Red Flows the Sirannon RPG

[Durelin]

Expecting such a question, Maegisil smiled slightly as he turned to Narisiel, drawing his eyes away from the jewels. Yet when his gaze rested on the elf woman’s face, his smile disappeared, remembering, and seeing the graveness in her stare. He wondered how long it had been since the two had spoken, and he briefly considered what might have gone on between them. But tossing his musings aside, he sighed, and he dropped his eyes to the floor.

“My lord is…well, has been…quite distraught, over many things. Most likely you assumed this…” he paused, looking again at Narisiel. Letting out another sigh in a long and troubled breath, he settled his mind on telling her what he felt in his heart. “I tell you with all sincerity that I have not seen him so overwhelmed by events in all the years I have known him.”

Narisiel seemed to expect this answer, just as Maegisil had predicted her question, and yet she remained silent. It could not have been a surprise to her that Celebrimbor was so disturbed by the Rings and what were seemingly the repercussions of their creation. She appeared equally troubled; her mind did not appear at all at rest, and Maegisil doubted that the craftswoman had made a ring in over a hundred years.

“And yes, a necklace would be perfect,” he said, breaking the silence, and changing the subject momentarily, “I doubt my wife would wear a ring, for fear of losing it.” He chuckled lightly, but his light-hearted voice and expression did not reflect his true thoughts or feelings at all. It was not his goal to change the topic of conversation completely, but he knew that a temporary change of subject would garner a response from Narisiel, as would the mentioning of a ring yet again; or so he hoped.

Maegisil’s words did appear to have some kind of effect on the other elf. Perhaps it was specifically ‘for fear of losing it’ in conjunction with the mentioning of ‘ring’ that caused her to seem so anxious, but the elf-lord’s servant realized he had opened up yet another thought in Narisiel’s mind, one which had been kept locked up for at least a century.

“Your talk of losing rings…”

“Has nothing to do with the Rings,” Maegisil said, cutting her short of asking any questions. “The Three, at least, are safe. You know about the others.”

She nodded slowly, staring at her cupboard of jewels but not really seeing any of them, thoughts crowding her head, and trying to pick out which one to voice next. Maegisil spoke first, though, as he suddenly realized he had not verified his reasoning behind part of his last statement.

“Did Lord Celebrimbor not speak to you concerning the Three Rings?”

[Encaitare]

The mountains had been growing before them for many miles, and at last the regiment had come near to the place where they would camp for the night. Boldog and orc captain Glûtkask halted the regiment with a barked order. Two hundred orcs, weary from the cold and the day's march, stopped in their places. The rest of the regiment was following in divisions of a similar size, for this attack would not require risking their full strength.

Glûtkask observed their surroundings. The terrain was already growing rougher and rockier; the Misty Mountains themselves stood but few miles away. He thought with derision that some of the fool Elves nearby probably considered it a beautiful sight. His withered lips parted to reveal crumbling teeth as he thought on how much improved the scene would be as soon as some elven carcasses were left to rot on the stone.

The two lietentants, one for each company of 100, came to him awaiting orders. They were an unsightly pair, orcs who had proved their mettle enough to be trusted with some authority. The captain surveyed them with yellow eyes, not wanting the encampment process to take any longer than necessary.

"We're three miles from the valley," he told them, his voice like wet, grating stones. "That's close enough that we can ambush the Elves coming from Lorien" -- he managed to twist the fair name into something less savory -- "when they come alone, but far enough that they won't see us until it's too late. The scouts'll be returning soon to tell us of their progress." He glanced eastward. "The sluggards had better be back by nightfall. For now, get your companies into some sort of order when they set up camp. I'm not going to command a regiment in shambles, hear me? It's just temporary, remember. We'll not be settling in; we're striking as soon as the Elves are in sight."

"What're the plans for them? The tactics?" asked one of the two, a squat creature called Lushurd with a cloak of rodent skins -- heads and all.

"Later," Glûtkask growled. "Report to me when your companies are set. Then we'll talk tactics."

[Firefoot]

At the captain’s order to halt, Grimkul threw down his pack right where he stood. He was tired of forced marching, tired of being forced to do anything. More than once in the past several days he’d had half a mind to simply desert and set off on his own, though Ulwakh’s good advice had prevented him from doing so, saying he would not get far in this barren terrain before being spotted. Grimkul didn’t particularly care; he figured he could fight any that came after him. Ulwakh knew better than this, too: large as Grimkul might be for their small breed of Orcs, he wasn’t a match in size or strength to most of the Orcs in the camp, the Captain included.

And he had more than half a mind to slip away now. They were close, oh so close, to the Mountains now, the same mountains where the pair had once lived. “What say we slip away, now, Ulwakh? They won’t see us now, eh, in the setting up camp? We can hide up in the mountains, be done with this filth. Be just like the old days.”

But Ulwakh was shaking his head. “We’s too far south – this ‘ere mountains are Dwarvish holds. We’d ’ave to go north first, ’fore heading into the mountains… and we’d not get far. See how far you can see? There’s not any cover for us. We’d be brought back and punished for sure… and that captain ain’t exactly a nice one.”

“So let’s be done with the captain,” said Grimkul, looking on his companion with irritation. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you didn’t want to go back to the mountain tunnels.”

“I do, I do!” Ulwakh rushed to assure him. He had seen that light in Grimkul’s eyes before – the one he got when he was getting ready to knock off a head or two. Ulwakh preferred to keep his head. “It’s just, we’ve got to be smart about it.” That was a bad thing to say; Grimkul didn’t like it when he mentioned smarts. And while Ulwakh would never say it out loud, Grimkul didn’t have a whole lot of smarts, but he still got angry if he thought anyone was offending his intelligence. Ulwakh hastily covered up, “We’ll get our chance, you’ll see.”

Grimkul chose not to respond. Instead, he took out his scimitar and began searching around for some small animal. He felt like fresh meat tonight. Ulwakh still didn’t know why Grimkul preferred the scimitar for hunting and such; weapons like his own knives were much more efficient. Once again, though, he would never say this out loud.

Grimkul’s blade was poised over a rodent hole, ready to kill the unsuspecting creature that showed its face. Too bad they didn’t have any bats around here – bats were tastier than rodents. In fact, Grimkul liked bats so much that he had made his jerkin out of batwings. He was distracted from his thoughts of bats as a nose and whiskers appeared at the bottom of the hole. Just a little bit farther…

“Get this camp in order; it’s in shambles!” called out their company leader as he walked by. “Captain’s orders!” Grimkul’s rodent disappeared back into its hole. He scowled at the leader – Lushurd, his name was.

“I’ll give you orders,” Grimkul muttered, but he was mindful of Ulwakh’s restraining hand on his arm and did nothing for the time being. Ulwakh feared for the day he did decide to “give the captains orders.”

[Kath]

Having been sent out as a scout to find out what the terrain ahead was like and whether there was a good place to conduct an ambush from Ugburz was getting hungry. He'd thought as the leaders made camp that he'd have a chance to go hunting or at least pilfer something from Gradakh, an orc he had developed a strong dislike to. Instead he had been sent out with orders not to come back til he had something worth reporting. As he had left he had seen Gradakh sitting on a rock, smirking as he stuffed something into his mouth.

Brooding on his misfortunes he suddenly noticed a movement. Looking over to where it had come from he quickly realised what he had seen and ducked down behind a bush. Looking through the leaves was difficult so he slashed some out the way with a knife, grinning to himself at the thought of destroying something the Elves held dear.

As he watched he saw a lone Elf creep through the shadows opposite him. It obviously thought it was too quiet and unobtrusive to be noticed, but Ugburz had not been chosen as a scout for nothing. He had keen eyes for an orc and the ability to keep still and breath quietly so as not to be noticed. The Elf paused for a moment, looking towards the bush behind which Ugburz sat, but his tricks seemed to have worked as it looked away again and moved on. For a moment it looked toward the mountains, and then it disappeared into the growing darkness.

Ugburz remained still for several moments, knowing the Elves used their abilities as dirty tricks. The Elf could still be there, just waiting for him to think it was safe and get up. Then the second he did it would shoot him, with that uncanny accuracy that would leave him no chance of staying alive.

Finally he crawled out from behind the bush, staying in a low crouch to create as small a target as possible. Once he'd reached the relative safety of the taller rocks he ran full pelt back to the encampment. The rules were to tell one of the faster scouts but he wasn't going to let some young thing take credit for what he had seen. And he wanted something to gloat to Gradakh about as well.

Reaching the camp he headed toward his leader's tent and barged past the orcs standing guard outside. The orc inside looked up in anger and Ubgurz shouted out his news before he could be dragged off.

"I saw an Elf! One of their scouts. They must be close!"

"Did it see you?" he asked rising from the floor.

"No I was hidden."

His leader smiled grimly and headed out of the tent past Ugburz toward Glûtkask's area of the camp.

Assuming that his work for the night was done Ugburz stole the remainder of the meal his leader had been eating and loped back to his patch of ground, desperate to find Gradakh and inform him of the evenings events.

[Amanaduial the archer]

“Did Lord Celembrimbor not speak to you concerning the Three Rings?”

Though the question was sensitively asked, there was still no concealing the surprise that tinged Maegisil's voice - and that, along with the assumption in the wording of the question, made Narisiel shoot the other a very sharp look. But his features told her immediately that he was not mocking her, far from it: he was simply inquiring. And the surprise in his voice, she realised, mirrored her own - her own shock at how far she had distanced herself from her lord.

"I haven't spoken much with him recently- that is, he hasn't called upon- or rather, I haven't..." Narisiel trailed away, folding her arms and shrugging as she faltered to a halt. Raising an eyebrow at Maegisil, the craftswoman smiled ruefully. "I'm making excuses," she stated simply. Trying again, she said carefully, "No. No, Lord Celebrimbor has not spoken to me of the Three - or not of what finally became of them."

Maegisil's grey eyes studied the other's face silently, but even through his silence, Narisiel knew what he was going to suggest yet. As he opened his mouth to speak, she butted in quickly. "Maegisil...Celebrimbor is expecting you tonight?"

"I am getting later as we speak, indeed," the other replied with a smile. His face regained some of its solemnity as he continued, "Lord Celebrimbor does not see many of his counselors regularly any more - but that simply means that he has plenty of time in which a meeting could be arranged."

The statement had all the subtlety of a labelled brick thrown through a window, and its point was not missed by Narisiel. Unfolding her arms and wiping her hands nervously on her apron as her eyes darted to the window, the words thrown to the edge of her lips but refusing to spill over. It had been long since she had spoken to Celebrimbor, indeed, but...well, maybe this was not such a bad thing. If there was talk of the Rings, if Maegisil, one who had not been involved in the work of those innermost forges nearly a century ago, knew of them and spoke of them as if they may be of concern to the smith... perhaps it was better if she kept herself and her family out of such matters. She had her husband, her forge and responsibilities, and her very own, most precious jewel: Artamir. Narisiel knew the power of the rings: if they were to go off, the repercussions...

You are one of Lord Celebrimbor's advisors - as such, you have responsibilities, no matter what.

Narisiel sighed, her eyes still fixed distantly on Celebrimbor's regal dwelling, biting her lip slightly. No matter what he concerns she could not escape that truth. Coming to a decision, Narisiel turned suddenly back to Maegisil who immediately turned his gaze to the cupboards in a badly concealed cover of the fact that he had been curiously watching her.

"A necklace it shall be then." A new edge of decisiveness leant itself to her voice as she turned back to business matters. "I will draw up a few rough designs orf ideas that I think appropriate and will deliver them to you as soon as I can, either through my apprentice or...well, or by hand." Maegisil smiled slightly and Narisiel returned it, nodding thoughtfully. "And when I am up at the palace, who knows what else I may get done?"

Maegisil bowed his head formally, still smiling with a decided air of satisfaction that Narisiel knew was not entirely to do with her agreeing to take his commision. "Good evening, Narisiel."

Narisiel ducked her own head slightly and bid the other goodnight as he turned out of her forge. Turning back to her 'box of tricks', the smith let her hands stray absently into one of the boxes that Maegisil's fingers had run through earlier. The dying sunlight as it faded behind the high walls of the city glinted through the luscious gems within, the very essence of the sun seeming to swirl inside the fine, beautifully cut rubies. With a smile, Narisiel lifted her hand a little, letting the rubies fall through her fingers until only one of the tiny jewels remained, glowing from within from the borrowed light from the sun - and even as she watched, as she sun sank lower, the light died suddenly, leaving only the blood-red teardrop resting on her palm.

The elf's smile vanished. Replacing the ruby quickly, she hastily locked the cupboard up, tidied her work away and made for home.

[Arry]

Skald spluttered awake and staggered to his feet. Any other day and a boot would have gone flying after Bror’s form. But Skald did not relish the thought that his brother might be just as likely to pick up said boot and hide it somewhere. Bat-brained changeling! he growled under his breath. Surely we are not sons of the same mother! He snorted with irritation. I’ll pay you back in my own time, mud-worm!

He knuckled the sleep from his eyes, yawning and stretching himself awake. Pulling his soggy night-shirt over his head, he used the drier hem of it to rub dry his face and hair. Tossing it over the wooden trunk which stood at the end of his bed, Skald reached to his bedpost where he’d hung his breeches and tunic the previous night. He pulled on his clothes, found a relatively clean pair of socks, and jammed his feet into his boots.

