NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: Do the ë's serve a purpose? How are they pronounced?

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Kûk‡xenisi n!ok‡x'osi xno-k‡xek‡emi.-The state only exists to serve itself.
"Oppose excessive military spending, yet believe in excessive spending on junk food and plastic surgery to make all your women look like LARDASSES!"-Sino, when I criticized excessive military spending.
http://www.sulucas.com/images/steatopygia.jpg
I'm male. Note the pic of attractive women.

(OOC to Letila: Word-final e is usually silent in English and Tolkien used ë to indicate to English readers that in Quenya this letter is to be distinctly pronounced. But since world-final e never occurs in spoken English, some tend to substitute ‘i’ or ‘ey’ following English practice in rare cases of a final ‘e’ being sounded – as in Jesse, pronounced Jessi.
Quenya e should be pronounced as in English end all the time, including the ë!
So, yes there is a reason why it’s Silmessë and not Silmesse. Strictly speaking, Varnamilme should also be Varnamilmë…)

Ondarien…

Ondarien shook his head. “Thank you Lord Atheril.” He had a feeling that titles meant more among the Aelosian Kin than they did to the Silmellon. “I couldn’t leave Fírë’s side. To a healer, death is…” he struggled to find the words. “A terrible, almost physical presence. So much of it, so nearby.” He glanced at the pale healer, bit his lower lip. “It’s a strain that she shouldn’t have to bear. She’s too weak.”

Fírë tried to smile, he could see her lips twitching. But the expression never quite managed to form.
The Silmellon host were gathering before them, the shrouded dead lowered carefully to the cobblestone courtyard. A speaker came forward, golden haired with powder-blue eyes and the singing stopped.

“We share your sorrow and we bring you, your dead.” His voice was a breeze, unfettered. “We grieve for our kin. There are no customs for death in such numbers among the Silmellon.”
He shook his head, sadness made the youthful features seemed aged. He drew back, rejoined the host of mourners.

Olorndil…

He could feel the gathered Silmellon, silvered stars that glowed within his mind’s eye as though fallen from the heavens. Among them, the vibrant shimmer of the Aelosian Kin, discernible to his senses yet not very different from his own people.

He and his archers turned down a cobbled road and he could see them with his eyes. He undid the clasp of his silvered robe, now fouled with mud and the stains of travel. Allowed one of his companions to silently step forward and throw the material over an arm.
The silver armour of Arwë was at least still gleaming, as though just polished. Violet flames, from the clear and vivid amethysts set within the breastplate, reflected against the elegant design etched into the silver. It was mithril, inlaid with silver; but the Silmellon love of the later metal held greater place in his mind.
Though the armour would have lacked for strength if in truth it were simply silver; Arwë’s armour was not merely decorative.

He ran fingers through the silver hair, felt the dirt and grimaced.
At least it still seems to shine. He smiled as Ondarien caught his eye, cast a worried look Fírë’s way and closed quickly on the group.
Coming to stand before the golden figure who appeared to have the attention of the battle scared Aelosian warrior, Olorndil smiled and touched hand to heart.
“Mellyn nín,” he began, voice rich and pleasing. “Welcome to Silmessë. To you, our thanks for coming to our defence in these dark days.” He glanced at Valandë, smiled in recognition. “You must be the Duke of our Kin from the realm of Aelosia. I am Olorndil, Lord of the Silmellon. Let us be as friends, for we are cousins already.”

http://gallery.cybertarp.com/albums/userpics/12052/olorndil.jpg
Olorndil
©Norma A Peters (http://elfwood.lysator.liu.se/loth/p/e/peters/bitterwind3.jpg.html)
(Used with Permission)

A pair of silouettes, covered by black robes approached the place where the Silmellon speaker was standing. As they moved through the lines of soldiers, many of the Aelosian warriors turned and backed away, as in fear and awe of the pair of figures. Even the face of the most scarred officers grew pale at the sight of the Kenkari. "And we indeed thank you, old kin, for bringing our dead to us, so they could fight again for our race", spoke one of the figures in a sinister voice, waving his hand. As he moved his limb, a beautiful garment like the wings of a butterfly appeared beneath his black robe. "We are the Kenkari, we are those who take care of the souls of the dead, we are those who make their souls fight again", the figure continued, pulling out a small box from beneath his robe.

The Duke answered the salute to Olorndil, saying "Greetings, Lord Olorndil, we are kin indeed, and friendly people. Eru knows that we didn't wanted this, for we came in peace, and I'm sorry for all the pain and sorrow we caused to your people bringing our wars to your lands", as he spoke he switched his gaze to Firë, so she could read the truth in his words.

