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Tol EressŽa is a Tolkien writers roleplay. We are G-rated & well moderated. If you like to write, come join our friendly community of roleplayers as a Tolkien book character. We also have an area for original poetry, short stories and artwork. Many of our members are also playing Lord of the Rings Online and you will find us there on the Landroval server in the kinship Leaves of Laurelin. Come join us there.



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 ***Land of Ice and Snow***
Glorfindel
Posted: Jun 28 2005, 06:35 PM


Balrog Slayer


Group: Tauristo
Posts: 2,303
Member No.: 1
Joined: 20-October 04



The start of the new 1st age roleplay will be July 11th 2005.

July 11, 2005 - It is now open!

Please take even turns, unless it is requested that you write out of turn for a particular character. Fingolfin is the moderator of this thread.

------Special Note------

For the purposes of this RP, the Silmarillion will be considered the canon text. Supplemental material can be found in the HoME, and will be considered canon in cases where it does not directly contradict the Silmarillion. Please note this statement of canon applies only to this roleplay of the beginning of the 1st age.

--------------------------

Do not light fuse while head is in canon. Thank you -- The Management


--------------------
Glorfindel was tall and straight; his hair was of shining gold, his face fair and young and fearless and full of joy; his eyes were bright and keen, and his voice like music; on his brow sat wisdom, and in his hand was strength.

Glorfindel Biography


I promote:
user posted image
Fingolfin
Posted: Jul 11 2005, 07:06 PM


Unregistered









Valinor was darkened. The Vala Melkor, now known as Morgoth, had brought aid hitherto unknown into the Blessed Realm, and at a time of festival, came upon the Trees of Silver and Gold and slew them, and the dark, fell shadow sucked the life of them, poisoning them. They fled then, shadow and master, to the stronghold of Formenos, where dwelt FinwŽ the exiled High King of the Noldor, and where dwelt FŽanor, though he was bidden come to the festival, that he might be reconciled with his half-brother Fingolfin, though he was else exiled. All fled the coming of the shadow, save for FinwŽ, and he defied Morgoth. So the dark lord slew him on the threshhold, and passed in, and stole all the treasure therein. Gold and gems, but most of all he stole the Silmarils, three great Jewels that FŽanŠro CurufinwŽ had made of art and will, capturing within the blended light of the Two Trees. Morgoth took the Silmarils, took all the treasure, and fled into the darkness.

In Valinor, all were stunned. The Valar wished to heal the Trees, and so they asked FŽanor to give them the Silmarils, that they might use them to bring them back to life. This CurufinwŽ would not willingly do, and even as he gave grudging answer, word came from Formenos of the death of FinwŽ and the theft of the Silmarils. FŽanor, mad with rage and grief, spoke out in anger, and then fled himself into the dark, followed by his sons, while the rest of the Noldor returned to Tirion beside the Sea.

Not for long were they there. FŽanor, though still in exile, broke the ban of the Valar and came to Tirion, speaking out against the Valar, calling them captors, and craven. He made a great and terrible oath to win back the Silmarils, an oath that his sons also swore, upon the name of Eru, the One, and should everlasting darkness come upon them should they break it. Many there were who spoke against him, but in the hearts of many more was kindled the desire to go from Aman, to find lands wide and unknown. In the end, most of the Noldor decided to leave Tirion, but the greater part refused to take FŽanor as King. They followed instead Fingolfin and his sons, and Finarfin and his sons.

Now, the sea was wide, and FŽanor bethought him how to cross it. He remembered the Swan-Ships that the Teleri sailed, and so he went to the haven of AlqualondŽ, and asked OlwŽ the king for ships to aid him. The king refused him, seeking instead to counsel him against such a rash departure, and by no means would he give his ships away. So FŽanor withdrew, and gathered his people.

They fell upon the mariners at the harbor, and fierce was the fighting. But the Teleri were but lightly armed, and had no mail to guard against the swords of the Noldor. In the midst of the fighting, the vanguard of Fingolfin's host, led by Fingon, came upon the fray. Thinking that the Teleri had been bidden by the Valar to stop them, they joined in, and the mariners were cruelly slain. It was only after that they learned the truth and the shame of their actions.

Ever north went the host of the Noldor, with FŽanor's people commanding the ships. Cold mists drove down from the north, and all was dark and still Then a great figure appeared on a rock, not an elf or some herald, but the Vala Mandos, the Doomsman of the Valar himself.

"Tears unnumbered ye shall shed; and the Valar will fence Valinor against you, and shut you out, so that not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains. On the house of Feanor the wrath of the Valar lieth from the West unto the uttermost East, and upon all that will follow them it shall be laid also. Their Oath shall drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very treasures that they have sworn to pursue. To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass. The Dispossessed shall they be for ever.