The beard was another matter. With it, he took more care. He combed out the thick length of it, then divided it and made two neat braids that hung down from either side of his chin. Each was tied off with a wrapping of thin leather cord and a gleaming brass ring affixed over it.

Riv was already up when he entered the kitchen. The two brothers acknowledged each other with nods and a few communal grunts as Skald filled the small knapsack he’d brought with bread, cheese, and smoked fish. He could feel Riv about to comment on the quantity of food, but he held up his hand to stave him off. ‘Don’t plan on going hungry from here to the East-gate brother! Now hand me a small skin of wine and I’ll be off, if you don’t mind.’ He eyed Riv for a moment. ‘And yes, I’m a bit snappish this morning. Seems there’s a leak in my room . . . over my bed . . .’ He said no more, but hurried out to the outer chambers and made for the path that went eastward.

-----

Bror and Skald met up as agreed in the large chamber east of theirs, off which a number of other families had their quarters and workshops. Skald refused to give his brother the satisfaction of seeing him resentful or angry and was all briskly businesslike instead.

‘I’m going to see the Grimsteel’s first,’ Skald told his brother. ‘I’m sure Bildr and Bisi will want to lend their hammers to our company. And I know they’ve just finished the project the King had set for them, so they will be at loose ends and ready for a bit of action.’ He chewed on the side of his thumb, in thought for a moment. ‘Meet you down the way where path dips down toward the King’s bridge. You have some fellows near here you’re going to round up, yes? I won’t call on any others until we reach the eastern chambers . . . the Brassbeards and the Hardhammers have a few strong arms they can send with us, I’m sure.’

Skald set off at a run down the chiseled path leading north to the Grimsteel forges . . .

[piosenniel]

Riv could not sleep. The news from Skald about who was behind the increased activity of the Orcs kept his mind churning. And what had begun as a small rankling ember of displeasure had now become a hot flame of anger. The long remembrance of enmity against the Dwarves from both the long gone Dark Lord and his whelp fueled it; fear for his wife and son fueled and fanned it.

He had caught what rest he could on the couch in his wife and son’s chambers. They were sleeping when he came down to bed. His mind was already churning and he knew if he slept beside his wife his tossing and turning would awaken her. ‘One of us at least, he grunted to himself as he stretched out on the couch and pulled the bearskin over him. ‘One of us should at least sleep peacefully this night.’

Up long before dawn, he made his way to the kitchen above and gulped down a steaming cup of tea by the light of the small banked fire on the hearth. Skald it seemed had left his armour for him already; Bror’s would appear when he wakened. He washed out his cup and left it on the counter. Taking down one of the lanterns from its peg on the wall, Riv checked it for oil and lit it with a sliver of kindling. He was off, then, heading into the southern chambers, toward the forges of the Glitterfists.

~*~

Afi, the oldest Glitterfist son, was up already, sorting through a tray of gems that were yet uncut. He welcomed Riv with a surprised smile and offered him a cup of strong, dark tea laced with honey and a stool to sit in at his worktable. His face darkened as he listened to Riv; his fingers clenching and unclenching about the wooden handle of a rock chisel. He was one of Riv’s closest friends and from him, Riv held back no detail of what he had learned from Skald.

In the end, Afi woke his brothers, Brand and Dari. And they in turn brought their younger apprentices who slept in a small room off the forge - Egil Deepdigger and Odi Ironforge.

~*~

Their gear stowed in great packs on their backs, the five companions quickly followed Riv down into the storerooms below the Stonecut chambers. The six Dwarves made short work of loading up a small cart each with dried meats, skins of ale, and the Dwarven journey-bread, cram. Once done, they headed back up to the main floor and eastward to the place where Riv had promised to meet Orin and his companions.

[Nurumaiel]

Araorë smiled up at Heledharm, a smile that was not lacking in pride. Whenever she saw him she was quite pleased with herself for having arranged him as her daughter's husband. It had turned out as wonderfully as could be wished. Heledharm and Erinlaer adored each other, and Araorë's own husband thought Heledharm a very fine young Elf.

Araorë heard the sound of harp music and faint singing coming from another room. For a moment her eyes grew hard, and her lips set in an annoyed line, but then she tossed her head back and smiled. It was not a crime if Erinlaer wished to sing once in a while, or even most of the day, if Heledharm did not mind. The place looked tidy enough. It was only when she spent her whole day playing her harp, singing, and dancing that it was not a good thing. And then it was for Heledharm to take care of.

The music stopped, and through one of the doorways Erinlaer came, her steps light and breezy and her face full of delight. She took her mother by both hands and stood up on her toes to kiss her cheek. "I'm so pleased to see you, Mother," she said. "Heledharm said you would be visiting some time soon, and I have been anxiously waiting."

"You don't look anxious," said Araorë, brushing her lips on her daughter's hair. "No, you look fresh and young and happy. Your music sounded exactly as you look."

"I couldn't play anything gloomy today," said Erinlaer. "I feel more at peace than I can possibly say. I have had all the day to play my music; Heledharm has listened to me, and sometimes he would sing to my music. And now, Mother, you are here! I could ask for no more, except that Father would come."

"He is close behind me," said Araorë. "He will be here very soon. Now come and bring me to your music, if it is pleasing you so much." She glanced about, her eyes searching and critical. "Everything is very clean," she said, her voice sounding well-satisfied. "These rooms seem to sparkle and shine with cleanliness."

"I knew you would be glad if it was," said Erinlaer. "I worked very hard at it."

So she had only made an effort to keep things tidy because her mother was coming. Perhaps rather because it would make her glad if all were proper, she thought she would be angry if things were not. Araorë shook her head. That was very foolish. At least the place was not falling in ruin. At the least the girl had pulled herself away from the music to work, whatever her motive for it might have been.

"Come, let us sit and you can talk to me," said Araorë. "I do not see you as often as I would like. No, you cannot play music for me. Your father can understand your thoughts through your music, but I need you to speak. Come along. You will have your music when he comes."

[Orofaniel]

First Geldion had to laugh at Onormirë’s last comment regarding the so called headache the Captains supposedly were suffering from.

"You're asking me, old friend?" Geldion replied when he had returned to his usual face expression. Ondomirë was curious to know whether Geldion was sharing the same excitement for the upcoming task; Setting out with the troops for the Eastern Region. "I am," Ondomirë confirmed, looking at Geldion, obviously expecting an answer straight away.

Geldion thought for a moment. He was, whether he admitted it or not, a bit anxious to set out for the eastern regions. It wasn’t only the journey that concerned him, but also the horrors that perhaps awaited him there. He felt a certain anxiety lurking inside of him as his thoughts were spinning. After all, this whole experience was quite new to him. It was a new period in his life. He had evolved and he felt himself surrounded by a completely new, and a perhaps more tense, atmosphere. He knew that in these times he could not expect any less, but all the same, things were not the same after Geldion had been appointed to lead the swordsmen as their captain. Of course, he was very grateful, and he had no regrets, but still there was something lingering inside of him.

"I too will be glad when we finally set out for and reach the eastern region," Geldion then said.

"But.." Ondomirë then said questioningly. Geldion should have known; Ondomirë knew him better than most people, and there seemed to be nothing that accidentally could pass the elf unnoticed. Geldion gave a shot laugh and looked at his friend, who understood that he had hit a somewhat soft spot.

"Well, the new times makes me weary. Things are not the same. Changes are not always good," Geldion told him. "Do you wish to withdraw from the Captain position?" Hensirë then asked bluntly. He was a bit bold when asking this, and thus the two elves and Alcarfalon laughed merrily. "No...no..I'm grateful. It's an honour," Geldion then answered. “An honour it is indeed,” Hénsirë said and raised his glass. “Let us cheer for that,” he suggested and drank until there wasn’t a single drop of vine left in his glass.

Hénsirë gestured that it was time for a refill. Geldion now noticed that both of the two elves had been drinking quite a lot of the wonderful vines offered them. He eyed Alcarfalon as he offered Hénsirë another glass of the liquid that the elf Captain loved so dearly.

[Folwren]

Bror paced the end of the large chamber that he was to meet Skald in. His hands thrust in his pocket, and his boots clumping softly as he went from one entrance to another and back again. After several minutes, Skald appeared at the far end and came towards him. Bror looked up expectantly, but Skald showed no signs of having had nearly half a gallon of water dumped on him less than an hour ago. There was not even the shadow of any anger or intended revenge on his face. It did not truly fool Bor, though, and the younger brother just smiled broadly, knowing for a fact that Skald hadn’t forgotten and was just putting up a mask of disguise.

‘I’m going to see the Grimsteel’s first,’ Skald said when he reached him. ‘I’m sure Bildr and Bisi will want to lend their hammers to our company. And I know they’ve just finished the project the King had set for them, so they will be at loose ends and ready for a bit of action.’ He paused to think a moment and Bror waited patiently. ‘Meet you down the way where path dips down toward the King’s bridge. You have some fellows near here you’re going to round up, yes?’ Skald glanced at him and Bror nodded. ‘I won’t call on any others until we reach the eastern chambers . . . the Brassbeards and the Hardhammers have a few strong arms they can send with us, I’m sure.’

‘Sounds like a good plan to me,’ Bror replied. ‘It shouldn’t take longer than today to get down there, so I’ll see you later on.’ They both nodded and turned away from each other to take different roads in their own direction.

Bror set off at a rather swift clip down the passage way. He greeted the dwarves around his age with a merry ‘Good morning!’ and gave a more sober bow of the head as he passed the older, respectable dwarves.

After a time he turned off of the main road he had been following. The sound of several hammers filled the air around him and he went on into a smaller room with high, vaulting roofs. Four dwarves worked at two anvils and one, large furnace. Bror walked towards them and waited silently until he was noticed. One of the dwarves, the oldest one and father of the other three, soon caught sight of him from the corner of his eye as he set the iron that he was working into the coals.

‘Why it’s Bror Stonecut!’ he bellowed. ‘What are you doing here, sir?’ he asked, burrowing the thick metal into the red, glowing coals with his tongs.

‘I’m here to gather recruits, Master Ironfoot,’ Bror replied, ‘and if you can spare Fundin, Fori, and Tori for a few days, we’d certainly appreciate them.’

Master Ironfoot walked away from the fire and stroked his beard thoughtfully. He looked down at Bror in consideration for a moment. The other hammers fell still and the three sons listened expectantly. ‘What are you going off to do?’

‘There are elves coming through the mines and my brothers and I have been given the job of escorting them through. We’re meeting them out beyond the East Gate. But Riv figures we may have trouble with orcs on the way and so we need more dwarves.’

Ironfoot grunted and turned back to the fire. He removed the iron with his tongs and studied the heated metal and returned it back again.

‘I can spare them. Things are not too busy here at the forge.’

‘Thank you, sir!” Bror said, a grin breaking out immediately on his face. “All you fellows need is your armor and weapons and enough stuff to munch on until we reach the East Gate. Riv’ll have provisions after that.’

The four of them were off and on their way in another ten minutes. They made a jolly group and talked much. Bror was the youngest of them, but no one seemed to mind at all. They were all less than a hundred, though Fundin was almost there, and were all still quite merry.

Along their road they gathered two others. By the time the dwarven smiths were leaving their work and heading for home, Bror and his five companions reached the King’s bridge. Skald was already there waiting for him with the dwarves he had recruited.

‘Hollo!’ cried Bror from the top of the dip. Skald looked up and merely waved. In another moment, the two groups were together and greeting each other. Bror clapped Skald on the shoulder.

‘Well, here we are, big brother, right on time and ready to go. They’ve got their axes and hammers and we’re all in high spirits. May as well walk more tonight. You lead.’

[Boromir88]

Orin nodded at Riv's hint of getting some sleep. Everyone was going to need it and Orin was pretty sure he wasn't going to get much tonight. "Good night Riv, and watch over your brothers. I'll see you after I've gotten everyone and everything ready."

As Orin was leaving he noticed Fawrin was still there with another dwarf; he recognized him as Gram. "Greetings Orin, I'm surprised you're still up." said Fawrin.

"What is that supposed to mean?" joked Orin. "Are you trying to say I'm old?"

"Oh..not at all. Of course not."

"Well, boys I'm still here because I need to ask a favor of you." He now had the full attention of both dwarves. "You may have heard that orcs have been multiplying and the elves are getting restless. Their afraid of something, or someone, and are now trying to gather their full strength, preparing for whatever it is to come. We have been asked to escort the Lorien elves through the Mines and now I ask you to join us as we are going to need as many strong lads as we can spare."

Fawrin and Gram looked hard at Orin, and after a long pause Fawrin spoke up. "You have not told us everything you know or everything you deem to know, but I have no doubt the Elves are scared over something. It's not usual for Elves to get frantic, but it has to be something big if the Lorien Elves need a passage through the mines."

"I assure you I've told you everything I am certain to be true. I'm sure you are the one that knows more than me, Fawrin. All I know is the Lorien Elves need a passage through Moria and we are called to help them. So, now I call you to lend us your axes, and come to aid us."

Fawrin made a gesture to Gram, Orin was sure they agreed to join. "We will help in whatever ways we can." Gram said. "What are the plans?"

"Well I am to meet up with my oldest nephew, Riv, and from there we head off to the East-Gate. Pack lightly as my other nephews are going to gather more lads and plenty of food. I would also suggest to bring whatever armor for battle. You never know what problems or run-ins might occur. Please try to gather any other strong dwarves you know and come to my room when you are ready, and we'll meet you there."

