Red Flows the Sirannon RPG

[Arry]

Durelin's post

“We are glad that you have been found safe, Counselor. Come, bring your people to our healers. Then you and I should speak with Elrond whom Gil-galad has sent.”

Maegisil bowed to Celeborn, though he kept it at simple respect, and made it clear that he would not bow to the Lorien Lord as if her were royalty. He had enough of lords and their titles, the formalities and the hours of idle talk and what they considered to be important and careful planning, wasting the time of the entire people they governed. The use of his own title pained him. He could hear Celebrimbor’s voice again in his head, but he shook the memories off.

“Thank you, my lord,” he muttered. Hopefully the bitterness in his voice would be taken for grief. Turning to Sairien, who he had made sure stood beside him, and whispered to her, and she led the survivors they had brought with them toward the center of the camp. He then walked with Celeborn behind them, and spoke more.

“So Gil-galad’s men did arrive?” he asked the elf-lord.

“Yes. Their many delays are obvious, the dangers and the miles were enough to hold them back for far too long, and they do grieve it. But such was the risk the Lord Celebrimbor knew he was taking when he ventured so far from Lindon.”

“I doubt that he knew it,” Maegisil said, barely separating his clenched teeth as he spoke. Celeborn eyed him, but left the topic be. That was more nonsense that would be debated over for hours in some counsel hall in Lindon. If they wished for the Counselor Maegisil’s presence at such a meeting, though, they would not receive it. Anything concerning the former Lord of Eregion that the King and his lords did not already know would remain a secret to them.

After a short silence, Celeborn spoke again, his voice even softer than before. “There is no chance that your lord lived, Counselor?”

Maegisil sighed. “Please, my lord. I am Maegisil, and I am no Counselor.” Running a hand through his hair, he licked his lips and watched the ground pass beneath his feet. “And no, my lord. I can tell you with all certainty that Celebrimbor died with his city.”

[Arry]

‘Well, come on. Sun’s setting and that stuffy Elf is rousting us up for guard duty.’ Skald snorted, loudly, as Ondomirë passed by, knowing the captain was not out of earshot. ‘As if we Dwarves need to be reminded of our duty . . . captain ourselves, we can!’ Rori Ironfoot’s mustache twitched at the uncustomary remark from Skald, and his bushy brows raised at the speaker.

‘I’m tired, that’s all,’ Skald said, his voice sounding weary. ‘I’ll be my usual sunny self once I get a night’s rest.’ He shook his shoulders as if to shake off the fatigue that had settled on him during their brief time in camp. He’d been too restless, thinking of all that had happened and wondering how his family fared at home, to relax and give his body a chance to rest. And now the combination of both had put him slightly on the edge, made his tongue sharp. He clasped his helmet firmly on his head; picking up his buckler and axe he trudged after Bror and the others as they joined half of the archers around the perimeter of the camp.

Some of the Elves took point positions, further out from the line. With their sharp eyes and acute sense of hearing they would be able to spy out any who approached, and relay the message silently to one another.

As the fading evening light settled into darkness, Skald settled in near a rocky outcropping, his eyes scanning the shadows in the distance; his ears open wide for the faintest of sounds . . .

[Mithalwen]

Losrian had indeed spent the time between parting with the captain and sunset with her nephew and indeed with 2 little elf girls - the daughter of the woman who was caring for Gally in the wagons and another, an orphan whom one of the dwarves had found beside her mother's body.

The tale had touched Losrian's heart - this little maid had suffered more even than Gally. The numbers of survivors were so small and mainly women and children who had escaped before the city was ransaked, that it seemed unbelievable that her father or any other relative might be found alive.

If Galmir were old enough for such reflections he might have cursed fate for leaving him with the only member of his family who had not treated him as the centre of their world - but at least he had someone. And his aunt found him easier company now that he had the normality even in such abnormal surroundings of hot food, the company of other children, and something nearer to a bed to sleep on than a cloak spread on a nest of straw.

The children would sleep between the two women. Losrian sang softly as she settled the two orphans and was glad that they began to doze before she had to leave for her watch.

This was duller than she expected. The night was quiet and although her friend Skald was near the duty did not allow for caonversation. And Ondomirë was not there. Losrian felt a pang of disappointment that she chose not to examine to closely at the realisation, categorising as residual gratitude for his great courtesy to her. Her thoughts were distracted by the whispers she heard as her watch ended that Maegisil had been among a group of survivors and was even now ensconced with the lords and captains.

If the counsellor of Celebrimbor had survived, was there hope for the lady Narisiel and her family? Narisiel would surely have been at the palace too. Losrian did not dare hope that it would be the case but memories of her mentor, her husband who had indirectly saved her life this morning and their son whose gentle teasing she had found so disconcerting filled her mind as she slipped off her boots and slid into her bedroll as gently as possible to avoid waking the children next to her.

Losrian woke to find the night was beginning to fade into a clear dawn and a small elf boy had wriggled from his own bedding into hers and was now nestled in the crook of her arm. A tress of her silver hair was wound around his little fist which was held close to his face. Galmir had always loved playing with her hair but this gesture caused something to break in Losrian. In her determination to be taken seriously in the usually masculine world of the smiths she had avoided more traditional female roles and so she had not sought much contact with thechild. Her resistance shattered she. was overwhelmed by emotion and silent tears coursed down her face as she wept for her lost kin and bitterly for her coldness to their child. She gently stroked his face and drew him closer to express her love and to satisfy this new, almost visceral need to protect him.