Ye have spilled the blood of your kindred unrighteously and have stained the land of Aman. For blood ye shall render blood, and beyond Aman ye shall dwell in Death's shadow. For thought Eru appointed you to die not in Ea, and no sickness may assail you, yet slain ye may be, and slain ye shall be: by weapon and by torment and grief; and your houseless spirits shall come then to Mandos. There long shall ye abide and yearn for your bodies, and find little pity though all whom ye have slain should entreat for you. And those that endure in Middle-earth and come not to Mandos shall grow weary of the world as with a great burden, and shall wane, and become shadows of regret before the younger race that cometh after. The Valar have spoken."

So spoke Mandos the Doom of the Noldor. In grief Finarfin turned back, returning to Tirion with a remnant of his people. But none of his sons, nor his daughter, returned with him. So it was that, with willing heart or no, most of the Noldor resolved to go forwards.

Now FŽanor made ready to sail, with all his folk on board, and the greatest part of the goods. Across the sea they sailed eastwards, and came at last to Middle Earth. They landed in the mouth of the Frith of Drengist, at a place called Losgar. There they disembarked, and FŽanor's eldest son Maedhros asked, "Now what ships and rowers will you spare to return, and whom shall they bear hither first? Fingon the valiant?" Yet FŽanor laughed, and spoke aloud.

"None and none! What I have left behind I count now no loss; needless baggage on the road it has proved. Let those that cursed my name, curse me still, and whine their way back to the cages of the Valar! Let the ships burn!" And thus he had fire set to the ships, and the flame and smoke of their burning were seen far and wide, by many eyes.

Across the Sea, in the cold and dark, the host of the Noldor waited...
Fingon
Posted: Jul 11 2005, 10:33 PM


FindekŠno, son of NolofinwŽ


Group: Members
Posts: 65
Member No.: 126
Joined: 29-June 05



The ships are our only hope, FindekŠno' thought as he wearily sat down upon the slab of rough granite on the heights that overlooked the departure point of Maedhros, and his other cousins with the host of their father, CurufinwŽ. He had been with the wounded earlier and needed to clear his head now so he turned his gaze to the dark Belegaer. It is narrower across the sea here. Soon we will all be in the new land... They should be arriving forthwith.

The followers of Fingon were in the vanguard of the host of Fingolfin and huddled below on the even ground between the granite hills, few tents and fires could be seen. They did not need much to subsist while they waited for the ships to return to them and most of the supplies had been sent forward with the initial crossing. Behind the first camp, his father and brother had moved up in anticipation of the hoped for return of the ships. All were concentrated here now, waiting... hoping... praying.

Leaning back, Fingon looked at the stars above even as he drew his thick blue cloak round him and placed his arms under his head. His heart was heavy. Scenes of the battle at AlqualondŽ invaded his thoughts constantly, as if Irmo punished him continually for his part in the deaths of the Teleri. Yes, their blood was on his hands... the guilt he had placed on his men for their deeds in his name hovered over him as a dark shadow... he heard the screams of the innocent when he closed his eyes and even in the howl of the cold wind... He dared not blame his uncle FŽanor or his cousins for what he had caused... no, the thought was impossible to bear. They would not purposely decieve him... would they? It was his fault... his alone! The deaths of the Teleri, guarding their precious ships, were a terrible price he had to pay for his rash actions. Yet, from bad things sometimes good can come, at least he hoped with all his heart it would be so. He had proved to the FŽanorians that the host of Fingolfin was willing to stand by the side of the firey first son of FinwŽ during adversity. All would come out well in the end he told himself and time would eventually remove the echos of those he had wronged from his mind. He shivered, unsure if it was the cold or something else that caused the unconscious reaction.

Nevermore would he see light so beautiful as that of the two trees but still, the stars were brilliant above him in an unusually clear heaven, for so many days they had no vision of the sky at all. It seemed the fog must be coming in on the horizon however. The pinpoints of the light created by ElentŠri shone weakly or not at all across the Belegaer to the east... and there was... something... something strange... evil and flickering.

Fingon sat up, blinked and stared at a strange orange glow eastward, it was just to the right of what he had assumed earlier was fog. Soon the orange color got brighter and it looked to be reflected off the fog, leaping higher into the black sky. Can that be the shore of the new land? the eldest son of Fingolfin wondered. It is far... too distant to see the coastline from here but something seems to be afire He watched the bright orange leap up and die down under dark clouds that looked no longer like fog but like smoke, going higher still.

He stood now, his long black hair blown by a sudden stiff gust, lifting it's curling strands behind him and wrapping a thick, gold-laced braid around his neck. His grey eyes stared eastward, stricken by what he knew was happening. NO! NO! It cannot BE! His dark eyebrows crooked up, with a terrible grimace of untolerable anguish on his face he sobbed into the wind. "The ships! NOT the ships... Maitimo! NOOOO!"

HallŽor, his second in command, came up to stand with him, pretending not to see the agony in his lord's posture. He too looked east and instead of the sorrow of his liege, a howl of desperate anger emitted from him. Now others below echoed the emotion as they came to realize what the glow on the eastern sky meant to them.