"Then we should take her to a place away from this sorrow, Ondarien", said Fëlan, placing his hand over the King's messenger shoulder. "Maybe I could show you the stars as you never have see them, as my kin see them, so you both could forget all the pain and grief you have seen".

(OOC: Due to the fact that I’m about to begin my relocation – new home in a new country – I’m going to be very erratic in my posting over the next few weeks. This could be over a period of a week, or longer…depending on how much it takes to get myself connected and back online again. I’ll make every effort to keep up my posting via alternative means – Internet cafes, etc. – but please bear with me over the course of this transition. Thanks everyone and a very prosperous New Year to you all!)

Olorndil…

“Your coming is reason for joy,” Olorndil replied. “We have need of friends in this troubled age. More perhaps than any other nation, for we are lost among this world of strange advances.”

He leaned close and whispered to the Duke, “And truly when wars are fought there are always hidden blades to every sword. None can count the cost until the very end.” He glanced at the shrouded bodies, turned his gaze back to the Duke. “I don’t think that either of us believes that this particular war has yet come to a close.”

Ondarien…

It was his concern for Fírë that decided him.
Nodding, he said to Fëlan, “Among the stars, death will not oppress her.” He added, thoughtfully, “It would be an honour to see the cloak of heaven from within the midst of it, rather than from below.”

He looked to the dead and hoped that their cold fingers would not cling to Fírë, hoped that they had not already wormed their way into her mind and soul.

Celiondur...

Celiondur considered the presence and the words, both still powerfully embedded within his psyche.
We know truth, we lived in Aman among the Valar. This was the key, Celiondur decided to understanding the message that had come from within the golden structure on the beach.
“We have allowed ourselves to be led astray before,” he murmured, speaking thoughts aloud. “Why would we allow others to lead us blindly forward yet again? Fëanor, the false blessed king, resides too deeply in the memory of the Silmellon for us to accept that truth comes from another and not from within ourselves.”

Certain that the voice within the golden building had heard his words, Celiondur listened for a response. Watching from among the grasses and scrub that bordered the long stretch of the shore, he studied the structure; looked for any sign of activity.

Daintáro and the other Lindarin followed Alassënyelle up the winding stairs around the great tree, Daintáro trying uselessly to convince himself that there was nothing wrong.

He'd climbed the tall masts of their ships many times, of course, and those swayed in breeze and wave far more than this tree. Especially in the great storms of the southern oceans, which this mild day was not.

Hills might rise this high, or towers be raised to such a hight; Daintáro had been to the top of both. Dirigible baloons could fly far above. But his brain was trying desperately to tell him that trees could not, did not, grow to such an elevation.

But the Silmessë seemed to have no problems, and neither did the other Lindarin, so Daintáro gritted his teeth, wiped the nervous sweat from his brow, and continued upwards.

Fëlan nodded. "Then please follow me. I'll take you in my Swan to see the stars as you never have seen them", he walked through the camp until he reached some kind of big metallic bird, painted in white and decorated with feather motives. "This is my Swan, please enter, he will take us to the ride of your lives", said Fëlan opening a hatch in the metallic bird's belly and pointing inside it.

http://www.forgeworld.co.uk/acatalog/Phoenix1.jpg
An Aelosian Eldar Starfighter is something like this...

The Duke smiled and leaned on Olorndil too, whispering in his ear. "This war started when your people was sleeping, my Lord, and it will not end in this era. Our Supreme Leader the Lady Sirithil has wage war for thousands of years against the enemies of elvenkind, and those Dark Elves you saw, are allied with Melkor the Dark Vala, known to us as Morgoth, the name that Fëanor the cursed put him out in rage. This is just the move of a piece in a long and huge chess match".

OOC Whoops catch up coming, If someone could TG a summary I'd be grateful my time on the net until tonight is limited. If I could have a summary I'd be Very Grateful. If not I understand.

Alassënyelle…

Alassënyelle glanced over her shoulder, studied the Lindai disguising her searching gaze with its momentary nature.
They were true Teleri, she could feel the spirit of the sea coursing through them.
The question here, is how they feel about the Silmellon. Alassënyelle smiled, realising that she had always known how to compartmentalise a situation into neat, simple segments. It was not a natural flow of intersecting thoughts, rather it reminder her of Arwë; political expediency.

At the top of the stairs, she stepped onto an open corridor; a silver path woven between ornemalin trees.
“This way my cousins,” she called to them over her shoulder. “Lassimardë is not much further, I promise.” She pointed to the woven walls, almost hidden among golden leaves. “The Hall of Arwë once, now the Hall of Olorndil.”

