Red Flows the Sirannon RPG

[Envinyatar]

The area on the north side of the river was pocketed with scattered areas of low growing shrubs. A few willows wandered here and there along the river’s bank, dipping their long roots into the water. Ondomirë wondered that the trees did not curl back their roots in horror that the once clear, sweet, waters of the Sirannon now ran red with the blood of Elves and Orcs and Men. Or that those very willows did not curl up their leaves at the reek of death that eddied on the breezes.

Lord Elrond’s troops had found only a handful of Elves from the city who were still living, nearer the river. The Orcs had ranged out this far before the lure of riches in the city overcame their desire to kill more Elves. It was only through great luck, or perhaps as some of the Elves would whisper, the grace of the Valar, that the lives of a few of the mirdain had been spared.

Further on, the shrubs gave way to more heavily wooded areas. One of those from the city who had been rescued urged the Lindon Elves to make for a part of the woods more to the east where he said he and his family had gone in the summers to harvest wood for their forge fires. There were some wooden shelters there, where the woodsmen would live while they worked. Perhaps, he told them, some of the families who had been able to flee the city would have taken refuge there.

‘There,’ he cried softly, as they neared the clearing. ‘Those are the huts!’

The troops drew near the clearing. It was quiet. The windows of the shelters were all dark, doors closed. It appeared undisturbed.

One of the Dwarves, who were now on foot, inched his way quietly to the perimeter of the trees about the clearing. He crouched down, his eyes looking closely at the ground where the dried grasses abutted the ring of birches. ‘A small horse,’ he said, calling back to his companions who had come forward. ‘Here . . . and recently.’

Ondomirë came softly to the Dwarf’s side. ‘Yes . . . and gone that way,’ he said his eyes following the faint track . . .

[Mithalwen]

They were at the door now. Losrian thought she might faint, her hands trembled on the bow as she drew it.

The door swung open. Silhouetted against the frame were two figures - one extremely tall the other comparatively stunted. There was a blur of other figures behind them. Even in the shadows it was immediately clear that they were not orcs but elf and dwarf in the familiar uniforms of Lindon and Moria respectively.

Losrian let the arrow drop and stumbled forward towards them. The sight of her rescuers acted as a release for all the tension, pain and fear of the past hours and Losrian fell sobbing uncontrollably in to the arms of the first elvish soldier who had caught her as a reflex as she collapsed.

Moments later her self control began to reassert itself. Part of her realised that she was not necessarily safe because she was no longer alone part of her realised that this was no ordinary soldier. The surcoat into which she was sobbing belonged to a very high ranking officer indeed. I have escaped death to die of shame, she thought as she struggled to compose herself, suddenly aware of her own dishevelled appearance as well as the fact that she had virtually forced herself into the embrace of an elf lord to whom she would not have presumed to speak, had they met in other circumstances. Under the grime her face flushed , passing to a darker hue when Galmir, wakened by his aunt's sobbing and seeeing her supported by a tall, dark-haired elf had inquired hopefully, "Ada?".

Losrian drew away from Ondomirë as if she had been burnt. " No, not Daddy. Daddy's gone. Mummy's gone. It is just you and me" she finished biting her lower lip.

"I am sorry my Lord" she added, belatedly making a reverence, before turning to the child to hide her extreme embarassment.

[Arry]

Skald’s attention was drawn by the young Elven child. Stop staring, you great ninny! he chided himself. Of course, there will be children. They don’t simply drop from the sky fully grown . . . Which is what Riv had told him when they were much younger. The ‘fact’ planted in his young brain had stayed there, making up part of the myth he’d conjured for himself about Elves. And now it was disputed by the little one’s hopeful face and his childish voice raised in a question.

‘Who are you calling for, little one?’ he asked crouching down to be on level with the child. He glanced up at the Elven woman who had returned her attention to the youngster. ‘For your mami?’

[Envinyatar]

‘No, not his mother,’ Ondomirë answered Skald in the common tongue. ‘He asks for his father.’ The young woman’s back was to him, and Ondomirë could feel her discomfort at his presence. ‘In the dim light he mistook me, I think.’

He stooped and picked up the arrow that had dropped to the hut’s floor. Instinctively his fingers ran down the shaft of it, testing its straightness and how well the head was attached. The fletching, too, suffered the scrutiny of his fingers, before he drew near the woman and handed the arrow back to her. ‘M’lady, your arrow. Best you keep it, lest we have need of it and your skill with the bow as we travel on.’ He caught himself, recalling that she was not one of his bowmen to be spoken to so abruptly.

‘Your pardon. I should have given my name and asked yours.’ He nodded toward the Dwarf who was still speaking softly to the child. ‘This is Skald, M’lady. Of Khazad-dum. He and a number of others of his kin offered their services to us in our attempt to reach your city. I am Ondomirë, here with Lord Elrond to see how we might offer aid to our kin. Lord Gil-galad sent us, from Lindon.’ He looked at her grimed, tired face. ‘To our sorrow we arrived too late and with too few to save your city.’

‘We have gathered some who managed to flee from the destruction and are looking for others who might be hiding in these woods from the Orcs and Men. If you will, we can take you to a place of safety along with the others. Something further away from Sauron’s present campaign against us. Will you come? You and your . . . son, is it?’