After a time the first son of Fingolfin steeled himself. With a mighty effort he caused his anguish to retreat within and allowed cold apprehension to make its way into his mind. Father must be notified before rumor reaches him, although I cannot think of any possible way the news could get any worse by rumor. He pulled on his leather gloves as he made his way down to the plain below. Soon he was running alone and on foot, across the sandy heath between the camps toward his younger brother's bivouac. Even our horses are gone with the first ships! I have been a FOOL! Such a fool! Fingon berated himself as he quickly drew near. TurukŠno was not in camp but his scribe directed him on to his location closeby. There he stood now on a promontory beyond the field, gazing to the east just as Fingon himself had done not long ago. He waited on the field below trying to gather his thoughts as to what to say. Seeing his brother descending the granite outcrop he was silent until he reached the level tundra.

"TurukŠno!" Fingon spoke up to alert his brother of his presence. He waited for Turgon to meet him where they could converse quietly.

"We must be with father! If he knows, he will need us... If he does not, he will need to be informed... " He put his hand on Turgon's arm and turned him to look into his eyes. The color of mythril they were, and the anger within them emitted as sparks of a fire. Please do not blame me little brother...


--------------------
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
Turgon
Posted: Jul 12 2005, 06:25 AM


TurukŠno, son of NolofinwŽ


Group: Members
Posts: 41
Member No.: 123
Joined: 29-June 05



Turgon stood on the high promontory, fists clenched until the knuckles whitened, glowing grey eyes hard as mithril, as he looked afar to Sea. There, there in the far, far distance, was the orange-red glow, flickering against the billowing smoke clouds in the darkness. They burn them! They burn the ships! They have abandoned us! he thought fiercely. They never so intended to take us! Only to use us was their desire! The truth is out, were it not so already; the tale of Alqualonde tells all, as it is. Praise Eru that my shock and horror at seeing brother against brother prevented me from taking part. At least I have no blood on my hands this day. As yet...

Turgon's jaw clenched tightly. "Melkorion!" he shouted to the glow in the East. "No kin mine! I renounce every claim of loyalty to that one ever made! I want no part of him or his!"

Suddenly he spun. "One thing only do I desire, yet will I not swear: That I shall track him down like a dog, aye, and find the Silmarils which he, in his pride, refused the Valar, and bear all back here to the Ring of Doom, where I will present the latter to them for the restoration of Aman, and the former to them for their judgement. And may I be there to see it executed!"

Then he strode off, down the hill, toward where the wounded were tended, to see if his assistance would be welcomed or rejected.

Suddenly, he saw his brother, and stopped in his tracks, then turned and trudged slowly over to where his brother awaited. "Forgive me, my brother," he said in a quieter tone, although his eyes still shone brightly. "I allowed my anger to best me." He studied Fingon's face, seeing the grief and remorse there, the near-pleading. His shoulders slumped as he realized that his own family was not blameless; yet, he considered, it were not Fingon's fault. He had trusted their kin, believed them, as had Turgon, as had they all -- and their own blood had betrayed them. He placed a gentle hand on Fingon's shoulder, then drew him into a hug. "Do not look so, my brother," he whispered. "Your only fault was in believing one who was not to be trusted...as did I. Know you not that I felt guilt initially, for not partaking in the battle, not being beside you? But my mind would not accept what was happening, and all I could think was to protect my beloved wife and daughter."

He looked deep into Fingon's haunted eyes. "Come, FindekŠno. Let us search out Father and discuss this calamity with him. Mayhap something may yet be salvaged from this debacle."

Together the brothers turned and made their slow way toward their father's tent.

----

Melkorion = son of Melkor


--------------------
~~Turgon tortha gar a matha Glamdring, Dam an Glamhoth~~
Fingolfin
Posted: Jul 12 2005, 10:34 AM


Unregistered









Who was it, who advised that my tent be raised? FindekŠno? TurukŠno? Surely not IrissŽ, who so oft went a-hunting. One of my ridiculously proper counsellors? The son of FinwŽ chuckled softly, though the laugh had a weary sound to it. Whoever it was, it was a wise idea. It gives the people an illusion of stability, security, and both are certainly needed. And it gave him some privacy, also much needed if he was too distracted to fix his mind on anything more complex than the raising of tents. Fingolfin's lips twitched, and he shook his head. He was weary, and here, alone, he could admit it. How many interminable times had he been at his half-brother's camp, trying to plan ahead, to organize this 'return' to the Outer Lands? To 'assist' he who would call himself Ingaran? And he had denied himself rest, as they marched, to appear strong before his people. And when they had camped, he had gone amongst the wounded, doing his best to heal them, or took his harp and sang to ease their cares, or listened and spoke softly to them, to hear their fears, and comfort them as best he could.