She crossed the corridor as though she walked the solid earth. Its swaying did not deter her, nor slight her grace. “Minyamár has been home to the King of the Silmellon for two hundred years, longer I’m certain if counted in the passing of time beyond the shores of Silmessë. When my father, Arwë discovered Lisselillassië and heard the ornemalin trees whispering, he dreamed of Aldaringwë and so the city was born.”
She paused, turned to face the Lindai, examined their expressions; tried to read their thoughts from these subtle clues. I should send Calanto to wait for the mysterious Malinorndil and the visitor of the star-kin.
She danced round, dress flaring round her ankles and completed the journey across the corridor, swept aside the gauze-like curtains at the entrance to the Hall of Leaves.
Though it seemed light and fragile, it could keep even a gale from disturbing the serenity of the Royal Hall.

“Lassimardë, enter in peace cousins.” Her eyes, emeralds in the golden light that filtered through the canopy above, fixed on them. Reading every nuance, every twitch of muscle and the fleeting emotions that surfaced within their eyes. Olorndil, there are Teleri in Silmessë. At last the Silmellon may ask forgiveness for sins past, at last we may atone and our spirits may renew.
She smiled. Whether these Lindai grant forgiveness or not, the Valar will certainly ask no more of us. She felt joy bubble within, despite the tragedy that still clouded the edges of her heart and mind. Still, she hoped that the Lindai could put the past behind them. Eternity was a long time to spend with a spirit burned by hatred and rage.

http://gallery.cybertarp.com/albums/userpics/12052/allassenyelle.jpg
Alassënyelle
©Norma A Peters (http://elfwood.lysator.liu.se/loth/p/e/peters/galadriel3.jpg.html)
(Used with Permission)

Ondarien…

Throwing an arm round Fírë’s shoulders, Ondarien murmured in her ear, “The stars.”
She looked into his eyes, glanced back at the dead and nodded her head slowly.
Her eyes turned towards the Countess.
“Will you be joining us, Lady Melian?” she asked.
It was the vitality of the young maiden that Fírë clung to, Ondarien imagined. Though it did seem as if the Healer had bounded in some way with the Countess Melian.
Perhaps the ordeal she had passed through had something to do with this, he’d noticed her eyes straying often towards Fëlan. She is changed, as are we all. Such events are rare even in an eternity and we are naïve to such things but once.

He guided Fírë after the warrior, hoping that aboard his vessel there would be among other things, the possibility of bathing.
In the company of the Duke and Countess of Aelosia, he could feel the dirt of travel on his clothing against his skin. Fírë would do well to cleanse the very scent of death from her. Though he could smell nothing, he could feel as her senses recoiled from the psychic scent.

He marvelled at the metal craft as they approached it, but doubt crept in. I do not think we will find room to bathe aboard this craft.
Considered the pale Fírë and decided to give voice to a request.
“It would not do to fly to the stars when Fírë will carry the blood of the dead with her. I think we will need to bathe first, then travel to the stars.”

Olorndil…

“Melkor,” Olorndil breathed the name, brows twitching at the mention of Fëanor the false. “Was he not bound, thrust beyond the veil of the world?”
He shook his head. “So much to learn, more than even visions in the waters can reveal in passing moments. We Silmellon might as well have slept an eternity.”
He watched as Fírë and Ondarien departed with the Aelosian warrior; sent a flow of energy towards the pale healer. Why did Fírë not leave the city hours ago?

It was difficult for him to turn aside his concern, to allow Ondarien to see to Fírë’s health. But Alassënyelle’s words ringing through his mind drove him to focus wholly on the man who commanded the army gathered within the surrounding encampment.
…hold their fears at bay and their hopes high.

“I fear that we have much to discover and little time in which to discover it,” he said; gritted his teeth. “But let us use what time we have, to discuss that which concerns Aelosia and Silmessë.”
He called the wind and it responded. A breeze ran through the courtyard, carried away all scent of smoke and death. “It is time that the Silmellon became acquainted with all that concerns this age.”

http://gallery.cybertarp.com/albums/userpics/12052/olorndil.jpg
Olorndil
©Norma A Peters (http://elfwood.lysator.liu.se/loth/p/e/peters/bitterwind3.jpg.html)
(Used with Permission)

Daintáro entered the Hall of Leaves, and stopped in wonder. This place was scarcely less beautiful - more so! - than Tirinélio, the Tower of Stars in distant Vinialonne.

Behind him, he heard the other Lindai - Calarielle, Angaráto, Nellcáno, Arpenio and Elue - enter the Hall, and turned to regard them, his crew.

"Beautiful," gasped gentle Elue, in praise of the architecture or of their host Daintáro couldn't tell; Nellcáno looked no less impressed.

If Arpenio had any opinion upon the Hall of Leaves, it was hidden; but that was always Arpenio's way.

Angaráto and Calarielle, however, still wore the scowls they'd had since landfall in Silmessë, and showed no signs of losing them. Angaráto was muttering angrily under his breath; Daintáro caught snatches of "kinslayers" and "Alpalonne".

