Red Flows the Sirannon RPG

[Arestevana]

“Is this the first rank?”
Gilduin barely registered the question; he was far too accustomed to avoiding conversation to fashion a reasonable reply. He tried to ignore the elf and withdraw into the safe, familiar realm of his own mind, but he could not escape the stranger’s gaze. He stared for a moment at the other elf, taking note of his appearance, which was becoming more difficult to discern in the growing darkness.

They were close in age, Gilduin noted. He guessed he was the elder of the two, but the stranger exuded such confidence and intelligence that Gilduin was unsure. In the glow of the herald’s lantern he saw the pride in the archer’s eyes, and a flicker of tolerance that suggested the stranger felt he had been slighted. As the object of the other’s stare, Gilduin realized that he was undoubtedly the source of the offense. He searched his mind, trying to remember what affront he had recently committed.

When he could not recollect doing anything conceivably offensive, Gilduin realized with chagrin that the elf must have spoken to him. He tried desperately to remember what had been said, mortified at the thought that he had been rudely staring at the elf for the past few minutes. The silence had grown distinctly uncomfortable when at last he recalled the stranger’s question. He could think of only one reason for an archer to seek out the first rank, and with a sinking feeling he realized that the elf must be a captain. He wished to disappear, but forced himself to speak.
“No—I mean, yes, sir.” Gilduin said, knowing how flustered he must sound. “Yes, this is the first rank.” He gave a short bow, more to hide his reddening face than as a courtesy. “My name is Gilduin Lindorion, sir. I am the standard bearer.”

[Alcarillo]

It was morning, and the rising sun was ascending the Hithaeglir, shedding light across Eregion. Cainenyo was still in his nightgown, and kneeling at the pool of his home’s courtyard. Surrounded by aromatic flowers, it was here that he washed his arms, legs, and face each morning before he got dressed. He usually spent this time thinking about the day’s work and making a list in his mind of the day’s chores.

I must finish that knife today, he thought, still sleepy. It would be for his wife Alassante, who was still asleep upstairs. The knife would be a gift just to prepare for the troubled times ahead. I might get some nice silver decoration on the hilt, something like vines, or flowers, he thought as his mind wandered over the image of the completed knife that Cainenyo had had in mind for months. I could get Arenwino to do it, or maybe Celebdur. I must stop by the silver-smithy district later today and shop around for the best quality and price possible. Cainenyo stood and stretched his limbs, and reentered the house, only to emerge moments later in his work clothes and holding a glass of blood-red wine, his usual breakfast.

He crossed the courtyard, where the shadows of the flowers were now somewhat shorter, and entered a cool arched passage, which led to his workshop. Cainenyo noticed a few people walking about the street, which would become busier as the day moved into the afternoon. He took a sip of his wine and set it on a table to put on his apron and gloves, which hung on pegs near the door. Kneeling, he removed a long key from an apron pocket, unlocked a large chest near the furnace and found the long knife he was working on yesterday. Cainenyo dropped it into one of his deep pockets.

Eager to begin his work, he hurried back into the house, where he found Alassante already awake and plucking some flowers from the courtyard. She held a blue vase under her arm, where she deposited the flowers. She looked up from her work at Cainenyo. “Hello, you’re starting today’s work?” she said smiling. It was still morning, but the sun had now risen to sit on the mountains.

“Yes, but I wanted to tell you that I’ll be searching for a smith to work on the hilt of a knife. I want some floral decoration added to it. I’ll be back later, by noon.” He explained. Alassante frowned somewhat. She enjoyed her husband’s cheerful humming drifting through the house while he worked at the anvil, and she was slightly troubled by the weaponry Cainenyo seemed to be making more and more often these days. “If anybody comes and asks for me, please tell him that I’m away at the moment and he can come back later,” Cainenyo added. He brushed back his wife’s long brown hair and kissed her on her brow. She waved good-bye as he stepped through the doorway into his forge.