"Aye," said Fawrin, lowly. "You better get some sleep you look awful."

Orin chuckled and with that he said goodbye to his newly acquire companions. He was glad they agreed to help, especially Fawrin. Orin always appears in a much more cheerful mood when Fawrin is around.

He got to his small room and looked around. "I'm going to miss this place," he sighed. "Oh well, I'm sure to see it again some day. Atleast I hope to." He looked around and wondered if he should start packing or if he should just lie down and drift to sleep. He knew if he was to go to sleep he would wake up much later then he would like and thought it would be best to get ready while he was still up. However, the thought of rest was too strong and he laid down to sleep. Despite what he had thought earlier in the day, he went fast to sleep, and had a peaceful, dreamless slumber until morning.

~*~*~

When Orin awoke he knew he had overslept. He guessed it to be a little before noon, but atleast he was fully refreshed. But, now he needed to hurry as he didn't wish to keep Riv waiting long. Quickly he gathered his own armor and whatever food he could find. Some dried fruit, lots of cram, and the rest of the salted pork (his favorite).

As he was scrambling around his chamber there was a knocking on his door. He figured it was Fawrin and Gram and wondered if they found anyone else. He thought he got everything he could carry and thought he needed. He went rushing to the door and sure enough it was Fawrin and Gram with two other dwarves. Orin had seen them before and Fawrin introduced them as Regil and Mar.

"We better set for Riv's chambers immediately as I fear I've kept him waiting too long." Orin said. The others agreed. They got to Riv's hall, by this time it was well past noon, and Orin was hoping Riv was still the patient dwarf he had known him to be.

When Orin and his companions had walked in Riv and five other dwarves were still busily getting things together. "Wow and I thought I was going to be late" Orin said loud enough for Riv to stop.

"Uncle!" Riv exclaimed. "Just walk right in, as you can see I'm still not ready. I think we should be leaving soon, Skald and Bror have already set off. Perhaps we could have something to fill our stomachs before we go?"

Orin liked that suggestion as he totally slept past breakfast. "Pardon my rudeness lads, but this is my nephew Riv. And Riv, this is Fawrin, Gram, Regil, and Mar. They're coming with us."

"Good, glad to have you lads." said Riv. "This is Afi, Brand, and Dari. Plus their apprentices Egil and Odi."

"Ahh, Afi, Brand, and Dari, huh? I know your father well. Glad to have you."

After they had a hearty meal and were completely filled it was nearing 3 o'clock. They were all ready to go and soon set off on the long journey. Although none of them knew what they were in for and how long their journey was going to be.

[Alcarillo]

Cainenyo walked through Ost-in-Edhil until he arrived at his destination: the cobblestone street of Celebdur's shop. Cainenyo walked towards Celebdur's, an old crumbly building, but another shop directly across the street caught his eye. A wooden sign proclaimed that it was owned by Fëaglin Lómë. He walked towards this shop instead and was impressed by the quality of the jewelry in the window. A myriad of sparkling silver stood before him, shining like the moon. Tiny jewels shed colorful light on the silver, and the effect was mesmerizing. Cainenyo knocked on the old door, deciding to try this smith instead.

There was no answer, so Cainenyo knocked again. Still no answer. "Master Lómë, sir," Cainenyo said with a somewhat raised voice. He banged on the door a little harder. "Sir, are you home?" There was no noise of a forge, and his question wasn't answered, so Cainenyo assumed that Fëaglin Lómë indeed wasn't home at the time, and so turned his back on Fëaglin's shop and went to Celebdur's across the street.

Cainenyo knocked on Celebdur's red-painted door. At least I can count on one celebdan being home today he sighed. The sounds of work inside halted for a moment, but was then resumed (by Cainenyo's son, no doubt), and the door opened to reveal Celebdur, who was rather short for an Elf, and with a rather stubby nose. Cainenyo always assumed that this was due to being struck by a hammer in the face one day, but he did not voice this thought to anyone save Alassante. "Cainenyo, it is good to see you again! I have not seen you in this part of town for an age! What can I do for you? Are you here for Arenwino? He's very good with silver, like a fish to water, I'd say."

Cainenyo raised his hand a bit to show that he wanted to speak. "No, no, I am not here to speak with Arenwino. I came to commission a piece for you." Celebdur folded his arms and now focused his full attention on Cainenyo's hands as they reached into one of his deep apron pockets and removed a knife, long and like a blade of grass. "I would like some silver-work done about the top of the hilt, about here," he indicated with a finger, "I'd like some vines to twist around it, with some flowers, if possible."

"Ah, I'll see what I and your son can do," Celebdur responded. He took the knife into his arms, holding it almost like a precious child of his own, and ascended the doorstep. "Come back about this time tomorrow. It should be done by then." He opened the door and reentered his shop, leaving Cainenyo standing in the street.

Cainenyo walked home as the morning turned into noon, where Alassante informed him that a man had arrived looking for him. "Really? Was he here to commission a piece?" Cainenyo asked her. She answered yes, and that the man, named Eregedhel, had asked for a candelabrum, just like one that stood in Cainenyo's forge, only taller. She disappeared into the house and he started work on his new commission.

He heated iron in crucibles, and poured them into molds, and hammered away on his work, only stopping for the lunch his wife served and to finish the wine he left on the table that morning. He was joyful to make one of his favorite pieces, a welcome break from knives and armor and swords. The shadows lengthened as the sun drifted across the sky, and the distinct beginnings of a candelabrum were beginning to take shape in Cainenyo's forge.

It was growing later, and his work was almost finished when Alassante stepped into the forge from the courtyard. "Dear," she said, laying a hand on her husband's shoulder, "It is growing late, and Arenwino usually comes at this time. Will you go find him? I am worried."

Cainenyo was more worried by his wife's concern than his son's tardiness, but he complied and set down his hammer and, kissing his wife good-bye, retraced his steps back towards Celebdur's shop. There were noticeably less people on the streets than there were earlier. Most people had already arrived at their homes after a solid day of work. The sun drifted towards the Undying Lands, and it was soon, not far from the silversmiths, that Cainenyo spotted his son walking down the almost empty street. Arenwino wore an apron and gloves, and looked remarkably like his father as he made his way through the city. "Where have you been?" Cainenyo asked when they met.

"Did mother send you out to find me?" He asked, knowing the answer. "I'm sorry that I'm late. Celebdur and I worked all afternoon on one little knife, and he wanted me to finish it before I left." Cainenyo grinned. So I'm the cause of my son's lateness, he thought. "At least somebody will be very pleased by his new knife," Cainenyo added. They walked home in the light of the dwindling sun, where they knew Alassante would greet them with an opportunity to rest after a long day of work.

[Firefoot]

After Lushurd passed on, neither Grimkul nor Ulwakh made any attempt to “get the camp in order.” Grimkul had returned to his task of spearing rodents (without any luck), while Ulwakh was paying more attention to what was going on in the camp – in particular, to the returning scouts. Grimkul may not care, but Ulwakh had found it to his benefit to know everything that was going on. It was the best way to avoid attention from those higher up, an essential for a smaller, less strong Orc.

Ulwakh soon spotted one that he knew: a burly creature by the name of Ugburz. “Hey, Grimkul,” said Ulwakh, not taking his eyes off Ugburz. Grimkul didn’t look up, though still listened. “Let’s go find out what’s going on from Ugburz; he was one of the scouts tonight.” Now Grimkul did look up, and his features were twisted in irritation. He was hungry and concentrated on his task, and Ulwakh wanted news?

“Can it wait?” The mouse’s whiskers appeared at the bottom of the hole again. “Why don’t you just go by yourself for once?”

“Um…” Ulwakh debated. Ugburz seemed to be going someplace, and Ulwakh was not so bold as to interrupt such a large Orc once he was busy, and going alone was out of the question. The whole army was liable to be irritable after such a long cold march, and he was a mighty easy target without Grimkul’s protection. “It won’t take long, then you can come back and eat,” Ulwakh evaded.

Grimkul’s mouse seemed to become suddenly wary of danger and once more ducked out of sight. “Pushdug rodent!” Grimkul snarled. “Fine, where’s Ugburz at?”

“That way,” Ulwakh pointed, picking up his pack. He didn’t dare leave anything unguarded in this camp. Grimkul followed suit and the pair threaded their way through the rather haphazard camp.

“Ugburz!” called Ulwakh as they caught up. Grimkul stood behind, still thinking about his dinner (or lack thereof). When Ugburz turned around, Ulwakh continued, “You were a scout tonight, weren’t you? What’s happening with those filthy Elves?”

[Kath]

Hearing his name being called from behind Ugburz hurriedly stuffed his ill-gotten gains into a hidden pocket inside his armour and turned round to see a pair of orcs. He knew they were members of Lushurd's company and that the bigger one, Grimkul was supposed to have a reputation for being a bit unstable. Ulwakh the little one just looked like he was begging for a beating, cocky little thing, but Ugburz wasn't stupid enough to pick a fight with that hulking protector around, so he left it be for now.

“You were a scout tonight, weren’t you? What’s happening with those filthy Elves?” asked Ulwakh.

"Not sure. There's some of them around thats for definite, I saw one skulking along on the lookout so they must be getting close. Told the boss but he just disappeared off afterwards so I don't know what the plan is yet. I guess we'll be getting ready to fight, or we would if they had any sense. Right now though I don't really care, I just want some food. Those blasted leaders sent us off the second we stopped to camp, and I've had nothing to eat all day!"

He turned away again and began to walk off when a large hand clamped down on his shoulder and twisted him back around. He found himself looking into the gleaming eyes of the larger orc.

"And what food is it that you've got?" growled Grimkul.

[Durelin]

It was already well into the afternoon when Maegisil reached Celebrimbor’s house, and the sun was beginning to set by the time the elf-lord was finished idly speaking of the day’s events, of the comings and goings of members of his court, of the arrival of refugees from outlying towns, and of preparations for the war. The last subject was one that Celebrimbor did his best to talk about lightly, avoiding any details concerning the war, and remaining outwardly indifferent, as if he were only engaging in casual chitchat. Maegisil knew this outward appearance was nothing more than a mask. He was not about to interrupt his lord, though, and he chatted with Celebrimbor for at least two hours, perhaps more, until he found an opening to bring something to the elf-lord’s attention.

“I spoke with someone of interest today as well, my lord,” he said lightly, as if the person he was talking about was only an old friend; and that it was, though not to Maegisil.

“Oh?” Celebrimbor questioned, staring out a broad window overlooking the eastern part of the city, his back to where his counselor sat. Maegisil knew the elf-lord could not look to the east and not think of the threat that lay far beyond the Misty Mountains: far, and yet not so. “Who was that?”

“Narisiel Mirdain.”

The lord immediately turned around to face his friend. “What did you say?”

“I spoke to Narisiel Mirdain today. I was looking to request something of a mirdan, and I remembered she was your friend, long ago.”

Celebrimbor sighed, looking to the floor as he sat back down on a low gilded couch. “Not so long ago, Maegisil.”

“No, I suppose not… She asked of you.”

“Did she?” the elf-lord asked, looking up at his companion with sudden interest, “What did she wish to know?”

“She only questioned me concerning your health. She seemed quite concerned, my lord.”

Celebrimbor did not respond, but only let his eyes travel around the room to rest on a tapestry that he must have stared at a thousand times before, deep in thought as he was now, sprawled comfortably on a couch but not looking at all at ease. He had always been a thinker, and a bit of a dreamer, able to spend hours just sitting and staring at the same spot on the walls of his chambers, contemplating far too many possibilities, probabilities, and worries. Perhaps this was why he had befriended Maegisil, who felt as if he understood how his lord’s mind worked. He empathized with and felt akin to Celebrimbor more than the elf knew, and more than he would ever dare to tell him.

Reading his friend’s face, Maegisil guessed that Celebrimbor’s thoughts were on Narisiel and the past. Feeling it time to break the silence and bring his lord out of his thoughts, he said, “Narisiel spoke of wishing to speak to you. She will be visiting the palace within the next few days…I hope you will be able to take the time to see her.”

The elf-lord looked up at his advisor once again, looking into his eyes and searching them. Maegisil was reminded of how Sairien has searched his eyes that morning and found what she had looked for, whatever it had been.

“Thank you, dear Maegisil. I am glad to hear from Narisiel… I promise you that I will have time to speak to her,” he paused, and a smile appeared to lighten his features, “or make time if I do not.”

Maegisil returned his lord's smile, and his spirits were lightened, even as the world around him darkened.

[Arry]

Skald let Bildr take the lead while he fell back to talk with Bisi. The two Grimsteel brothers were twins and his closest friends in the western caverns. They were engravers like him; though most of their work was done on the metalwork of helm, shield, and weapon. Bildr was the first born of the two by the very small space of a few moments and claimed himself the leader by virtue of it. It was natural that he should head up the little group of companions and lead the way.

Spirits were high as they walked along, and none of the Dwarves in Skald and Bror’s company complained of being tired. There were jokes and singing and brave curses against the Orcs as they trod the main east-west roadway through the cavern. A sense of camaraderie and boldness prevailed as is common among young men who go to battle. And if there were fears, none showed - save by the way that even here in these safe havens of Moria they might clutch their weapons a little tighter when the Orcs were mentioned and speak their oaths against them with a little more force than needed.

Bror, Skald could see, was enjoying the company of his friends. They buoyed each other up with their lighthearted merriness. In one of those moments that happen between siblings, Skald felt a deep affection welling up as he looked at his little brother. Then a shiver crept between his shoulder blades, though no breeze blew in the caverns, disrupting the pleasant sensation.

