Red Flows the Sirannon RPG

[Durelin]

“I thought it would be.”

Surprised by this response, Maegisil asked, “And why is that?” sounding a little sharper than he meant to. The look Narisiel gave him matched the sharpness of his voice, and he no longer expected an answer. She only shook her head, and then opened the large cupboard to which she had turned. What Maegisil saw upon her pulling back the doors made him gasp. Upon the shelves were displayed countless jewels of varying sizes and colors, all cut seemingly to perfection, and, as even the untrained eye could see, most were very precious items. Recognizing the value of many of these jewels, and marveling at their beauty, Maegisil could only stare for a moment. When he once again remembered why he was there, he noticed Narisiel was again smiling at him with amusement in her eyes, as well as a certain amount of pride.

“It seems that what I heard of you was true, Narisiel Mirdain.”

“And what exactly would that be? That I am the mirdan of a thousand jewels?” she asked, light sarcasm clear in her voice. Maegisil smiled again, and quickly his mind traveled again to Sairien.

“Surely you would not waste such precious jewels on me and my request? A simple gift for my wife may be important to me, but it is of no matter to you, and I would not expect it to be.”

Narisiel shook her head again, giving Maegisil a rather flat look. He was confused again, as his endless formalities made it hard for him to understand what the elf woman meant by any of her looks and silent responses. Being married to Sairien had not helped him in reading people’s faces, as she knew her husband was too formal and straightforward for too many subtleties, and thus she was always equally as direct with him, though less proper and official. Over the years, she had weathered away his stony outward appearance towards her also, and she still worked on smoothing his features even more. No one would ever have noticed this if they had not seen he and his wife together, as he was a servant to the Lord Celebrimbor, a soldier, and a counselor as soon as he left their home. In earlier days, he had been a young swordsman and celebdan, but duty and the passage of years had changed this.

Glancing out a window of the shop that faced the east, Maegisil saw that the sun had now risen a little farther in the sky to hang as an orb seemingly held up by the mountaintops of the Hithaeglir. Soon his lord would be expecting him. But risking tardiness, he turned his mind and his eyes back to Narisiel. Most likely Celebrimbor would not mind Maegisil’s delay if he heard word concerning the elf woman. It seemed it had been some time since the two had spoken at all, and now was a good time for old alliances and friendships to be renewed.

[Arestevana]

“Vaele Andarion, scout and marksman of the first rank,” the archer corrected with a smile.
Gilduin murmured a vague ‘pleased to meet you’. Now that he thought about it, it made perfect sense for a scout to be marching in the first rank. Glancing around, he saw that most of the elves near them were dispersing for the night. The captains were returning to Caras Galadhon, presumably to meet with Celeborn. The other warriors were resting or wandering among the trees, conserving their strength for the march the next day.
“Maybe we get to march together then?” Vaele asked, after a moment.
Gilduin suppressed a rather hopeful ‘maybe not?’ and tried to change the subject, not wishing to explain that he found it difficult to communicate with people. “Are you prepared for the march?” he asked. He continued without waiting for an answer. “You should rest until the commander returns. I do not know how early we will leave.” He gave a polite bow and turned away, seeking solitude among the star-crowned trees.
~
Gilduin wandered, half-dreaming, in the silent darkness of the Golden Wood. Though he stayed close to the city, his mind roamed far, finding strength in the power of Laurelindórinan. In the still, dark hours before dawn, a melodic horn call summoned the contingent together. Withdrawing from his nighttime reverie, Gilduin slowly joined the muster to find his place in the first rank. The noise of the contingent was muted, as if no one was willing to disturb the predawn stillness.

“Ah, Lindorion, there you are.” Eldegon addressed Gilduin quietly, looking harried. “Our lord Celeborn has decided to lead the contingent himself. There’s been a slight change in the marching order, but it shouldn’t affect you much. Make sure you are ready to march: we leave as soon as the contingent is assembled.”
Gilduin checked his weapons and the standard as the commander left. Finding nothing wrong, he waited while the ranks fell into place. Vaele Andarion, the scout he had met the previous evening, took up position on his left. Gilduin gave a mental sigh, but found he did not mind seeing the other as much as he had expected. To his surprise, he found it comforting to see a familiar face.