Yes, he was weary, but he could be glad for the weariness, for it kept grief at bay. For in those few times he had allowed himself to rest, dreams and images and memories came upon him, of blood and death and screaming. They were before him now, as he slipped from full wakefullness, memories of the bloodstained sea-foam lapping at the quays of AlqualondŽ, swallowed by a shadow too dark to see through, too dark to fathom. And now there were cries in the night, for it was always night, cries in the night and fire. Fire!

In an instant, Fingolfin had arisen, swaying on his feet but an instant before he steadied himself, allowing a moment to fully wake. Yet the cries were still about, and the light was strange, brighter than it ought to be, yet darker all at once. "What devilry is this?" he murmured. He straightened his tunic, then placed upon his head the circlet he had worn in Tirion. His brother would advise-- But no, Finarfin was gone. Returned to Tirion with all who would follow him. Fingolfin closed his eyes a brief moment, feeling the keen pang of separation once again. For how he had longed to return with his brother! But I will not abandon my people, as father did. I have promised that. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes and schooled his features to stillness and calm, and emerged from his tent.

There was a strange glow in the eastern sky, reflecting off of the icy mists, so that the light travelled far. It was the color of fire, but not wholesome, to his thought, and a black reek blotted out the stars above it. He could not see more, not here west of the promontories that jutted up above the seas. But where sight was lacking, hearing served, and he listened to the cries of fear and confusion. 'Creatures of Morgoth!' cried some, and 'The Valar send balls of flame to strike us down!' cried others. But above all, and especially from those who came from the promontories, he heard, 'The ships! We are betrayed! They burn the ships!'

Coldness settled upon him, and a keen light kindled in his eyes as he looked eastward. He drew himself up, then stood utterly still, with a calm dignity about him that he did not feel. Brother, oh brother, why hast thou done this? Canst see I would have followed thee until the end? Didst not understand the bonds of my oath before ManwŽ held me? Didst not understand love, brother? You have betrayed us, CurufinwŽ! And you have betrayed our father! Why? His thoughts cried out what he could not allow his voice to say, not here before his people. Not while they needed him, now more than ever. Yet, for the moment, he could not will himself to move, and if his bearing and countenance were quietly dignified, his rage and grief shone clearly in his eyes, so that few dared to look into them.

His sight passed beyond the promontories, lifting above them, as though he were one of the birds that sped by ManwŽ's bidding, or one of the stones of his half-brother's crafting. It passed over the dark, roiling sea, and to a far shore, dark and drear, where the cold water crashed. Swan ships, fair white ships, white no longer, blackened with the heat of the fire, and the flames ran as redly as the blood of their rightful owners. Reeking smoke, black as the shadow that had killed the Trees, rose into the night, lifting, beaten by the winds of the air westward, that it might serve as a mocking message to the remaining Noldor in Araman. Smoke-shrouded, he could see their huddled camp, and two figures approaching one who stood strangely still. It was thus dimly he noted the approach of his sons, twined in dream-- or was it vision?-- and he spoke no word, nor turned his distant eyes to look upon them.


-----------------------------------------------------------

FindekŠno - Quenya Name of Fingon
TurukŠno - Quenya name of Turgon
IrissŽ - Quenya name of Aredhel
CurufinwŽ - One of the Quenya names of FŽanor
Ingaran - High King

------------------------------------------------------------
LaurŽfindŽ
Posted: Jul 13 2005, 07:52 AM


Son of ErurŠvo


Group: Tauristo
Posts: 69
Member No.: 122
Joined: 29-June 05



Where TurukŠno went, LaurŽfindŽ was not too far away. Since childhood the two had been the best of friends and now their friendship was being tested. The FŽanorians had stolen the ships of the Teleri, and killed in the process - so when the Doom of the Noldor had been spoken by the Doomsman of the Valar, the blond elda was sore pressed to return to Tirion with Finarfin and his host. Yet, Turgon would not return! Somehow, knowing his fate lay with the second son of Fingolfin, LaurŽfindŽ himself stayed and now he lay on the sandy soil of Araman wondering if his decision had been the right one and if the ships would return for them. Very few, if any, trusted CurufinwŽ and it was said by many that he had stolen the white swan ships a second time for none who went with him were of the host of NolofinwŽ. This the blond had to acknowledge, for hadn't he been on guard when one of the sons of FŽanor had removed him from the deck of the closest ship, telling him to return to shore, for the ships would be preparing to leave? How was he to know the decision had not been approved by all? Soon the ships were gone, with the supplies they had struggled to bring with them and the host of Fingolfin was desolate on the shore, with little hope that the ships would be sent back for them. His friend and liege TurukŠno had some hope but his older brother, FindekŠno, seemed to have no doubt they would return, so he waited with the rest, willing to accept what would transpire knowing it was his fate and nothing would be easily influenced by anything he could do personally.