Mahal and my right arm see you through this! he vowed quietly to himself.

On his left, Bisi spoke to him, asking him some question, and Skald pushed away for the while his feeling of foreboding . . .

- - - - -

Near morning found the Dwarves well past the halfway point on the road. A short ways to the south was the workshop of the Brassbeards and next to them the Hardhammers. Skald picked up the Brassbeard cousins, Fastor and Grimsi; Bildr went on to the other forge and brought back the three Hardhammer brothers – Manni, Vetr, and Tef.

Grimsi Brassbeard, seeing they companions looked rather tired despite their protestations, brought them back to the Brassbeard quarters and fed them. Full bellies and a few mugs of ale and soon the Dwarves who had marched through the night were taking their rest, sprawled out on the great bear rugs near the common room hearth.

- - - - -

In the late afternoon, Grimsi woke them and the group, now swollen to fourteen, proceeded on their way. By late evening they were near the Eastern gate, about ten miles from the doors. ‘Let’s stop here,’ Skald said. ‘The Hardhammers have an uncle with quarters nearby. We’ll get a good night’s sleep and arrive at the gates tomorrow morning, well rested. Riv and Uncle Orin should be along soon after that.’

[Arestevana]

A piercing melancholy fell over the elven warriors as the contingent left the trees of Lindórinan behind. Gilduin found himself wondering if he would ever return to the Golden Wood, or if he would be buried in the land across the mountains. As they left the golden shadow of the trees, though, he felt his sadness dissolve in the bright sun. The contingent had kept only a loose formation as they moved among the trees; now at last the ranks could draw together. As they halted to reform, a basket of lembas was passed up and down the ranks. The waybread would sustain them for a full day of marching.

After a moment’s rest the company was moving again. As he slipped back into the familiar rhythm, Gilduin decided that he was glad to have left the woods behind. While he was not inept at marching with the standard, it had been many years since he had kept formation while bearing a polearm of any sort. He had found it difficult to maneuver among the trees with the banner catching on branches above his head, and more than once he had tripped up himself and those marching beside him.

Vaele had thus far proven himself to be an irrepressibly good-natured companion, despite the fact that Gilduin cold-shouldered him at every opportunity. Gilduin was gaining a reluctant respect for the scout, who seemed both imperturbable and indefatigable. On Celeborn’s orders, Vaele had been scouting some distance ahead of the contingent since they crossed the Celebrant at midmorning. It had taken over an hour to move the full company and the carts across the river, and though Gilduin was sure they had calculated for this delay, the commanders seemed to be in a hurry, pressing the contingent for speed. Gilduin suddenly realized that he did not know what they would be facing when they reached Eregion. He was not sure what he had expected: a band of yrch, maybe, from the mountains farther north. Now he realized that it had to be something more: the mírdain were not defenseless, and lord Celeborn would not lead the Galadrim to battle unless the need was great.

I wandered overlong in Greenwood the Great, Gilduin thought, and overlong avoided the affairs of my people. Now I do not recognize the foes of the Galadrim.
Catching a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye, Gilduin turned his head and saw Vaele a short distance ahead of the contingent, likely returning to report to the commanders.
“Daro, Galadrim!” Celeborn’s strong voice rang out, and the contingent halted obediently. Gilduin decided to speak to Vaele if the scout returned to the marching order. If I am going to battle, I should know whom I will be fighting, and why.

As in the previous rest, the contingent halted only briefly as the commanders consulted. Gilduin glanced at the waning sun and wondered if they would press on until nightfall. When the command to march came again, he was glad to see Vaele fall into step beside him. Gilduin noted with admiration that the scout seemed still unwearied. He recalled that Vaele had been far ahead of the contingent when they received the day’s rations, and wondered if the archer had taken any sustenance that day at all. Gilduin decided abruptly to withhold his questions about their march until the contingent stopped to rest. He tried instead to remember how one framed a polite query, thinking ruefully that it had been to long since he had had a real conversation with a sentient being…Which is entirely my fault, He realized. I avoid people like a sickness, and when they do speak to me, I ignore them. So often I am lost in my own thoughts… He gave a silent, bitter laugh. …as I am now. After moment he shook off his dark musings and turned to Vaele.
“How do you fare, my friend?” Gilduin asked at last.

[Firefoot]

Grimkul’s wandering attention had been attracted by Ugburz’s mention of food. Already in an irksome mood, he had been greatly irritated by the idea that this Ugburz might have food when he didn’t. And the possible combination of getting food and possibly knocking a head off to get it was greatly enticing. Not that he’d relieve Ugburz’s shoulders of his head if he didn’t have to – those higher up didn’t look kindly upon dispute in the camp.

So instead, he stepped up to Ugburz as he turned to go and laid a hand on the slightly smaller Orc’s arm. Ignoring Ulwakh’s plead to leave Ugburz alone, he growled, “And what food is it that you've got?”

“None right now,” answered Ugburz, curling his lip. His eyes shifted about in a slightly panicked manner, however, betraying the bluff. He tried to step away from Grimkul’s grip, but Grimkul grasped a little tighter.

“You’re lying,” stated Grimkul, glaring Ugburz down.

“I am not,” said Ugburz flatly. “I was going to scrounge up some food just now.” But Grimkul was certain that the other had food now, and he was getting angry now. He moved his face just inches away from the Ugburz’s as his hand strayed to his dagger hilt.

“Well, I think you’ve got food. And I think you’re going to give it to me,” growled Grimkul. At this point, Ulwakh stepped in and tried to ease Grimkul away. Grimkul did not take kindly to the interruption and slapped Ulwakh’s face with the flat of his blade. The latter drew away, cursing.

Ugburz took full advantage of Grimkul’s distraction and deftly twisted away, breaking Grimkul’s grasp on his arm. Before Grimkul could react, Ugburz had taken off sprinting, soon disappearing amongst the horde of Orcs.

With a howl of frustration, Grimkul took his dagger and slammed it into the rock at his feet as hard as he could. About a third of the blade snapped off at its contact with the unforgiving ground. Infuriated now, he picked up the remnant of his dagger and jammed it into its sheath. Then he stormed off towards their patch of ground at a great pace; Ulwakh was practically running to keep up (at a safe distance).

Even though there were numerous Orcs in the camp larger than Grimkul, they all gave him a safe berth as he passed. No one interfered with Grimkul in a temper. Upon arriving back at their camp, Grimkul found that some squeaker had thought to take over their space. In absolutely no mood for an argument, Grimkul hurled his now shortened dagger at the small Orc’s head. His aim was true, and the Orc fell dead on the spot. His mood little improved, Grimkul sat down heavily on top of the Orc he had just killed and tore into a piece of dried meat from his pack. That Ugburz was going to pay for it.

[Folwren]

Skald's suggestion of stopping for the night sounded excellent to Bror. Everyone else agreed and they took the paths that led to the said Uncle of the three Hardhammer brothers. Manni, Vetr, and Tef explained things to their surprised uncle and within a few moments, his astonishment at seeing nearly a score of young, tired, and hungry dwarves standing on his threshold turned into warm hospitality and he welcomed them in.

There was much talking during the supper he provided and afterwards, the old Hardhammer was talked into telling one of the old stories that he knew so well. He was and old, silver bearded dwarf known for the way he told the old tales and he knew the best ones to relate. So, after seeing that the fire in the hearth was huge and all of the dwarves had places to sleep once the tale was done, he launched into the story.

Try as he might, Bror could not keep his eyes open. The warmth of the large, hospitable hall filled with friends and comfort, and the voice of their story teller, pulled him farther and farther into that other world until he fell into a complete and dreamless sleep.

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

Tori Ironfoot woke him the following morning, nudging him until he woke with the toe of his boot.
'Come along, sleepy,' he said laughing. 'You fell asleep during the story and you're still abed while the others are at breakfast. Hurry up, or even I shan't wait for you, nor will I save any food. Don't expect the others to.'

Bror got up quickly. 'Why didn't anyone call me?' he grumbled, stuffing his feet into his boots. 'It's not like I've an alarm in my own head.'

Tori only laughed again and went out.

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

After breakfast, the company of dwarves took their leave of Master Hardhammer and went away with many thanks.


They walked on swiftly, Skald with Bildr and Bisi in the lead. There was little talking on this last march. Their minds were occupied with what the near future would bring. Most of them had been out of the mines before, but few of them had ever gone out to fight. None of them were frightened, or had the whisper of a thought to go back, but no one, regardless of how stout of heart, will leave their home without some moments of silent thought.

They went down wide, shallow stairs and came to the Second Level. Many dwarves passed in these halls and there was much coming and going. Skald continued to lead them straight on. Bror stared about him in awe. He had seen these halls a few times, though not many, and every time he passed, his wonder increased. The pillars that went up from the smooth, level floor to the rocky ceiling were carved in the most intricate and beautiful fashion, branching out at the top and bearing the resemblance of huge, silver trees.

They passed from the first hall and entered another. High in the walls, shafts of sunlight from outside the mountain streamed down through the wide windows. At the end of the hall they passed through huge, stone doors that stood open. Guards were at either side and they nodded as Skald passed through and the others followed.

Before them was the gate. The bright light from outside poured through, for they were open. Many Dwarven guards sat and stood about it.

‘We’ll wait for Riv and Uncle Orin in here,’ Skald said, turning around and facing his company.

The place they were in acted as a courtyard between the Eastern Gate and the door they had just passed through. It was brightly lit, for in the ceiling were cut windows. A blue sky could be seen from where they stood on the ground, and some white clouds floating peacefully across it.

They walked to the right and stopped by the wall to talk and rest until the others should arrive. Bror kept half an eye on the door to the mines as he carried on conversation with the dwarves.

[Encaitare]

A black, ragged tent had been erected in the center of the encampment, and it was here that Glûtkask was sharpening his axe after having had a meager supper of dried meat. The stone against the metal axe head gave off little sparks that quickly faded into ash. Off somewhere he heard an angry howl. He paid it little attention. There would always be skirmishes among his soldiers -- at least, until they were given a common enemy to dispatch first.

In came Lushurd, grumbling loudly. "Pugnacious little slime can't even spend an hour in camp without causing trouble..."

"Eh?"

Lushurd jerked his thumb in the direction he had came. "One of them in my company just stuck a knife in someone's head. That's one less able fighter for us."

Glûtkask shrugged. "What for?"

"Took his camping spot or something. I'd probably have done the same, come to think of it. Actually, I'dve had his head if he wasn't a big one himself," the lieutenant said. "Good in the front lines if he don't kill off half the company first."

"Forget it. It's not important," the captain growled as the other lieutenant, a small and sneaky orc called Kharn, entered.

"Tell you something that is important," he said. "Scout just told me he spied an Elf lurking about. They'll be coming along soon."

"Did the filth see him?" asked Glûtkask.

"He said no."

"Good." The captain hung the now-sharp weapon at his belt and spread out a crudely drawn map. "Now you'll get your tactics, Lushurd. We're behind this circle of low mountains, round the valley." He pointed to the eastern edge of the circle he described. Now, there's a pass one of our scouts that went ahead found. We'll go through there and take shelter behind the outcrops. I want our archers to rain down on them before they even know we're there. Mind you, we're not sending all our forces in case it goes bad, so use what brains you've got to pick out who to send. About a company's worth ought to do it."

Lushurd looked as though he were thinking very hard before replying, "And then?"

"And then if it goes well we go down and finish them off, of course!" Glûtkask said nastily. "Now, attacking a valley's not easy. But it's only a few of the accursed creatures. I reckon everything'll go alright."

At that moment, another shriek sounded; it seemed that there was another quarrel.

"They'll alert every Elf nearby to our presence with all that racket!" Glûtkask shouted. "Go and tell your men that if there's any more noise like that, I'll crush their worthless skulls in."

[piosenniel]

It was a full two days’ marching to reach the great hall which stood before the Eastern Gate. Along the way, other Dwarves’ hands had helped pull and push the handcarts filled with food and whatever supplies Riv and his companions had thought necessary for this venture. It had been a hasty gathering, their minds more on the task which lay ahead than on how their bellies might fare in the doing of it.

Riv paused on the threshold of the brightly lit chamber and scanned the various Dwarves who were going about their business. There, by the far wall - the one nearest the door, stood Bror, his eyes also scanning the small crowds as they came and went. Riv raised his hand, waving it in the air to catch his brother’s attention.

In a few quick steps, Orin and he and their small group had crossed the hall. The wooden wheels of their handcarts clattered on the paving stones, announcing their arrival.

[Arry]

Most of the Dwarves gathered for the escort party knew each other already, and those who didn’t were quickly introduced, their fathers’ fathers’ names trotted out to hook them firmly into their new acquaintances’ memories. Skald poked through two of the carts looking at the provender his brother and uncle had managed to gather. ‘Not bad. Not bad,’ he said looking at the dried meats and the neat packets of cram, the skins of drink.’ Fond of his food, a frown puckered his brow. ‘What! No desserts stuck in!’ he cried in mock anguish. Afi Glitterfist laughed loudly and clapped him on the back. ‘Tis not an outing which calls for dessert, young one! You come to my kitchen when we’re done and my Sinta will make a honeyed cake that will melt in your mouth!’

Skald pursed his lips as if considering the offer. ‘Well I suppose that is a prize to look forward to. The carrot at the end of the stick, eh? I’ve heard quite favorable reports of Sinta’s cooking.’

