Fall of the North RPG

[Mithalwen]

Erenor answered her co-emissary "this is not a time for that dispute - those who do not wield swords are still liable to die on them - I will not pass to Mandos without offering resistance". She sheathed her sword and uttered no further word until in the presence of the king. She made a reverence, but the gesture seemed cursory compared to those of the obsequious courtiers. Her language was similarly direct; Arvedui was not her king, her status protected her and her honesty was a more valuable gift than her skill with blade.

"My Lord, I must advise you against this course. The road to the mountains is long and into the depths of winter. The journey to Imladris is no longer and conditions would be easier. Furthermore, aid could be expected from our kindred. If you insist on the westward course it should be to the Havens not the diggings of the Naugrim. It may be even now that the Earnil of Gondor has harkened to Arthedain's need and aid from the south will await us there."

[Kransha]

Mellonar was indeed disappointed about having been absorbed into the last party to leave Fornost. His train had apparently arrived almost two hours later than the others at the northern hold, which explained why the King had so readily orated when his group arrived. He and about ten other nobles had not been part of the emergency rede of counselors held in the chambers of the hold, and had little idea of what was going on. He had to be filled in by nobles’ attendants and guardsmen, since all the Arnorian lords already busied themselves during this time settling in for a brief stay. After the King left the main hall, the throng dispersed into other rooms, and guards divided them into units that occupied small rooms of the fortress. The hold became more controlled by soldiers, but was still a chaotic mess of a situation, one which Mellonar did not like and could barely, in this ill time, fathom fully.

In his haste, the minister found himself worming his way illicitly through the crowd, constantly proclaiming his status so underlings would scoot clumsily aside, and made his way with great, serpentine speed to the chamber of the king. It was not a large room, certainly not befitting of royalty, and had been, at one time, the seat of some provincial Dúnedain lord, possibly, so the weathered old rock stone that the King now sat in, kneading his creased brow with a bony hand, bore some merit, but little. Lords and ladies were crowded around, running back and forth to attend to their own respective duties or needs. It was hard to near King Arvedui, but Mellonar soon attained close vicinity to the last Arnorian monarch, and attempted to approach. Unfortunately, before he came near enough, another source addressed the king – the Elf, Erenor.

They were speaking to the King, of course, which made Mellonar seethe. They should have sought him out. He was their ambassador to the king, in charge of relations with the Elven-kindreds of Middle-Earth. Sourly, he approached them as they concluded what they were saying. Mellonar noted that the King was still too busy kneading his brow to take complete notice, probably very weary from all the business he had to tend to, so Mellonar took the opportunity to shove himself in front of the Elves.

“Lady Erenor, Lady Bethiril, pardon my rudeness but, if I may, I will take your questions.” He said all this with sickening sweetness, fitting of his nature, and smiled grimly, but the look of the Elf who’d spoken, Erenor, was somber. “Our query was addressed to the King.” She steadily and seriously intoned, and Mellonar diverted a scowl and nodded accordingly. “And I will tell him of it, I assure you.” He continued smiling, but was certainly grimacing within. “Now then, what is it you want?”

Erenor spoke, and Bethiril simply stood by. “We” she looked quickly to Bethiril for final confirmation, “believe that the King is making a mistake.” Mellonar winced noticeably, but recovered his smile, though it was now tempered with a stern furrowing of his threadbare eyebrows. “My dear Lady, the King does not make mistakes, even in times of war.” Erenor looked a little disdainful when this was said, and Bethiril looked indifferent. Both were oddly cold, and shot a look at Mellonar that bordered on ennui, which annoyed the minister to no end. Quietly, Erenor responded.

“All men make mistakes, Lord Mellonar, it is not a shameful thing.”

Mellonar sighed. “I suppose Elves make no mistakes, yes?” He shot back with a tone of caustic sarcasm ripe in his wheedling voice. There was a slight pause, as the graceful Elven maid was digesting this retort. It was, in fact, Bethiril who replied, possibly covering for her compatriot. “All creatures are flawed,” she said, in an attempt at vague pacification perhaps, “but that is not the matter we pursue here. The course of the king is a wrong one. The Ered Luin hold only catacombs and darkness, an asset to the Wraith Lord who pursues us rather than a detriment. We can reach the harbors of Mithlond easily once we have gone far enough west.”

Again Mellonar sighed at the ignorance of the Elves (his image thereof, at least), and set off in a brief harangue. “You should consult your maps, Emissary. Between us and Mithlond many perils lie. It is not as easy a course as it sounds or even looks. Orcs are numerous now in the north. Have you not heard of the terrors the Witch-King has brought upon us?” he widened his eyes and gestured with his politician’s fluttering hands to illustrate, “There are wraiths, spirits, and phantasms in the south, infesting the graves of our dead. Goblins from the mountains swarm over the hills, and wolves gnaw at those lost on the plains. A journey to Mithlond is a journey to death.” He spoke the last word with grinding sternness, and some people who were walking in the area nearby stopped and shot concerned glances in the direction of the three Elves and the minister who was trying to dissuade them from their course. Unfortunately, Bethiril was quick on the uptake.

“But, if we reach the Ered Luin, will we be farther from that death?”

Mellonar’s throat allowed a bubbling growl of contempt to escape it, though his face remained stately, despite rising anger. “Why must you question his majesty now?” he said tiresomely, “He is tired and his wisdom should not be questions.”