Next to him was the sandy bed of his sister, Olůte, her even breathing signified she was resting under her clutched blanket. On Olůte's far side, his brother Meneltir's blanket was empty and he was gone. LaurŽfindŽ sat up, shook the sand from his hair and rubbed his eyes. Looking over to where Turgon had placed his headquarters he saw that no one was there except the old scribe, fussing with his blowing paper as a gust blew across the forms of the host of Turgon.

Cries came to his ears from the promotory behind him and someone ran by toward Turgon's scribe. He saw the runner was TurukŠno's brother FindekŠno, and whatever the message, it looked urgent. It was then that the blond elda saw the sky to the east, reddish in color, changing and flickering to orange. Was it a sign from the Valar? He stood up and saw Meneltir near the promontory of granite that earlier they had hoped would shelter them from the wind but instead the wind had changed direction and funneled even quicker between the hills. Running his fingers through his long hair, he found the leather knotted within and quickly contained his tresses in a practiced tie at his neck. Walking over to the meagre fire and the people clustered around it, he hoped to get some news and a hot cup of tea.


--------------------
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!

LaurŽfindŽ's biography: Land of Ice and Snow
AlatŠriel
Posted: Jul 13 2005, 08:13 PM


Unregistered









AlatŠriel walked through the camp checking on the wounded, giving encouragement where she could. Though a warrior at heart, she did not participate in the horrid battle against the Teleri many weeks ago. She could still scarcely believe they fought their own kin.

She had made the choice to leave the Undying Lands and follow her uncle to Middle Earth though she did not make the vow to regain the Silmarils. Her decision to travel to Middle Earth was based on personal reasons. She had always had a great desire to rule over her own realm, something that would not be likely if she stayed in Tirion.

AlatŠriel stood up, stretched and started walking towards her own tent hoping to get some much needed rest. She doubted that she would get any rest with the aftermath of the battle still fresh in her head. Hearing several shouts of anger, she wondered what could be happening now. Could it be another battle? She hastened her pace to a run, ignoring the weariness in her body, her long golden hair flowing behind her. She was unaware of her own feet stopping suddenly, she was in such a shock at the flaming sight before her. A cry of anguish escaped from her lungs. She did not need to be any closer to know what caused the orange glow in the sky. Feanor had burned their ships! Her uncle used them to kill their kin and then deserted them!

AlatŠriel, being a trained warrior, quickly got herself together and then went in search of her brother Finrod.
Finrod
Posted: Jul 13 2005, 10:58 PM


FindŠrato, son of Finarfin


Group: Members
Posts: 27
Member No.: 125
Joined: 29-June 05



Finrod stood on the beach and looked out over the waves and the sky red with flame, the flames that mirrored those in his heart. He was beyond grief anger and tears now that the doom of the Noldor was already bearing fruit. Feanor who was already responsible for the deaths of so many was now leaving some of his own Noldor kin to certain death.

Their only choice was going forward there was no going back. The Valar had closed Aman to all of them as soon as they departed with Feanor. There was only one way now to Arda. A way as dark and as dreadful as any Finrod could imagine, across the grinding ice, Helacaraxe.

Finrod then saw his sister making her way toward him. Finrod motioned to Alatariel to join him as he looked back out toward the sea. Finrod took Alatariels hand in his own and said, "I'm sorry elleth nin that I have led our people to this fate. Feanor has abandoned us and burned the Swan Ships, I know of only one other way to reach Arda across the grinding ice."

"I must speak with Fingolfin and his sons but I can see no other way. I need you to gather our people and tell them to put on the warmest clothes they have. Find as many blankets as you can and bundle the wounded and the young in them. Have them bring only whay they can carry and bring as much wood as they can. Eru willing all will survive this journey, but I know in my heart some will not."

Finrod kissed Alatariel on the forehead, turned and set off to find Fingolfin and his sons.
Fingon
Posted: Jul 14 2005, 09:27 AM


FindekŠno, son of NolofinwŽ


Group: Members
Posts: 65
Member No.: 126
Joined: 29-June 05



"TurukŠno?"

Fingon was suddenly nervous, wondering how their father would recieve the news of the burning ships. The brothers walked quickly west together toward the tent of their sire, who was once again king of their deserted people. He, FindekŠno, had been the one to press for trusting his uncle, FŽanŠro, and his cousins on this march.

Now, it seemed his trust, especially in Maitimo's promises, had been misplaced. He was unsure what the disposition of his father would be. I make a better warrior than a leader! he thought sighing. The wind whipped his black hair into his eyes, bringing the sand of the bleak shoreline with it. He realized he had unwittingly spoken and gotten his brother's attention as they walked but he had not continued with his thoughts aloud.

"Atar will be mad. I have caused him much grief in all I have done and in every decision I have made." His stride had shortened as his prior thoughts came upon him and now he sped up to keep the pace of his younger brother.