Glancing once again at the line of carts Skald asked Riv if he intended to take all the supplies with them, or did he think that perhaps some of them should be cached in the small cave at the mountain’s base, the one halfway down the path that ran along the edge of the lake.

As he waited for his brother’s answer, Skald dug out his armour and handed Bror his pile, too, to put on.

[Nurumaiel]

When Araorë saw her husband enter the room, she almost let out a sigh but caught in time, and smiled instead. Her feelings of pleasure at the thought of an evening spent with all in her family was much stronger than her feelings of regret. True, it was rather regretful that when Erinlaer and her father were together they could do nothing but play music. But Araorë had been able to spend some time talking to her daughter and hearing long answers. And that was not an exceedingly common occurrence.

Culhir greeted Heledharm, but briefly, for he was compelled to turn right away to catch Erinlaer, who flung herself into his arms as if she were a little child. "Why, daughter," he said, smiling fondly into her face, "you look fairer than ever."

She silently stepped back, took his hand, and brought him over to sit down. She took up her harp and they smiled at one another. He brought his up, and they began to play. Araorë heard and appreciated the sweet harmonies that they produced, but she knew that they would play on until it was time to bid farewell. She moved over to stand beside Heledharm, and glanced up at his face. His face showed not the slightest sign of regret, but on the contrary was quite radiant as he watched Culhir and his daughter play together. Araorë dropped her eyes again, and gazed thoughtfully at the ground. Then, hesitantly, she spoke, very lowly, so the harpists would not hear her.

"Heledharm," she murmured, "have you found my daughter Erinlaer a good wife to you?"

The happiness in Heledharm's face vanished and was replaced by an expression of deep amazement. "Why, of course!" he stammered, searching Araorë's face in a bewildered fashion. "Why do you think that perhaps I do not? Has anything I have said or done make you think this?"

"Oh, no, not at all," said Araorë. His great puzzlement did not bother her. She did not speak hastily, or apologetically, as if trying to clarify what she had said. Her tone remained very slow and very thoughtful. "But she is not, you know, the most reliable of wives."

He was silent for some time, and then, "You speak of her music."

Araorë nodded. "I do not doubt that you love to hear her play," she said. "When she was still living in our home I found her music a joy and delight. When she was very small she would dance about and sing in such a sweet, childish voice. And as she grew older and her voice grew clearer and her steps more graceful, the beauty of her song thrilled me. And when her father taught her to play the harp, and they would play together... well, you know what wonderful music they make! But sometimes I found she paid too much attention to her music. She neglected her other duties. Do you not find that because of her music other things are left undone? Even when she is not playing she is listening to songs in her head and forgets everything else about her. Does that cause her to be an annoyance to you?"

"Not at all," said Heledharm firmly. "She is my pride and joy... and more because of her music than anything else. I have found, if I am to be entirely honest, that she does neglect other things on account of her singing, dancing, and harp-playing. But..." He turned his eyes to his wife, who was playing rapturously, her eyes lifted bright and earnestly to her father's face. "But when I see her playing her music and singing, there is such happiness and peace in her face, and it's impossible for me to care whether she attends her other duties or not."

Araorë sighed. It was relief to know that Heledharm did not find Erinlaer a trial. But, all the same, her lack of responsibility was worrying.

[Esgallhugwen]

Fëaglin Lómë felt as if his head were being bombarded by rocks. Knock knock knock. And more rocks fell upon his already bruising head.

In fact so insistant was the knocking that the Elf rolled clear off his bed to try and get away from it, landing on his face. "Gruomph!", he sat up and rubbed his aching head.

Had someone been at the door? he thought dazily, after all the sound of the rocks hitting his head sounded more like wood than bone. What time was it anyway?

Fëaglin opened the curtains and his jaw dropped, he had slept in! Oh, for Ilûvatar's sake, he slept in! He lept over his bed as he pulled on a pair of breeches and a tunic and rushed into the forge firing up the furnace.

What if that had been a customer? Fëaglin shook his head and tsked himself for being so mindless.

Once the furnace was roaring away he set to work on another commision, a fair number of ceremonial daggers. To be given no doubt as badges of honour, the Elven militaries seemed to prize their assortment of nick-nacks, but they were well deserved.

And thus he continued with his day.

[Kath]

Having just managed to escape from one skirmish Ugburz was in no mood to start another back in his own camp. He ignored Gradakh, walking straight past him in search of a hidden corner to sit and eat his stolen dinner. The other orc would not be so easily disregarded however, and followed him into the darkened recess of a small cave.

"Where are you skulking off to?" Gradakh asked, standing in the entrance so Ugburz could not get out.

"Away from you for some peace and quiet!" Ugburz snarled back, desperately wishing the other orc would just leave so he could eat. Unfortunately Gradakh seemed in a mood to talk.

"So what did you see? News is there was an Elf sighting." He spat on the ground as if disgusted by the mere name.

"There was, it was by me. There was just the one of them, a scout I'd guess come to check out the paths. Happy now?"

Giving up on the idea of waiting Gradakh out he got up and pushed past him. He quickly disappeared into a group of larger orcs and crawled through some undergrowth near the edge of the camp. He could see Gradakh in the distance, scowling but obviously with no idea where he had gone. Sighing with relief he settled back into the grass and finally wolfed down his food.

Exhausted from marching all day and then having to scout most of the evening, he fell almost immediately into a deep sleep even despite the noise of the camp all around him and the fighting of the orcs between themselves.

He did not wake again until the next morning when someone fell over him on their way out of the camp.

"Curse you! What are you doing lying where you can't be seen?" asked the orc suspiciously.

"Keeping out the way, now get off me!" he replied, shoving the other orc of him and scrambling to his feet. He looked up and saw the sun beginning to rise over the horizon. Hurriedly he shuffled into a nearby tent, trying to avoid the light and in search of anyone who might know what the plans for the day were.

[Firefoot]

“Grimkul… Grimkul, wake up.” Ulwakh tentatively prodded his companion into wakefulness. “We’re getting ready to move out.” Grimkul’s yellow eyes opened into blaring sunlight.

“Blasted sun,” grumbled Grimkul. “Not natural, marching in the daylight… I wouldn’t mind going back to the old days, when all our raids were at night.” Frankly, Ulwakh agreed, but he said nothing of it lest he instigate another one of Grimkul’s ideas of escape. Ulwakh didn’t want to have to refute it, and in Grimkul’s continued foul mood, he might not listen to reason anyway. Grimkul apparently took no notice of Ulwakh’s silence and continued, “We’re moving out, you say? Where to?”

“They’re saying there’s a little valley a few miles from here… we’re going to ambush the Elves there.” A light of hatred sprung into Ulwakh’s eyes at his mention of Elves. Personally, he preferred the rare captive (there hadn’t been any for him to play with since they had been enslaved), but killing them was fine, too. And they would certainly die today…

Grimkul had stopped listening after the first few words, however. Something else more pressing to his mind had caught his eye – that evil little rodent that had plagued him the previous night had finally ventured from its hole. With surprising stealth, Grimkul pulled his scimitar free of its scabbard and leveled it towards the mouse. In a flash of speed, he speared the mouse on the point of his sword.

“Haha! You filthy rodent scum won’t be troubling me anymore!” jeered Grimkul at the mouse’s lifeless form. Grimkul did not bother to remove the mouse from his sword before ripping into its rather stringy flesh.

His mood thus improved, Grimkul merely grumbled about the Lushurd’s new orders when he came around rather than quietly threatening the commander. Muttering once more about marching in the daylight, Grimkul hoisted up his pack and prepared for the short march to the ambush site, still munching absently. Ulwakh was greatly eased; when Grimkul was in one of his moods, there could be no saying who he would lash out against and Ulwakh was an easy target.

Their march to the valley was short – about three miles or so. After that, they were led up into a narrow pass overlooking the valley. “Now,” explained Lushurd, “we wait. Quietly, might I add, Captain’s orders.” He eyed the company viciously, his gaze seeming to linger a mite bit longer on Grimkul, who returned the look with an even uglier one. Lushurd either didn’t notice or paid no mind. “Then, the Elf scum comes through this valley and we catch them with a rain of arrows. Then we go down into the valley and finish them off. Got that?” Grimkul had stopped paying attention. Ulwakh idly wondered how many times the captain had had to explain the plan to Lushurd before the commander got it straight. The other Orcs in the company seemed to be somewhere between these two states of mind; Lushurd, being perhaps a little larger than Grimkul and only bright enough to repeat the Captain’s orders back to the troops, did not command the respect of his under-Orcs save in lip-service.

So the pair settled in to wait, bows at the ready. Grimkul idly scratched at the wood of his bow with his fingernail, wondering just how long it would take the cursed Elves to get there.

[piosenniel]

‘Don’t be daft!’ Riv snorted at Skald’s question about the provisions. ‘Of course we’ll not be packing it all to our meeting with the Elves. I was thinking we would do as you said in the second part of your suggestion. Place at least half of it in the shallow cave along the mountain base. And leave three of our fellows to keep watch over it.’

‘If there are Orcs about we may end up retreating back to them, hopefully with the Elves in tow. It’s a fairly defensible place, being a little above the narrow plain between the foot of the peak and the lake shore. I’ll make arrangements for the guards that keep look-out above the Eastern Doors to watch for our return. They can raise a hue and cry should we be pinned in by foe.’

He looked to Bror, making sure his brother had gotten his armor secured. Others in the small company had also taken time to see to their equipment, he noted. Riv spoke quietly to the Dwarf captain whose men were manning the doors that day, letting them know where they were going and when they expected to be back. Arrangements were made with him as Riv had outline to his brother, and the captain cautioned the group that there had been signs of increased Orc activity in the area.

‘Mahal’s hammer strike down any who come against you!’ the captain said, motioning for his men to open the gates.

The little company made its way down the stairs to the path that ran along the edge of the Mirrormere, the Kheled-zâram, and headed south toward the head of the valley. At the mid point of the path along the lake, they stopped as planned and stowed most of their provisions in the cave. Dari Glitterfist and the two young apprentices, Egil Deepdigger and Odi Ironforge agreed to stay there and keep watch for the returning Elves and Dwarves. They would raise the alarm if needed, keeping watch for the signal Riv and they had agreed on - Brand would shoot a polished, silver-shafted arrow high in the air by day or a flaming one by night to signal for help.

'Let us hope we do not need such measures,' grunted Afi Glitterfist, following his brother and Riv out of the cave and back down the path . . .

[Boromir88]

"Aye, Mr. Glitterfirst." Orin said. "But, don't fret, it will be the Orcs that will be screeching for help if I have anything to say about it. If the rumors of orcs prowling are true that is." Some of the company broke out in laughter, especially Fawrin.

Soon the company was out of the safe halls and into the open. Orin had all the armor, he brought along, suited on. A chain hauberk, with a large round shield, and an iron helm. Orin looked at Skald, who appeared to be unimpressed with Orin's armor selection. "Don't look at me like that Skald. Atleast I brought the helmet like you suggested. You know, my plump old body can't carry as much when I was your age."

[Durelin]

When Sairien finally saw the arrival of her husband late that evening, she greeted him as if no worries had been on her mind for many hours as she sat alone. With a warm embrace and a swift but tender kiss, she did her best to smile back at Maegisil as he looked down at her with more joy in his eyes than she had seen in several years. Recalling happier days, all her concerns from only moments ago returned, though they had never really gone away. It became more difficult for her to look her husband in the eye and almost impossible for her to share in his cheerfulness. She knew it was not fair to him, but she knew there was no clearing her mind.

“Oh my love, what troubles you?”

Sairien sighed. He was always quick to notice when something was wrong.

“Nothing but my usual worries,” she said, trying her best to sound reassuring, but knowing that she probably was not at all convincing. “I grew concerned for you, as I always do when you are gone.”

By the concern in Maegisil’s eyes, which only grew, she obviously needed to try harder to smile. “But I am here now…”

“Then let us not worry about anything… We are together… We have nothing to worry about. We need only each other.” Sairien was starting to sound more and more like she was trying to convince herself of something, and she knew it.

Maegisil knew it as well, and he sighed, his eyes downcast, as he seemed to read his wife’s mind. “Are you thinking about our children again, my darling?”

Sairien was silent. She could not look at her husband, though he could see her eyes begin to glisten as tears welled up in them. He wanted to just hold her, but he knew that she did not want such comfort right now. He gave her her space, knowing that she would come to him when she wished. She had always been stubborn. After several moments of silence, she spoke, her voice thick with emotion and about to break.

“We have no children, Maegisil. You have no son!” she said passionately, almost shouting, growing angry at a situation she had no control over.

“I have you.”

“But you have always wanted a son. I have always wanted a son. You should have an heir. The son of Maegisil should be as well known as Maegisil himself!” Her voice broke, and all her needless anger and despair and shame overflowed into tears as she pressed herself up against her husband and he wrapped his arms tight around her. He held her there as she cried for quite some time, wishing he could cry himself. But he was unable to express the pain he felt in such a way. In his false sense of duty to be strong and supportive, as a husband and a counselor, he had not cried in at least four centuries, if he had ever cried at all.

~*~*~

After a long, almost restless night, kept from entering into any kind of serenity by his persistent mind, it was time for Maegisil to leave his wife alone for most of the day once again. This time it was several hours after dawn, at least, and he had been able to spend a little bit of his morning with his wife. He worried constantly about Sairien, but he knew that his duties as a counselor to his lord could not wait. Unfortunately, he never stopped to wonder if perhaps his duties as a husband could not wait either.

