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Old 10-03-2004, 07:49 AM   #305
Hilde Bracegirdle
Relic of Wandering Days
 
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Menecin

As Vanwe told him of her years in Harad, Menecin’s anger waxed within him once again. Gone were the memories of attending to Maglor, playing for the great musician whose burnt hands could no longer feel the strings of his harp. Menecin’s thoughts turned instead to the many laments his master had composed around his bitter experiences. These things Menecin had learned in his youth, and yet before him Vanwe, who should have been allowed to wander freely the hidden places of Middle-earth, had instead endured unpardonable treatment at the hands of the ignorant, and known the scourge the ancient Dark Lord had produced in the harsh desert tribes. But his anger quickly dwindled as she spoke on. How was it that she could find it in her heart to feel pity for those who had treated her with such cruelty? And as she told of the prison her mother had bound her to, Menecin wondered, recognizing a reflection of himself in her words. Riding his dun horse silently at her side, he fingered the notes she had cast in the cold the fireplace in Imladris, and which now rested, hidden beneath his brigandine breast plate. It had been his only clue to the nature of his daughter, as he longed to discover more of her ways. She had curiosity, but the strength and subtle determination of her mother also shone in her, as brightly as the golden tresses she inherited and which graced her fair head. He could see that Vanwe was no captive, but many of the strong had faltered painfully in the presence of Naiore, and he did not wish to see her follow her mother's path nor yet the noble path that had spelled the end of Valaindon.

“You are a stronger person than myself to forgive such wrongs,” he spoke softly to her. “And stronger yet in mind than perhaps even your mother perceives. This may aid you my child, but yet be cautious for our hearts can sometimes betray us!” Indeed his own had only this morning, and that when he knew it could not be trusted. But this he would not speak of. Having warned her, he tugged at the reins, guiding his dark pointed stallion to walk beside Amandur’s charger, his thoughts circling round Naiore once again. He could hear Maglor’s rich voice in his mind, telling of a jewel that had caused much pain. But Menecin knew he had made no such vow to his dark jewel, and the only oath he allowed himself was given his daughter, and that he clung to as to life itself.

“Amandur,” he addressed the ranger. “I stress that which you no doubt are already aware of. We must be more than careful, not only before we find Naiore, but once we have her among us,” he said, so that the others might not hear. “True there are now five of us, and together we might have some hope, but I am concerned for the Ravennor’s kin, capable though they might be. I knew Léspheria’s mother well, before I came to live in Imladris. Her great compassion at first ensnared her, and when she pursued Naiore, having learned the truth of her cousin on my return from Henneth Annun, Naiore destroyed her given the chance.” He paused, grabbing Amandur’s upper arm so that when he turned he might search the ranger’s eyes. “We must take pains not to give Naiore any chance, any opening, for she will see what lies close to our hearts and use it against all of us, and to that tactic I suspect all five of us might prove vulnerable.”

Amandur looked over toward him, concern written in his expression, but Menecin saw that he looked passed him, over his shoulder to where the others rode. “What is it?” Amandur asked suddenly, so that Menecin also turned and saw that both Vanwe and Léspheria had stopped their horses, and were listening intently.

They called back that they heard a rider less horse. And listening too, Menecin made out the uneven pace of an ungoverned animal as it stopped and started, and his heart sank. He placed himself between the women and the direction the sound emanated from, as Amandur swiftly rode to discover the beast. “Prepare yourselves!” Menecin cried out, as the ranger’s horse disappeared behind the undergrowth. “Have you a knife as well as your sword?” he turned to ask the young merchant who had drawn his weapon. With a slight smile Avanill reached down and pulled a long dagger out of his boot. The elf nodded. “You had best keep it at ready, my friend, for though this horse sounds to be without rider, it also is heavy footed, and may bear some danger unlooked for.”

Léspheria too, already held half drawn her bow of mallorn wood, and Vanwe, a small blade. “Daughter,” Menecin called quickly when he saw Vanwe's short knife. “Do you know how to handle a bow?”

“No, father,” she replied, almost apologetically. “I have had no cause to learn.” Riding rapidly to her side and pulling in his mount, Menecin presented her his Noldorin sword, removing his bow from off his shoulder.

“It is just as well, for chances are you would prove over bowed. But I have heard rumor that the lady who rides with you is well versed in battle,” he said with a smile. “Stay close by her in trouble.”

And riding forward once again, he nocked an arrow in place as he went. Feeling it strange to be so arrayed after such a long time, as if he had been given his life to relive once again.

Last edited by Hilde Bracegirdle; 10-22-2004 at 10:33 AM.
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