Fall of the North RPG

[alaklondewen]

The last few weeks had passed by as quickly as the ground had passed under the hooves of Ereglin's mount. The Elf did not remember much of the dreary, monotonous days, as a fog had continued to cloud his mind. Part of the problem came from the poison to which he had been exposed (it took a couple of days after his rescue for its effects to wear away), but mostly he was grief-stricken. The death of both of his young guards had been a terrible blow to Ereglin. It had been their duty to protect him…he knew this, but they had not lived long enough to truly enjoy the beauties that were bestowed on Middle Earth. This thought is what hurt him most, and he felt responsible for their demise. Rationally, he knew better, but his heart still bore the guilt.

The arrival of the refuges to Ered Luin had yet to raise his spirits. In fact, the Dwarven stronghold (however vast) felt oppressive to Ereglin. The stone was cold, and even though many torches were lit to illuminate the area…it was a far cry from the sun’s rays on a warm day. The Councilor wondered at the strangeness in the Dwarves’ concept of beauty. What a pity? He thought.

A pity? Ereglin was surprised when another thought answered his. It was Bethiril, who stood at his side as they readied themselves to be forced down the passages of the mines in search of food.

The Lindon emissary looked at her momentarily before cracking a smile. There are no windows.

The Imladris emissary’s melodious laugh pierced the tense air and brought several curious glances toward the Elves. Ereglin sighed. He had not heard laughter in too long a time, and it felt good to smile again. Although it did not last, as the Dunedain soldiers began moving the group along.