Brotherhood, A Story from the Last Alliance:RPG thread

[Cuthalion]

"I cannot lead you to the path of glory, Khalad, for so I perceive is your intention. You would follow me to clear your own name, to regain the honour you once had. Against my better judgement, I will aid you with Fidrohir, but we take the chance of being attacked by Vlad and the others." Without another word, he moved to Fid's side and helped him to stand. the big man groaned and whimpered, suddenly feeling guilty for slowing them down, but too cowardly to allow himself to be left to the tender mercies of his former leader.

Off to their left, the sky was beginning to lighten and Khalad grimaced. "He'll be able to trail us easily now, Melost. We need to hurry!" Melost cast him a sardonic glance. "If only that were possible! You're friend here hasn't missed too many meals!" Khalad looked at him in surprise, "Was that a joke?" Melost chuckled dryly, "There was a time when I had an excellent sense of humour my freind, but there has been no need for it for quite some time."

They travelled on, looking for a small encampment, a village, anything that would serve as a place of refuge for Fid, but it appeared they were in an area with no settlements at all. Suddenly Melost froze. He gestured for silence, then ran a short distance ahead soundlessly. "How does he do that?" whispered Fid to Khalad, who glared at him in return. The two men froze as they heard sounds of a struggle...shouting...then silence.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

I knew we should've killed the Elf the moment he fell into our camp, Jaheira thought as she spoke with Snyd, though she kept these thoughts well to herself. She'd learned better than to play the old 'I-told-you-so' trick on Vlad. Snyd grabbed a few more loaves of bread and some fruit from the nearest house and stuffed the goods into his pack clumsily. He still had food in his hands, which he dumped into Jaheira's arms. Sighing, she shoved the food into her own pack and struggled to keep from rolling her eyes at Snyd. Then Jaheira led Snyd back to the middle of the tiny village where Vlad was waiting soundly, despite the impatient glare in his eye.

"We're finished getting what we need," Jaheira said shortly, looking at Vlad and waiting for what he would do next. There were still villagers looking on in fright and exhaust, and Jaheira noted that none had moved since she'd gone off to get Snyd. Smart people, Jaheira thought, smiling. The fear on their faces was priceless. Jaheira remembered being that scared only once before, when she'd been sentenced to jail for using her lockpicks to break into different shops in her home town. It was nice to see someone else scared for a change. Her former feeling of sadness and pity for the villagers was gone, and had run off with Khalad when the coward had left. All guilt had fled with Fidrohir, the clumsy oaf.

"Thank you for your hospitality," Vlad began, stealing a glance at Jaheira and Snyd's packs, stuffed to the brim with food and a few random valuables. "I'm afraid we must take our leave, though. But if any of you want to follow us, we would be happy to return here and make use of what you have," Vlad finished with a slightly empty threat, because Jaheira was certain that none of the villagers would follow and that the bandits would not return. Most of them were incredibly old or very young, because the war had drawn away their sons. With this final threat, Vlad led Jaheira and Snyd off into the dense woods to follow the trail of Melost, Khalad, and Fidrohir.

"Do you think it will be hard to find them?" Snyd asked breathlessly as the group made quick work of the direction Melost had taken.

"Snyd!" Jaheira exclaimed in disbelief. "What sort of question is that? It might be hard to find the elf's tracks, yes. But, we're talking about Khalad being weighted down by Fidrohir. Fidrohir! You of all people should know how clumsy he is! He'll leave tracks, no doubt," Jaheira laughed as her voice trailed off. Then she looked ahead to Vlad. "What will we do with Khalad and Fidrohir when we get there, then?"

[Daniel Telcontar]

The captain approached Thelian who saluted him, wondering in what errand the commander would approach him. It was something as trivial as patrol duty. "I want you to take a small round in the forests surrounding the camp. The enemy no doubt has scouts and spies." Thelian guessed that it was not a coincidence that he was chosen; his gloom had without doubt been noticed. He said nothing of this though, merely nodded in obediance and walked off. Had this been the old days, it would have been Melost on patrol, and Thelian accompanying him. Yet Thelian had no such companion himself.