"You say I trusted and was betrayed, yet I know that had I greater wisdom... mayhap I could have stopped it all! Is it so foolish to trust... and expect it in return?" Fingon looked up to see his father gazing out at the sea toward the lurid orange glare that even now seemed to be so close. As they approached he looked over at Turgon. "Nay brother, do not answer that, it is just the musings of one who feels betrayed by a cousin's promise! Let us comfort father, he will need us." They drew near their father yet he did not turn to them. They came up and stood with him, looking east silently.

"Atar, the ships burn." FindekŠno blurted, not knowing how to gain his father's attention. He instantly regretted this most obvious comment. The fact that his father did not turn to him was felt in his heart. He tentatively placed a hand on his father's bare arm, noting he wore no cloak and had come direct from resting inside his tent. Fingolfin's skin was chilled and his eyes were distant and unseeing. Fingon looked at an attendant standing alongside the tent quietly and gave an order, "Get the cloak of NolofinwŽ, it is too cold to go without!

"Atar, will you speak to us?" He looked at his brother and back again as he helped the servant place the heavy cloak on the king.


--------------------
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
Turgon
Posted: Jul 15 2005, 06:25 AM


TurukŠno, son of NolofinwŽ


Group: Members
Posts: 41
Member No.: 123
Joined: 29-June 05



Turgon listened to his brother's musings aloud, and knowing him as well as he did, also "heard" much of what Fingon did not say: his agonized guilt, his wracking self-doubt, his crushing despair. He did not know how to respond, so he remained largely silent, except for the small sounds one makes when acknowledging another's comments.

He felt sorry for Fingon; true, his brother had raised hand against the Teleri, but had done so in good faith, trusting in his kinsman and uncle, truly believing the Teleri had attacked first, and that he, FindekŠno, was only defending his family and followers. Fingon's heart was true, and there was no deception in him. Therefore, Turgon mused, how could he understand or recognize the deceit of another? No, he thought, it is NOT too much to expect one's own flesh and blood to keep faith. But before he could speak his heart, Fingon diverted the matter. Turgon sighed silently. Methinks I have more than my father to comfort today, and for many more days to come.

As they passed the central campfire of Turgon's followers, he spotted his friend and loyal follower, LaurŽfindŽ, looking for something to warm his belly. He waved and smiled; LaurŽfindŽ was as near his heart as Fingon, and he gestured him near. "LaurŽfindŽ, the news is ill, my friend. You cannot see it here, but if you would note the colors of base treachery, step to the promontory's height and look East. My uncle has laid claim to all we sent with him, and set torch to the white ships. Nevermore will they return to these shores. We have been abandoned."

Sadly watching the shocked expression on LaurŽfindŽ's face, Turgon softly excused himself and his brother, with a, "Forgive me, my friend. We must find our father and take counsel." Then they moved on.

At their atar's tent, the brothers suddenly realized that NolofinwŽ already had news of the disaster. Shrewdly assessing the look in his father's eyes, Turgon surmised that the farsight had come upon him, and that now, his father knew much more about the situation than did he and FindekŠno. Turgon watched as Fingon strove to get some word, some gesture of recognition, from their father. At last he laid his hand lightly but restrainingly on his brother's shoulder.

"FindekŠno," he murmured softly. "Look at Atar's eyes. I think...FindekŠno, I think he SEES." Turgon threw his brother a meaningful look. "Let us not disturb him until he is ready to return. Mayhap HE will have news for US."


--------------------
~~Turgon tortha gar a matha Glamdring, Dam an Glamhoth~~
Fingolfin
Posted: Jul 15 2005, 07:54 PM


Unregistered









Dim shapes, like smoke, were the forms of his sons, coming closer, drawing near. Or perhaps they were smoke, thoughts, images, less real than the flames that burned. The fire drew his gaze anew, as though he were beside it, leaping flame, dancing in cruel nimble leaps, burning the fair ships, burning things that those who FŽanŠro commanded did not deem of value. They were flames themselves, some bright and some dim. And watching the ships burning was a great flame, that flickered and moved as though it laughed. A saddlecloth, blazoned with the heraldry of the House of Fingolfin, the great flame held, and it seemed to laugh as it crumpled the cloth, and threw it into the conflagration.

NolofinwŽ reached out his hand to grasp the thing before the flames set it alight, but there was nothing there. His fingers closed on air, and at the same time his other senses returned to him. Unbalanced at first, he took a staggering step forwards, then regained himself, and looked around him. He brushed his hand across the cloak, trying to recall putting it on, then stared at his two sons. For a long moment he was silent, listening to the dim echoes of their words that they had spoken to him.

NolofinwŽ, they need you now. They look to you for answers. Will you fail them now, and stand there gaping? Pull yourself together! With a soft sigh he shook himself, then passed a hand across his brow before nodding at last to the two before him. "Aye, they burn the ships, and all they deem useless as well," he answered, his voice hoarse. There was a faint tang of smoke on the chill air, bitter to taste. "Already the seeds sown have grown and ripened, and the fruit of them is rotten. Well, we have had but a taste of it, and more to come. For we are come to a hard choice." He lifted one hand and pointed to the sky. "My... brother..." His voice broke, and he fell silent. What was there to say? He could not undo what had been done, nor do what had not been done. He looked south and west, towards Valinor, and his eyes brightened. But then he felt the bonds of his own oath, snaring him even as he took a half-step towards the only home he had ever known.