Sairien wished he might consider that. As he turned to leave after a final kiss, she prayed to Ilúvatar that he would turn around again, deciding to stay. She wished that everyday, and it had been far too long since it had come true. And today was like every other day; thus only a quarter of an hour later, Maegisil was taking the stairs up to Lord Celebrimbor’s chambers two at a time. As soon as he entered the antechamber, his lord greeted him enthusiastically, and his worries concerning Sairien were temporarily forgotten.

“Maegisil, my friend, today is a gorgeous day!” the elf-lord exclaimed, his voice loud and booming, though he did not sound at all as if he were shouting. He smiled as he turned away from his companion to look out of his large eastern window.

Maegisil could not help but smile as well, though he asked, “What makes you say that, my lord?”

Celebrimbor turned to his friend with a pretend look of shock. “Why, Counselor Maegisil! I should have you flogged! How many times have I told you it is not ‘my lord’? No, no, not how many times, but for how many years?” he said, skirting the question for the moment, and chuckling kindly at his friends persistent formality.

The counselor let out a short laugh, and his smile grew as his face reddened slightly, silently laughing at his own embarrassment. “I know, I know…”

The elf-lord laughed harder as he watched Maegisil’s face. “A great lord I am, if I can make a great Counselor and warrior blush!”

“That you are, my lord,” he said, making Celebrimbor laugh even harder. Maegisil laughed as well, knowing that it had been a long time since the two had laughed this way together. While remembering those days when laughter was more frequent between them, he suddenly recalled the times when Sairien had joined them, and he had been able to enjoy the company of his two dearest friends. He stopped laughing, but he kept his smile, holding on to it, so his friend would not question his mood.

“You have not answered my question,” Maegisil said.

“Yes, yes…” Celebrimbor paused for a moment, his smile disappearing for a moment, “Well, I did not answer before, simply because I am not sure how to answer. I cannot explain to you why I feel it is a good day, particularly since it has barely started.”

“Are we having premonitions now, my lord?” Maegisil asked jokingly.

The lord smiled again, and laughter was in his voice as he spoke. “Could be, could be…” He momentarily grew silent, but then a twinkle of amusement returned to his eyes, and he smirked. “I do hope these ‘premonitions’ are accurate…”

[Envinyatar]

Early Spring - before the first thaw/Lindon - S.A. 1696

The last of the snows had been a fortnight ago. It had been a light one, but still the icy layers lingered and no warm wind from the west had come as yet to melt the frigid crust that locked in solid the dirt beneath. Hénsirë jabbed hard at the ice with the sharp point of his practice stave, taking his frustrations out on it. Winter had been too long a fearsome guest in this northern land and timid Spring had not yet dared a challenge.

‘Lighten up a bit!’ Ondomirë hissed at him beneath his breath. ‘By the One - set a good example for your troops these last few moments we must idle here!’ Hénsirë straightened, resting his stave against his shoulder and looked casually about at the assembled Elves. Their eyes he noted were not on him, but on the Elf who had just stepped up to the raised platform to stand next to Lord Elrond. Hénsirë’s heart gladdened at the sight of him. It was Gil-galad, and in his fist he bore his spear, Aiglos – ‘Snowthorn’. Its great length he held aloft as he greeted the assembled troops and it caught the sunlight, gleaming like a radiant, deadly-pointed icicle. Hénsirë’s men raised their own spears and shook them in greeting, giving forth a mighty roar of recognition as they did so.

Ondomirë nodded toward Geldion as they and their troops greeted the High King with a welcoming shout and a show of raised sword and bow. He could feel that old first thrill of setting out on a campaign. A few words from Lord Gil-galad, a last directive from Lord Elrond; then, they would be heading toward Eregion and the city of Celebrimbor.

Lord Elrond, Ondomirë noted, had begun to make a few welcoming remarks. The usual litany of praise and sword rattling phrases as others of his rank had done to stir up the spirits of those under their command. His voice drifted into a dull buzz in Ondomirë’s mind as the Commander of the Elven Bowmen took stock of his own men. One hundred and fifty of the best bowmen Lindon could muster stood at rest, their attention of Elrond. Ondomirë felt a swell of pride as he looked at them. Most were already seasoned warriors, and those new to the ranks had brought considerable skill with them.they would do well, he thought, against any foe who dared face them.

Geldion and Hénsirë also had a good body of warriors they each led. Two hundred swords formed Geldion’s command; one hundred spears followed Hénsirë. Each type of weapon division was broken into small fighting units of ten Elves each, captained by seasoned veterans. They had trained hard and long in the winter compound and all were now ready to see Lord Elrond’s plans come to fruition.

Plans . . . hmmm . . . Ondomirë shifted from foot to foot as he stood on the ice, his toes feeling the creep of the cold through his boots. Beyond the initial phase of getting the small army and their supplies moving, there really had been no discussion of plans. Perhaps it was a function of not knowing the lay of the land where they would be fighting; perhaps Lord Elrond was one to keep secret his larger plans, waiting until whatever stage he decided had been accomplished before letting the next small set of instructions be implemented. Ondomirë shook his head as a pernicious line of thought crept in . . . Perhaps there are no real plans at all and he thinks to make them up as he goes along . . . which would not prove all that ill, save for the fact that this is his first engagement as a leader and really he has no experience . . . oh, let him not be playing this off the cuff as it were . . . too many of my men and those of Geldion and Hénsirë have families that I would like to see them return safely to . . .

He cast a glance down the line at the other two commanders. What were Geldion and Hénsirë’s thoughts on this he wondered . . .

The voice buzzing at the edges of his conscious mind had changed, he noted. The High King was now speaking:

“I speak to you in this solemn hour for the life of our Kingdom here in Lindon, of our kinsmen in the east, of their allies, and, above all, of the cause of Light against the encroaching shadow. A battle is raging in Eregion, focused on the Elven city of Ost-in-Edhil. An old enemy of the Free Peoples of Middle-earth has arisen. Sauron, the foul whelp of Morgoth Bauglir, has raised himself up and is looking to bring all lands and people under his dominion. His wrath is turned upon the Elves of Celebrimbor, and he would slay them or worse yet, enslave them to his dark purposes if he may . . .”

Gil-galad’s sonorous voice gathered in the Elves, holding their attention as he laid out the grave situation in the eastern region of Eriador. Ondomirë could feel the martial spirit kindling in his breast as the High King spoke on. His speech, in sum, was not too long, it kept his listeners nodding ‘yes’ with vigor at his words and vowing silently in their hearts that he would not be let down.

The King paused, his voice falling into the silence of his attentive listeners. The cadence of his speech had been like a drum beat, and now it fell into a slower and more somber rhythm:

“Today is the day we Elves of Lindon stand against him. Ages ago words were spoken to be a call and a spur to the faithful servants of Truth and Light: ‘Arm yourselves, and be ye men of valour, and be in readiness for the conflict; for it is better for us to perish in battle than to look upon the outrage of our kindred and the loss of all that is fair and good in Arda. As the Will of Eru is in Aman, The Blessed Realm, even so let it be here in Endóre, Middle-earth."

There was deep silence as his last words were spoken, then the Elves raised their weapons to him as one and facing westwards, cried out in accord that it would indeed be so. Ondomirë, too, found himself lending his own voice to the resonant harmony of the others.

It was Elrond, then, that raised his sword and taking his place at the head of his army of five hundred warriors, led them out of eastern Mithlond. He turned south as they reached the eastern foot of the Ered Luin, the Blue Mountains, intending to continue to the end of that short section of the chain. From there he and his followers would head east across Minhiriath toward Eregion.

[Arestevana]

“I am well,” Vaele Andarion said brightly, in his calm, unruffled manner.
“May I ask what you saw ahead of the contingent?” asked Gilduin hesitantly.
Vaele laughed. “No few miles, to be sure. There’s a fine site for a camp a ways ahead.” He paused, gauging the angle of the sun. “We should reach it by sunset or the hour after.”
Gilduin nodded and was silent for a moment. At last he cleared his throat. “Vaele…why do the Galadrim march? I know that we go to the aid of our brothers and sisters in Eregion, but what foe do we face? What enemy assails the Mírdain?”
Vaele did not reply immediately, and his expression was troubled. When he spoke, it was without his usual cheerfulness. “The Mírdain are beset by one they once counted a friend,” he said quietly, and related the tale of Annatar’s treachery as the sun sank in a firey crimson sky.

As Vaele had predicted, the company halted shortly after sunset, in a sparsely wooded area with a small stream running through it. The ranks dispersed, but all the elves remained close together, and Eldegon posted a guard. Celeborn ordered that no fires be lit. The night was surprisingly mild and there was no sense of evil in the darkness, but the commanders seemed uneasy. Gilduin felt a growing disquiet within him, which had begun when Vaele told the story of their enemy. It was less a fear of present danger than a foreboding of troubles to come. He could envision the journey beneath the mountains in his mind, though he had never traveled that road before. Beyond the mountains, though a shadow obscured his thoughts. He could not visualize the city of the Mírdain, nor the battle they would face when they reached it. In years past he had often imagined the fair buildings of Ost-in-Edhil, but that time seemed long ago. Now all that remained was an unseen future, at once inaccessible and inescapable.

[Amanaduial the archer]

It was due to the sounds of laughter that also caused Narisiel to awake, but like Maegisiel, she had had a restless night, claustrophobically full of thoughts but desolately empty of dreams. Eventually, in the early hours of the morning, she had fallen asleep, sinking into a dream of rubies, glittering with blood, of emeralds shining with the fallen pride of the City of the Holly... Unlike those of her Lord, the smith's 'premonitions' were not so fair.

As her husband lay as blissfully silent and peaceful as she had been distracted - even though, she noted ruefully, she had tousled and pushed around the covers until they mostly lay in a heap at the foot of the couple's bed - Narisiel sat up and swung her feet around to gingerly alight on the floor silently, rising and all-but tiptoeing to the window to look out at the source of the merriment outside. As she did so, the pressure of her bare toes caused the wooden boards of the floor, sunwarmed from the tall windows that looked into their room, to creak softly in sleepy protest at action at such an early hour. Wincing, she turned to see whether the sound had disturbed Sirithlonnior, but her husband lay still, one arm lazily thrown around his head, the other on the cover that remained around his waist, sleeping eyes watching her obliviously; as she watched him, Narisiel couldn't help but smile, his sleeping face warming her as much as the sunlight outside. Two hundred years later, she was almost surprised to find how much she still loved him; no matter how independant she was in the world outside this room, she was surprised but how much she depended on that smile. The action softened her face and the elven smith turned back to the window, lifting and drawing aside the filmy, full-length curtain.

Outside, the winter sun had barely had time to stretch her warmth into the morning, but thoughts of the night had been nearly dispelled; despite the early hour, the streets of such a thriving city are, in truth, rarely, if ever, entirely empty, and so a merry few were already scurrying, like children from this high view of a third storey window, through Ost-in-Edhil. The people of the dawn, those beings of the very early morning who wake with the sun and greet her as she first lazily rubs her fingers against the walls of the waking city when the rest are still fitfully turning in a dream-scattered world of sleep, had already been and gone, leaving little in their wake but those necessities, vital but small, the quiet fairies. The later group were waking and getting up: those going to work, waking slowly and allowing themselves that precious five more minutes; those who worked for the higher society, for the lords and ladies who needed them from the word go, already predecessing their idler counterparts; and the children, already in the streets, already full of energy, already welcoming the sun with all its innocence and warmth. It was the latter on whom Narisiel now looked down from her high chamber: a pair of younger elves, a girl and a boy, not quite adults but already with a resentment at being called children, probably within a decade of her own son's age. The girl had stopped the boy, talking passionately about some topic that Narisiel was not privy to from the height she watched from, but nonetheless something that clearly incensed her. The boy seemed to disagree with her serious position and shook her head, an indulgent smile on his lips - his mistake. Not liking his condescending behaviour, his friend shoved him lightly on the shoulder, her face full of impish anger; her pushed her back lightly, jovially and, with a mock-outraged cry, the girl launched herself at him. As he held her back they ended up laughing, locked in what was almost an embrace - and, cheekily, the boy leant forward and kissed her lightly on the forehead. She looked startled then, resuming her thread, began to berate him once more, but with a little more of that fondness in her voice.

Narisiel watched them, unseen, a dumb god, as they walked on, fingers lazily threaded together almost rebelliously, a grown-up image with childish voices. She smiled at them, but was that a tinge of sadness in her expression? They have all the time in the world for that. Why start so soon, why not let them hold onto that innocence for just a little longer...

"They are just children, Narisiel."

Percieving her thoughts perfectly, Sirithlonnior's face cut smoothly into his wife's thoughts and she span around immediately, her hands behind her back like a guilty child to see her previously 'sleeping' husband propped up on one elbow, calmly watching her. She narrowed her eyes. "You weren't asleep," she replied accusingly.

He merely smiled.

Like the child in the street below, the elf smith gave a cry of indignation and, dignity discarded to the wind - who was there to catch it, in the privacy of their marriage chamber? - Narisiel hurled herself at Sirithlonnior in a laughing, incoherent heap, a mirror of the couple below. For a while, for some instances, time was allowed to simply stand still.



But it was a privilege that did not apply to the whole world. As she selected her clothes for the day - her 'battledress' Sirithlonnior mockingly called it - her husband questioned her choice.

