Red Flows the Sirannon RPG

[Durelin]

As soon as he entered his house, Maegisil found his wife waiting for him. He stood for a moment to stare at her, and was overcome by her beauty, feeling his love for her renewed just from looking into her eyes. Overcome with emotions, he broke down, and soon found himself shuddering in Sairien’s embrace.

Sairien spoke, her voice full of concern and thick with emotion as she began to cry herself. “I am glad you have come home to me, Maegisil,” she said, running her hands through his hair and dreaming of happier days. Maegisil took several more shuddering breaths before he could respond, shocked by her words and wondering what they suggested.

“What do you mean, my darling? I want only to return to you always…”

His wife pulled away from him slightly, and looked sadly into his eyes. All in that one look, Maegisil understood all the pain he had caused her these past years, and his tears were not enough to express the grief it brought into his heart. He dropped his eyes, and as Sairien opened her mouth to speak he silenced her, softly putting his hand before her lips. He tenderly kissed her and then turned away, now feeling ashamed of his tears. “I am sorry,” he said. Sairien hesitated, wanting to bring him back into her arms, but knowing that he turn back to her on his own.

“I have done you so much wrong…”

“It is all passed,” she said simply, and Maegisil turned to face her again, bringing his eyes to stare into hers. He held her gaze, even in his shame and sorrow, and Sairien felt a new strength in her husband that she always known was there. Perhaps good things did come of the bad. But though Maegisil had finally decided to truly open up to his wife, there was more than Sairien could help him with. And she soon found out that they both needed help.

They talked for three quarters of an hour, and Sairien discovered the root of almost all of her husband’s troubles. It was indeed the Lord Celebrimbor’s fault, and she found herself even bitterer toward the elf-lord than she had been for a number of years passed, always having felt that the lord, in some ways, stole her husband away from her. She almost felt she hated the elf, though there was little room left in her mind for hate, fear overcoming her. After Maegisil fell silent and more tears gleamed in his eyes, she took her husband’s hand and squeezed it tightly, asking Ilúvatar for the courage to go on.

“We should go hear the Lord Celebrimbor speak,” she said, keeping her voice as level as she could. Maegisil found comfort in her strength, and they left together to go to the palace.

~*~*~*~

Celebrimbor had dismissed those still in his presence after Narisiel had left him, and he had begun pacing in his chamber, steeling himself for what he knew he had to do. He tried to make the excuse that he had never asked to be Lord of Eregion, but he knew it to be false. He would have been outraged if he had not been supported by the people to become Lord of his realm. And he had relished in the idea of serving his people, continuing the glory of the Elves and renewing the honor of the House of Fëanor through Eregion and its great city of Ost-in-Edhil. He now considered all of his dreams to be failures, as he had not made any plans concerning a threat to his people, nor had he ever considered an end to the Mirdain.

In his heart he knew that this would most likely be the death of the Elvensmiths, or at least to such a great presence in Eregion. Searching for hope, he found none, until he recalled the messenger from Lindon who had brought news of a force sent by the High King Gil-galad and led by the Lord Elrond himself. There had been no word of this force since that message over a year ago, and though it kindled some minute hope in his heart, Celebrimbor considered it just another mockery of his situation. But he had to tell the people something.

Suddenly the door to his chambers opened, and he immediately turned to see who was there, prepared to berate them for disturbing him. But seeing Taurnil’s face, he remembered telling his manservant to inform him when an hour had passed, when it was time… Fear exploded in his stomach as he realized that he still did not know what to say. All logic and reasoned failed him, and he found himself drowning in something that he could not think his way out of. But he squeezed his hands into two tight fists and breathed deeply before exiting his chambers, head held high but dreading every step he made.

Soon he had reached the great doors of the palace structure, which opened out onto an immense flight of stairs, as the building was raised above all others in the city. Celebrimbor had almost forgotten the pride that had influenced him to have it built that way. His usual air of such pride was nonexistent as he watched the palace doors open before him much as Maegisil had watched the palace gate an hour before. Stepping out onto the large landing before the stairs, Celebrimbor felt his mouth go dry and his heart skip a beat. The number of people gathered in the palace courtyard made him stare in awe from a moment. He had not spoken in the presence of more than a couple dozen in a long time, and this feeling was almost new to him.