As he walked through the Númenorean part of the camp he saw by chance Dorlas, and realised that if he was to have company, it should be the human squire who perhaps knew best how the Elf felt. Approaching him, Thelian saw that he sat and polished his weapon, even though the blade was already spotless. For a moment there was an awkward silence, until Thelian at length spoke: "I have been assigned to guard duty. I was wondering, unless you have other business, if you would join me?" Dorlas looked up, and Thelian could not read the expression in his face; but he rose, sheathed his sword and nodded. "I will go with you."

For a while they walked idly around. Neither of them believed that they would meet enemies so close to the camp. Now and then they talked, or merely enjoyed the nature around them, neither of them focusing much on their task. But suddenly Thelian halted, and kept still. Dorlas did the same, a bewildered look upon his face. "I thought I heard something," Thelian whispered, and then as silently as he could, he drew his sword. He took a step forward, motioning for Dorlas to remain in his position.

Suddenly a figure leapt out of the bushes, and slashed several blows at Thelian. The latter was saved by his reflexes, and parried all of them, before taking a step backwards. He eyed his opponent warily, and then it hit him as if he had been blind and the veil was now removed from his eyes. "Melost?" he whispered with uncertainty in his voice, before almost shouting it: "Melost?"

A tidal wave of feelings flooded Thelian. He had hoped for this so long, yet had not dared to believe it could happen. Yet before his eyes stood Melost, alive and well. Sheathing his sword, Thelian wondered what miracle had made this to pass; and he feared that it was only a blissful dream that had sprung alive before him. Yet it was all to real to be a mere dream. As he gazed into Melost's eyes however, he saw only a blank expression, and he felt a dagger piercing him. "Do you not know me?" He asked, his voice resembling that of a child. Slowly a tear fell, until its brethren joined and they slowly made their way down Thelian's cheeks. Had he not meant more to Melost?

Yet something must have broken through to Melost, for suddenly Thelian felt his hands upon his shoulders, before being embraced. Smiling through his tears, he felt the joy of a lost brother returning, finally daring to believe that this was true. It was Melost standing before him, and he had not forgotten his own kinsman. Thelian felt secure in the belief that no harm could come now, that all the darkness lay behind now. Yet he felt it all become shattered as a voice reached him. The voice belonging to Arthain.

[Amanaduial the archer]

"Teach them a thing or two about looting our villages," Arthain's voice was disdainful as he wiped off his sword on the grass, stepping over a fallen orc.

The golden-haired elf standing beside him nodded. "You fought well, Arthain."

"And you. As always," came the reply accompanied by a grin from the man. The elf seemed strangely silent though, his eyes fixed skywards, the pinpricks of the stars reflecting in his eyes. "What's wrong? We made a good team..." Arthain trailed off. The immortal closed his eyes, then looked at Arthain with what the man thought was a strangely sorrowful smile. "Of course. We always have. We always will. I will always be beside you in battle, Arthain."

The man grinned, then it faded slightly as Melost turned away from him, starting to walk away. "Melost? Where are you going?"

The elf broke into a run, not looking back as his friend yelled after him, dropping his sword and belt as he did so, his stride become faster, wilder, more desperate. Arthain's stomach plummeted with dread as the memory of another time and place sneaked into this otherwise pleasant memory, the image of the elf running, tears flowing down his face, stumbling away from the camp as he did now. The man tried to run but he was hampered by the orcish bodies on the ground that now seemed to have multiplied, and which stirred, grasping for his legs, but still the elf ran on, away into the mist around the trees at the edge of the village settlement.... "Melost! Melost, wait! Melost!"

"Melost!"

Arthain's blue eyes snapped open as the voice entered his dream, the words merging into it but the voice out of place. What was going on? Why would anyone shout the name? They seek to mock me... Arthain thought darkly. Tearing back the covers from over him, he sat up, already clothed, and grabbed his sword from beside his bed, unsheathing it as he started towards the opening of the tent.

