon the hills and vales of the new land and comfort him.
"Will we search for FŽanŠro's camp?" His question hung in the thick air of the tent.
The statistics on sanity are such that one out of every four of the Noldor leaving Aman are suffering from some form of mental illness. Think of my three best friends. If they're okay, then it's me. Fingon's Biography Land of Ice and Snow
Member No.: 57
Joined: 5-January 05
Arestore stood outside of his lord tent as a dutiful soldier should. He was eager though to find Feanor. He had a few pranks of his own to play. Many of the Teleri who had died during the Kinslaying had been friends. The elder elf did not lay blame on Nolofinwe's kin. All of it, at least in his mind could be layed at the elder son of Finwe's door.
When they had gotten off the ice by the grace of the Valar, Arestore vowed that he would make Feanor pay dearly for all those that were lost. When Turgons wife was lost the dark haired warrior had spent many sleepless nights worrying about him. It was for that reason that he wanted to bring the Kinslayer to the justice he so richly deserved. The Silmarils could be kept by Morgoth until the last battle as far as Arestore was concerned.
"Now if I could only get the chance." he muttered to himself.
Erestor, Chief Counsellor of Imladris, Collector of weird and arcane objects. Can I offer you an Elven Gumdrop? May the Valar favor your snowboard.
Member No.: 471
Joined: 11-June 07
Fingolfin, NolofinwŽ, Noldor king from Valinor. Son of FinwŽ and brother of FŽanor. Small comfort did the names offer him now.
They had braved the grinding ice, and they had lived. Though the cost was great. ElenwŽ, his daughter in law was dead, frozen and starved on the Ice Desert. They had born fourth her body, to solid land, here, along with the many other Noldor would she lie. A child of Middle Earth.
He looked round his tent, at last pitched on solid, blessed earth, at his children, Fingon, Turgon, Aredhel and Argon. All of whom looked back at him expectantly. What was to be done? Were they to march east, to face first FŽanor and then Morgoth? Or would they ride south with the stars and live in Beleriand? For the road west was now, and forever blocked to them.
Fingolfin, NolofinwŽ, Son of FinwŽ and brother of FŽanor stood wearily, and looked into the eyes of his sons. "What now shall the Noldor do? Wither shall we go amongst Elves and Dwarves. Amongst Ents and Orcs?." He paused, thinking of the enormity of the task that he knew to lie before him. "Already we have born out pain and suffering at the hands of our enemies, Morgoth as killed FinwŽ, my father, and our high king. He has stolen the Silmarils, blessed and sacred gems of the Noldor race. For these misdeeds we march against him, and for these deeds shall we make him pay. But, we have also been wounded and dishonored by our friends, our closest kin. FŽanor, the man I called brother, led an attack on our kin the Teleri, and betrayed us to die in the frozen north. For these misdeeds we march against him, and for these deeds we shall make him pay."
For all of his boldness, within his heart Fingolfin despaired. To march to war on his own brother. But he also knew that there was such strong ill-feeling for the host of FŽanor amongst his own host that to do otherwise would admit defeat and ratify FŽanor's claim that Fingolfin was but dead wood, of little use.
"Yet, before we ride out, we will camp here, and take rest. For the Ice Desert has left us all weary and drained." with that he sat down again, suddenly tired. And yet, there was some feeling in his soul that told him that beyond the waves, the Valar were at work, and that their labors would be to the aid of the Noldor, perhaps not intentionally, but it would be to their aid. And it also told him that here, close by the burnt Swan Ships was were the Noldor were to see this new creation. Yes, they would await it here.
Member No.: 122
Joined: 29-June 05
LaurŽfindŽ patiently watched the eastern stars climb high in the sky then drop down in the west. The eastern edge of the world drew his eyes to the starlit heights, to the sloping of rock and beyond where things out of his reckoning lived and grew. His imagination ran wild with his thoughts of the new land. The grinding ice and the sea were behind him now and a breeze blew upon his back from the sea as if to push him onward into this new land and to his destiny. The very air was different and hinted at dangerous adventures that thrilled the very blood in his veins.
The Elf watched the rising lowlands toward the heights for movement. Had the FŽanorians heard their trumpets? Would they greet them as returning wayward brothers or as enemies? Would the half-brother of NolofinwŽ see the worth of additional elves, his kin, now arriving?
