Legacy of Traitors RPG

[Kransha]

Idruil’s head lowered as he saw Roryn emerge from the woods alone. As far as he now knew, the others were all dead, lost somewhere behind on the roadside as they prey of foul bandits. He could feel no true pain for their passing, no real sting in his heart at this symbol of their loss. He looked to Crystal, who was obviously crying beneath her hood. He almost wanted to shed a tear, but found he could not for the life of him. It would be pathetic to try, so he merely let his stony face remain cold and unemotional. No new expression of supreme sorrow soured his gait and he merely sat there in the saddle, motionless and calm.

There was an unsettling silence that had descended over them all. It was getting to Idruil as well, though his face remained straight and lacking of any hint of sadness. He wheeled Ecthelion around slowly and carefully, surveying the shroud that covered him and his companions. He took a deep breath, composing himself as a saddened look crept across his features. He began speaking in rhythm, at first under his breath, but later just loud enough to be heard. His gruff vocalizations became smoother as the verse slowly formed within him.

“The empty ruin of warriors felled
Now left, untouched, by life
Spirits mighty may ascend
To halls that bear no strife

The tears we shed for comrades slain
Their lofty biers we bear
Are needed not by those who fell
For peace at last is theirs

The sun may rise, the sun may set
Each day may come and go
But they shall see the sun eternal
And golden rivers flow”

He halted at last, the song fading gently into the bristling wind. He took another solemn breath, and spoke again in a tranquil whisper, “By the grace of Illuvatar, may any valiant soul who met their doom this day find peace in the timeless halls and be remembered in what way they wished. Bring them safely to your domain and let their rest be a sound and peaceful one, undisturbed by war and death.” He said, lowering his head again. His calmer voice faded and, as he finished the utterance, it returned to its stronger, sterner self.

Idruil’s cold eyes looked up again from the barren ground, looking first to Crystal, then to Carathir, then to Maen, and finally to Roryn, who still sat atop his horse scanning the area in the opposite direction. He could not fathom whatever Roryn was doing, but he couldn’t find it within himself to care anyway. From what had been indicated, Atharen, Ferethor, and Delphinious had all been slain by those ruffians and nothing could be done about it. No sense in deluding oneself, he thought. When the time came they would all return to the mission at hand and this incident's stabbing pain would evaporate. The dead were dead and naught could be done to undo that state. Idruil didn't plan on getting lost in misery. He had lost dear friends, his parents, most of the people dear to him. He barely knew Atharen, Ferethor, or Del so it would be insulting to pretend that he was heartbroken about their passing.

[Everdawn]

Maén had watched Ferethor wander into camp wounded, she said nothing but her eyes followed him across the camp. She had not taken the liberty to sleep for the few hours in which they were waiting. Her arms folded, Maén surveyed the members in the camp, and Crystal who had gone to Ferethor to help him. A new matter was posed in her mind, where was Atharen and Roryn?

Her attention turned from the injured one, to Carathir. He had a strange look across his face, it was a smile. She hardly lingered on it, supposing that he was happy that Ferethor was found.

“What are you thinking Miss?” came the voice of Idruil who was seated upon a log near her. She snapped her head around and stared at him for a moment.

“Im thinking that our ranger friends should come in a while, I t would be a shame to have their loss as well as Del. It is a hard truth that we cannot stop to give him a proper burial. He fell behind, the bandits will see to him. Is all im thinking.”

“Grievous thoughts for a lady as you ma’am.” He replied and went back to his own devices.

“Indeed, but they are mine all the same.” Maén once again looked over at Crystal who was sitting beside Ferethor. “I see you have resolved your differences.” She observed. “You are a good woman Crystal, I wont deny that.” Crystal nodded.

Maén once again rolled up the sleeves of her tunic and removed her cloak and sat on the ground opposite them. She at once caught Crystal’s eyes searching her arm where her dreaded scar was. She moved her arm away from sight. “What happened to you?” she asked.