Fëlan noted the look on Firë and Ondarien faces, and understood their pledges. He was going rude for not offering them comfort and comodities. They were on a military camp, not in an Eldar palace, but the stains of blood were still fresh in their bodies and their minds, and they needed to be clensed from the scent of carnage. "Oh, sorry, I have no words to apologize, please follow me, I'll find you a place to take a bath and to rest, although we don't have any water as is your custom, but maybe you'll like our strange ways of cleaning", he said as he guided them to the place where the long cleaning cylinder of high pressurized steam chamber stood. "Enter that place, and press the green light, then wait until the blue one appears. It's not like a good nightswimming in a soft creek, but it's everything we have here", said Fëlan pointing at the metal structure. "I'll find you some lembas later".

The Duke stared deeply into Olorndil eyes "Melkor is now unchained, and he's again the worst enemy of human and elves alike. He have allies, corrupted elves, twisted humans, foul and countless orcs, and the Balrogs are still gathered around him. The tyrants and fanatic egotist are allied with him too".

He continued after taking breath, "The Noldor still walk the land, gathered around Lady Sirithil, the Eléntari of the human race, the former wife of Fëanor, the ancient and fabled Nerdanel of the Noldorin. She has allied too, we amongst them, as all the elven people is gathering to resist the dark tide. The last Atánaris of the race of men support her, as all people opposed to Melkor does".

"It's the ancient fight of good versus evil, it still goes on as the free peoples try to fight the Dark powers and the evil tyrants. That's the world we live in, that's what the human call the NationStates world. We detected a Menelmacari vessel some time ago near Silmessë, Have you contacted the Lady?", he asked, a mischievous smile on his lisps.

OOC: That was a gruesome and simple resume of the situation of the Nationstates world!... :D

**The royal castle at Moonstone Harbor**

Illundia stared out over the sea, wondering how the three questers fared. Her long glossy hair lay wildly spread over her back and shoulders, dancing in the occasional breezes that found her from the water below. Idly, she twisted a thick, cherry-wood lock between her fingers, green-and-gold eyes gazing over the soft slope of the natural harbor that gave her nation it's name. She mentally traced it's creamy surface, but her thoughts lay over the waters, in Silmesse.
At last, Illundia rose, her light summer gown fluttering faintly in the breeze before she moved to far from the window to feel it's breath. It was time to visit Naure, and hope for a change in her.
She had just placed one hand on the door handle when it turned of seemingly it's own accord and she had to leap back to avoid being struck by the door as it flew open.
"My Queen" A girl, panting with what could have been excitement or exhuastion from sprinting to her chamber, nearly tumbled into the room, hastilly bowing before continuing on with scarcely a moments pause to draw breath. "The princess, Naure-"
Before the girl could finish her words, Illundia had broken past her and was sprinting the length of the hall to her sister's chamber, fear in her eyes.
"-is awake." the girl finished lamely, watching the lady as she sprinted away. "Oh well, she'll find out in a minute anyways..."

Aruna felt oddly intrusive, watching the funeral procession of Silmesse.
"Might we talk elsewhere? I feel... wrong, being in the midst of their greif."
She knew it sounded foolish, but it was the truth. Kaelen nodded.
"I too feel a bit like an invader upon what ought to be private..."
Kaegr remained silent, as usual, neither voicing assent or dissent. She assumed that was his way of agreeing.
In the back of Aruna's mind, a faint something stirred, at first it felt like fear, but as she tried to focus on it, it appeared to be some happier emotion. Not having the mental faculties to devote to the solving of the enigma, she set it aside in her mind to be puzzled over another time.

(in case anyone wonders about it, (which I doubt, but anyways), I realize that Aruna is getting most of the attention out of the three questers, and that I'm playing favorites with her a bit as far as the story goes, but it's probabaly going to stay that way, since I identify with her the best, so it is mostly going to be through her eyes.)

(OOC: Back online, but still settling etc.
Expect IC posts to follow at the begining of next week. Happy New Year everyone.)

Alassënyelle…

Alassënyelle ushered the Lindai further into the Hall of Leaves, signalled discreetly for refreshments and with her free hand waved towards the elegant chairs that formed a circle before the throne dais.

“There will be drink and food shared among us,” she spoke ardently. There was no lack of welcome in her eyes, brighter under the eaves of Lassimardë as though the dimming of light only emphasised her inner strengths. “Sit where Silmellon have of long ago sat with their Lord. I’m afraid that my brother, Olorndil is away in distant Varnamilme where the darkest of events are in play. You will have to sit with the Lady of the Silmellon, but rest assured,” she smiled, attempted to lure them into sharing her joy, “the Lady’s word will hold true for the Lord.”

