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Old 01-04-2007, 10:48 AM   #142
Feanor of the Peredhil
La Belle Dame sans Merci
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Feanor of the Peredhil is a guest of Elrond in Rivendell.Feanor of the Peredhil is a guest of Elrond in Rivendell.Feanor of the Peredhil is a guest of Elrond in Rivendell.
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Farahil passed a thick rope wordlessly into the hands of an able crewman, walking carefully on the wet deck. The ship pressed into the water in the wind and the salt breeze tasted slightly metallic; the harbor might be safe, but an afternoon storm was coming and the fleet needed attention. He stepped comfortably on the jolting boards, climbing to the crow's nest for just long enough to see far into the water. Adragil's ship had yet to return. The wind pulled a leather tie from Farahil's black hair and it blew into his eyes as he looked around him, watching seagulls cry insults at the tossing breezes. He smiled with his eyes and slid back to the deck on a rope, rather than climbing. Adragil was well able. If he could not outsail the storm, he could weather it.

He took the rope once more from the young man and tied it tight, disembarking to see to another ship. The harbor was busy and the street urchins were attentive. Between one ship and the next, Farahil removed a young man's hand silently from another's belt purse. The young man spun fast, reaching for a daggar. He eyed Farahil and knew him immediately for the Lord's nephew, the younger of Farlen's sons, and he remembered stories told in dockside pubs on late nights. He walked away and Farahil saw to crews and ships, offering aid where necessary, keeping an eye to incoming vessels.

Every moment, the sky grew blacker, and, teasing, the occasional heavy raindrop fell, was caught by the wind, and made contact with a wet slap against chilled skin. Farahil simply tended to matters until a small hand caught his sleeve.

He turned his head to meet the eyes of the young messenger. "My Lord..." the lad was breathless. Farahil handed him his waterskin and waited, turning to face him. "News..." he gasped. "News from Rohan. Your lord father bids you return home."

Farahil tipped him a silver coin, bade him eat something hot soon, and left the first mate of his favored ship in charge of the docks.

"But Captain," The man eyed the storm clouds and the ships, brushed his hand toward the cries of sailors hard at work.

"My friend, the storm will break with or without me. Our sailors are not untried lads out for play in calm waters. They know to prepare, and they have, and they are, and they will. And with your leadership, all will go as well as if I were to remain." He spoke no word of the message. A runner brought his mount to him. The horse was a strongly built gelding, sheer black. It pranced against the stone road, but quieted as Farahil took its reins. He eyed the shifting water once more. "When Adragil arrives, send him after me."


Some hours later, Farahil brushed water from his mount's coat, shedding soaked clothing until he stood in the horse's stall in breeches, boots, and a loose, untucked, white shirt. It clung to him and his hair needed combing against the wind and rain, but it would come.

With his mount tended and fed, he dried and changed into a near exact match of his wet clothing: black breeches, white shirt. A daggar hung from an otherwise naked belt. He shed his boots for bare feet and held tea in one steady hand as he walked silently toward the room in which Degas and Feo waited almost calmly.


The fire haired young man stood, and motioned for the boy to stand, when Farahil entered. Degas stood a hand shorter than Farahil, but he stood confidently, his most pressing errand passed. He had given word to Lin's father. His errand from Rohan was done. Now it was only his own. There was still time to walk away. But Lin's brother stood silently for only a moment, and motioned for them to take a seat as he sat attentively, elbows braced on his knees, with the steam of his tea warming him from inside. His eyes showed none of the warmth.

"You are Degas of the Folde?"

"I am, Lord Farahil." Feo fidgeted, eying the tea with contempt. He quieted under Farahil's look.

"You lost Linduial?"

Degas closed his eyes, reacting wordlessly. He opened them, met Farahil's, and nodded once.

"And you want to marry her when you find her?" No hint of opinion could be detected. A mere statement of fact.

"Yes. If she will have me."

The door opened and a voice boomed. "And why should she choose you, Firetop?"

All rose and Farahil met the mountain in the doorway with an embrace. Adragil stood dropping, his razed head the only dry part of him. His skin was burned dark golden in the lamplight. The furious sounds of the storm entered through the walls, and Adragil was shirtless, black tattoos adorning his arms and shoulders. Degas looked up at him, met his eyes, and refused to look as intimidated as he felt. Feo whistled silently through his teeth. The man was huge. His voice seemed to echo.

"Lord Adragil." Degas greeted him properly, and they remained standing. Farahil sank into shadows. Feo watched with wide eyes, and Degas saw his attention shoot to the golden loops pierced through Adragil's ears.

"That is no answer to my question, man of Rohan. You lost my sister. I want her found. You are not finding her, you are a messenger boy. You would seek to court a lady with the blood of Mithrellas running through her veins, the niece of our lord, the cousin of your queen," His eyes nearly softened their coal daggar stare at the mention of Lotheriel. Nearly, but not. "You would ask permission of her family, and with what to back you? A claim to nobility? A younger son. A livelihood? Young poet, I have heard you sing." Degas said nothing, though wondered secretly, suddenly, when and where. "And you have a good voice, as far as such things go, and I don't hate the touch of your fingers to strings, but it is nothing of a dowry to write a father pretty songs to please a court."


What Degas said, none heard, save Feo and the brothers, yet when he finished speaking, the room was hushed.

"I will travel to Rohan with you, Degas of the Folde," said Farahil quietly, "and we shall see what my lady sister says of it."

And so it was that Degas brought the news of the North to the South, and met the family of his heart's desire, and found a home for Feo in the gruff and noble household of Adragil, for the boy had hero worshipped the man on sight, and Adragil had taken a liking to him later, remembering him when he found him playing Pirates and Chasers with his own sons.
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