“You want to know?” Maén said gravely, Crystal nodded. “It is Guriel who caused this. When I was a girl I went into my father’s study when he was not there and he caught me looking through the very documents that I have in my possession now. I was knocked into his fire place.” She went on to tell more but stopped herself. “Satisfied?”

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

Roryn gently moved through the trees. He had left the camp some minutes before, and he hoped that none had noted his departure. He was going back to look for Del's body, and to try and give it some sort of dignity. He trekked for several more minutes, wary of making noise at all, as he knew there were bandits still around, and he was on his own this time.

Stepping into the clearing he saw Del's body propped up against a tree, a blackbird pecking at it. He swore, getting the bird away would create a huge amount of noise, shooting it would cause less...Drawing his bow he strung an arrow to it, and drew it back to his cheek. Aiming carefully he fired. The arrow ripped through the bird with hardly a noise, and pinned its lifeless corpse to the tree. Roryn spat at the ground, he had not wanted to do that...

Walking quietly over to Del he laid him on the ground, put the hild of his sword in one hand and his shield in the other. He crossed Del's arms, and laid his feet straight, then he began to dig with a buckler he had on his back...

After an hour's laborious work, it was ready. He said the funeral and placed Del's body in the grave, and covered it over. He was surprised even at himself when a small tear fell down his cheek. Turning around, he set off bck for the camp...

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal bowed her head at the knowledge that Maen had shared with her. They had been through even some what similar lives. She felt sorry for that fact.

"I had no idea and I certainly didn't mean to offend you," Crystal said softly. She pulled her other sleve up and showed Maen a deep, white line that went from her wrist all the way up, continuing out of sight.

The scar was from her father. Her mother had forced him in teaching her how to sword fight, but he had taken his anger out on her. The pain still seared at times.

"My mother made my father teach me how to sword fight. My father was very angry and took his anger out of me with his sword. It continues across my back in slashes. I understand pain of the flesh," Crystal said softly.

[Eorl of Rohan]

The sickle of the Valar swung in the northern night heaven of Arda , glimmering as if faded with grief and sorrow of Quendi and Atanatari. Star Helluin that Elbereth star-kindler had set there glistened unsullied with a pale blue light amidst the dispersing mists, whence sailed Earendil's vessel. Constellation Menelcamar blazed with splendor in the eastern firmament in glory, signifying the end of days when Belcha Morgoth shall be freed.


The starlit glade was silent and without movement, if dancing leaves in tune to the autumn breeze did not count. That is, except for Ferethor who was now aroused.


Ferethor recovered swiftly for fire of life was yet strong in this youthful captain of Minas Tirith and the wound was not too severe. Yet he was only sustained at times by his willlpower and would cry out in times of great aguish notwithstanding his endurance.


Yet Ferethor was no longer what he had been. Strange indeed have Ferethor grown of late, since his grievious injury in the encounter with the raiders of Harad. More wordless and enduring in silence with no verstige of his lofty manner remaining, and slow to hot flashes of anger that he had often shown. Depressed and seemingly unconcious of his surroundings at times, Ferethor would speak in a low murmur about things that directly related to himself and will not join in any discussion pertaining the next stage of their journey.


Ferethor was sitting awake, passing his hand over his fevered brow. His gaze strayed to the high heaven where gems of Elbereth Elentari sparkled in many-colored hues. He was alive and in full faculty of his senses, although he was not sure that it was a blessing or a curse. 'But it is not given us to decide the time or rule our own end.' He thought.


The anguish with which Ferethor suffered from ebbed down and faded with the passage of time, for which he was much glad. Then Ferethor noted with some surprise and doubt that something hung by his neck and reached out for it. Slender links of silver and bronze links clinked in his hands and a pendant of exquisite workmanship was fastened at the end. It was wrought of silver and Ithildin and inlaid with chips of sapphire and ruby, and gleamed in the likeness of Telperion's blossom.