As if to answer his thoughts he walked forward through the rough sea grass into a depression and out again. A familiar noise attracted his attention. A crystal rivulet flowed toward the sea singing the song all water sings, joyful at its freedom and its ability to travel. LaurŽfindŽ leaned down supported by his hands upon the stones and smelled the water. A drink followed, sweet and fresh, it awakened something in his mind and he grew comfortable with his decision to leave his home, even with all the hardship and loss.
Getting to his feet he looked back at the dark and frayed points of canvas, diminished by their journey over the ice to only a few tents of the many they had started with. Quietly he retraced his steps toward the site where his sister and brother kept their meagre possessions on the aged skid they had used to cross the ice and would now use to scrape across the first part of their journey on solid ground.
Artanis walked out of the dark beyond the camp flanked by two guards. She was moving toward her Uncle's tent. The guards walked a little way before turning back to their posts. It was then that a flare of fear spiked through his heart and he noticed other guards, spears in hand in strategic locations. He had not thought of danger and it shocked him. Would Morgoth dare to attack them?
I am depressed because of the state of my life at the moment. I've got this horrible feeling that if there is such a thing as reincarnation, knowing my luck, I'll come back as me!
Member No.: 349
Joined: 11-September 06
The stars climbed higher bright diamonds burnishing the night sky. Artanis felt their beauty. An undefined restlessness made her look back away from the glare of the torches at the High King's pavillion, one last glimpse of the stars before she let the door attendent push back the flap for her to enter.
"Ah," she said with a nod of the head to Arestore, "you watch over the King tonight, we are well protected then."
Heat and the perfume of aromatic wood burning greeted her, a sharp contrast to the cold crisp air. Many were in attendance on the King now that the long march had finished. The King's sons were here, off to one side yet half turned toward the center of everyone's attention. Finrod looked up expectantly when she entered and smiled but looked behind her as though waiting for someone else to enter. All of the King's advisors watched the King waiting for him to speak. Weariness stooped the High King's shoulders, Artanis controlled her shock from showing at the sight of him. She had not waited on the High King for several star turns and she wondered how he had managed to conceal the toll of the march for such a long time. Perhaps it was because they had nearly reached their goal, she thought, as she dipped her head in respect to him.
The King's attention came back to them slowly as if he had travelled a great distance; he acknowledged her presence with a wave of his hand. With a silent gesture he offered her a campstool. She loosened her cloak in the heat and still without exchanging a word sat near him, one more of the expectant audience that waited on him.
Radiance lies on her face and enmeshed in her bright hair capturing the light of the Blessed Realm.
Member No.: 409
Joined: 17-January 07
Olůte sat beside the fire across from Meneltir. She had walked so far for so many days and lived each hour in danger. She had watched as some of the travellers had died of cold in the harsh wilderness. The hardest time was when her friend, Idril, had lost her mother. By that time Olůte was so tired that the sorrow seemed to overwhelm her. She had tried to comfort Idril but had mearly grieved with her. The death had reminded her of how much she missed her own mother and made her wonder yet again if she had made the right choice to follow her father and her brothers rather than to return with her mother to seek forgiveness of the Valar.
She sighed and wrapped the warm cloak around her. Meneltir threw a heavy blanket at her which nearly tipped her backwards with its weight. The gesture made her laugh however and brought her back to the present. It reminded her that they had survived and they were getting back to normal.
She spoke to him to let him know that she would think about cooking something hot for him in the morning if he managed to hunt some small game or fish for her to roast. "Else, it will just be hot tea and old cakes."
She stood up. Meneltir was busy rummaging about in one of his bags so she simply told him she would be right back and then she climbed a little hill where she could sit and look at the stars. She found that if she looked down the hill she could see the flickering lights of the campfires While if she looked up she could see the flickering stars. Always there seemed to a reflection of one thing or another in life.
She sat and allowed the memories of her lifetime to come to her. Some were joyful but the most recent memories were sorrowful and she found tears flowing down her cheeks. She missed her mother and began to regret her decision to come here. Yet there was also the desire for adventure that was growing within her heart all the time. She longed to go out and see the sights this land had to offer.