She ignored the amethyst studded silver thrones, choosing instead to sit among the Lindai. There is some hostility here still. She hid her frown, glanced up as green-clad Elven figures appeared from behind light tapestries with platters, jugs and fine goblets.
“Silmellon delicacies,” she told the Lindai as the platters were held out before them. “I would suggest the wild mushroom and truffle breads, my personal favourites. There is scarcely taint of this modern world in the forests of Silmessë. In some things, we can be grateful that this land has been so long out of the stream of time.”

She glanced at Calanto, the councillor had kept to the walls; his silvered robes offering an almost perfect camouflage.
If you will not speak with the Lindai Calanto, then seek out this Malinorndil who talks with the trees and welcome him.
He nodded and she watched him slip silently from the Hall, before turning back to her guests and studying them one by one.

One she studied longer then the other. The sullen figure holding so tightly to his hate that she feared dark paths would open to him in the future. Blood, all he sees is all he desires.
She turned back to the leader of the Lindai gathered before and found less anger there. Thank the stars it is this one who leads here.
“Tell me cousin,” she said to Daintáro. “Why have you made the journey to Silmessë and how might we mend old wounds.” You know that you are not among the Noldor here, her mind whispered to him in an undertone. We turned our backs on that heritage a long time ago. You speak with the Lady of the Silmellon, we who were called the Starlight Elves even among the Noldor. Yet if you trace blood lines through time, are we not all simply Eldar?

http://gallery.cybertarp.com/albums/userpics/12052/allassenyelle.jpg
Alassënyelle
©Norma A Peters (http://elfwood.lysator.liu.se/loth/p/e/peters/galadriel3.jpg.html)
(Used with Permission)

Ondarien…

As Ondarien entered the strange chamber, he wondered why the Aelosians had not simply tapped into the plumping systems of the White City.
Perhaps our technology, so primitive, makes such interact difficult? Musing to himself as he undressed, he found the bauble given him by the curious Elven, Galdern in a pocket.

It was a thing meant for Olorndil, but there was too much in it that reflected the ancient Silmarils. How could he give this to the Lord of the Silmellon? Certainly he could not pass it on until he and Olorndil could have a moment alone.
It felt comforting though, there was nothing of the cold allure that had drawn Fëanor into madness. He wrapped it in a square of linen and cursed his forgetfulness. He should have called Súlamen, raided the saddlebags for fresh clothing for himself and Fírë.

He reached for one of the white robed Silmellon who had brought the bodies of the Aelosian dead, caught a shadow of a mind and within moments a figure drifted into the chamber with a neatly folded robe, breeches and shirt.

“Fírë has been attended to,” he was told. “Her aid will help her, protect her from the currents of death that ebb and flow over the city.”
Then the figure departed, rejoining the gathering that already was preparing to leave the Aelosian camp and rejoin the greater body gathered on the edge of the city; burying the Silmellon dead.

Though the cleaning chamber did not give Ondarien the impression of being cleaned, it seemed as Fëlan had promised, to remove every stain of travel from his body.
Dressing in the clothes of an Archer of the White City, Ondarien sent out a quiet word of thanks to the Elf that had answered his request.
Slipping the gifted jewel into a pocket, he rolled up his abandoned clothing and wondered and exited the chamber.

Fírë joined him without a while later. She’d been clothed in shimmering green silk and there were crystals wound into her hair, glowing bits of rose quartz that aided the healer in closing herself to the terrible void of death.
The Elven woman who had brought the fresh robes to her took away Ondarien’s soiled clothing, leaving him free to throw an arm around Fírë, while they waited for Fëlan to return.

“Among the stars, all this will be very far away Fírë.”

The healer glanced up at him, delicate features slightly more hale looking to his eyes. She nodded, “I imagine I won’t even sense death there, perhaps only feel the heat of the distant stars.”

Olorndil…

As the Lord Atheril spoke, Olorndil grew steadily more sombre.
The world seemed to be in a sad state indeed, though he thoughtfully reminded himself that all he had glimpsed in his visions had already told him as much.
But to hear the words spoke aloud, destroyed even the smallest shred of hope that things were not as dark as they seemed.
At the close of the Duke’s speech he shook his head.

“Such trouble walking the world,” he told the Duke. “From your words I can see that the Silmellon have not fared as poorly as I had imagined. It good that we can find allies ready to stand at our side, we will need them in these shadowed times.”