Turning it over bemusedly in his hands, Ferethor noted tiny letters scratched in the silver-wrought petals on the metallic blossom. "May Lady of the Stars ward thee from peril, Crystal" Murmuring the words he could decipher, Ferethor was dismayed to learn that it was Crystal's and impulsively cast it down. The fair pendant, striking a stone in its descent, rolled into the mud and gleamed there still though it was half-buried in the mud.


This morn, the searing anguish was acute enough to threaten his very will and sanity, and Ferethor was too spent and weary to care about anything. But now fully aroused and looking back to this morning, Ferethor flushed in shame and anger and was wroth with his weakness. Allowing himself to be in a position of helplessness, utterly unable to resist anything or defend himself with wavering conciousness....


Captain Ferethor shook off such dark thoughts angrily and there was litte change in his grave countenance. Everyone seemed to his asleep with weariness from long toil and journey, or so it seemed to him. Sitting there rigidly and and unmoving as if he were wrought of granite, he wondered what would be passing through their minds. Worry? Anticipitation?


His wide-open and alert grey eyes scanned the woods, bright and intelligent but shadowed with some darkness no one can decipher. Ferethor recalled that Maen had said something about leaving. 'Since I 'm the only horseless person on the expedition, I shall be forced to tread the path on foot. Ferethor thought with some bitterness. Yet we can easily procure a horse in one of the Atani settlements. As a sentinel of Gondor on official mission I will have little trouble acquiring a emergency steed reserved for errand-riders.'


Ferethor arose then, wincing at the bitter pain that flashed through his muscles every time he moved his shoulder - the anguish that had been the reason for being awake in the middle of the night suddenly. He wandered over to the east until he came across a clear creek.


The little stream flowed down by a rocky crevice singing merrily like the music of Ulmo Lord of Waters unstained and seemingly unaware of grief and weariness in the world that beset the children of Iluvatar. Ferethor knelt down and cleansed his wounds by scooping up transparent water of cool tranquility for a while, but then he sighed and cried out, "Blood may be cleansed and wounds may heal, but who shall relieve us from despair and anguish of mind, save it be Iluvatar who dwells beyond our call for ever?"


It was almost dawn by the time he came back to the camp alone, limping. Few of the members of expedition were awake and could be seen in the shadows of darkness, others were still sleeping. 'A new stage of the journey opens before us.' Ferethor munched thoughtfully upon a piece of cram as he watched the new dawn. 'Will we survive it? Will any?'

[Kransha]

“Grievous thoughts for a lady as you, ma’am.” Murmured Idruil, half under his breath as Maen Il Galoth turned away. He knew that she was worrying about the others who had not yet returned. Once again, he pried every volume of himself apart searching for more visible concern, but discovered none.

He’d lost too many dear to him. His sense of loss had been somehow sterilized by his past. Memories that clouded his mind in shadow flooded back to him in gruesome detail. He saw himself through new eyes, looking down from the White City’s walls on the field of Pelennor. He saw a pale light descending on both him and the fading memory, wrought with blurred vision as the man of Gondor watched himself flitting by from place to place in the dream-like memory. From level to level he had gone, searching in vain on the field below for any sign of his family’s heralded banner held aloft.

Idruil’s father did not return from that field alive, but instead borne on a crude bier by his fellow soldiers. As much as Idruil had befriended his parent, he could not feel the pain in his heart any longer. Despite emotional devastation, he did not mourn, he did not weep, and he never spoke of his father again. When his mother passed less than a year later, crushed by the loss of her husband’s life and her son’s soul, Idruil still showed no concern. He did not consider himself soulless, though he knew that he had slowly become less human as death of friends and loved ones stopped affecting him.

“Rest in peace, all ye who passed this day.” He said, more to himself than the others. At least Ferethor was alive, though he knew not how Atharen and Roryn were faring now. Hopefully, he vile bandits had abandoned the field. He felt no shame, but great regret at not forcing the issue and insisting to stay behind and fight with the others as he should’ve done in the first place.