Holding up the offending item, a fine dress of dark, wine-red with loose sleeves to the elbow, and a full-sleeved undergarment of a strong yellow, Narisiel held it away from her, turning it critically in the light. "Oh, why? I think the smudges of silver would compliment the red, and don't you agree that soot would go well with the yellow? A bold contrast, that's what we like-"

"You're mocking me."

Narisiel turned her face to her husband, tipping it to one side as she smiled impishly, her dark eyes glittering. "Would I?" Laughing as he raised an eyebrow, she conceded. "I am to go to the palace today. I thought it was appropriate not to scare the ladies in waiting."

Sirithlonnior did not pick up on the humour of the second statement, his face becoming more serious as he sat up from his lounging position. "The palace? You are to see Lord Celebrimbor?"

Narisiel did not return his gaze for a moment, looking down to fiddle with the dress, but that was the only outward sign of her anxiety before she shrugged and looked back at her husband. "Not necessarily, Sirith. I have a commision from one of his courtiers - I need to show him the plans."

"So send Losrian."

"I cannot do it myself?" The question had a little too much snap in it and Sirithlonnior's face momentarily darkened as he fell into silence. Narisiel's anger faded away and she rubbed her eyes with one hand, looking away and then looking back. "I'm sorry, Sirith. It's...it's just..."

"You have been happier since you stopped working so closely with Celebrimbor, Narisiel. Something about you changed when you started that...that work with him." The word 'work' was spoken with a barely audible distaste, but Narisiel picked up on it; she knew was that made her husband uneasy. It was the fact that she had never really told him about those three wonderful creations - and, when they told each other so much, it was a silence that quietly scared him. How much of that fear is founded, Narisiel? Why didn't you tell him? Her face softened and she nodded, still looking at the material in her hands. "I know, Sirith."

She looked back up at her husband's handsome face and gave him another ambiguous shrug and a quick smile. "But I won't be seeing him, will I? Just Maegisil."

"Maegisil?" Her husband recognised the name and the conversation eased into a different vein, easier, less stressful, as the tension slipped away. But although she breathed a sigh of relief, Narisiel could not altogether dispel the tension which Sirithlonnior had raked up - the tension at the thought of meeting with Celebrimbor after so many sleepless nights contemplating the meaning of what they had made in the forges.

[Durelin]

The quiet entrance of a servant interrupted the Lord and his counselor, though he only intruded upon silence. Maegisil recalled his name as Taurnil, but he was not sure. His encounters with him were always very formal, as he only saw him when in the presence of Celebrimbor. He noticed the servant’s entrance before his lord did, who had lapsed into silent thoughtfulness once more, and considered briefly what a shame it was that he had not spoken to the elf standing cautiously just inside the door, which he had closed behind him with the greatest of care. Seeing Taurnil hesitate to disturb his lord, Maegisil smiled and caught the servant’s eye, and the uncertain elf seemed surprised to find the counselor looking at him.

Maegisil then quickly turned his eyes to Lord Celebrimbor, and reached across from where he sat to touch his lord on the arm. Celebrimbor’s eyes snapped up from looking down at the floor and then followed his friend’s gesture toward the servant.

“Oh, Taurnil,” he said in absent-minded surprise. Maegisil was glad to hear that he had remembered the name correctly. “I’m sorry, you’re too stealthy for me these days. You’ve always been a good woodsman.”

For a moment Taurnil looked at his lord, wondering about his all but random comment, but a smile quickly grew on his face as he tossed his wonder aside and looked only upon his lord’s kindness.

“Forgive me, my lord,” he said with a bow. After a short and rather awkward pause in which the servant most likely awaited a question concerning his presence, he continued, answering all unspoken questions in the other elves’ minds. “Narisiel Mirdain is here to see Counselor Maegisil concerning a commission.”

At these words Margisil jumped slightly in his seat, and not due to any surprise at Narisiel’s arrival, but instead because of what Taurnil had called him. He could not remember ever being called ‘Counselor Maegisil.’ He had never asked for a title, nor ventured to earn one, and he was young yet to receive the title of ‘Master,’ except by mere children.

Taurnil was leading Narisiel into the chamber, following the order of the Lord of the Mirdain, of course, as Maegisil was recovering from his mild shock. Pushing all his wonders concerning his sudden new title to the back of his mind, he rose to greet the jewelsmith, ducking his head in a slight bow of respect as he had done when he met her in her shop, and thanking her for coming. Being too grand in his formalities had often led him to embarrassment in the past, but he still felt some sign of respect was necessary to most people he met, as well as as much politeness as he could manage without overdoing it, which he did often.

Lord Celebrimbor also rose to greet her, but he found it harder to smile than did Maegisil. This was a much more awkward meeting for the two of them, and as Narisiel’s eyes turned their gaze to the lord, any sort of smile disappeared from her face. She did not forget the bow that was proper, though Celebrimbor would have liked it if she had. It only made the distance between them clearer.

“It has been a long time, Narisiel,” the elf-lord said, only voicing part of what was on his mind.

“Yes, it has,” Narisiel responded simply. A short silence followed, which Maegisil decided to rescue them from.

“I am surprised, and very grateful, that you have had the time to complete the plans so quickly,” he said. Then, remembering his manners, he gestured to the two small couches that the counselor and his lord had been reclining on earlier and asked, turning to Celebrimbor, “May we sit, my lord?”

“Oh, yes,” the lord said, sounding surprised again. It seemed he had forgotten his manners as well, but Maegisil knew there was more to it then that, as did Narisiel. Celebrimbor was the last to sit, and he sat alone across from Maegisil and Narisiel, trying to look comfortable. The mirdan began showing Maegisil the plans for Sairien’s necklace when the elf-lord suddenly spoke again, drawing both his companions’ minds from necklaces to rings.

“I am sorry to interrupt, but Narisiel…I must know if you are willing to speak to me.”

[Mithalwen]

Losrian was the first of the household to surface. This was not unusual in the winter months when her sole chance of a little daylight time was just before she started work. The air had a hint of frost and she wrapped herself in her dressing gown before running downstairs from her small chamber, trusting on speed rather than shoes to keep her feet from the cold of the stone slabs of the stairs and kitchen floor. Nevertheless she was glad to wriggle her toes in the sheepskin hearthrug. Laswen's family farmed in the outlands and this small luxury was one of the benefits. She knew her path well enough in the dark and mindful of the need for thrift only lit one candle to guide her preparation of the fire. As soon as it was lit she set the kettle on the stove. She got the breakfast things ready, butter, honey, the herbs for tisane and cut a thin slice of cheese and took just one store apple and wrapped them in a muslin cloth, ready for her midday meal. By now the water was nearing the boil and she poured some into an ewer mixed with cold to wash in and ran back upstairs. Although she dressed swiftly - having grown somewhat since the last cold winter she had a small choice of garments that were warm, fitted properly and were suitable for her work - and tied her hair in the simplest braid, her brother was sitting in the kitchen when she went back down toasting the old bread. He poured her a cup of tisane.

"Off to work so early, Los? I thought you said Lady Narisiel would not be there this morning? I hope my apprentices will be so diligent.."

"If you can ever find anyone who wants to learn ... may be someone who none of the smiths will take.." his sister responded cheekily. Ferin gave her a long, hard stare but refused to take the bait.

" I am going to take my wife some tea. " He said, evenly then noticing her frugal lunch added "things aren't so desperate that you have to starve yourself yet - you are still growing"

"Yes, Ada" replied Losrian in mock obedience, earning another 'elder brother' stare from her sibling. " I hope I don't grow more - I am not trying to catch you up'". At six feet she was already tall and her brother was a good hand taller.

Left alone again, Losrian consulted her notebook while she ate and drank. Then with the first light filtering in through the shutters she took the fresh baked bread from the oven, and having cut some for herself prepared to leave.

She retraced her steps of the evening before, making hte detour back to the buttes. Her breath vapourised in the air and she wrapped her hands around the still warm bread. She had rather more time for her trials of arrows than last time but she became a little self conscious when she realised that a couple of the sentries on the ramparts, bored with gazing out had turned their gaze inward to watch. She was a good enough shot but it was affecting her aim - especially when she realised one of the sentries was Artamir. Time for work she decided and trying to make it look as if her departure had nothing to do with being watched, she packed up her things as casually as she could and walked away with a careless air.

With still a little time to spare she lingered by the windows in the shops of Rath Celebdain. The work is lovely but seems a little frivolous with war threatening. Nevertheless, Losrian wonders if she will ever equal their art. One of the many advantages of her apprenticeship was that Narisiel was skilled in all types of smithing and Losrian would not be limited to one metal for her studies.

As she opened the atelier and prepared the forge for the day's work she remembered her first visit there, when she had sought apprenticeship. Narisiel had asked her - as her brother and father had done - why she wished to be a smith when there was a fine family tradition of working wood. She had replied

"When you work wood you must shape it according to it's nature, its grain shapes the work not your will. Metal may be shaped to your will. with wood you are the slave, with metal the master".

"And do you seek mastery, Losrian?" Narisiel had asked with a catch in her voice.

"Only of metal, my lady".

As soon as the forge had heated she became absorbed in the work in hand and ceased wandering in memory.

[Arestevana]

The Galadrim assembled silently at dawn. The sun was rising, but little light penetrated the grey clouds. The misty mountains, now so near, dominated the horizon. Their black silhouettes were sharp and unforgiving against the pale sky. The mood of the contingent was subdued somewhat by the darkness, but proximity to the mountains brought a feeling of success: they neared their destination.

It was past noon before the sun broke free of the clouds, at last revealing in full the towering majesty of the mountains before them. It was an awe-inspiring sight, and Gilduin found himself staring in wonder, though he had seen the mountains before. He turned to say something to Vaele before remembering that the archer was once again scouting ahead of the contingent. It was perhaps an hour before he returned to the company.
“Celeborn wants us marching with full ranks when we reach the mountains,” he explained, falling into step easily. “We will be entering the Nanduhirion Valley soon. Have you traveled this way before?”
“Once, many years ago. I recall little.” Gilduin said. “It is a beautiful place.”
Vaele nodded in agreement. “See how the arms of the mountain surround us? Now we are in the valley, which the dwarves call Azanulbizar. We will march a while longer, and then we will see the Mirromere.”
Gilduin glanced at the sky. The sun was poised above the mountains: in a few hours it would be resting on the highest peaks. A call to halt came suddenly from his right, and the contingent stopped. Celeborn and Eldegon called several curt directions: the first rank was to separate from the contigent and form a separate division to speak to those who would guide them through the mountains. Vaele and Gilduin obediently found positions in this smaller group, which moved forward a short ways ahead of the full contingent as they resumed their march. Before them lay the shimmering expanse of water that was the Kheled-Zâram, and beyond that, the Misty Mountains.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Having seated herself on one of the fine, velvet and mahogany couches in Celebrimbor's room, Narisiel pulled two sheets of parchment, rolled and tied with ribbon, from inside a slim cylinder case. Spreading them across the low table in front, she glanced up at Maegisil, who was standing awkwardly and uncertainly beside her. She didn't want to smile, but couldn't help giving him a quick grin. "Please do sit, Counsellor," she said softly, her voice mocking but gently so. The other elf's cheeks coloured slightly, allowing Narisiel to feel a little embarassed herself at the possibility of seeming rude, and he hurriedly sat down beside her, almost being overly careful not to sit on the folds of rich damson coloured cloth of her dress. In the corner of her eye, the smith saw a slight smile lift Celebrimbor's lips - amusement or fondness at her boldness maybe. She looked down again quickly and briskly began showing Maegisil the plans for the necklace.

"I planned two designs; I was not sure which might suit best, as I do not really know your wife more than by sight. Sairien, isn't it?" Maegisil nodded, looking a little surprised as he glanced at Narisiel. She smiled, shrugging but not elaborating, before nodding towards the first design - the one on the topmost piece of parchment. "This is the one I personally prefer. It is a simpler design than the other, and so you may prefer the latter, but it has both a delicacy and a strength that I believe...well, I should be pleased to achieve it, and the result would hopefully please you also."

Maegisil murmured some affirmation of this, an almost mandatory formality to him, and Narisiel shot him a quick smile, brushing a spare strand of hair behind her ear nervously - Celebrimbor, rather than having left the room as she had expected and rather hoped, had instead stayed and was watching his two counsellors from where he stood at the window, half turned as if to survey the view outside, but with his keen eyes trained on them - or, more accurately, on her, as Narisiel knew without looking up. But the nervous gesture caused her to lift her hand from the plans unthinkingly, and the side of the parchment sprung up, eagerly making a break for it's previous rolled up position. Maegisil's hand darted forward, pinning down one corner even as Narisiel, flustered, seized it herself. She smiled briefly at him, and, taking advantage of now having one hand free, she slid her slim fingers across the rough parchment, beginning to focus on more specific points of the design. "You admired the rubies the other day, and although these are a fine choice - your wife's dark hair would be complimented by the rich red of a larger ruby stone, maybe - they are also a relatively popular choice, and I planned a little something different."