Darkness rose up, a wall of shadows, shadows that wavered and flickered even as the flames he had so recently seen. Shadows black and red as blood, that came between him and his people, between him and Valinor. Once more the grief and rage were clear in his eyes, and he looked once more to his sons. "We must... take counsel... to decide what course is best to take. Send runners to find your sister, and any of ArafinwŽ's children who will come. Have you counsellors or lords in your trust? Send for them as well. For the decision that must be made... is not one I shall make alone, without hearing from my... without hearing the voice of the people."

He bowed his head for an instant, his shoulders hunching as if under some great weight. Then he straightened, and once more brushed his fingers against the cloak, understanding now from whence it came, and the concern behind the simple gesture. "It was kindly done. What should I do without you? Thank you, my sons."


--------------------------------------
NolofinwŽ -- that would be ... me
ArafinwŽ -- Finarfin
Fingon
Posted: Jul 16 2005, 01:58 PM


FindekŠno, son of NolofinwŽ


Group: Members
Posts: 65
Member No.: 126
Joined: 29-June 05



TurukŠno is right, he is not present with us but somewhere else at the moment. Fingon thought as he was brought to the realization that his father looked to the sea with distant eyes. The wind whipped them all with its cold lash bringing the smell of smoke with it. Could it be? ...nay, it was the smoke of the small fire they had passed, not the ships! He smiled nervously at his brother and nodded acknowledgment. It was fortunate that they both had thought to request the tent of the king be erected, now he needed to get his father sheltered within.

Turgon seemed to Fingon to be strong and with much visible confidence, confidence and strength he recently had possessed as well. Is my own remorse easily seen? he wondered. Suddenly aware of what he might look like to others, he drew himself up using the courage he had within. He was hopeful his stance would deny him his gnawing guilt and anxious others would see two confident sons at the side of Fingolfin, their king.

A shiver ran though FindekŠno once more but he ignored it and instead noted the shadow of madness that had been within his father's eyes begin to leave him. NolofinwŽ was becoming lucid, his face showed the haggard signs of grief... and fathomless rage. His anger is misplaced... he cannot bring himself to blame me... at least not yet... and he will suffer for my faults as if they are his own.

Fingon saw most of the people gazing toward them now, expecting their king to utter something profound in order to give his loyal followers hope. Is there any hope? They must wonder what my father will decide. Yet... I know what I will decide... in fact... there will be no decision, for I know in my heart I cannot go back to Tirion. I will atone for my crimes against the Teleri in my exile, for the Valar would never let me return home now.

The firstborn son of Fingolfin listened as his father finally spoke but he kept his thoughts to himself. I fear I know what his decision will be soon, in spite of what the others may decide. He knows I cannot go back and like a good father he will continue on because of it. His heart wishes to return to the peace of Tirion and to AnairŽ, our mother, yet he will sacrifice himself for my part in the kinslaying. Understanding the need to seek counsel quickly he spied a tall dark-haired friend standing at the base of the rise and bade him come close.

"AranwŽ, send GŠlade quickly to the tent of IrissŽ and bring her forth to take counsel with her father and brothers... Then go yourself to speak to FindarŠto, he must bring Artaresto, Angarato, AlatŠriel and AikanŠro to give counsel as well."

Fingon looked gratefully at his brother standing beside him and whispered. "Thank you TurukŠno, you are my rock to lean on." Turning, he placed his hand on his father's shoulder, "You are welcome Father, come, let us go to your tent and await them. TurukŠno will gather those of his house, they are close and I... I have no counselors to call." He gave his brother a smile of appreciation and signaled the fire tender to bring something warm into the king's quarters. Gently he pushed his father toward the tent. "Perhaps with a bit of warm broth inside you Atar, it will help make things clear." Fingon desperately hoped his father would once again become himself before the others converged on him in his current condition.

-----
IrissŽ (Aredhel)
FindarŠto (Finrod)
Artaresto (Orodreth)
Angarato (Angrod)
AlatŠriel (Galadriel)
AikanŠro (Aegnor)


--------------------
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
Finrod
Posted: Jul 16 2005, 10:55 PM


FindŠrato, son of Finarfin


Group: Members
Posts: 27
Member No.: 125
Joined: 29-June 05



Finrod was helping with the wounded when AranwŽ found him.

"Suilad AranwŽ, how can we be of service?" Finrod said as AranwŽ approached.