He spoke up, looking to Maen and Crystal, “How long must we linger here? This dark day is passing and we must leave it where it lies. There is no use in mourning eternally, for it will only darken our own souls with misery, which is something we do not need. When do we continue our search?”

[Amanaduial the archer]

Atharen swivelled around to dismount smoothly on the other side of the horse, the side Crystal was not standing on. Coming around the front of the horse, he gestured towards the horse. "If you get on first...I will sit in front, if that is alright with you? It allows me to ride more easily..."

Crystal nodded quickly, apparently relieved then, after a moment's hesitation, she put one foot in the stirrup. The horse was obviously a few hands larger than she was used to though so, with utmost carefullness, Atharen put his hands on her waist. She gasped very quietly, and Atharen counted to three very carefully before boosting her jump. She mounted smoothly, and turned to the other side, fiddling with one stirrup, meaning Atharen was unable to see her face. As she gave him no indication that she was or was not ready, the ranger gave her a moment, then placed both gloved hands on the saddle in front of Crystal and one foot in the stirrup, and swung up carefully. The saddle was of one of the more old-fashioned and less fancy designs, and so had virtually no pommel, making it easier for him to slide back until he was just in front of Crystal.

Taking a deep breath and pretending he could not feel her prescence quite so accutely, he gathered the reigns in one hand and turned his head slightly over his shoulder. "Ready?"

A nod came in reply - Crystal seemed mute. Atharen set the horse walking and, as he felt Crystal's hands slip around his waist, he moved into a trot, hoping the sound of the mare's hooves would cover that of his beating heart...

[Crystal Heart]

She had gasped at his touch. So soft and gentle. She had been surprised. She now sat behind him, her arms wrapped around his waist. He started forward. She could feel the horse's rythm, but there was a different one as well. Suddenly she realized it was Atharen's heart beat. It was racing in such a way as if he had been running away from an enemy. She took a deep breath. Could he feel something for me? Crystal asked herself. She shook the thought away. There was no possible way that a Ranger and a daughter of Rohan....

She thought about it, but immediately stopped. She didn't want Atharen to have any guess of what she was thinking. She looked up at his face, but couldn't speak. Every thought in her head flew away. She just sat watching him, wondering what he was thinking.

[Everdawn]

CARATHIR

Carathir’s mind was laden with thoughts as he watched the small form of his mistresses niece ride in front of him. She had, he observed, the same demeanour of her aunt. In the soft light he remembered how he came from death himself.


“My Lord.” Came the voice from the far side of the citadel. At once there was a slight murmur from the crowd, harsh whispers and hurried undertones before Elessar raised a hand to silence the crowd which had gathered at court. A woman strode forward and bowed. She was in her forties, but he could not be sure, for there was something within her eyes which made her look young, and then there was something which had eroded her very soul.

“Lady Il Galoth” he remarked, giving her permission to speak.

“This boy my Lord, Why should he be put to death for being who he is? An Easterling, nay, he is a man, a man like all of you.” She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Then what would you in your wisdom have me do with him Lady Lysia? Let him away to form another alliance and another chance to overthrow the West?” Elessar answered.

“Like Guriel? Like he who slain my husband? No my lord, I would not. Let him come to my estate, there I shall make him learned in the ways of western men.”

“Lady Lysia- ”

“Please Lord! He is a child!” The women would not let him go.

“Very well Lady Il Galoth, he may be your charge.”


Lysia had been hard in her teachings, but never had he seen anyone with so kinder heart and passion for living. Maén as he had seen in the years he resided at Lysia’s shared them. So brighter child that she was Lysia’s pride; however scorned she was by her parents.

He to had been scorned; Scorned by everyone from the street sweeper to the king himself. Everywhere he went he knew there would be those who would follow him with their eyes, and he hated them for it. Carathir turned his sight from the Gondorian woman and spat upon the ground. The pure Gondorian woman, with her high blood, her noble brow and her powerful family; the same clan of men who were responsible for the downfall of the east. He would see to it that they would rise again, and if Maén Il Galoth could lead him to her renegade cousin, he may well in fact help him. Then he would slay the pretty Gondorian himself and pour her blood upon the steps of Elessar’s citadel for all of the west to see.