He glanced back, towards the harbour and the Mithril fashioned ship of the Menelmacari ruler.
“I have long known the Lady Sirithil, but curiously her ship is closed to me. I will attempt to speak with her again soon, but let us speak of our people now. Of the Silmellon and the Aleosians and how we shall grow into the years to come, together. I feel this is an age where alliances are vital.”

http://gallery.cybertarp.com/albums/userpics/12052/olorndil.jpg
Olorndil
©Norma A Peters (http://elfwood.lysator.liu.se/loth/p/e/peters/bitterwind3.jpg.html)
(Used with Permission)

Armon…

Armon listened intently to several threads of conversation; those that slipped through his mind like silken threads and the words of the three strangers before him.
Much was happening within Varnamilme and perhaps much more was still to come.

“Aruna,” he knew that he twisted the word, drew it out and emphasised it differently. “I sense Olorndil not far off and my Archers are eager to complete the search of the cities alleys. So long as there is one shadow unchecked it is possible that danger lurks yet within Varnamilme.”

He called an Archer to his side with the flick of his hand.

“Lead our guests towards Olorndil,” he told the Elf. “It is the Lord who must speak to them, not the Commander of the Archers.”
Turning back to the three he added, “Go in peace. May our next meeting be in days that resound with joyful song and not a single lament.”

With that, he was hurrying to rejoin the majority of his men.
And the Archer he had assigned as guide to the three, was already walking down a road and beckoning for them to follow.

Undómëfal…

It was curiosity that stayed her hand.
The ring could prove an interesting asset and if not, she could always bring about its unmaking at any moment she chose.
There was still a powerful link within the golden ring to herself and instinctively she wove it deeper into the very atoms of which it comprised.

“Without Undómëfal you will quickly fade away,” she whispered to the ring. [i]Would it relay her words to that distant mind that had undertook its creation?[/b]
She studied it a moment more, then turned away and moved to the next fruiting body.

http://gallery.cybertarp.com/albums/userpics/12052/undomefal.jpg
Undómëfal
©Norma A Peters (http://elfwood.lysator.liu.se/loth/p/e/peters/galadriel3.jpg.html)
(Used with Permission)

There are many forms of truth. Some can come only from the mortal soul, and others must come from another. One we can give, toward the other we can only guide. Now go hence, and bring one who has authority in Silmesse to us swiftly. Until then, we shall say no more.


OOC:

Will post more often (and, when the occasion calls for it, at more length) from now on.

Fëlan

The exarch finished to give his last orders to his surviving men, then approached to his stellar ship, passing the hand over the soft metal and wraithbone of the structure. "Maegmîr, you are named like my horse of ancient times, although Maegmîr always understood what I said, and you just can't hear me. I still remember the times when we rode in horses, I would like to have a horse again, and not a metal construct", he said, closing his eyes.

Then he approached to Ondarien and Firë, nodding to them as he saw that they were waiting for him. "Are you ready to travel to the stars?. I know that the stains in your spirit will take years to fade, but I'll do everything I can to help you", he said, smiling with a distant and icy stare.

Atheril

"Vital indeed, without the support of our own allies Aelosia would fallen into the hands of evilness. Although I'm not the leader of our people, I can assure you that our Prince would be delighted to extend the friendship and fellowship between us. He's a lover of our ancient ways, similar to the way you live. For now we'll stand with you, to help you and protect you, until the ShadowPrince give the last word about the situation", said the Duke, smiling to Olorndil. "Maybe someday you could visit our home, although it's very different to yours, or I could convince the ShadowPrince to come, I'm sure he and Princess D'Hyru would be delighted just to see this sky and to smell this flowers".

(mostly quoted)
“Aruna,” He drew the name out somewhat longer than it was meant to be. “I sense Olorndil not far off and my Archers are eager to complete the search of the cities alleys. So long as there is one shadow unchecked it is possible that danger lurks yet within Varnamilme.”

He called an Archer to his side with the flick of his hand.

“Lead our guests towards Olorndil,” he told the Elf. “It is the Lord who must speak to them, not the Commander of the Archers.”
Turning back to the three he added, “Go in peace. May our next meeting be in days that resound with joyful song and not a single lament.”

With that, he was hurrying to rejoin the majority of his men.
And the Archer he had assigned as guide to the three, was already walking down a road and beckoning for them to follow.

Kaelen shrugged lightly and set off after the elf, leaving Aruna and his twin to hurry after.
"I can't help the feeling that something has changed at home..." She said softly, though neither brother seemed to be listening.
She went silent then, knowing the Kaelen was absorbed with trying to think of a way to communicate with their guide and Kaegr wouldn't listen to her if she promised him all the guambe in Moonstone Harbor. It would be a dull and somewhat lonesome walk to meet this Olorndil.

(mostly quoted)
“Aruna,” He drew the name out somewhat longer than it was meant to be. “I sense Olorndil not far off and my Archers are eager to complete the search of the cities alleys. So long as there is one shadow unchecked it is possible that danger lurks yet within Varnamilme.”

He called an Archer to his side with the flick of his hand.