It shocked even himself, though, when he was suddenly calm and confident, finding his footing and remembering that he was an Elf Lord. He began to speak with the pride and dignity that came with his title. “Gwaith-i-Mírdain,” he called out, and his following pause was welcomed with silence. “You are my people, and I have done you wrong.” There were a few murmurs in the crowd, and Celebrimbor almost choked on his words as his eyes flitted through the people, finding innumerable familiar faces. They really were his people.

“We are a great people, and this city is our finest creation. But it is threatened to be destroyed, as are we all.” He was forced to stop speaking for a moment, and he dropped his eyes, finding himself unable to look upon the faces of his people while knowing that it was they who he had doomed. He could feel the tension grow to a new height among the elves before him, and suddenly all was not quiet. Celebrimbor wished he could just let the noise continue and drown him out, so that he could go back to his chambers like a defeated child fleeing to his room to cry. But he brought his hand up to silence his people, and continued, his sorrow clear in his voice though it was still strong and resonant. “The Servant of Morgoth seeks to destroy Eregion, and an army of twenty thousand is even now nearing upon this great city.” He found new momentum in his speech and did not give the people enough time to react for need to listen to him. “Every one of our lives is threatened, and it is the right of the people to know this. And so I beg of you, all those who can fight: help me ensure that Ost-in-Edhil is not abandoned to her doom. But those of you who cannot or shall not, it is now that you must escape to the west. And it is for all of us to take some hope, knowing our strength, and remembering that we are not without allies.”

For a moment, the Lord of Eregion hesitated as a swarm of sound rose up from the multitude of elves, and he felt his fear return to him as he considered continuing his speech. He had said it was the right of the people to know, but was it their right to know more? Surely they did not need to know everything. It was not something that should be of common knowledge, the doom of the last elf of the House of Fëanor. If he was to die, and even if his city were to die with him, the secret of the Rings of Power should die with him. If only he had not passed them on, if only he had not shared the secret with anyone, if only he had worked with Annatar alone… Suddenly Celebrimbor felt there should be a ring upon his finger, and he turned his back to his people to disappear once again through the palace doors.

[CaptainofDespair]

The sun had just broke over the horizon, and the denizens of Eregion were awakening to what they hoped would be another peaceful day. But, all was not well, and the sentries stationed upon the walls knew it. There were no birds in the sky, no wilderness creatures meandering their way down to the river. It seemed as if all had been silenced, gripped by in terror of shadow and malice. Some murmured, and brushed it off as what would be a stormy day. Others, especially the veteran sergeants, felt something else. And then, they saw them.

Rising out of the horizon, the fluttering banners of Mordor and its allies billowed in an early morning breeze. The time had come, they thought, for battle. The on-duty commander was immediately notified, and he dispatched a runner to his awaken his superiors. But, to all of their surprise, it was only a minor force; a probe if anything, they hoped. It was no great army of Mordor descending upon them, and for that at least they were relieved.

~*~

To Angoroth, it was like every other Elven city he had seen. There were greater cities to him. But, it was impressive nevertheless. He admired the structure they lived under, something the orcs his camp was overrun with knew nothing of. Having not been to a city of such magnitude since the First Age, he was quite pleased to see some form of culture. Captain Ulrung, his newest in a line of inept commanders, who so far was proving useful, had accompanied him to meet the Elves.

“This is what we have come to destroy, Captain.” Puzzled at the sudden outburst of his lord, he could only reply with a hesitant “Indeed, milord.” Questions flowed through the wainrider’s mind, and he wondered if now was the best opportunity to find out what was going on, exactly. After some internal deliberation, he piped up. “Milord, what exactly are we here for?” A deep, resonating laugh emanated from the barbute that covered the face of Angoroth. “We…are here for many things, Captain Ulrung. Our foremost concern is destroying the city, and slaying the Elves.” Without much hesitation this time, Ulrung spoke up again. “But, why are we here to destroy them? What purpose is there in this?” Angoroth was chuckling to himself now, amused at the inquisitiveness of his young protégé. “They have done many wrongs to the Dark Lord of Mordor. For this, they must pay. There are, of course, other reasons. But, they will be revealed on their own, in time.” Ulrung nodded, and they both fell into silence, sensing a sort of confrontation was near.