[Kransha]

Idruil again sat nestled in the saddle of Ecthelion again, leaning forward and looking out in front of him and the group with cold, focused eyes. The horse’s bouncing along the rough terrain was severely subdued by the solemn demeanor of the rider, who steadied it and goaded it forward with more composure and reserve. He wheeled the low-headed steed through the ranks of his companions, over viewing them as he had already done so many times. The man of Minas Tirith looked pensive between the haunches of his mount. He took a deep breath and leaned back, reclining against the rear end of the saddle and contemplating.

Things were technically going well, despite the loss of Delphinious. The other thought dead had returned and many of his comrades seemed to have to dark shroud lifted from them, especially the girl Crystal, who was riding just in front of him on the horse of the ranger, Atharen. Idruil was not entirely contented, but he felt that he was still content enough, more so than some members of the company. The loss they’d felt in Delphinious was simply not as apparent to the man as he kicked his horse into a faster pace to pass Atharen’s steed and then slow to let it catch up with him. As he philosophized inwardly, the two horses soon ended up cantering along side by side. In a vague and weak attempt to get a conversation going amid the dreary atmosphere, Idruil goaded Ecthelion towards Atharen’s mount until he was directly flanking it. He looked past Crystal, who sat behind the ranger, to Atharen himself and spoke.

“You are certainly a dauntless man, Atharen ranger, and courteous as well. I must admit, having never met a ranger in all my days, I had not expected one to be so….so courageous and level-headed. The stories I was told of rangers in Pelargir made them out to be much more stubborn and chauvinistically righteous than you are. As a former soldier of Gondor, I can rightly say that I am glad to know a man in which all the chivalry of the last age still lives.”

He turned slowly from Atharen, noting in his mind that Ferethor was also oddly like that, but in a different way. The man’s eyes shifted down again, examining only the ground in front of Ecthelion’s bobbing muzzle as he wondered if the ranger would respond or not. His heavy eyelids were drifting closed, but he promptly realized it and the shot back open, blinking several times before settling back into their gaze.

[Eorl of Rohan]

Ferethor came to his conciousness painfully, as the sun sank behind the snow-crowned peaks of White Mountains. Passing a hand over his fevered brow, he slowly rose to his feet. Ferethor was faint with loss of blood and in great anguish, so that he had taken but few steps before he swayed and grasped a tree for support in dismay. After a moment of strife with his weariness and grief, he sank down by a young birch to comtemplate his next move as darkness gathered.


"A bitter end is this to all my hope!" He cried out in bitterness. "Yet while my strength remains I must go on." Indeed it was only his stern will that aided him as he crept from the eve of encircling trees to the scene of battle, which was terrible to behold.


Foul carrion dwimmered o'er the deserted battlefield their fey and desolate cries echoing around the barren hills. Raiders of Harad have not bothered to bury or cremenate their dead and their limp forms made Ferethor slightly afraid as he stood alone swaying. So it was that Ferethor came upon Del in the midst of slain as he crept upon the scene.


"Del!" Ferethor knelt down, clasping his hand. "Awake! We are alone." At his call Del stirred and opened his eyes, bright and moist but foreshadowed with death."Ferethor, my time has passed. Falling valiantly in battle was my desire, rather then fall prey to old age and die witless and alone." Del winced as he slightly raised his head to meet Ferethor's concerned gaze, speaking in a low voice strained with effort and anguish. "Such desire is fulfilled, and I am content. Do not mourn for me. I have only this to bid you - watch over the company in my stead. Farewell, until we meet again beyond the circles of this world!" So ended Del, not the least valiant of the warriors of Edain. Ferethor fell silent stricken with sorrow, utterly regardless of his own pain and weariness.


