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Old 12-09-2006, 07:55 AM   #53
Anguirel
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The Envoy, too, was not easy in his mind. He struggled to sum up the slew of human characters bursting upon him, rupturing against each other. Lachrandir noted the old Chieftain's reluctance to act before the arrival of his eldest, apparently more favoured son; the newcomer, Uldor, who was himself a knot of contradictions.

The Chieftain's heir was plainly flawed, and evidently could scarcely abide either of his brothers, which hardly augured well; but he did not seem to be entirely without qualities, either. There was force and decision in his tone that the rest of the brood seemed to lack, and Lachrandir was inclined to approve of his brusque manner, his irritation and desire for clarification. Plucky, one might say. This Uldor was an iron poker, heated to whiteness, with a brashness that burnt. As for his principal foe among the other two brothers, Ulfast, his respectful bearing to the Elves was good, but he was unwise to let himself be possessed so quickly by what looked distinctly like envy.

All this thought honed itself with the rapidity of impatience in the mind of Lachrandir, and his reply to Uldor was prompt, a simple "Ay." He rose from the mean wooden seat he had attempted to arrange himself upon with ill-hidden relief, broke the wax seal that bound the scroll and let it plunge floorwards. Four feet and eight inches of parchment unrolled themselves, until the missive hung composed in the hall's thick air, and Lachrandir began to proclaim it. The hall around ceased its murmur and disturbance, almost all eyes hanging upon the messenger.

The letter began simply: "To Ulfang, from Caranthir greeting. We would make known to thy hall certain tidings, desires and commands, which we trust you to fulfil."

But the missive was the work of more than one hand; Caranthir had written the parts of present import, but, as tradition dictated, they were interspersed with various ancestral litanies and chronicles detailed by the Lord's Loremasters. The gawping Easterlings were treated to a long passage of what, to them, were incomprehensible and somewhat frightening chants in some half-enchanted tongue. Lachrandir gave a gruff apology for the letter's length, before declaiming in the Quenya of a long-forgotten Court the Oath of Fëanor. The might and terror of the words penetrated the unknown language, and the spines of the Men tingled with trepidation. But at last, after a summary of other affairs in the usual Sindarin, including the loss of Thargelion at the Bragollach, Lachrandir reached the subject of his journey.

“...Forinasmuch as thou, Ulfang, called the Black, hath been accustomed to owe liege-homage, saving thy dignity amidst the tribes, to us, Caranthir, fourth son of Fëanor, rightful lord of Thargelion but for the false disseisin of the Enemy; by this and by the ties of loyalty between thy vassals and mine, thou art bidden to provide fighting men in service, to the number of seven thousand..."

A number of gasps sounded in the hall. The Elves had ordered bands of warriors to follow them north before, but a muster on such a scale was unprecedented. It meant at least a third of all the fighting men in South East Beleriand.

"...under thine own command or under such a proxy as it pleases thee to dispatch, to meet with our own powers and those of our youngest brothers, the Lords Amrod and Amras, on the twenty-seventh day of the month of May; this army being dispatched, under the lordship of our eldest brother Maedhros, Lord of Himring, to avenge upon the Enemy the grievous and perfidious hurts that he hath inflicted. For amongst these art listed the slaying traitorly of our sire and grandsire, the ruin of our realms in the north, and the unlawful withholding of the Silmarilli, greatest work upon Arda, that our father Fëanor crafted, and that we hath sworn, on pain of the Everlasting Darkness, to regain. So it is ordained on this, the eleventh day of April. And we hath sworn, once having raised up this great Union of Maedhros, never to abandon it, and charge thee to swear likewise.”

There ended the commands of Caranthir, though the letter continued a little longer with various good wishes and thanksgiving on account of loyal services rendered to Ulfang and other chieftains; as well as several hints that more lands and fiefs might be expected if the war went well. The Elvenlord ended by declaring that one Silmaril had been plucked from Morgoth's crown, and with the aid of the race of Men, he fully expected that he and his brothers would retrieve the other two.

"There ends my missive," Lachrandir finished solemnly. "Perhaps we could discuss arrangements for my Lord's muster in some more private place?"
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