The Elves were shocked that only a handful of troops were being sent so close to the city. But, as it drew nigh, they realized it had a slightly different purpose. Under orders, they allowed it to draw close to the main gatehouse. A lone commander waited beneath it, with a small escort for his protection, though they all doubted an outright attack from their enemy. Angoroth, leaving Ulrung and their small cavalry bodyguard, approached the anxious elf lord. “Stay your blades, elves. I come without hostility, for now.” Taken back by the bluntness of their enemy, the elf-commander gave a seemingly routine reply. “What is your purpose here, servant of Mordor?” A nod and an inaudible chuckle led the way for Angoroth’s demands. “First, I will not speak to one such as you, as you are beneath me. Second, I come to speak only with the Lord of the City; or, if he cannot be bothered to tend to the whims of his enemy, a counselor of some form.” The commander, again, was taken back by this. Unsure of what to do in such a politically charged moment, he turned to an aid, and dispatched him to acquire the presence of their lord, or a counselor.

Patiently, though it did not quite seem so to those observing the dire situation, Angoroth waited for someone of importance to meet with him. Finally, that person came. Another male elf, though this one was arrayed in attire befitting a counselor. And that is who it was. Maegisil was his name, or at least that is what was gleaned from what he overheard as the elf-counselor approached. Bowing, though it seemed like a mockery of the formality, he spoke in a brief manner. “Why have you come here, dark one? Have you come to mock the Elves?” As if to mock the charade of formalities, the dark one replied rather sarcastically. “Of course, master elf. That is the entirety of my quest. I can now take my army and return home.” Though the response stung him a bit, the elf furthered the dialogue. “Then what is it that you have come here for? You have already worn out your welcome.” Nodding, the Maiar looked around, surveying the city, before responding. But, when he did, he made sure of its caustic aura. “I have come for an audience with the Lord of the City. If I do not receive it, I will leave. But, I will then return tomorrow, and I will pave over your city with the blood of your people.”

The harsh coldness with which his voice issued the threat curdled the blood, for they knew the truth in it. The servants of Mordor are never kind, and nor do they make empty threats towards the livelihood of an entire people. Whispering to an aid standing behind him, Maegisil ordered the runner to deliver the request to city’s Lord, Celebrimbor. Returning his attention to the enemy presented before him, he issued a rather formal directive. “When word is received, we will determine if you have been granted what you seek.” However, Angoroth was now impatient. Leaning in to speak to the counselor, he whispered and murmured his secret quest. “I have come for certain pieces of jewelry. If you do not take me to Celebrimbor now, I will reveal this, and dispatch your city into a chaos of great sorrow. Then, the slaughter begins.” The elf paled slightly, obviously disturbed by this dark one’s knowledge. He seemed to ponder a bit, hoping there was some alternative. But, at last, he relented. “Open the inner gate!”

The old metal of the gate shuddered, and swung open, creaking as it went. Before departing into the sanctum of the Elves, Angoroth motioned for Captain Ulrung to follow. The elven escort did not seem to care, and so the addition of his captain was allowed. They passed into the city’s core; the retinue of guards, Maegisil, and the two dark ones, who were now venturing deep into the festering haven of the enemy. The people were bustling about, to and fro. Some stopped to stare at the swift moving group, as it swept past them like a fiendish winter wind. Much seemed to be on the minds of the people, and they moved without their usual timidity, as the Maiar saw it at least. Angoroth, as he was pressed forward, did not have time to admire the city as he would have liked. Though he hated the Elves, he did enjoy much of their ways, as they were created for elegance and beauty, much unlike those orcs of his master, and his successor. His own wares were crafted with an air of methodic grace and elegance. And it was all the better to know your enemy.

Soon, however, they reached the palace structure of Celebrimbor. The escort parted, and allowed Maegisil to lead the two dark ones into the palace. The guards at the steps saluted, and opened the doors for the counselor. Passing into the depths of the entry-way, they came upon the doors of the Lord’s chamber. Hesitating, if but for a moment, Maegisil forced his way into the chamber, casting aside the doors that had barred their entry. There say Celebrimbor, Lord of the City. A runner was speaking to him as they burst in, and encircling him were many other elves, seemingly of great importance. Maegisil bowed, if only out of formality, and presented the emissaries to the city’s keeper. “Milord, here are the emissaries sent by the Dark Lord to parley with you.” Even before he looked up at the emissaries, the Lord of the City felt the presence of something horrifically dark. Whoever these emissaries were, they were no mere eastern men following a wicked lord. Sighing inwardly, he rose up from his seat, looking distraught, as if the entire well of his emotions was now pouring over him. “Ah, then we shall hear what Mordor has to say.”