One thing she did not desire was more confrontation with the sons of Feanor. She had heard many words of threat spoken against that family and she dearly hoped that the two groups would not meet any time soon. She could not bear the thought of more deaths. She needed time to grieve for those who were lost. And at any rate the death of a foe who was also an elf usually lead to the death of someone else who was greatly loved.
She looked down and saw her older brother standing up watching the others. She wondered if he could see her sitting down in the tall grasses. She guessed that he could not.
Member No.: 476
Joined: 19-June 07
**** The flames of the Teleri Swan Ships reflected back a fey, brilliant, incandescence from FŽanaro's eyes, so that for a moment, his form, his flesh, seemed only an illusion, something formed out of the light, numinous, which might at any moment fade and leave naught but the flagrant blaze of his soul.
He turned away, striding past his sons, those who followed him, saying nothing, expecting only instant obedience - which he had had, Maitimo had stood aside and not set fire to the fair vessels, hoping, believing that his sire would send ships back to the host of Fingolfin on the hither shore.
Let them go back to the Valar's cage of gilt and marble ! The mane of ebon hair swirled catching ember glints from the blaze as he turned his head. '' We ride! '' He said in his resonant voice.
As the Valinorean stallion eased into its effortless run under the starlight, he spared one thought to one abandoned in Araman, and the door opened in his mind:
He stood in an effulgence of beauty, a light like water, which limned his very hands as he lifted one , delineating each slim finger with like a gentle aura... the mingling of the Lights....a gift, a blessing to all Aman.
Did he know, then, that one day, the Trees would be no more? Did he know that in a bitter irony, the very jewels he formed to capture their preternatural glory would , in some twist of Fate , bring about so much death, so much sorrow. Did something move him to to imprison their essence? So many indeed thought afterward, and it was not untrue; but there were some who knew that his first desire had been ignited by the sight of the Light running over silver-gold hair. The long locks of his half brothers daughter, Artanis. That being denied him, he strode in dark thought to the givers of the luster, to Laurelin and Telperion. And thus the beginning.... of the end...
In truth, he did not think of these things as he stood on Ezellohar, his mind thought only of how it might be accomplished. The Noldo had long ago discovered the raw gems of the earth, indeed Aman was so blessed with such things, and precious metals that the profligacy caused them to toss these glittering stones upon the sighing beaches of Elende.
And then FŽanaro was born, and created new gems , in the hot and cold forges of the Smiths Halls, blending the earths gifts to make new , as with gems, so with metals. Indeed the time of the greatest flowering of the Noldoli was never in the Outer Lands but in Aman, where they outstripped the Valar, their teachers just as children may sometimes learn and come to surpass those who tutor them .
* And that glory exists still , beyond the world, although the Spirit of Fire and the Trees have long since passed...* .
( Yet it is prophesied , and is the estel the Eldar hold in their hearts, that after the Dagor Dagorath, the Last Battle, that FŽanaro will be reborn, and that the Silmarils of the Earth and Sea will be recovered , and Ešrendil will bring the Silmaril of the Air, and all be returned to their maker - and FŽanaro, of his own will will let Yavanna break them, and the Pelori will be levelled and the Light well forth across all Arda, and the Powers and Elves will become young again and the all their dead be reborn...)
It was at this same time, that he had passed through the Court of Waters, in the palace of Tirion, so named for the many fountains that played there, that he had turned , his glance captured by the opalescent shimmer of a fair head. As one whom, like all his race, loved beauty, in all its forms, and as a craftsman and maker, he had stood, perfectly still for a moment, enraptured; before he realized whom it was he gazed at.
He did not love his half brothers; perhaps he believed that his atar should never have married after Miriel's fading; for his was a jealous nature and FinwŽ loved Indis of the Vanyar. And so, he dwelt apart from NolofinwŽ and Finarfin , although in the same great palace, but his steps took him often away , and most frequently to his smithies and forges, or on long rides across the lands of the Valar, seeking inspiration for his creations. But he was not unaware of the offspring of his half brothers; NolofinwŽ's children shared the raven traits of his own line; but Finarfin's were called the '' Golden House '', for he and his get bore Vanyarin hair.