Cainenyo took another sip of the wine left on the table, and then set out into the city to find a suitable smith. Alassante always thought it silly that Cainenyo wore his apron and gloves into the city, but Cainenyo explained that it was a status symbol and that others would know his craft by his clothes. As he walked down the cobblestone street he decided to head to Celebdur, the silversmith to whom Cainenyo’s son was apprenticed. His shop was across town, near the other silversmiths, but Cainenyo welcomed the exercise and fresh air.

[Arry]

‘Look, Uncle,’ said Skald, his moment of good cheer fading. ‘In all seriousness . . . I . . . and I think we all . . . want to see you with enough protection to keep your head on your shoulders should the Orcs have at us with those nasty blades of theirs. I know I’ll be wearing my helmet and a sleeved shirt of light mail over a woolly vest. And I’ll tie my thick leather vest over it. My small shield . . . the one you made me covered in bronze; it’ll be with me. I’m putting leather protectors on my lower legs, too. They’re fierce beasties, the Orcs – they’ll cut you anywhere they can.’ He raised his thick brows at Orin. ‘You know if you don’t promise to wear something to our liking, we’ll stand round you in battle like two-legged pieces of armor!’

Skald grinned impishly at the threat, then tried another tack. ‘Can’t have you getting injured or worse yet killed! Whose gonna stand with me when I finally find and marry my heart’s delight?’

[piosenniel]

‘Marry? Heart’s delight?’ Riv chuckled. ‘Good one, brother!’ He looked toward Orin, gauging his uncle’s reaction. ‘Not quite sure you’ve sold him, though!’ He narrowed his eyes as if he were considering it more seriously. ‘However, since that may take a good number . . . no, make that a very great number . . . of years to accomplish, we just might have to make sure that our dear Uncle lives til his beard reaches the toes of his boots!’

Riv poured himself another cup of ale and offered the skin round again. ‘Little brother’s got a good idea. We should make sure we take a good supply of food with us. We’ll hit the supply room in the level below us. We can use one or two of their hand carts. Some we can carry out with us; some we can cache near the East-gate. There are any number of rocky outcroppings we can hunker down in for defense if need be.’

He looked at Skald and Bror. ‘What if we send the two of you ahead early tomorrow morning? We’re going to need more Dwarves to stand with us. No use in bringing food if we’re dead and can’t be eating it. Uncle Orin and I can bring your armor along with us; pile it on the food cart if need be – you can put it on just before we leave the East-gate. You’ll be able to go more quickly that way, raising call for more to go with us. Stop at your friends’ forges, ten or so more fighters would be good. Uncle Orin and I can raise the hue and cry here in the west halls.’

‘What say you?’

[Orofaniel]

It was something in the weather that told Geldion that it was indeed the end of autumn. The leaves that used to have the slightest scent of summer, were long gone, and not to be sensed for another year. And perhaps; never again. The gentle wind had slowly turned into some harsher and slightly bitter tones, and it washed away all the warmth that remained in the elf's body. The cool breeze in his face, made him feel slightly dizzy. This did not suit him. It did not suit him at all.

Entering the Pin the elf felt as though his spirits were lifted. The warmth of the room and the crackling fireplace greeted him and any other guest that would enter the room sooner or later. The light hit him quite suddenly, and his eyes had to get used to it and thus he stayed in the shadows for some moments. He then heard a familiar voice. It was, without much doubt, his good friend - and now also a fellow Captain - Ondomirë. The elf hurried over to the table, set for four, although at the present there were only three of them; Ondomirë, himself...and someone he did not recognize. There was however no need to think more about it, because Ondomirë introduced him quickly to the stranger that was smiling so gently towards him.

"This is Alcarfalon," Ondomirë said once again. "And this, Alcarfalon, is my friend Geldion," Ondomirë. The two elves that had been strangers to one another until now, greeted each other. Both of them seemed to enjoy the new acquaintance. "An old friend, you say?" Geldion then asked Ondomirë after having been offered some wine, which he gladly accepted. He seated as well, as he suddenly was aware of that he had been standing all along, while the other two had offered him a seat- in what seemed to be a comfortable cushion. He paused, and put down his cup of wine hoping for a refill later that afternoon.