Erenor picked up the argument again. “You speak rightly, he is tired – and his wisdom may be dulled.”

Mellonar’s eye twitched, and he did not bother to answer. Annoyance plain in his voice, he gestured to two nearby guards, who were only two of the many who were gathered in clumps throughout the room, answering questions, issuing directions and orders, and keeping order in the area. The guards hurried over, and Mellonar turned back to the two bemused emissaries and the ever-silent Elven guard. “We have not the time for this.” He said, gesturing again, unnoticeably, to the armored guards. “Here,” he indicated the guards, “these men shall escort you to your quarters. We will be here for some days, but do not settle, for we shall uproot again before the new moon.” He jabbed his quavering index finger in the direction of the nobles’ chambers under his billowing robes and turned away before the Elves even had a chance to protest, hurrying towards the King. A moment later, the rushing crowds of ministers and lords had moved all around him and concealed him from view.

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

The guard motioned for the emissaries to follow them. Bethiril held her ground, her stare following the slithering form of Mellonar.

Here she was, believing that the sword was the greatest danger to all, able to take more lives than anything else this world could throw against anyone. This Man, though weaponless himself, is more dangerous than a thousand swords and spears. With a sickening infusion of pomp, stubbornness, and arrogance, he sends the people of Arnor to a fate they otherwise should not have tasted.

She turned to the King. His head was now bowed, his hands rubbing his temples, revealing a glimpse of the tempests that essayed to scatter the ashes of his wisdom, the gales of contradictory advice this Man must have received ever since the hated host reared its banners before the walls of now-doomed Fornost. Perhaps, on his own, Arvedui would have been a better king, a great king even. But with Men like the insecure Mellonar as his counsellors, he may perhaps live to his name.

She was tempted to try to persuade the king once more, pouring out the last of her strength in an appeal that she hoped would prevent Arnor from partaking of this deadly fruit. She was tempted to take her ring, and cast it before the feet of the king, washing her hands of any evil that might after befall. She was tempted to do many other things, but the knowledge that all these would ultimately prove useless prevented her from being dragged away by the mad thoughts.

Erenor beside her felt the momentary turmoil in her mind. She reached out to touch her shoulders. “It seems that the king has burned his ships,” she said, her voice quavering, as if she struggled to remain master of it. “Let return to our quarters for new counsel.”

Bethiril turned to the window, looking at the Dúnedain women and children huddling in the cold. She remained silent as she turned her back and left the presence of the king.

[Garen LiLorian]

Angóre didn't bother to keep his voice down as the guards approched hesitantly. "This is foolishness." He directed his words to Betheril and Erenor. "To where are we fleeing? Are the holes of the Naugrim more defensible with a hundred men than the Citadel of the north with a legion? What friends are there to aid us in the frigid north, when we are beset again by the pursuing forces of Angmar?" His tone was scathing, his normally impassive face twisted. The braver of the two guards felt that some response was called for.

"You would do well to trust in the decision of our king, Elf. Never before has his wisdom failed." The man was red in the face, but resolute.
"For you and yours, once will be enough," replied the Elf with a twisted smile. "But I do not deny the north-King's wisdom. It is against the mistrustfulness of his ministers that I speak. For I think that many among those who have the king's ear hold no love for the Eldar, and I see their hand behind this ill-fated choice. Alas that it should come to this! Will we now hold petty squabbles of more import than the survival of the heirs of Númenor? Tell me friend, do you see any hope in this choice?" But the man was silent as he and his companion ushered the Elves out of the hall. Angóre took one last look over his shoulder at Arvedui, last king of Arnor, and his countenance softened. The man sat lost in thought, the toil and strain of his decisions clearly visible in his features. It was plain that Angóre's questions had been oft in the mind of the king as well, and similarly plain that, for all his wisdom, he didn't know the answers either.

[Mithalwen]

Erenor had not trusted herself to speak again before the king and his minister but the second the elves were alone in their quarters her anger exploded. "This is madness - he will lead them all to death in his pride, rather than seek sanctuary in another's kingdom. And that MAN!!! How dare he lecture me - I dwellt at Mithlond when Elendil fled Numenor and I have traversed Eriador oft in the long years since. Does he think me some child to be frightened by his tales of phantasms and goblins? I fear the Witch-King himself less than his stupidity. " Erenor paced the small chamber. In her plain, somewhat masculine travelling clothes she ressembled more than ever her warrior father.

"We must try to speak to the king again - I fear the old fool will haunt my steps and I will be hard pressed to get near the king's ear - but perhaps the Lindon emissary may add his voice to our cause - I cannot imagine they wish to roam the mountains any more than us. But if the king refuses - what should our course be? surely our duty is not to follow to certain death - theirs if not ours? My sire was slain fighting on the slopes of Orodruin and the victory won by his death and those of so many others was squandered in pride and folly - must we too pay the price for the arrogance of the line of Isildur?" . Erenor spat the words at noone in particular .........and spun on her heel to face her companions, her hand unconsciously rested on the hilt of the sword at her hip.

Then calmer she said : "Lady Berethil - I will try to seek contact with the minds of our lords at Imladris - I would you would add your essais to mine since your power is the greater and some are closer in kindred. We may get counsel even if we cannot hope for aid." She sat on a bench and rested her head in her hands, fatigued by her own outburst.