Outside, twilight had settled - night had not fully arrived, but a lapse in activity in the camp had allowed Arthain to sink into the first sleep he had had in days, although it had been so fretful and broken he might as well not have bothered. The wood was almost right outside Arthain's door, his tent set slightly apart from the rest of the army: it seemed rumours of his actions had inexplicably spread and mutated around the camp until Arthain felt unable to be with the other soldiers. Some seemed to envy him for 'getting an elvish wench'; others despised him for such a betrayal of his best friend. Either opinion was unbearable for the man.

Flinging back the tent flap, he strode out angrily...to see three figures not far away. One he recognised by the crest on his shirt as being Dorlas, and the other was Thelian. But the other...he could not see his face and his clothes were dirty and ragged in places, yet he held himself like a soldier.

Even before the stranger turned, Arthain knew who he was. His sword dropped to his side and he froze, unable to speak, as the elf looked around the see who had come storming out in such a way. Silently, unable to believe what his eyes and heart were telling him, he mouthed a single word: "Melost?"

[Cuthalion]

Melost lowered his sword carefully, as though in a trance. Who is this who addresses me thus? he wondered as he glanced back over his shoulder, hoping Khalad and Fidrohir had kept out of sight. He approached Thelian, suspicion in every line of his face. "Why do you walk in these woods armed thusly? The King is near and I seek to return to his army." Thelian sheathed his sword and motioned for Dorlas to do the same. "Melost, kinsman...do you not remember me? Have you been harmed or injured? By the Hunter, Gil-galad will be most heartened to see you again!" Thelian's eyes glistened with tears unshed as he opened his arms to embrace Melost.

Dorlas stood rooted to the spot as he watched Thelian, wanting to rejoice with his friend that Melost had seemingly returned from the dead and yet at the back of his mind he was frantic, knowing that Arthain's tent was not too far away. He and Arthain had barely spoken since the revelation that Anwenelme was with child by his master and friend, so he was torn regarding where his duty now lay...to Thelian or to Arthain.

Melost looked searchingly at Thelian for his heart told him he should know this one who looked so much like himself. "Melost...I am Thelian, do you not remember me?" The words were spoken in a voice which spoke of sorrow and heart-break. He held out his hands, palm upwards as he came near to Melost. "I believed I would never see you again..." he whispered. "Are you injured? Melost, talk to me!" The heart of Melost was touched by the pleading in Thelian's eyes. He held out a hand to Thelian, then pulled him close in a fierce embrace. "Forgive me, kinsman...I have wandered dark paths and now my path leads to but one place." He took Thelian by the shoulders and held him away slightly and the tear-stained face that gazed at his own nearly crushed his secret resolve. "Again, I beg your forgiveness...to know I have caused you such pain wounds my soul." He brushed Thelian's tears from his fair face, then kissed his brow. "I'll not leave you again, kinsman." he said softly, then turned and gestured behind him for the others to join him, then as he looked up, Melost froze his body going rigid as he recognised his name, spoken by a most beloved voice.

"Melost!"

He went icy cold and he could feel his knees buckle at a the shock of hearing that voice once again, the voice he both hated and loved. Thelian cried out and caught him as he fell. Dorlas, not knowing what to do, reacted by drawing his sword on Khalad and Fidrohir, both of whom stood stock still, aghast. What had happened? Why had Melost collapsed? Dorlas spoke in a steady voice to the two men. "Stay where you are until we can get this sorted out, both of you." They both nodded assent, then watched as another man, barely clothed, ran up and knelt next to Melost as he lay in Thelian's arms.

[Durelin]

Vlad knelt on one knee examing the ground before him for some sign of disturbance that could be called a track, left by those they were pursuit of. Snyd was thankful, for a moment, that their quarry was so hard to track, for it gave him a moment to catch his breath. They had been moving quickly for much of the night, as had been Melost, Khalad, and Fid. Vlad had pressed Jaheira and Snyd on, forcing them to run for hours on end. Snyd had needed much more prodding, but even Jaheira seemed sluggish in comparison to Vlad. Something drove the one-eyed man on, and more than just a thirst for the blood of his betrayers, as that was what gave Jaheira the strength to run with as much speed and vigor as she did. What drove Snyd on was the fear of being left alone, and nothing more. There was no other motivation that could possibly be driving him; nothing more.