At last Ferethor gently took the hilt of the sword from Del's lifeless hand and saw that it had broken asunder. Laying it at his feet wiht all the other weapons of bandits that he could gather, Ferethor laughed as one fey with bitter anguish of mind, crying "Thus have you been enmeshed in the Doom of Illuvatar to children of Men, and have escaped the circles of this world."


Ferethor then sang a song of lamentation softly to aid the dead as was the custom in Gondor his voice clear and carrying alone in this hill of death.


As sunbeams of golden hue besprangled the day
Outlaw raiders from Harad did we have to face
Their drawn blades of steel gleaming fey
Wrathful counternances full of grim menace


From peril of the blades and fire and ravenous foes
Del fled not in terror but would fain rather stay
For proud was this child of Atani and valourous
As he sought to open for us an escaping way


If it was not for him we would no be here hence
Yet there fell and passed away he - Del of Gondor
How halls of Mandos does he wander and glance
Yet we who are doomed to stay lament forevermore


Then Ferethor ceased to sing softly and laid the lifeless hand down with what amounted to almost reverence echoing his last words "Farewell until we meet again beyond the circles of this world!" Then he fell silent.


He sought to cool his fevered brow as he took his flint and kindled a bundle of leaves, gazing at the fiery flame as if hypnotized by it's rhythmic movements before casting it down. The barren dune was set aflame and wreathed in smoke, as consuming flame devoured the bloodstained field. Turning, he left the charred and blackened field behind him, naming it the Plain of Immeasureable Lamentation.


Ferethor then took to tracking the lost company through the woods, spent with grief and the wound ever sapping his strength. He had little hope to follow a horseback company in such a state. Indeed Ferethor would have fain laid himself down and embraced death had he not been driven by Del's bidding to watch over the company in his stead.

[Everdawn]

“Its just like the men, you know.” Stated Maén hurriedly, “Fight first, ask question later. For all we know, those riders may have been simple traders riding on their way to Gondor.” She could tell that Idruil had chosen to ignore the remark.

Hittai shifted restlessly beneath her. The surrounding brush seemed quiet. Maén dismounted and stood at the animals side.

“It’s quiet” she muttered. “Too quiet.” Pacing now around Hittai she began to survey her surroundings, it was getting dark. Carathir too had dismounted his handsome Thaoura and began to peer into the wood as well.

Upon the air Maén began to hear the fain sounds of a horses hooves on hard ground.

“Maén, do you her that?” Idruil asked still atop his horse.

“Indeed.” She said almost in a whisper. There was little time to prepare for any attack when it was Roryn not a Haradrim who passed beyond the entrance of the grove. He was alone. Maén frowned. Her look of anger was apparent to those present. Roryn dismounted and approached the small corss-armed woman with a respective nod.

"Atharen still lives, he went back to look for Ferethor, who we lost on the way here. I suspect they are both alive...we lost Delphinious.."

Maen nodded grimly. "He fought bravely Maen, he fought and killed many foes. He gave us time to go, and we repaid him duly for that...Atharen knows as well as I what Haradrim do to prisoners, and we knew Del would have appreciated a quick death..."his voice trailed off as he too fought back images of Del's death. "He died well, Maen, and his spirit will find its way to the great halls." Maen nodded slowly, and Roryn laid a hand on her back. "Yes, now is a time for grief, Maen. I will not stop you or tell you that it is not..."

He stood up slowly and walked back over to his horse. He mounted it. "I will watch in the forest for signs of Atharen. With hope, he will not be delayed much."

Roryn turned and rode in the other direction. Maén’s face was still hard and cold as stone. “I regret to inform you all that one of our companions is dead.”

More tears fell from the eyes of Crystal. Maén was used to being informed of deaths, so this task was not totally alienated from her, it was one of the many downsides to being of military breeding. “Del has been slain in battle.” They were the words which she had so often heard repeated to her in times of war.


