Sorry this is so late but RL and the shenanigans of lockout and Troll conspired. There is a little more to come tomorrow - really have to go now - but I will finish tomorrow I promise ( Soppy bit of Erenor and Angore and then a scene of the Rescue ship being sent off with survivors watching. Then a little epilogue of the survivor's futures) and maybe in the circs Pio will give us a day or so of grace so that Aman and Osse can add their bits and anyone to object about their handling! Sorry it is so much from Erenor's viewpoint but it is the one I know best..!
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Mithalwen's post
Angore thought and gave a characteristically laconic response. "Yes but not a good one. We have less than two weeks rations remaining and short rations at that - and I would expect the journey to take mortals at least that time on foot in fair weather". And and everyone is already hungry thought Erenor, and tired and so cold.
Nevertheless the party trudged on day after day. They were grateful for the light of the sun each morning even though it gave no light. The pitiful remnant of the proud citizenry of Fornost cooperated with each other but spoke little, even though their situation eqaulised all, regardless of race or rank. They huddled in to as few a number of tents as would house them at night to save exertion both of carrying them and setting them up.
Erenor had often found snow beautiful when seen from her window at Rivendell - it was far less appealing now although there were moments when a shaft of light created such sparkling loveliness that she could forget their plight for a moment.
The ice had more sinister creations. They found the body of the missing councillor Mitharan caught like a bird in a thicket at the base of a steep slope. He was like a twisted star glittering with ice - a strange mockery of a jewel. Though they did their best to dispose his body in a more seemly fashion it bore little relation to a decent funeral.
Erenor saw little of her previous companions. The tension had eased with Angore, there was a tacit understanding to concentrate on getting to safety. He was still her guard but as the strongest and most experienced in the ways of the wild among them, his skills learnt through the long centuries of errantry were vital to all. He and the hardened soldier, Belegorn, were in close counsel with the prince Aranarth as to their path and actions, but at other times he served as the rearguard of the group and though his mind was yet closed to her she was aware of his gaze resting on her as her scanned the horizons and it comforted her.
Bethiril spoke seldom. She was absorbed in her own thoughts and whatever strange destiny she had fortold for herself. Erenor had never enjoyed the best relationship with her - she had not disliked her but she had failed to understand her. Now her viewpoint had shifted but it seemed too late. Bethiril had taken on her remoteness as Erenor had developed Bethiril's abhorrance of violence.
Faerim... Faerim her faithful hound, her kindred spirit and whose devotion had inspired so much amusement was also preoccupied. His youth gave him strength and he was of the few that had the energy to hunt for wood or food. Other time he spent mainly with his mother. Lissi had reserves of spirit few could equal but death had claimed one son and in the time of that bereavement she had been forsaken by her husband in the name of duty. At least in Faerim she had a son to be proud of. Although when the opportunity for adventure arose, he had been eager to take it, Erenor knew his first priority had ever been his family.
Then there was that other protege of Rosgollo - the child Gilly. Despite the conditions the child seemed cheerful and remarkably healthy. Perhaps his name had won him the protection of the lady Elbereth. Now they were largely horseless - the poor beasts perished gradually through starvation and accident in the ice and snow - Erenor took it upon herself to carry the child when his short but sturdy legs could not cope with the snow. Renedwen was already burdened with her own infant son, Derendur. She had seemed suspicious at first of the elf lady, who for so long had seemed to place herself above such mundane domestic concerns as the care of small children, thinking perhaps Erenor sought to reclaim the child rescued by her own kind. It had not helped that Erenor had soon asked if she would keep the child when they reached safety. Renedwen who was at least in terms of the Dunedain as noble as Erenor was in those of the Noldor could be just as haughty if she chose, had responded that her son had lost a father and she would not separate him from the brother he had found. Misunderstandings resolved, and understanding if not yet friendship developed between the two ladies who carried swords as well as children.
Nevertheless it was Gilly the blessed and beloved who was Erenor's bane. Little used to children of any kind she did not watch him as constantly as mother does by instinct, and the little boy toddled unheeded to the brink of a icy stream deep from meltwater that flowed down from the mountains this far south. Alerted the elf had leapt and while she was able to save the child from the fall she had taken it herself. Although uninjured she was soaked in the stream's frigid water.
