[piosenniel]

DEDICATED CHARACTER

5.) Fordim Hedgethistle - Lorien Envoy guard + 2 carry-along guards


Carry-along characters:

Megilaes and Caranbaith

Fraternal twin brothers. They are young Elves, only about three hundred years old, who are being taught the ways of Lorien warfare by Ambarturion, my main character.

They are both armed with bows and the short daggers favoured by the Silvan Elves.

They are both fair haired, but Megliaes is the taller of the two, while Caranbaith has the fairer singing voice.

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Main Character:


NAME: Ambarturion

AGE: 7060

RACE: Elf (Silvan)

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: Ambarturion bears a bow of the Galadhrim and an ancient sword of Doriath. The sword is made of white steel and engraved in such a manner that when drawn in moonlight it appears to glow like a descended star. Its blade is long and tapered, as was the manner of weaponry for Elves in the First Age, and the pommel is wrapped in tightly bound cords of supple leather. Upon the crosspiece there is mounted a single pale gem – the last heirloom of his house.

APPEARANCE: Ambarturion is very tall and very graceful, and even among the Elves of Lorien he is known for the extremity of both his beauty and the severity of countenance which mars it. His raven-black hair is cropped just below the shoulders and his keen grey eyes shine with the memory of the fearless dark. His face is stern and proud, but possessed of great nobility and lineage. He wears the grey cloak of Lorien over a simple tunic and doublet of forest green, and his long legs are clad in supple breeches also of forest hue. He bears neither ornament nor jewel. Ambarturion rarely smiles or laughs.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Ambarturion bears himself as one of the Noldor, for he has spent almost his whole life in the company and service of the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn. His life is defined by the love that binds him to his Lord and Lady, and this is the source both of his greatness and of the distant pride that many remark in him. But for his loyalty to them, Ambarturion would long ago have forsaken Middle-Earth and made the journey to the Grey Havens – as he is ever counselling the Lord and Lady of the Galadhrim to do. He cares little for the other folk of Middle-Earth, and is convinced that whether Sauron conquer them or not is of little purpose, for none of their works or deeds has rivalled those of the Elves in the Elder Days. Of all the Free Peoples, he values only the Ents and the Dunedain, but even they are the fallen remnants of a once mightier race.

HISTORY: Born in the First Years of the Sun, Ambarturion was raised within the protection of the Girdle of Melian where Thingol reigned as High King. When he was old enough to enter the service of a lord, he swore fealty to his kinsman Celeborn and to his Lady, beautiful and glorious beyond bearing. Since then, his fate has been bound to that of his Lord and Lady and his life has been the chronicle of his people’s long defeat. His tears at Ninaeth Arnodad were shed for his brother and father who were slain by balrogs in the first charge of the Elves. He beheld with wonder the host of the Valar and their destruction of Thangbad. He marched under the banners of Thingol and Gil-Galad in their defeats of Sauron, and was among those who Galadriel sent to welcome the Faithful back to Middle-Earth at the fall of Numenor. It was upon his return from this journey that his mother told him of her decision to leave Middle-Earth, and he had longed to follow her, for he loved her greatly and their parting was grievous. But the love he bore for Celeborn and Galadriel overcame this desire and his mother departed alone.

Through the long tale of years since then, his thoughts have turned increasingly to the Undying Lands. For the faint echo of the West that he had seen within the Girdle has grown with the years until it has become as a waking dream for him: ever present before his eyes, dulling the small world of mortal folk and leading him further and further away from their troubles. It was a sore trial for him to know that the One Ring had been within the very grasp of his Lady, but that she had let it slip away from her and into the hands of Sauron, borne thence by a race of witless folk unsung and unheralded in any song or tale. His weariness with Middle-Earth has been made more unbearable through the Ages by the constant loss of those companions of his youth who had, like him, sworn fealty to Celeborn in Melian. Many of his friends fell in the endless battles against the servants of Thangbad and then Mordor. The rest have taken their place in the ships that sailed away from these shores. Of all those who had once gathered about Celeborn as his Companions, Ambarturion alone remains.

On the day when he first came to Lothlorien with his Lord, he made the ways of the forest his study, and spent all his energies in preparing for the land’s defence. None among the Elves bore a steadier hand with the bow, and his sword, already tempered by two Ages of service in the war against Melkor and his servants, had been sharpened and renewed through countless years of careful practice. For centuries he has been entrusted with the instruction of younger Elves in the art of war, but he wearied of teaching only, and has taken to wandering the fringes of the Golden Wood for weeks on end, relentlessly prowling and hunting for their enemies. His journeys have taken him further and further afield, as far as the fringes of Mirkwood to the East, and to the Gladden Fields and the Brown Lands to the North and South. And always in these journeys is his purpose the same: to slay the servants of Sauron in order to forestall their inevitable victory for as long as he might, in the hopes that Celeborn and Galadriel will cease their fruitless quest to save Middle-Earth and follow his counsel to take the straight road into the West.

~*~

Fordim Hedgethistle's Post

The light of midday cast Ambartrion’s shadow before him as he strode easily through the long grass of the Vale of Anduin. The party had left the eaves of Lorien in the morning and as always happened when he walked in the outside world, the dull reality of it settled upon him like a fine ash. The trees that stood in clumps about the plain were naked sticks that clung to life in a chill and desolate landscape, little different to him than the Brown Lands to the South. There came to his keen ears from time to time the falling cry of desperate birds and the rush of troubled waters over impertinent stones. He sought the solace of memory, moving in his mind across earth that seemed more real than the solid ground beneath his feet. More and more had he done so of late, to the point where the few companions that he allowed to join him in his journeys outside the Golden Wood became concerned that he was withdrawing from the waking world of Middle-Earth to a point where he could not, perhaps, return. And, indeed, he was always reluctant to leave the lands of memory and rejoin the fallen and stale world of the present reality, and was often curt with those who called him hither.

This time it was his student Caranbaith who called him back. With a light touch on his master’s shoulder, the youth pointed to the distant horizon saying, “If I see aright, the Mirrormere lies before us, and we are heading a bit west of north. Do we not take the long way round to the Woodmen of Mirkwood by this route?” Ambarturion sighed at the youth, impatient with his question. Megilaes, Caranbaith’s brother and also student to Ambarturion, caught the manner of their master’s reaction and quickly held his tongue.

“Your eyes do not deceive you,” he replied quickly. “There is great need of haste put upon us, but these lands are dangerous and we must take what care we can. I intend to lead the ambassadors somewhat west of the Anduin for a day before turning toward the River. There is a place two days’ march from where we shall stop this night where we can ford the waters and then strike north and east to the Woodmen.” Caranbaith nodded quickly and fell silent before the manner of his master. He and his brother had been in his tutelage for only a short time, barely one lifetime of mortal Men, but in that time he had found his master to be impenetrable in many ways. On some days he would answer their questions with patient forbearance of their youth, gently instructing them in the ways of war. On days such as this appeared to be, however, he resented any intrusion to his thoughts and would quickly put down any attempt to interrupt his inner life. Sensing that he would say no more that day, the brothers fell back to walk a few paces behind their master.

And thus did the company proceed through that afternoon. Ambarturion strode along out front, his pace never slackening or changing, his eyes fixed straight ahead, alert to all possible danger, but unseeing of much that passed before the eyes of the others, lost as he was in the world of his youth. Behind him followed his students, who diligently swept the horizon with their keen eyes as they had been taught, ever vigilant against the threats of this uncertain world. Behind them came the ambassadors, with their servant in the rear of the little column keeping watch behind.