“Lead our guests towards Olorndil,” he told the Elf. “It is the Lord who must speak to them, not the Commander of the Archers.”
Turning back to the three he added, “Go in peace. May our next meeting be in days that resound with joyful song and not a single lament.”

With that, he was hurrying to rejoin the majority of his men.
And the Archer he had assigned as guide to the three, was already walking down a road and beckoning for them to follow.

Kaelen shrugged lightly and set off after the elf, leaving Aruna and his twin to hurry after.
"I can't help the feeling that something has changed at home..." She said softly, though neither brother seemed to be listening.
She went silent then, knowing the Kaelen was absorbed with trying to think of a way to communicate with their guide and Kaegr wouldn't listen to her if she promised him all the guambe in Moonstone Harbor. It would be a dull and somewhat lonesome walk to meet this Olorndil.

(mostly quoted)
“Aruna,” He drew the name out somewhat longer than it was meant to be. “I sense Olorndil not far off and my Archers are eager to complete the search of the cities alleys. So long as there is one shadow unchecked it is possible that danger lurks yet within Varnamilme.”

He called an Archer to his side with the flick of his hand.

“Lead our guests towards Olorndil,” he told the Elf. “It is the Lord who must speak to them, not the Commander of the Archers.”
Turning back to the three he added, “Go in peace. May our next meeting be in days that resound with joyful song and not a single lament.”

With that, he was hurrying to rejoin the majority of his men.
And the Archer he had assigned as guide to the three, was already walking down a road and beckoning for them to follow.

Kaelen shrugged lightly and set off after the elf, leaving Aruna and his twin to hurry after.
"I can't help the feeling that something has changed at home..." She said softly, though neither brother seemed to be listening.
She went silent then, knowing the Kaelen was absorbed with trying to think of a way to communicate with their guide and Kaegr wouldn't listen to her if she promised him all the guambe in Moonstone Harbor. It would be a dull and somewhat lonesome walk to meet this Olorndil.

Celiondur...

The voice had made itself no clearer and Celiondur found his misgivings growing. He did not trust this concealed voice, proposing to teach that which could only be learned within oneself.
Yet it seemed wisest that he return to the forests, seek out a Lord or Lady of Menaldaron and bring them news of the structure that had taken root without their leave to do so.

“I will bring an Elder here, one who can speak as representative of the King of this land. But you would need prettier words to persuade any of the Silmellon to accept another’s version of truth.” He gave the golden pyramid a final searching look. Nothing had changed.

Word will be sent to the King and to the Lord of Varnamilme. There were greater forces could be gathered, should it be required. Yet even as he left the beach and the towering golden pyramid; Celiondur did not turn his back to it.

Fírë…

Her body was cleansed, but she had not yet purged her soul.
Though Fírë felt stronger, she knew that Varnamilme would never fully be a place in which she could happily reside.
Death did not easily give up a claim and she knew it would linger here, mostly strongly for her in particular.

Sadly she knew that it was time for her to move away from the white spires and towers, the salty air and cool breezes.
Perhaps a mountain dwelling, secreted away in the Arinoronti Range?
She dismissed her speculative thoughts as Fëlan approached.

“Exarch,” she’d memorised the strange word and applied it now for the first time. “I’ve washed away all that will come away. I am ready to escape the aftermath of the battle.” There was something in her expression that revealed how deeply the emanations now rooted in the White City were affecting her. If all this trip achieves is to give me strength to rebuild the shields round my spirit, it will be enough.

Beside her, Ondarien nodded in agreement.

Olorndil…

“We would welcome them,” Olorndil replied. “Once we have stabilised Silmessë, there will be a need for the Lord of the Silmellon to journey to many places and meet with their leaders. It would honour us to see the homeland of our friends, Lord Atheril .”

http://gallery.cybertarp.com/albums/userpics/12052/olorndil.jpg
Olorndil
©Norma A Peters (http://elfwood.lysator.liu.se/loth/p/e/peters/bitterwind3.jpg.html)
(Used with Permission)

Guide for the Three of Moonstone Harbour…

It did not take long to reach the great courtyard currently occupied by the Aelosian forces.
The Archer paused suddenly as the encampment became visible and tensed.
It was obvious to even the most casual observer that the Elf was uneasy, his lips hard and thin as he surveyed the scene.
But just as suddenly, his muscles relaxed and he continued forward.
Reassurance had been received, there was no threat to the Silmellon here.

“Olorndil,” the Elf said suddenly. Pointing out the tall, silver haired figure wearing a shimmering dress armour that glittered with violet gems and etched designs. He said no more and the impression was that he knew no words in Sindarin.