Slowly, the sky began to lighten. Celeborn, Eldegon and the captains walked up and down the ranks, speaking quietly to the elves. At last the full company was assembled, and the leaders took their places in the first rank. The herald played one long, sweet note on his silver horn. From the city many voices answered: the Galadrim sang to greet the dawn and farewell their warriors and their lord. From his position on Celeborn’s right, Eldegon gave the call to march, and the contingent moved forward, past the city, with the rising sun behind them.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Narisiel fixed Maegisil with a flat look that verged on skeptical as he seemingly put down his own wish. But her gaze seemed to make him almost uncomfortable and, with a quick smile, he looked away hastily, staring out of the window. The smith did not speak for a moment, surprised, and finally answered, hoping her look had not been misinterpreted to cause offence. "Maegisil, you are absolutely correct when you say that it would be of no matter to me - but if it was not of great matter to you, I do not think you would have sought me out.”

Was that a faint blush on the other elf’s features? “It is just a gift–”

“I take pride in my work, Maegisil,” Narisiel interrupted firmly over Maegisil’s protestations. “Besides, you were right when you said I had a particular interest in crafting jewellery – no matter the other commissions I have, as I said earlier, if you had given me another weaponry job, I would have had to have you hounded out of my shop,” she added, deadpan. When Maegisil looked unsure, she cracked a grin, smiling sincerely at the other. “It would be a pleasure, Maegisil, a pleasure.”

The elf-lord’s counsellor smiled gratefully and turned his eyes back to the rich selection of jewels in front of him, the luscious items of Narisiel’s trade. But as he did so, Narisiel saw his eyes flicker over to the window once more, in the direction of Celebrimbor’s palace, an action that was not missed by the elf woman – and maybe it was not meant to be, she sceptically added to herself. “A meeting with your Lord, Maegisil?”

The other smiled knowingly, giving a small shrug, then looked back to the cupboard, running his fingers through a delicate filigree box of rubies, glittering like the teardrops of the setting sun. Turning back to business, she ignored this and began to question the other on what sort of gift he wished to present his wife with. “A necklace maybe? If it is a precious gift that can be easily worn and on show most of the time, maybe this would suit…or a more discreet pendant maybe, although those rubies would perhaps not be the best for such a piece – they are really more– ” she faltered slightly, then continued, “–more suitable for setting in a ring.”

Maegisil nodded thoughtfully, apparently unconcerned, but Narisiel was finally unable to resist asking the question that had been nagging at the corner of her mind: concerning Celebrimbor. She had not conversed with the elf-lord for long months now, and had not seen him on a more personal basis for even longer – it seemed she was only summoned for occasional, puny matters which barely related to her status as one of the master smiths – almost as if Celebrimbor was trying to skip over the fact that she was a smith at all. But although it was a distant relationship, Narisiel was nonetheless fond of the other, and when he had been almost an invisible figure for so long, she was concerned – not only for his wellbeing, but for the political climate that may have reduced him to silence. She was the lord’s advisor as much as Maegisil himself, after all. Hesitating, she voiced the question, her dark eyes serious and maybe even a little anxious. “How…how is Lord Celebrimbor, Maegisil?”

[Arry]

‘What time do you want to be off?’ Bror asked, turning back from the door.

‘Before First Light, I think,’ answered Skald, his brow wrinkling with calculations. ‘It’ll take us two and a half days to reach the East Gate . . . and that’s without stopping to pick up a few extra strong arms with axes to take along. And they’ll need to gather their gear and make their goodbyes . . . so, I’d say it will add at least another day to our travels.’ He drank his ale down and turned the cup upside down on the table.

‘What do you say, little brother? Think the younger Stonecut brothers can get done what needs to be done and meet the old folk at the East Gate chamber by then?’ He grinned at Riv and Orin, ducking as he finished his statement. Riv’s hand was on his empty cup and Skald knew his brother had a quick arm when it came to chucking stones . . . an all too accurate arm, as he recalled from games of ‘Capture the Ledge’ they’d played as children.

He grinned again at Riv and waved a white dishtowel left on the table in surrender. In a more serious vein he straightened up, saying, ‘Shall I tell the others you’ll bring food for them, too, Riv? It’ll cut considerable time off their getting ready to go along?’

[Folwren]

Bror nodded as Skald made his answer and took the last few steps towards the door. Skald's last statement stopped him again-

'What do you say, little brother? Think the younger Stonecut brothers can get done what needs to be done and meet the old folk at the East Gate chamber by then?’ The little brother lifted his head and looked around sharply, and then smiles broadly as Skald prepared himself to dodge the mug Riv seemed to threaten to throw. His older brother did not expect an answer and he left them to finish making plans. If anything new was brought up, Skald could tell him in the morning.

For now, he said to himself, I've got to make sure that I do get up in time. To bed, then, and to get myself up before Skald...we'll see what we can't devise for his morning's welcome.

