View Single Post
Old 04-08-2004, 05:47 PM   #152
Child of the 7th Age
Spirit of the Lonely Star
 
Child of the 7th Age's Avatar
 
Join Date: Mar 2002
Posts: 5,135
Child of the 7th Age is a guest of Tom Bombadil.
Aiwendil: Arrival on the Outskirts of the Eagle Clan

Those who kept their promise?

Aiwendil peered quizzically over at Rôg and wondered if he had revealed too much about himself through his story. He chose his next words with considerable caution. "The old tales relate that a few of the faithful, those Men whom you call the Dúnedain, heeded the warning signs and fled eastward on tall, strong ships. But even they could not wholly escape the mountain of water. The storms battered their vessels and tossed them here and there, with some folk landing in Lindon and venturing overland to Eriador, while others were blown southward into the Bay of Belfalas and from there sailed north up the Great River towards what became known as the kingdom of Gondor."

The istar glared disdainfully at Rôg and scowled, "Surely you know this! Do they teach children nothing today? For these are common tales, not only preserved in books or in the courts of the great, but recited from memory around campfires or even set to music with timbrels and harps. Or so it was when the world was younger."

Aiwendil wondered how much of the past had slipped away, faded and forgotten, like his own missing knowledge and skills, especially now that so many of the Elves had journeyed towards the West. He suddenly felt a dawning compassion for Rôg and all those left behind with only a few tattered fragments of the story of what had gone before. No wonder Men had such difficulty when they could not even hold on to their memories! Perhaps he was here to remind them of such things. He shuddered uncomfortably at the thought of taking on such a task.....he who had not even be willing to poke his nose out of the woods and who had avoided Men as much as possible.

Uncomfortable with the responsibility that such a burden would carry, and not used to sharing his feelings, Aiwendil snapped out a rebuke in gruff, chiding terms, "How can you know right from wrong when you have forgotten all the tales and the wisdom they contain?"

Perched on Aiwendil's shoulder, Rôg tartly responded, "Perhaps these stories are not so well known as before. But I did hear tales of the star isle, and the Great Eagles, and the bright shining ones, and the other followers of the Lord of the West who could even take on shapes. Yet only a few tales, and these were passed on like precious drops.... " the small bird wistfully added.

"It will have to be enough then," Aiwendil spoke more to himself than to Rôg. "What you took from your youth.... For I have forgotten so much and it seems as though Men have forgotten even more. Still, I have hopes that some knowlege can be relearned." The camel plodded on for several paces before the istar spoke again. " Truthfully, that is the main reason I came on this journey. Umbar and its deserts are ancient places, older even than the haven of Pelargir, and I wondered what goodness and knowledge might still be tucked away in secret spots."

"This place? Goodness?" countered Rôg dryly. "It is said that the only tales preserved in the scrolls of Umbar are penned by those Men who were not overly fond of goodness."

Thoroughly exasperated, the old man wagged a finger just inches from Rôg's beak, "I am not talking about the Black Numenoreans! Have the maenwaith forgotten everything then? Pashh! Your people came here long before the travelers from the star isle, back when the Eagles of the Encircling Mountains mingled with the free folk in their battles against Morgoth. Your fathers and mothers fled to this land hoping to preserve a good and decent way of life. Some of your own people can take on forms of the giant wyrms and eagles. How could they possibly do such a thing unless their kin had once seen the great beasts themselves? Or perhaps, all those skills have been lost too?" Aiwendil abruptly clamped his mouth and refused to say anything more. He recalled certain misty tales of happenings from long ago that were said to have transpired between the maenwaith and the Eagles, stories that Rôg might or might not know, but this was not the time to get into such things.

Silence fell between them, as the camel ploughed patiently onward through the hills of sand. Even after the sun had set, the silver moonlight provided enough illumination that it was possible to keep to the trail, with the stars providing sure guideposts so that they would not lose their way. The pair agreed to continue on for another hour or so until an inviting grove of trees suddenly loomed before them. These sat next to an old watering hole that was half-dried up. Aiwendil started to set up camp, while Rôg flew out to have a look at things to make sure the surrounding area was safe. In a few moments, he returned and quietly announced that he could make out the distant outline of the maenwaith camp just over the next hill, the same one he had visited earlier that week. Aiwendil kept strictly to himself and, spreading out a blanket on the ground, was soon snoring loudly. Relieved to have fulfilled his earlier promise to make sure the old man arrived at this spot, Rôg flew out to have a closer look.

Last edited by Child of the 7th Age; 04-10-2004 at 07:14 PM.
Child of the 7th Age is offline