“ Captain Salome Il Galoth- slain in battle, Mircent Il Galoth-slain in battle, Gracon Il Galoth-Slain in battle, Captain Miradan Il Galoth-Slain in Battle …”

Maén sat upon a pew in the citadel, a black veil covering her little face next to her was Lysia, young, beautiful aunt Lysia. As if by some magic the years of time had attacked her features, she made no sound when the name of her husband was called out by King Elessar, she was still. Maén returned her attention to the king as the names of their house were read out one by one.


“Lormhand Il Galoth- Slain in Battle, Crainden Il Galoth- Slain in Battle, Craindan Il Galoth- slain in battle, Crainwell Il Galoth- Slain in battle, Captain Riondel Il Galoth- Slain in battle, Peruvial Il Galoth-Slain in battle, Aeromir Il Galoth-Sliain in Battle, Aeroden Il Galoth slain in battle.”

Maén shook her head clear of the memories. “The others are alive as far as we can tell, true to my word, twenty-five thousand in gold will be payed out in full to any remaining member of his house. A grievous and regrettable tragedy.” She sat down abruptly, like always in these times, there was absolutely no show of emotion to be found upon her fair face.

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal's head snapped up at the faint sound of Ferethor's voice wafted from out of the safety of the shadows from the trees. He stood leaning against one of the many tree trunks, it was clearly evident that he was wounded. A shed of hope filled her heart as she galloped away from the company. Maen called out to her in confusion, but she continued on until she had reached Ferethor's side. She jumped down from her stallion and put a hand upon his arm.

"Ferethor! You look horrible. Please, I know we are somewhat of enemies, but you need some sort of medical attention. We are too far away from any town at the moment. You are going to have to trust me to save your life. Otherwise, Ferethor you will die," Crystal said quickly as her eyes assessed the damaged. Ferethor nodded weakly. With amazing strength she pushed Ferethor up on top of the stallion and got on besides him. She hurried back to the company.

"Someone find a truffle root. Six or more should do. Please hurry. Ferethor does not have much time remaining," Crystal yelled as she hurried back over to them. She stopped her horse quickly and jumped down. The men came over and helped her lay Ferethor on his back.

Crystal hoped that he wouldn't flinch when she took out her dagger. She took it out slowly, trying to be as unthreatening as possible. She knew that she would have to cut his clothes to get to his wounds, but she was afraid. She swallowed her fear and eased her knife through his clothes. It teared easily. She opened the opening and gasped. The wound was deep. She hoped that whomever decided to get her the herb that she needed would be back shortly.

She shifted through her pack and found the small set of other herbs that the travellers had given to her. She put some of them together in her hand and grabbed a rock. She began to smash them, trying to make them fine and smooth as not to hurt Ferethor any more. She grabbed her cantine and poured a droplet of water over it to give it a more paste like substance and gently rubbed into Ferethor's wound.

He yelled out in pain and Crystal pulled her hands away.
"I am sorry if it hurts, but it is the only way," Crystal said softly. She continued her work. Ferethor would wince and his muscles would move under her fingers, but he refrained from crying out. When the paste was done she looked around. Surely someone had found them? A hand handed her the herbs that she had desperately needed. She mumbled a thank you and put them in her mouth.

This remedy could be thought as crude, but saliva and truffle roots were one of things that would save him. She took the mushed up truffle roots out of her mouth and forced herself to cry on them. Droplets of her tears splashed and remained on the mush. When she was done she placed the mush on the wound and rubbed it in once more.

The task was tedious, much more so then the last mixture of paste she had rubbed into him. It took time and Crystal was afraid that their time had run out. Finally after what seemed like years the mixture was rubbed in enough. She opened her cloak and ripped off one of her sleves. She used it as a bandage for Ferethor.

When she was completely done she sat back, heaving. She had never done this before under the imense stress that she had been experiencing in her mind. She had never knew that weary, mind straining toll it took upon a person to try to save another.

"He shall be alright now."

[piosenniel]

Eorl of Rohan's post

Crystal? Ferethor's wavering senses clarified for a moment as he fell onto the tufts of long grass dazed. And in the next instant, Ferethor was aware of the vulnerable situation he was in and tried to rise to his feet but failed to do so. Gasping in bitter pain that flashed through his shoulder, Ferethor raised himself into a sitting position after much effort and found himself staring into concerned eyes of Crystal.