Bror’s forehead furrowed in consideration. This wasn’t exactly the time to pull any pranks, but Skald was asking for it. After all, Bror had only missed rising time twice in the last month. He’d have to think it over, but even now he thought it would be a bad idea and wouldn’t be accepted well at all. Bror guessed that he would think even less of it in the morning.

'Until then, though,' he muttered aloud, and put away his harp.

[Envinyatar]

Mid-winter - the turn of the year/Lindon – SA 1695-1696

‘The seas are becoming too rough,’ said Alcarfalon, stamping his boots on the snowy quay. ‘Even for such a sea-worthy vessel as the Lintaramë. This will be the last voyage for my ship and crew until the Spring winds come.’

It was mid-winter; the northern lands cold with snow and ice. Alcarfalon’s ship had managed the passage from the northern reaches of Forlindon but barely. She had picked up the last of the Elven troops from a small port just across the northern sea from Himling. One hundred warriors – fifty spear wielders, twenty five bowmen, and twenty five with swords.

Many of them came from Elven families who had fought under the command of Maedhros before Beleriand was sunk beneath the waves. There was no love lost between them and Sauron. They had heard stories from their kin who had seen him and his foul creatures slay many of the Eldar to prepare the way for his Dark Master’s return. And now they knew he would do so again, but this time the Elven deaths would be for his benefit alone.

Elrond, himself, had come down to the dock to see these last troops disembark. He had thanked Alcarfalon for his help in getting them to Mithlond in a timely manner and had walked among them, greeting their captains as he went and once again expressing his appreciation for their coming. His aide had stayed behind once Elrond had gone and had taken the new captains and their troops to the snug wooden barracks that would be their winter quarters.

-------

It was Ondomirë who bought the first round for the table. The server had grown so used to seeing them there a number of days a week that he only nodded as the Elf raised his hand to call him over. He knew what it would be – a flagon of the deep red wine from Edhellond. Had the ship’s captain ordered, he would bring the golden ale; for the one named Hénsirë, the spear-captain, the ale dark as night. The server swallowed a laugh as he thought of the third Elf. Geldion, he recalled. He was the smart one of the bunch, in the server’s estimation. By the time the other three had ordered rounds for their fellows and all had partaken, their thirsts were slaked enough that Geldion need order no more.

‘First time I’ve seen Lord Elrond at the docks to meet the ship,’ said Hénsirë raising his glass to the others. He threw the comment casually out onto the table, his own feelings masked as he looked from man to Elves.

Alcarfalon shrugged it off for the most part. ‘Seemed a nice enough fellow,’ he offered. ‘I’m sure he must be quite busy and all . . . with the preparations for your . . . excursion.’ He took a sip of his wine and grinned at Ondomirë. ‘Good! For wine, that is.’

‘Yes, he’s busy, I suppose,’ said Hénsirë. ‘But I have to say we’re much busier than he right now,’ he went on, nodding toward Geldion and Ondomirë. ‘Wouldn’t you say so? What with organizing the troops under our command, their captains, the supplies they need, keeping their skills honed . . . it can be quite a large headache.’

‘Quite true,’ smiled Ondomirë in agreement. ‘It rivals, at time, the headache one gets from spending too much time at The Pin enjoying the fruits of the vine and the grain.’ He drained his glass and poured another. ‘I, for one, will be quite glad when the snows thaw and we set out for the eastern regions. How about you, my friend?’ he asked, topping off Geldion’s drink.

[piosenniel]

‘Tis alright, Uncle,’ Riv said, pointing at Skald and Bror as they traded remarks with one another before leaving for their quarters. ‘By virtue of your years, I think, you are afforded some measure of respect from the young one. Make no mistake, the two are fond of one another, but Bror must have someone to devil, and I am too staid in my old ways as husband and father. But Skald . . . he’s the one to take the heat or be the focus for our youngest brother’s little jokes and pranks.’

His eyes twinkled and he laughed softly, recalling a few. ‘And truth be told, I can’t think of a more deserving victim! Skald was a little terror when we were younger, and I was ever in trouble for defending myself from his antics.’ He winked at Orin. ‘Let him be paid back now in kind by his little brother!’

‘We should drink up our cups and head off, too, I think.’ He stood and hung up the much depleted ale skin and gave the cups a quick rinse, setting them on counter to dry. ‘I’ll see to my friends and their axes tonight before I sleep. Tomorrow, once you’re done talking to Fawrin and the others you know, let’s meet at the supply hold – the one a level down from here. Can you and your friends bring a few small hand-carts? We’ll load them up with food and mayhap some bandages and such. Mahal forbid we have need of the latter!’