"Indeed," Ondomirë replied quickly. "You are an elf full of surprises," Geldion sighed. "I would think that after all these years, I would be acquainted with most of your 'old friends'. Perhaps you came before me then?" Geldion then said, giving a short laughter,. The other two were quick to follow. "Well, I met Geldion a long time ago, during the establishment of our beautiful Lindon,” Ondomirë told Alcarfalon. “My ancestors fought with the elves a long time ago in Beleriand. Ondomirë is has been a friend of my relatives for many years, and he has always been welcome there…” Alcarfalon then informed Geldion. “Ah of course. My memory is worse than I thought. Ondomirë has mentioned you in several occasions. It’s a shame we haven’t had the chance to meet before,” Geldion then said.

Nothing more of those matters were said, because the company was slightly interrupted by another elf entering the Pin. It seemed to be the elf that had volunteered to lead the troops of elves with spears.

[Folwren]

Bror declined Riv’s offer of more ale and kept his eyes on his brother’s face as he suggested his plans.

‘What say you?’ Riv asked in conclusion. Bror considered it carefully for a minute. Then he put his head down and lightly plucked a simple tune on his strings before speaking.

‘Well, if you don’t mind my saying so too much, I don’t think it’s a good idea to raise any hue and cry just now. If you spread the name of Sauron around there will be terror in the streets and nothing will be accomplished half as well as it should if it were only known by a few. If you meant something else than that when you say hue and cry, then please explain.

‘But about Skald and me going on to gather a few extra people, I’d be up for that. As you said, we’d be able to move more quickly without the extra armor and that’d give the fellows we gathered a little time in advance to make preparation to go. Are there any dwarves in particular that you want?

‘If you’re gathering the food,’ he went on with hardly a pause, ‘please bring something other than cram. I’d think that we’d have thought of something better than that when we have to go off and do something. Sure, I know, I’ve never been on a real mission before, but I’ve tasted the stuff that you all take with you and I can’t say it’s too appetizing!’

[Amanaduial the archer]

Narisiel looked up at Maegisil, surprised and half-smiling, as if expecting him to be grinning back. But when she saw the other elf’s solemn expression, the amusement faded from her own as she looked away, her fingers tracing the engravings she had started on Leneslath’s sword blade. “You…you shouldn’t,” she replied softly, her pale face looking suddenly more wearied even in the warm light cast from the forge. How can he know of what price she fear I may pay for my craft…how dangerous those rings could be in the wrong hands… But her melancholia only seemed to last a moment, for, closing her eyes, she sighed gently and then sniffed suddenly, blinking a few times, and glanced shrewdly back up at the king’s counsellor. “My apologies, Maegisil, it has been a long day – I have several commissions at the moment that have pressing deadlines…”

“Oh, well if you do not have time, do not worry about it–” Maegisil replied hurriedly, turning away, but the elvensmith shook her head hastily, reaching for his arm and interrupting, “No, I…I did not mean that – my commitments are not so that I could not fit another in, depending on its nature. Although I do warn you,” she added with a smile. “If you wish me to make yet another blade, I shall strongly resist the urge to scream.”

The older elf smiled back gladly, shaking his head. “Then do not fear! No, I intended to commission your skills for something which I believe is an area of your particular expertise, or so I gather from my Lord Celebrimbor.”

There is not a craftsman alive who does not appreciate sincere flattery from those who know what they are talking about: Narisiel smiled, blushing slightly, and cocked her head to one side questioningly. “Oh ho, really? And what would this be then, if not weaponry?”

“Jewellery.”

The simple word could not have startled the elvensmith more, and she actually visibly flinched at it, suddenly firing up with the anger that she had been noted for in her younger days. How could he know what she had been thinking of just moments before? Jewellery, yes, that had been her expertise – but why did Maegisil ask about it now? It seemed unusual to make such a frivolous commision, to be sure, when war seemed imminent – unless it was not as innocent as it seemed, for had the other not just mentioned his ‘jealously’ of Narisiel?! The thoughts swelled through the elf’s mind on a wave of paranoia and she gave Maegisil a very straight, fierce look. “Why do you say that?” she replied quietly.