Over two weeks into their journey, they had come almost to the end of their supplies, eked out by cutting quantities and supplemented with what little they could scavenge (enough for a lone traveller but not a party of their size), but more deadly to the elf now than starvation was the cold.
Angore had rushed to his mistress's side cursing himself that again she had come to harm when he had been away ignoring the fact that there was little he could have done. He wrapped his cloak about them both and held her tight as if by so doing he could hold warmth and life in her frozen body. Only now as she was dying did he have the same realisation that she had undergone weeks before. "Don't leave me, my lady" he murmured, her hair damp against his face. She had not the strength to speak bud rested her head against his chest. His reserve was broken at last and for the first time he opened his mind to her hoping to keep her attention, and awake.
Erenor was aware of little the wind blowing outside the tent and the comforting sound of Angore's heartbeat. She was beyond cold now and lying safe in her beloved's arms it would be so easy to drift into sleep. She would just close her eyes a little while, just rest til the storm abate and they could go on... her mind filled with images Angore, trolls, a woman like enough to be his close kindred. Then the tent opened and she saw Gaeredhel - or was it Rosgollo enter? I must be dead she thought as she yielded to sleep....
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Mithalwen's post
White, everything was white. This was not how she had imagined Mandos. White but not cold. So she had not returned to the snow. She raised her head slightly, it was a ceiling. And she was lying in a bed. Then an elvish voice. "Ah Lady Erenor, you are back with us!" . The voice belonged to a grey clad elf-woman.
"Where am I ? " -
"In the Houses of Healing at Mithlond of course, do you not remember?"
Gradually memory came back. If had not been one of the slain guards of course who had entered the tent but an elf ranger of Mithlond in the same uniform. Cirdan alerted by Arvedui's hawks had sent out search parties. The fire they had risked in an attept to save Erenor had speeded rescue for all. The rangers had carried phials of precious miruvor which had the power to restore even those on the point of death, and this had bought her time . The rangers had horses and had rushed her to the Havens. Erenor blushed at the memory - she who had thought herself among the strongest had been the weakest at the end.
The healer wrapped a mantle about Erenor's shoulders pressed a cup of broth into her hands and made her drink it before she would answer more questions. "The others? Are they safe? Are they here?"
"They are safe, but not all are here yet - the last should arrive later today. You have been asleep for two nights and a day since you were brought in. Your man- at- arms arrived in the middle of last night and wanted to see you there and then, if you please! Dressed in his filthy rags .. of course I would not hear of it. Told him to come back this morning and be clean!"
"Angore, was here and you sent him away?!". Erenor quelled her ire, the woman did not know and losing her temper would make more delay - "Please send for him..." She needed no messenger however since when she sought his mind with hers, she was answered. Nevertheless the minutes seemes like hours until the door burst open. Angore was dressed in new clothes, his habitual grey and black relieved by a shirt of blue that matched his eyes, but his face had the same anxious look it had worn when he had entrusted Erenor to the Mithlond elves. He knelt by her bed and took both hands in his . "My lady?" he asked. "Always, my lord".
A little later when reality had intruded on their bliss, Erenor said "Perhaps I shall have to continue being an emissary - I will not be allowed a guard as a healer or gardener..."
"That won't be necessary I hope - though would you mind choosing gardening over healing? Healers seem rather bossy" he said looking in the direction the elf woman had departed when she realised that her presence was surplus to requirements.
"And I am not?" asked Erenor incredulous.
Angore answered by raising his eyebrows " I must be a soldier a little longer by necessity, but when we are safe back in Imladris, I too would take another path - or rather resume it".
Erenor cast back in her memory for some clue and failed " What path?".
"I realise I can honour my mother by fulfilling her wish as well as avenging her death. Before she died, I was training as a minstrel".
"A minstrel? You?". Erenor was amazed that one who had wasted so little breath on speech during the time she had known him could be a master of song.
"I was considered very talented actually" ... Angore replied affecting an injured expression.
Erenor could not but laugh "You had better find a lute or harp prove it to me then!"