Her voice seemed dim and far away, somehow. "You are going to have to trust me to save your life. Otherwise, you'd die. Death. What a welcome proposition it seemed. Wincing in anguish, Ferethor tried to pull away but found not the strength to master his own body.

I could have died instead of Del. Crystal began yelling, but Ferethor did not hearken to what she was saying or anything else. He was younger then me and had a whole life ahead of him. I... I live for vengeance only which is scarcely a worthy cause. Yet why?

Ferethor's vision focused after a while and he could see Crystal kneeling next to him with a slim blade in her hand. Then bitter pain coursed to every senses and the Guard pulled away with a low cry of anguish. Why can't everyone just leave me alone to die? Crystal withdrew her hands for a moment in hesitation and whispered, "I am sorry if it hurts, but it is the only way." And Ferethor fell silent and let her work.

Even though time and pain were subjective it took long, Ferethor realized that his wound was probably more grievous then he first thought. But at last Crystal was done with what she was doing and bandaged the shoulder with white substance he did not recognize. Sighing in relief, Ferethor curled up like a wounded dog and unclenched his frozen fists.

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal watched Ferethor's pain. As much as they didn't get along and as much as she was weary of him she didn't like to see him in pain. She placed her hand on his forehead, it was cold. She took her cloak off and put it over him.

"Sleep, Ferethor. Sleep dreamless dreams. You are safe," Crystal whispered softly.

There wasn't anything else she could do for him. The only thing that had brought her any amount of luck in her life was the necklace that was buried underneath her clothing. It was her mother's and she loved it dearly. It had seemed to keep her alive through sickness and wounds and was just plain lucky at other times. She wasn't very superstitious, but she believed in the necklace.

She unclasped it and put it around Ferethor's neck.

"May it bring you the luck that it has brought me," Crystal said gently. She backed away and sat next to him, staring off into the distance.

[Everdawn]

“You’ve been soldiers all along.” Maén said in a quite voice, knowing not what else to say. Ferethor nodded. “I have nothing to say to you, I loathe Elessar, and I will always. Nothing you can say can change that. You both have betrayed my confidence, and while I may call you friends, I will advise you that it is not wise in future. I will not come with you, Im going home.”

Carathir too was distressed, all along his only objective had been to find this Il Galoth traitor and get back his tribal rights, which were to become king of his people. He knew now that it would not happen. “Next time, there will always be another opportunity” he said quietly to himself as he rode a way behind the company.

Time passed quickly for the company on the ride home, Maén told the company that they were free to come to Lysia’s anytime they pleased to pick up their reward, as many still wanted to take care of other things first. So it was that Carathir and Maén rode into the estate of the renegade Il Galoth lady.

Lysia seemed to look more tired than ever as she ran out to meet them. Carathir immediately took Hittai and his horse to the stables to allow the aunt and niece to talk. Lysia threw her arms around her niece. “Did you find him?”

Maén looked gravely at the ground. “He had been dead all along. I had to kill Lord Arriten in the process, he was in league with Guriel” Her voice grew hoarse. Lysia nodded. And in turn began to speak.

“Your father came here, the day after you left. They don’t understand Maén, he was very angry. I think you should live here for a while rather than go back to that cold home.”

Maén looked her aunt in the eye. “Live here?”

Lysia nodded. “Estranged from your parents for a while. You have always been more like me than your own mother; she always despised me for it. You shall be educated if you wish, you shall do what you wish. And you will be mine; you will still have your title.” For the first time in her life, Maén was almost content, she was thwarted though to think that in the end it took a trip halfway across Middle Earth to gain her freedom. She had been driven by revenge, other by gold, other by orders. They had hoped to find more than what they did, but at the end of days, when the sun disappears into the west The Legacy of Traitors amounts to nothing.

[piosenniel]

~*~ To Elvenhome ~*~