The other seemed taken aback at Narisiel’s sudden fierceness and frowned, but stood his ground. “Because you were one of those who helped Lord Celebrimbor with the forging of the rings,” he replied levelly. “But also because I know, as any other in the city, that you are one of the foremost jewelsmiths in Ost-in-Edhil.” He looked coldly at her, then nodded stiffly. “Good day to you, Narisiel.”

“Wait. Please.” This time she did not reach out for his arm and as Maegisil turned back, he saw the smith wipe her eyes wearily with her fingers, smoothing them back across high cheekbones to rest on the sides of her face then rested them with the fingertips meeting in a steeple between her eyes, almost as if she was praying. Those dark, sharp eyes regarded Maegisil pensively, then she sighed and let her arms hang down by her sides, shaking her head and looking away once more. “I am sorry, again, Maegisil. I…well, I cannot pretend the rings have not been on my mind of late.” Looking up, her expression and voice softened to an almost motherly expression of concern. “How is Lord Celebrimbor?”

“Have you not seen him recently?”

Narisiel shook her head, turning away towards a tall, locked cupboard, fumbling on her belt for the right key. “There are certain worries on my mind that have prevented me from seeking out my Lord in recent times, although I know I must talk to him,” she replied, finding the correct key. Raising an eyebrow, she looked back over her shoulder at the other elf. “And I am not talking about commissions,” she added quietly. The latter nodded, understanding. “The rings.”

“The rings,” Narisiel repeated meaningfully. Twisting the key deftly in the lock, then in another two which were more surreptitiously and cleverly placed on the hinges, the craftswoman slowly pulled open the doors, then paused when barely a crack was visible. Smiling mischievously, she inclined her head, signalling that Maegisil should come forward, then her face became serious once more. “I cannot muse on those particular…objects…for too long, Maegisil, or I would be sure to go mad, to become obsessed with them – as any who had seen their power is at risk of doing. Please don’t ask me about them,” she continued hastily as the other seemed about to speak. “Please.” Then her smile resumed its place on her pretty features, both mischievous and strangely fond at the same time as she returned her gaze to the cupboard and began to open it slowly. “I would prefer to talk about this particular piece of jewellery you wished me to make. I presume it is a gift?”

“For my wife,” Maegisil replied, nodding. Narisiel nodded in turn, as if satisfied. “I thought it would be.”

“And why is that?” This time Maegisil seemed almost edgy. Narisiel glanced sharply at him, but did not reply, simply contenting herself with shaking her head, then swung open the cupboard doors. Maegisil could not contain a slight gasp and Narisiel smiled proudly, her eyes glittering as the other ran his eyes over the jewels that were displayed there. “Welcome to my little box of tricks.”

[Seth Cotton]

For a second he got the feeling he was ignored by the Elf that quite obviously tried to focus on something else, appearing busy, but he didn't fool Vaele. Vaele snorted quietly and put his arms in the sides. He looked at the Elf, that still glanced up a little at him, sort of examining him. He raised an eyebrow at him.

The Elf seemed shy and that he would rather avoid Vaele by all means, but something pulled the Elf to answer. Was it that Vaele was maybe a bit older? At least Vaele guessed he was. And finally, when Vaele was to ask him if he was a mute he opened his mouth.

'No—I mean, yes, sir.' Gilduin said, knowing how flustered he must sound. 'Yes, this is the first rank.' He gave a short bow, more to hide his reddening face than as a courtesy. 'My name is Gilduin Lindorion, sir. I am the standard bearer.'

'Ah, very well.' Vaele nodded and then forced a smile. He hurried to bow quickly, forgetting he should reply in good manners and introduce himself as well. 'Vaele Andarion, scout and marksman of the First Rank.'

He looked at the other Elf that fiddled a bit nervous with his banner. Was it the fear of going to war? Or perhaps something else. Vaele was pussled but didn't mention anything of what he was thinking even though he really wanted to ask all his questions.

'Maybe we get to march together then?' Vaele grinned and took his bow from the shoulder. He began to adjust the bow string and glanced from time to time upon Gilduin that stood looking at him.

[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.