Soon the camp was stirring and Losrian managed to stem the tears before Gally woke. She did not know wheter he subconsciously repaid her increased affection with cooperation but she soon was able to get him ready for the journey. Once loaded, the slower moving wagons and their escort would set out while the riders, who would soon overtake them, readied for departure. Hoping to use up some of their energy before they were confined to the wagons for the day, Losrian played with the children up until the time appointed for them to leave. Young enough herself not to mind crawling around on the grass with them, Losrian found herself pinned down by three very small elves when she heard a familiar voice " Will you be riding with my company today, milady or will you be other wise detained?"

The voice avoided sarcasm and Ondomirë's face was as calm as ever as he regarded her. It was all she could not to laugh at how ridiculous she must look.

"I will indeed my lord. This trio are about to depart" . She stood dusted the dirt from the knees of her trousers and shook out her hair which fell loose to her waist.

"Very good. Report as soon as the wagons set out", the captain answered before giving his customary short bow and striding away to deal with more important matters. Once her was gone the surpress giggle erupted and though it was a merry fairwell to Galmir, who waved to her as long as he could, the parting though temporary caused Losrian unexpected pain.

She braided her hair, neatly this time and once she had put hte mail back on she was ready to take her place among Ondomirë's "men".

The elf lord spoke little as they rode, he seemed absorbed in his thoughts which Losrian assumed concerned the discussions between Elrond and his captains and allies which had continued late into the night. Losrian concentrated on her staying on her horse - though like all elves she had good balance and an affinity with animals, her opportunities to ride had been limited lately and then to farm horses not restive warhorses. Behind the smoking remains of Ost-in-Edhil reamined in elvish sight at least and ahead the tree clad rise of Hollin Ridge grew nearer.

[Arry]

Several weeks later . . .

The column moved at a slow pace. With the addition of the refugees, all of them on foot save for the children and the injured who rode in the wagons, it was a long day for the group to make even four leagues. Thankfully, for at least a fortnight since they’d left the wooded area north of Ost-in-edhil, there had been no close sightings of enemy troops. And the few that had been seen were moving westward to join the main body of Sauron’s army.

Once they passed the Hollin Ridge and moved a short distance eastward, there were no further reports of Orcs. The mood of the company lightened somewhat, a tenuous sort of hope springing up.

The Dwarves took counsel among themselves one evening as the company stopped to set up camp in a low, hilly area near the northern foot of the Hollin Ridge. There had been talk among them already about how they felt the Elves would be able to make it safely to whatever area they chose as a refuge, without the further aid of the Dwarves. Truth be told, they were eager to be quit of this obligation they had taken on and to return home as quickly as they might.

‘If we head directly toward the mountains we can recross the Hollin Ridge, heading south and make haste along the edge of the foothills until we come to the West Gate. Surely the enemy will have moved on and we can slip beneath the mountains.’ Skald’s tone was hopeful. He had been away from his family’s forge for longer than he cared. And he worried about how they were faring. Had Riv made it back safely? Had there been problems with Sauron’s army as they chased the Dwarves back to the West Gate? He feared some of them may have penetrated the entrance before it could be shut. ‘We can tell the Elves we will see them off tomorrow morning and then leave them to make our own way back home. There are enough of them now to be a strong force; most of the injured are healed and already back on their horses, weapons in hand.’ He looked about the group, most of them already shaking their heads in agreement.

‘Well, then, who wants to be among the delegation we send to Lord Elrond to tell him we are leaving?’

[Envinyatar]

Hensirë slapped his leather gloves he held in his grasp against his thigh, sending up a small cloud of dust. ‘Long ride, eh?’ he said, plopping himself down on bear ground near Ondomirë. The humps and bums and sharp pointed pebbles were not to the captain of the spears’ liking as he sat there. His cape was soon folded into some semblance of a cushion, and he rested his ride-worn haunches more comfortably on it.

‘It’s you spearmen,’ Geldion, eyeing his tall lanky companion. ‘You’re more used to walking along rattling your spears in a frightening manner, than trying to accommodate them as you sit atop a horse.’ He steepled his fingers and smiled like a cat over the tips of them. ‘Now we bladesmen . . . we are born to horse! Dashing and dangerous figures we cut as we drive headlong into battle, swords raised for the kill.’

‘More like you’re born of horse,’ Ondomirë said, grinning widely at Hensirë, with a nod to Geldion. ‘Your attitude, at least, often resembles the equine nether parts!’ Ondomirë ducked as the sword-captain threw a clod of dirt his way. ‘What’s going on over there?’ he asked, lifting his chin toward the gathered Dwarves.

‘Well. I’ve heard that they’re thinking about leaving us soon, Hensirë said. ‘Going back home to Hadhodrond. Can’t blame them, really. They’ve seen us through to this point. No point in wandering about with us. We’ve enough able-bodied to repel what small numbers of foe we might find up here.’

‘Just as well,’ Geldion remarked, his eyes sliding toward the Dwarves. ‘I’m afraid I’m with Lord Celeborn when it comes to the Naugrim. They’re too shifty eyed; too unreliable. Tainted, even. Could take a notion to start doing us in. Like their ancestors. Better we Elves just look out for ourselves.’

Ondomirë snorted in disgust at Geldion’s remarks. ‘You make me apologetic at times that we are kin.’ Geldion shrugged off the remark, turning his head away as Ondomirë rose and walked away.

-----

Losrian had stowed her meager possessions by her bedroll and had just stood up as Ondomirë was passing through the archers’ area of the campsite. ‘Good evening, m’lady,’ he greeted her, nodding as he stopped a few paces from her. ‘Are you going to see the little one?’ he asked. ‘Might I walk along with you, if so? I have need of more pleasant company.’