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Mithalwen's post
A grey ship was sailing from the havens. Sent by Cirdan to the aid of the king at the behest of Aranarth. The prince had been discouraged from joining it - "Your people need you here", Cirdan had said but if he had some foresight he did not share it.
Bethiril had insisted on going despite Erenor's attempt to dissuade her. "You have found your fate and I wish you joy, but this is mine and I will follow it - Deliver the ring to Lord Elrond when you may".
There was nothing Erenor could say to change her mind and she was filled with regret and forboding. "I am sorry I never understood you" .
Bethiril had merely smiled that serene smile. "Namarie, Erenor...I thought you a woman unsentimental, but much has changed - perhaps when you too have taken ship we will meet, and in that realm of light and peace there will be no misunderstanding. But until then I think this is farewell. You will remain in Middle Earth till the time of our people here ends forever - but I am weary of it and even if this ship bears me back, I will take another." They had embraced, and Elrond's Emissary boarded to seek for the king.
Once the ship had cast off, she had left the quay to join other survivors on the sea wall. Bethiril's ring clinked slightly against her own silver betrothal band as she turned it in her hand. She stood next to Angore and he clasped her hand in his. Although stern of face as they watched the ship enter the firth and head for the sea it was clear to all the sorrows of many centuries had been lifted from them. Renedwen was there with the boys, as was Faerim with Lissi. Erenor could hardly bear to look at them; the contrast between their hope and her fear was so strong. And yet it was not only those who sought passage north, with winter barely starting to fade, who were in danger. Mithlond was safe and perhaps Imladris was still safe but little in between was safe from the shadow of the witch-king.
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-o-o-o- Epilogue -o-o-o-
Mithalwen's post
Months ago Angore had predicted that Faerim would "escape this foolish venture's doom" . This small group, all of whom had been touched in some way by the lad's kindness and courage would share his good fortune. These who survived the Witch-King's triumph at Fornost would survive his defeat.
Some weeks later, a ship was seen emerging from the dawn mist in the gulf of Lhun. First hopes were that it was the rescue ship returned, but it was a ship of Gondor and the first of many. So many that they filled the Harlond and Forlond and were a joy and wonder to the Elves and the remaining people of Arnor, those scattered groups who had one way or another evaded the servants of evil and found sanctuary at the Havens.
Earnur, heir of Gondor had brought a mighty army - both footsoldiers and horsemen tall and fair with fine horses form the vales of Anduin. Cirdan joined his forces to Earnur's and the host of the west marched to meet their foe, the Witch King who dwellt now in the Palace of Arvedui at Fornost.
The Host of the West descended upon him and had the mastery and though the fell lord fled towards his own realm at Angmar he was caught between the cavalry of Earnur and the force of Glorfindel from Rivendell. His forces but not the Witch-King himself were utterly destroyed.
Belegorn, Angore and Faerim fought in that battle and if Lissi's anguish was doubled as she waited for news of both husband and son, Erenor could at least understand it. They occupied themselves with care of the injured and waited for the return of those they loved. When all was done they found their way back to Imladris and there Angore and Erenor were wedded.
Belegorn, who had won renown in the victory to add to the courage and duty he had shown in the retreat from Fornost, became senior among the Rangers of the North as Aranarth established the new community of his people. Lissi bore the loss of her husband when the fate of the ship long supected was confirmed, with charactersitic courage. Faerim, her remaining son became a warrior with all the skill of his father but none of his flaws and managed to combine duty to his king with duty to his kindred.
If Renedwen had had no personal connection with the defeat of the witch-king she would have one with his ultimate downfall. Her line did not fail and in later generations those of her birth son Derendur and her adopted son Gilly would unite. The fine sword set with onyx which had been made for her husband became an heirloom of her house. Of such craftsmanship was it that it was a weapon to be reckoned with over a thousand years later when it was borne by one of her descendents at the battle of the Pelennor Fields. And when its owner, a member of the Grey Company who had ridden out of the north to the aid of Aragorn returned to tell his tale in the Hall of Fire, he found two elves who could tell him how his foremother had carried it from the destruction of the North Kingdom.
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FINIS