"Lord FindarŠto, Fingolfin requests your presence and that of your kin at his tent. He is holding a council to decide what to do in light of CurufinwŽ's actions; he will not make the decision alone. Gather your brothers and sister and any counselors that you have, all must have their say. The council will begin as soon as all are gathered around Fingolfin's tent."

Finrod sent runners off to find his brothers; AlatŠriel stood beside her brother as they awaited the others' arrival. Artaresto, Angarato and AikanŠro arrived quickly and gathered around Finrod.

"Brothers, the news is dire, CurufinwŽ has betrayed us. He has burned the swan ships of the Teleri and he has abandoned us here. That is what those fires are to the east. NolofinwŽ is summoning us to a council to decide what to do."

His brothers stood in grim silence as he turned to AranwŽ and motioned for him to lead them to the King of the Noldor. As AranwŽ did so Artaresto spoke in his ear. "What need is there of counsel FindarŠto? Aman is closed to us, there is no other way to Arda. We are stranded here."

"Not stranded Artaresto, but we have a desperate choice to make. That choice the king will not make alone. That is why we are going to this council so that all may have a voice. There is another way to Arda, across the grinding ice of the HelcaraxŽ."

Artaresto paled and said no more as they followed AranwŽ to the council. Finrod saw the other princes of the Noldor gathered, along with a great many of their people. All had the same anger written on their faces, the same determination to face whatever was decided here.
Turgon
Posted: Jul 18 2005, 09:23 AM


TurukŠno, son of NolofinwŽ


Group: Members
Posts: 41
Member No.: 123
Joined: 29-June 05



Turgon nodded, then excused himself, hurrying back to where he had last seen LaurŽfindŽ. "LaurŽfindŽ, my friend!" he exclaimed, beginning to shiver with the bitter cold wind. "Gather my counselors, advisors, and strategists, and come with them to my father's tent. Tis time for some hard decisions. My father is now High King, at least of those on this side Sea, but he will not make these decisions alone. And," he added in a low tone, meant only for LaurŽfindŽ's ears, "methinks that were wise, after all that has been done behind our people's backs to this point.

"I like it not, LaurŽ," Turgon continued, clutching his whipping cloak close against the gale, and wondering to himself what the odd little white things were that occasionally floated in it. "Too much burden of guilt lies about our camps. My heart knows two things: what we SHOULD do, and what we WILL do, as a people, and as leaders. And it knows it will cost us dear. Tis this which causes my very bones to freeze, far colder than this wind," he declared softly.

The two stood silent for a few moments, the import of their situation weighing heavily upon them. I liked not, either, the look in my father's eyes, Turgon considered to himself. That way madness lies. And we can ill afford another madman as leader. He shook himself out of his morose reverie, and addressed his friend again.

"Gather whom you can, but before bringing them thence, tell them I would counsel a return to Aman! We were basely decieved; why, then, should we incur the punishment of the decievers? Now hurry!"

And he turned, walking swiftly back toward his father's tent.


--------------------
~~Turgon tortha gar a matha Glamdring, Dam an Glamhoth~~
LaurŽfindŽ
Posted: Jul 18 2005, 11:10 AM


Son of ErurŠvo


Group: Tauristo
Posts: 69
Member No.: 122
Joined: 29-June 05



LaurŽfindŽ stood quietly listening to what TurukŠno had to say, knowing there was more unsaid that his leige and friend kept to himself. He bowed and looked over toward the fire to see if any of the advisors were present. As he did so he noted Turgon hurry back the way he had come. I wonder why I am called on to advise? I am merely a warrior and not one to ponder on decisions such as this, yet I suppose the king will wish to hear from the common people as well as the princes of the houses and their counselors.

He was fortunate to see Ecthelion and VoronwŽ coming from the healing tent. They stepped wearily around the items stored outside the tent and made their way together over the rocky ground, their cloaks wrapped about them. Moving forward LaurŽfindŽ met them in the clear center area beyond the main camp and disclosed to them all that Turgon had said regarding the need to meet with the king. "Also, I must forewarn you that our lord would counsel a return to Tirion in the face of this disaster, he does not think we must incur the punishment of the FŽanorian kinslayers." He said this quietly, only for their ears, and wondered if the wind had taken his words before they reached the other two. With a nod from Ecthelion he knew they had heard. VoronwŽ informed him one of the advisors of Turgon was out on a hunt and not expected to be back. The second, a strategist, lay in the healing tent unable to walk.

"Then it will just be us three I suppose." LaurŽfindŽ told them. He would take it upon himself to inform the other two when they returned. "If you get yourself some hot tea, I will wait and we will go together to the tent of the king."

He found a washbasin in the darkness as the others went to the fire. A cloth was handed to him and he refreshed himself, cleaning the grit off his face and any exposed skin. A comb laying on the side of the basin gave him reason to work the knots out of his hair. He braided it in one long plait before the others returned. Together they walked toward the tent of the king in silence.


--------------------
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!

LaurŽfindŽ's biography: Land of Ice and Snow
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