Artanis ... . her mother-name was Nerwen, '' Man-Maiden; but the connotations did not bespeak any maleness in her. Nay, it was that she was taller than most of the Quendi, [female elf: Quenya] and strong, but graceful withal, regal of carriage, proud and high hearted. As she stood thus, close to the pluming spray of a fountain, she appeared as a statue, carved and etched crowned by hair which had been blended from molten gold and mithril . yet that would cool and harden, grow cold; this was alive... warm. That light... that . His thoughts had the instant flare of intensity of all those whom imagine and make things of beauty, with all the possesiveness of genius. Pellucid glory seemed to aureole her as if her hair itself had an inner light of its own. He moved then, all barely-contained energy, and purpose, noiseless, yet his presence caused those in the court to look up, as if his spirit touched each one with heat as he passed, magnificent and oblivious to any but the one his eyes were fixed upon. Reaching her, he saw, for a moment, her profile, perfect as if he had moulded it himself, the straight nose, wide brow and double bow of lips, the piquant chin and the white column of her throat, before she turned to look at him, and in full, her face was no less lovely. It was not a soft beauty; but he did not admire such; it was haughty, queenly, great eyes rimmed by long lashes. It was the closest he had ever been to her, and the proximity allowed her very perfume to wash over him. '' Artanis. '' His voice rang like a bell , struck on a low, intimate note, sounding both as a question and a discovery. His eyes, looking down into hers, suddenly flamed from within , diamonds set before a white hot forge-fire, with that same fierce, almost savage resplendence. They were ever windows to the spirit that burned within him, and that now, held a tempestuous, violent .... desire He felt it; it ran through him , his blood and nerves startled into passionate hunger, which , on some level, surprised him, since he no longer felt such things for Nerdanel. And this was apparently, according to their people , the natural way of things; but FŽanaro's fires did not curl down to embers, not in desire, and not in the essential passion of his nature. For his fŽa was all that he was, given housing in flesh until his death, when it consumed his hrŲa utterly. In a distant corner of his mind, he was aware that this was wrong; that she was close kin. then the thought withered in the heat of that primal want, as if his mind judged it too petty to matter. And he smiled, a glittering blaze of ice-white teeth; the smile of a hunter who suddenly prowls close to its prey and finds it waiting, without need of the hunt to persue it. '' Artanis. I will make a jewel to hold the light of thy hair. '' He murmured, the tone intimate, soft, only for her to hear. The thick sweep of his own jet locks brushed the silk of her gown as he leaned , raising a slender hand to touch the gilt-gold tresses. '' One strand . '' He smiled , then, black lashes veiling his eyes for a moment as the contact of his hand against her hair pulsed through his veins, and when he opened them they were unearthly. '' One strand, and I will capture that beauty forever. '' He whispered, his voice intimate as a lover's.
The great Noldo may have been obsessed, all his thoughts focussed on one thing, and when his mind was bent thus it's sheer will was enough to have things seemingly form under his hands as if leaping into life , driven there by their desire to appease his vision. He was not, however, obtuse, and he felt the moment that the horror, the antipathy flared up within Artanis, in eyes and stance, in voice and expression. So violent was the rebuttal he sensed , that for a heartbeat it gave him pause, as he questioned himself and his own hidden intent. But , the proudest of a proud people, FŽanaro lived, breathed as if he were a lord of all , even in Aman, and added to that was another facet of that arrogance, of one whom also cared little whom was , an almost contemptuous dismissal , even of the Valar.
She is thy niece ... That was surely at the root of her reaction , and because there was nothing he feared to look upon, even those depths within him where the fire burned darkly, he stared at the implications of it, and then discarded it, as something without use , or worth. Yea, she is .. and so? was his mental answer; admitting it's essential wrongness , and then challenging that, one of the most deep rooted of Eldalie laws. He was FŽanaro , he was above such Laws.
And none, but one, had ever refused him anything; it did not admit of dispute, he expected obedience, within his family, from any-one he dealt with, perhaps even from his own father, for his fŽa was certainly the stronger , and his will adamantine. He had no experience in denial, or defiance. But the shining blue of the lovely eyes of Artanis held such loathing, as if she gazed upon something unwholesome, unclean and vile, and fear there also ; she believed that he might take what he wished without heeding her - and indeed, that was not beyond him. Only one thing prevented him from reaching out again, taking a handful of that watered-silk hair and plucking a strand. Pride. And at her words, that pride, woven with anger, raged in his eyes until they seemed faceted crystals in which burned some fell power. And FŽanaro , like a storm, strode to Ezellohar, and the Trees, whose mingled Lights in Artanis' hair, had enthralled him, pierced him with such potent, such dangerous desire, and so... and so....it began....