"They are still almost a day ahead of us. They moved very quickly, and we were slow to begin trailing them," Vlad said gruffly, eyeing Snyd and Jaheira quickly, clearly suggesting that this was their fault. Snyd was too busy trying to catch his breath, crouched over and ready to empty his stomach, if need be. It certainly felt as if this would be necessary. But Jaheira was never too busy to respond to Vlad's accusations. "A late start caused by a delay of decision making, Vlad." For once, Vlad did not seem effected by this comment, not even angered. He still knelt, and though he stared at the grass, there was not a blade of grass he could not have examined yet. Another moment of silence followed, and Snyd was able to stand erect, though he still suck in air greedily. Looking ahead of him, he could see the number of trees beginning to grow, and beyond, on a hill, a group of large trees could be seen. Snyd acknowledged their beauty with a glance, and their size with another. They seemed very large, though how large Snyd could not tell at this distance.

"Wouldn't you expect the elf to head that way," he said, pointing toward the large trees that rose above the others on the hill and taking a deep breath before he continued, "straight ahead?" Now Vlad rose from the ground and turned, to look at him. Looking into Vlad's one eye, Snyd could feel Jaheira's eyes on him as well.

"Expecting and knowing are two different things," Vlad said, quite calmly for him. "We move again, so pick it up. We have gained ground, but not enough." Barely giving Snyd and Jaheira time to grab the packs of supplies they had been burdened with by Vlad's instruction, Vlad started running. He ran straight ahead, into the growing number of trees. "Is this what the grass told you, Vlad?" Snyd asked, too tired and angry at the fact that he had to run again to care if Vlad's anger was finally sparked. To Snyd's pleasant surprise, no spark could even be heard in his voice.

"No I know, Snyd. He did head that way, straight ahead of us."

"And what is straight ahead of us?"

"Straight ahead is our destination all along, Lorien."

[Cuthalion]

Arthain put a hand on Thelian's shoulder as he looked with concern down at Melost. "Is this truly Melost? Has he returned to us at last, now that the armies are moving? Gil-galad will be most pleased, but...what has happened to him?" He reached down and touched Melost's face. It was hot, as though a fire raged within him. In a near panic now, Arthain stood swiftly. "He can't fight like this, he's burning with fever!" As he struggled to help Thelian raise his friend, suddenly Melost writhed in their arms, and stood free, his chest heaving...eyes cold now and calculating. Taken aback, the others looked on him in confusion as he addressed Arthain.

"So...Arthain...my beloved friend, my dearest comrade, Beyond all hope I find you once again, before the last. Have you enjoyed your prize? Has she been all you thought she would be?" He began to shake as all the rage and pain of betrayal coalesced into a red-hot flame within him. His voice sank to little more than a whisper, yet the silence was so profound it was as though he were shouting. "You...betrayed me! You, the who are closer than blood to me! You took the woman I loved more than all of Arda. Now...it ends!" He leaped for Arthain, drawing his dagger in mid-motion and bore Arthain to the ground. Arthain lay with his arms spread wide, seeing in Melost's eyes his death.

"Do it, Melost! End the sorrow of having to live with the memories!" He looked Melost dead in the eye and saw there the internal conflict...the betrayed and the soul-mate battling one another, then Melost was grabbed from behind and wrenched away from Arthain. To everyone's surprise..they both screamed out..."NO!" Thelian held him back as he fought to free himself, then Khalad joined him."Melost, I don't know what this is all about...but don't do this!" Arthain had risen to his knees, his face a mask of devastation. "Let him go...it is justice that he brings. It is his right." He spoke in the voice of one who sees his death approaching and accepts it openly.