[Mithalwen]

Ondomirë's manner, brisk and efficient, reassured Losrian and she relaxed a little. The officer seemed unperturbed neither by her tears nor by being addressed as "Daddy" by a grubby little urchin. She had noticed that her craftsmanship had passed muster and that also gave her confidence. She straightened her shoulders as she took the arrow, and raised her head to meet the steady gaze of Ondomirë.

"My son? No!" she answered in the Westron partly out of courtesy to the dwarf who in a minute seemed to have made a greater bond with the child than she had in a year and also so she might more speak more openly. Galmir understood a lot more than his own speech indicated and he was not yet fully aware of the extent of his loss. She spoke a little haltingly - she had little cause of late to use the common tongue.

"He is my brother's son. Galmir is his name. Mine is Losrian. My brother is dead as is his wife and her kin. So although I am a better archer than a nursemaid by a long shot - and better again at crafting arrows than firing them.... there is noone else to take care of him apart from my parents in Lindon, and I fear that the fell one will turn his eye thither now.... So we must get on as best we can. She sighed.

"Gladly I accept your offer, my lord, for there will be greater safety in numbers - I cannot travel subtly so encumbered" . Losrian glanced at Galmir who was clearly fascinated by the dwarf's beard. A glimmer of amusement played over her grave face. "And I rejoice that there are others. Do not regret you latecoming for the numbers were so great that it would have profited us little and now your arrival may prevent all being lost" She smiled and it was if a beam of sunlight had broken through clouds for an instant. Then she started to blush again and lowered her head as she feared she had spoken too boldly. She took the opprtunity to shoulder the pack that lay at her feet.

" A moment to attend to the beast and we will be ready my lord" ready once more to meet Ondomirë's regard.

[Envinyatar]

Geldion stepped up quietly behind Ondomirë. The Captain of the Swordsmen’s blade was drawn and at the ready. He had noted his friend was occupied with something or someone in the hut, and not knowing whether it was friend or foe, he came to assist.

A bit young for you, my friend . . . Geldion commented silently. His eyes now accustomed to the dim light of the interior looked the young women over from head to foot. Grimy faced, and scruffily dressed, she presented a sorry sight. Her hair, he noted, was caught in a loose, untidy braid that hung over one shoulder. Not far from her sat an Elven child, his attention caught by the antics of a Dwarf who was entertaining him. And she has a child, so it follows a husband must be somewhere in the picture. He stifled a snort. I leave you alone for one moment and this is what you’ll drag home for your ammë to approve? His brow was raised in a questioning manner and a slight smile hovered at one corner of his lips.

Ondomirë’s eyes narrowed as he gave his friend a withering look. Geldion was forever attempting to match him up with an eligible Elven female. Amongst other encounters, there had been a number of ambushes, barely escaped from, as Geldion played matchmaker between various females in his extended family and his friend.

‘Saurauko!’ hissed Ondomirë aloud, firmly pushing Geldion toward the door. By the One! This is no time for your crude attempts at changing my unattached status. She’s just run for her life from Sauron’s foul creatures - a bit of dirt, wrinkled clothes, and mussed hair is allowed, I should think. And the child . . . it’s her brother’s son, you great fool!

Yes . . . well enough defended . . . threw back Geldion as he stepped back through the door. Then turning, his features not the least contrite, he made a parting shot before hurrying out of Ondomirë’s reach. Still . . . I always knew you to be an easy mark for those of the fairer sex with silvered hair. Barely escaped that Lindar from Forlond, as I recall . . .

As Geldion hurried away to see to his men, Ondomirë took a deep breath and turned back to Losrian, speaking to her in the Elvish tongue. ‘If I might make a suggestion or a request, more like. Lord Elrond and his advisors are unfamiliar with these eastern areas. Would you be willing to lend us your knowledge as we look for a place of safety? If you wish, I can give you one of our mounts to ride. And if you will, I’d be happy to have you ride by my side. Your arrow – and I’m assuming it was you who crafted it, is a fair piece of work. I should think that you were also a practiced hand with the bow you carry.’ He glanced to where Skald had picked up Galmir and was laughing as the boy pulled at his beard. ‘The little one will need to ride in the van. There are many children and mothers there, surrounded by a score of well-armed guards. The pony, too, can travel along with them. They move at a slower pace than do we.’ He watched her as she glanced toward Galmir. ‘I’ll not pressure you for an answer. Just get word to me if you wish to ride at the front.’ He took in her tall, slender figure. ‘There is sure to be some light mail shirt you can also have, m’lady . . . should you choose to ride with us, that is.’ He felt himself about to trip over his own words should he speak further.

Ondomirë stepped back a pace and bowed slightly to Losrian. ‘I need to check on the rest of my men.’ ‘Skald,’ he said, returning to the common tongue, ‘can show you to the wagons where the women and children are situated. By your leave, m’lady,’ he said nodding once to her before going out the door.

He stood outside the hut for a few moments in the morning’s sunlight, his eyes adjusting to the bright light filtering through the trees. In the new day’s breezes the leaves of the tall birches fluttered, their leaves winking silver at him as they twisted on their stems.