She pinpointed six roughly sketched gems which were interwoven into two intertwining chains of silver, and ended with one finger resting on a seventh, larger gem which was at the centre of the necklace - the centre piece. It was not an especially large gem, but was quite significantly bigger than the smaller gems around the sides of the necklace - centralised and fine without being audacious or overly-showy, she explained. "I planned on saphires, if this would please you," she continued, with the air of one whose plans were flexible, but was quietly confident that they would be accepted. "The smaller gems would be, say, the size of the rubies you admired yesterday, although I would be able to cut or procur even smaller, more delicate ones; the centralised one would be larger, as I have said. It allows a design that seems simple, but the interwoven silver chains within which the small gems would be delicately buried would allow a fragility and intricacy that...well," she shrugged, knowing that Maegisil would understand. She was gaining confidence now, almost forgetting the third prescence in the room. But after she had continued for a few more moments, Maegisil occasionally nodding or murmuring some comment or question, the extra prescence was to make itself known.

"I am sorry to interrupt, but Narisiel...I must know if you are willing to speak to me."

Celebrimbor's words surprised her, and she momentarily stiffened, but it was a movement and shock so controlled that it was only Maegisil who noticed, as the smith's hands stiffened slightly, stretched as they were over his arm. Uncertain and barely breathing, he glanced at her, only his grey eyes flickering to scan her face. But Narisiel merely took a deep breath....then looked up again, her face a mask of perfect, porcelain politeness. "Speak to you, my Lord?"

Celebrimbor, seated across from the pair on an opposite couch, hesitated, and bewilderment flitted over his face, just for a moment. He nodded wordlessly. Now was the moment that Narisiel had wondered about, had dreaded even - yet was also excited by. Part of her was even irritated - if only he had let her finish explaining her plans to Maegisil, she would at least have had a chance to escape. Escape... For a moment, the ludicrous idea of hitching up her skirts, sprinting across the room and leaping through the window flitted across her mind. Why, the skirt would probably even suffice as a parachute of some sort...gently float down and, by careful rudder use of the petticoats, direct myself to my forge...

The image that this momentarily conjured up was such a comical one that the smith smiled - then realised that the gesture had escaped and froze it, cursing inwardly. But then, hadn't another part of her secretly been waiting for this meeting, been planning it since...well, since when? How long had she been waiting to release all the curiousity and frustrated excitement and anxiety about the rings that had pent up inside her?

Did Lord Celebrimbor not speak to your concerning the Three...

Maegisil's words from yesterdays meeting at the forge surfaced in her mind. Narisiel made up her mind: looking directly into Celebrimbor's eyes, she let a moment pass, then relaxed into her smile. Standing, she sighed and looked away, taking a few steps towards the window, before she half turned to look back the still seated elf, not without warmth this time.

"Speak with you, Lord Celebrimbor?" She hesitated once more, then made the plunge. "Nothing would allow me more pleasure at this moment, Celebrimbor," she replied finally. And with that informal first-name use, Narisiel felt a burst of rekindled friendship - and a slight chill, as the events of one hundred years tugged, always, at her mind.

[Firefoot]

The wait was lasting just long enough for Grimkul to become impatient; he wished the Elves whom they were going to ambush would hurry it up. He strained his eyes towards the mouth of the valley, hoping to maybe spot them.

And, perhaps by chance, he did! He gave a cry of glee, which fortunately did not echo. A dirty look from Lushurd quieted him, though not before he had returned said look equally nastily. To either side of him, Orcs were drawing their bowstrings, waiting for the signal to shoot. Grimkul and Ulwakh followed suit.

The short minutes that the Elves took to march into the valley seemed to stretch on for ages. As they drew nearer, Ulwakh noted that they were marching in two contingents, the smaller one in front. Grimkul could care less about this seemingly petty matter.

Lushurd raised his arm, and it was understood that they should fire when he lowered it, which he did when the Elves had drawn even with them. With a twanging of bowstrings, the first volley of arrows was released. As Grimkul fitted a second arrow to his bowstring, he had a moment to catch sight of the moment of pandemonium beneath them. Almost immediately a second round of arrows was fired. Grimkul sneered as his arrow found its mark and an Elf fell dead. By the third round, the Elves below had figured out what was happening and had drawn their own bows and shields. They fell into battle formation surprisingly swiftly, some with shields overhead so as to guard against arrows and others shooting up into the pass.

The Orcs no longer held their silence as the element of surprise was no longer a weapon. Grimkul rattled off a string of insults as he shot his next arrow.

Lushurd made his voice heard above the others: “Fire at will!” Grimkul took little time to carefully find his marks as Ulwakh did beside him, but instead simply fired into the mass of Elves. Surprising only to him, just one of his next four arrows found a mark and felled an Elf, irritating Grimkul immensely. He was, however, heartened when an Elvish arrow clattered harmlessly to the rocks nearby. His jeers were cut short, however, when one arrow found its mark in the Orc next to him, and Grimkul hastily continued to shoot.

The fray seemed to be going well, and the Orcs were at advantage, being higher up. However, they soon realized that the Elves were steadily moving through the valley even as they fought back. Their commander apparently noticed this and ordered the Orcs down into the valley – “They can’t reach the mountains!”

So the company began to spill down the slope wherever it was passable, intent on cutting the Elves off from their intended route. Grimkul gleefully drew his scimitar and was among the first of the Orcs to crash into the ranks of Elves. Intent on their quarry, none of the Orcs noticed the attackers coming up behind them. . .

[Durelin]

“Nothing would allow me more pleasure at this moment, Celebrimbor.”

There was something so familiar in Narisiel’s voice when she spoke that the elf-lord was warmed to the heart. All the tension he had felt before she gave her answer was released in an explosive feeling of happiness, and the confusion and uncertainty that had been apparent on his face before were replaced by a smile. Remembering how he had felt this day would turn out, his spirits were raised to a new height by what seemed to him to be a fulfillment of his premonitions. Celebrimbor caught Maegisil’s eye, as the other elf was looking upon his lord with a smile of his own, and saw that his counselor was thinking along the same lines. And perhaps there was a slight look of ‘I told you so’ in his eyes, as well.

Then, as he brought his eyes to look at Narisiel, his demeanor stiffened, the graveness of what he was about to say, as well as the awkwardness for him, taking away his smile. “Narisiel…” He paused, receiving a good feeling from using her name again in speaking to her. “From my heart, I apologize to you, for my error. For my many errors.”

The elf-lord dropped his gaze, feeling all of his shame return from the day so long ago, when the deception had first become clear. In his pride, and in his blind desire to create, he had not considered the consequences of what he was about to make, nor did he wonder what was behind the plans or ‘Annatar.’ He, the Lord of the Mirdain, had been utterly deceived, perhaps to the destruction of him and his people.

Narisiel knew his shame, and tried to ease his worries, as she had always done when they were close friends, working together in the forge. “We were all wrong, Celebrimbor. The blame does not lie just on you. It lies particularly on me, as well.”

She stopped, seeming only to pause, but Celebrimbor would not hear anymore, as he was more than convinced that he was the only one to blame. His mind and his heart were filled with sorrow and guilt, and he was unable to consider that anyone else could be responsible for this. “No, no it doesn’t. I am the Lord of my people, and I should have had the safety of my people in mind before I took any action. I have been very selfish.”

The elf woman sighed, knowing the lord’s way of taking blame, taking more responsibility than was really his. Maegisil knew this, as well, as he had seen his lord sit for hours in thought, and then speak only to say how much he had failed. At times like these, he did not know what to say. He felt as confused as he did sometimes when his wife would become suddenly sad. Now, he found himself speaking.

“Please, listen to Narisiel. It is time you both spoke your minds.”

Sighing, Celebrimbor ran a hand through his flowing dark hair, and then looked to his counselor with a small smile, glad that Maegisil had left out any ‘my lords.’ He then turned back to Narisiel, his features smoothed, and his voice calmer when he spoke.

“Forgive me, my friend,” he said, then, bringing both his hands up to his face, he ran them down across his eyes and his cheeks, as if he were wiping tears away, though neither his eyes nor his skin glistened. “I simply cannot explain to you what I have felt these many years.”

Celebrimbor began steeling himself for the conversation that he knew he had begun, finding it harder to face the past than ever in the presence of his old friend. It was as if those ghosts of remembrance had followed her to the palace and into this very chamber, when before they had merely hovered just within the boundaries of his mind. They were easier to deal with when they were mere, abstract thoughts. But now they were brought to life in his mind, heart, and his very soul, as if he were reliving them. He could not bear that, knowing now what he had not known then.

[Arry]

It was only a few miles from the cave where they had stored their supplies to the southern tip of Kheled-zaram. As they made their silent way down the narrow track that led along the side of the mountain, the Dwarves could see in the distance the banner and glittering shields of the Elves. Skald paused and shielding his eyes from the bright sun looked hard toward the advancing troops.

A volley of arrows followed by harsh Orcish cries disturbed his sighting. The Elven troops closed ranks and advanced at a faster pace as they defended themselves from the foul missiles.

The Dwarves flattened themselves down behind the rocky outcroppings that edged their path. Inching forward their gaze scoured the mountain slope, looking to see the source of the attack on the Lorien Elves. The source was soon found. Orcs had hidden on the lower parts of the slope seeking to ambush the Elven contingent. Some of the Orc arrows had found a mark, Skald could see. And in return, there were Orcs falling from the accuracy of the Elvish bowmen.

The Dwarves with bows were just beginning to nock arrows and take aim at the Orcs when suddenly there were hoarse cries from one of the creatures who appeared to be in command. The Orcs were up in an instant and running pell-mell toward the Elves. From what he could see, the Orc troops were nearly double the size of the Elvish warriors.

From their position behind the Orcs, the Dwarves made haste to scramble down the mountain side after them. As they closed the distance, the creatures who lagged behind the others were at first cut down by the Dwarves’ arrows. Those Orcs who stopped to see what was happening as their comrades fell, found themselves faced with the sharp blades of mattock and pole ax and battleaxe.

The Dwarves roared a fierce and mighty battle cry as they closed with the Orcs.

Skald swung his poleaxe in a deadly arc as he reached the raged back line of the Orcs. As a scythe through wheatstalks the Orcs fell as he advanced. At his side, the Brassbeard cousins swung their poleaxes as well. The Hardhammer brothers, Manni, Vetr, and Taf, were deadly in the skill with which their throwing axes thunked decisively and deep into Orc flesh. Bildr and Bisi plunged into the fray with a grim sort of glee, their shields raised on their left arms as their mighty right fists wielded large oaken clubs studded with sharp metal points. Orcs fell, their heads caved in, crushed as easily as hollow gourds.

[CaptainofDespair]

The heavy thudding of footsteps echoed throughout the cavernous hall. At the far end stood a menacing door, with images of craven beasts and other wicked things carved into its massive frame. A figure shrouded in darkness, wrapped in the wreath of wickedness, approached the gateway slowly, pausing here and there to seemingly admire the arches and carvings notched out of the walls and ceiling. The footfalls continued to ring throughout the hall, as the figure neared the door, billowing dark brown robes swirling about their legs, trailing after them.

Two Orc guards, who were supposed to be standing watch at the doorway but had dozed off, were awakened by the deep voice of the figure. “The Dark Lord needed better servants than you foul Orcs.” Quickly snapping into action, they grunted, and slapped their pikes in front of the newcomer, and demanded he tell them why he had come to the sanctuary of Sauron. “Stand aside, or your heads will be on those pikes you carry,” came the response from the hooded warrior. Looking at each other with a slight glint of fear, the guards stepped aside, allowing the figure to make his entrance into the chamber.

The chamber was dark, lit only by an eerie light surrounding the rim of a circular platform in the center, and few torches at the edges of the great hall. From the darkness came a voice, terrible and menacing, that made the guards beyond the now sealed door shudder in utter terror. “So, you have come at last, to serve the Dark Lord. As I knew you would.” The figure waited in stillness, lit by the platform he now stood upon. “You know nothing, Sauron. You deceive yourself in thinking that. Your mantle of Dark Lord is stolen; it does not belong to you.” Silence now enveloped the room. Sauron’s anger flooded every niche of the hall, dripping from the ceiling, gurgling forth from the walls and floor, but only for a moment. Regaining his composure, he replied to the brave, or foolish, figure. “I did not summon you here to reignite our war. I have a mission for you, one you might be interested in.” A cloaked arm shot out from underneath the heavy brown robes, and made a cut through the stale atmosphere of the crypt-like room. “I am not one of your pathetic servants!” From the Dark Lord, a dire response was issued. “You will serve me, as you did my master, or you will find nothing but sorrow.”

Many silent moments passed, as the figure brooded and debated his new situation. He shook his head, as he thought to himself, obviously pondering something that was not wholly satisfactory. Folding his arms beneath his cloak, he uttered his own response to Sauron’s command. “You are not my master. I am only a servant to the true Dark Lord. But, I will serve you, for now.” A deep laugh, terrible and wicked, came from the throne of Sauron. “Excellent.” Gorthaur paused, and then continued, giving the cloaked figure his orders. “I am tasking you with bringing the Elven land of Eregion to its knees. An army will be prepared for you, and you will set out with it at once.” The figure nodded, and turned to depart the presence of the Dark Lord. As he was dismissing himself, the Lord of Barad-dur mentioned something else to him. “The descendant of an Oath-taker resides in Eregion. He should be the target of your malice.” A slight rippling of the deep, brown hood signaled a compliant nod.

The robed man turned once more, and strode out of the cavern, the taste of decay lingering on his lips. As he passed the guards at the gate to the chamber, he smirked. “I had better not receive such pathetic whelps for my army.” Once again, the heavy thudding of footsteps echoed through the arched hallway, slowly dissipating into the distant muffle of Mordor’s heavy, clouded atmosphere.