I WILL capture their Light, Artanis, the light of thy tresses, the Light of the Trees; and thou wilt indeed remember thy refusal and thy words, and thy horror, and will wish with all thy heart that thou hadst acquiesced!
Hearing the hoofbeats behind him as his people followed him, a growing thunder echoing through the air. he spoke into the rich, wild, wind which streamed with his passing:
'' There was another way for thee Artanis, vanimanya . But now it is beyond even thine influence Finarfiniel. Go back to thy chambers of silk and silver. Here we will make our own Laws. '' And then he turned his head eastward and cried.
'' Morgoth Bauglir! We come for thee! '' And his voice carried like a trumpet across the land. ***
Member No.: 349
Joined: 11-September 06
She sat and remembered.
His words were like a forgerís hammer striking sparks from the depths of me. I left longing for new lands and a realm where I would be queenÖbut without him, ever loathe to say his name, never under his hand, never as my liege lord.
Longing for new lands, new experiences, and new conquests had ignited her. Now, the intensity of her eyes were banked as she thought on the peace of the wide, green fields of Aman, the long white strand of the shore washed by the sea under the glowing stars. The long march had taught her the price of longing for greater fields; the Eldar had paid dearly to cross back into the lands of their birth - all the more reason to hold tightly to what they gained. She lifted her eyes to her uncle, the real High King. What would he decide? Would they give chase to him, to FŽanaro?
They followed in the wake of his folly, each of them caught in its pull. Perhaps the High King could see outside of the tangled threads that FŽanaro had woven them and, at times, she caught a glimpse of what they could be. Was she too caught in a search for fool's gold?
Her thoughts turned to FŽanaro again and veered away in disgust. She pressed her lips together grimly, reminding herself once again that naught had she done to wake his desire for her. A deep instinct had informed her of some danger in him though he wore the name of uncle. A name wrapped in happy memories and love among her mother's kin but which did not ring true when she gave him that title of respect. With the passing of time she had let that instinct be overridden by the courtesies at court. His face was fair, he distilled all that was graceful among her kin, and power was in his hand and in his eyes. Yet, the flame of his passion fed on the will of all that came into contact with him as a great fire sucked the oxygen from a burning house. She had been reprimanded for his coldness to him but she had held her ground, unwilling to come closer to that fire.
Little did she feel vindicated for all her years of holding aloof from him; had set others aflame and set ice in her heart. And she had known the icy grip of fear, for one instant, when they locked eyes the day he asked, nay, tried to command a strand of her hair. The fear was not for herself, there was no love lost between them and without love he would not know her nor gain the tiniest part of her. In that instant, she understood him but who would hear her if she were to tell? Here is one who holds himself above Eldar law. He had marred her too, in his way, though he would never know it. Doubt grew in her from that day, many seeded. Had she been wrong not to tell others of what she felt? Would it have spared them the blood of their kinsmen? But she had not spoken to others of his trespass; she had felt sullied by it.
Closing her eyes tightly she willed away the memory and opened them onto the plight of her kin. She stood and approached the High King. Her movement created a rustle of movement in the tent, eyes turned to her as she knelt by him. Her whisper was loud in the stillness.
"Do not tarry here, Sire. He goes before us and we must find him whether it is for justice or reconciliation if he would have it and if we have the heart for it. I hold my counsel as to what it should be, sire, only I ask you, do not let him wreck more havoc."
Radiance lies on her face and enmeshed in her bright hair capturing the light of the Blessed Realm.
Member No.: 409
Joined: 17-January 07
At last, Olůte stood up again. Her limbs felt stiff and cold. Slowly she wandered back down to join Meneltir. He had the fire going well and she sat as near as she dared. He looked at her and his expression told her that he could see she had been crying. He came over and wrapped the blanket round her shoulders and then sat down beside her. Tucking his arm under the blanket he put his arm around her and pulled her close. Then he sat in silence with her gazing up at the stars and comforting her with his pressence.
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