Undómëfal…

There were curious forms in each of the glassy-skinned fruiting bodies and Undómëfal could feel them all singing to her.
Their songs were intricate; there were the melodies of every vessel that had flown across the skies of Silmessë, abstracted and dissected.
Every power on those vessels, mimicked in some fashion here. Excitement coursed through her, turned her eyes into amber flames.

“None have achieved what Undómëfal has achieved,” she laughed. The sound wove through the metal forest, joined the many threads of music that spun from fruiting bodies and trees alike. At her breast, the Coirëamírë pulsed and glowed, extended her sensitivity to the music of metal and minerals until the entire world sang to her.

A pitched tone broke through her exhilaration and she turned in its direction, eyes narrowing.
Her gasp blossomed, rippled through Russëlórien; for a moment she was frozen in awe. A silvery shape was moving, twitching within a glassy-sphere…

Drawing close, Undómëfal reached out a hand to touch the smooth hard skin of the fruit; cold. Not much longer.
The fruit was now the size of a large melon and the curled creature within filled almost all that space.
It twitched again. Dreaming. Undómëfal smiled, searched the creature with her senses and listened only to its song. “You’re a powerful little thing,” she murmured. “And what else is it I sense…something so very familiar.”
She frowned, but the answer eluded her.

It took another hour before the silver form thrashed its way from the hard-shelled fruit of the metal tree and then as it fell to the stone floor sparks flew and a tiny, high-pitched shriek escaped the creature.
“Small now,” Undómëfal said lifting it. It’s long tail curled round her wrist, icy cold and hard. It slithered slightly and cut at her skin; blood shimmered red against the silvery-glassy hue of the creature’s metallic flesh. She bore the pain in silence. “You’ll grown soon enough little one and your size will mimic those machines whose songs you hold within.”

Around the chamber Undómëfal heard a thousand high tones; the fruiting bodies were ripe and soon Silmessë would be home to her unique creation.
I’ve done it Fëanor, made life where there was none. She smiled. Can any doubt whom among the Noldor learned best the skills of metal?

She laughed. "Silversmiths of the Eldar, all who were and shall be are no match for the skills I have learned and the talent I have always had."

Nothing of which is owed to you, Fëanor!

http://gallery.cybertarp.com/albums/userpics/12052/undomefal.jpg
Undómëfal
©Norma A Peters (http://elfwood.lysator.liu.se/loth/p/e/peters/galadriel3.jpg.html)
(Used with Permission)

Fëlan:

Fëlan smiled and passed his hand over Ondarien's shoulder. "Look, my cousin, my sky mount. Although not as pleasant as riding in a mount like yours, it has its own secrets, please join me to ride on the stars".

He approached to the stellar plane and opened a door, so his guests could come in. He helped them in take the right seat, and to fasten the security belts. Then he took a seat in the open cockpit and pronounced sevelra words in Sindarin, and the ship reacted. Hundreds of lights turned on, gleaming in different colors inside the cabin of the plane, hatches opening to show the windows, pressurized glasses that let them see at the outside. Fëlan pronounced more words, and with a humming sound and a soft vibration the gravitic engines of the plane started, lifting the plane above the ground.

"Don't be scared, I helped you once to fly, Silmessë nos Gilthoniel, today the both of you will fly higher than the dragons and the eagles", said Fëlan as the ship took off with a roar, raising into the sky in seconds, reaching the clouds. The Exarch placed a helmet over his head and pulled several levers and buttons, turning on even more lights inside the cabin.

Duke Atheril:

"Then so be it, Olorndil, may the suffering of this day open a path for the frienship of our peoples. I want them to come here, to see how your people live in peace and away of all hatred", said the Duke. "May I offer you some Lembas, or some wine?, that ride was tiring I suppose".

usual double posting due to the forum...

“Tell me cousin,” she said to Daintáro. “Why have you made the journey to Silmessë and how might we mend old wounds.” You know that you are not among the Noldor here, her mind whispered to him in an undertone. We turned our backs on that heritage a long time ago. You speak with the Lady of the Silmellon, we who were called the Starlight Elves even among the Noldor. Yet if you trace blood lines through time, are we not all simply Eldar?


"The Amillitári felt the return of your nation to the winds of Time upon the Other Winds," Daintáro explained, "And thus the Ciriáran sent us here, to find what we could.

"We were not meant to be seen; I did not expect to meet your herald Níremo so soon after landfall upon your shores."

On the Other Winds he heard her other words, unspoken, and bent a minor zephyr to carry his reply. He was by no means a great mage, but he could manage this, if the person he was communicating with was near.

There are Penni and there are Penni, Lady of the Silmellon. I trust in your goodwill, but others - the Amillitári herself in Tirinélio, and Angaráto here - are not so eager to forgive any who followed Fëanor. We all lost kin in the burning of Alpalonde, and that blood does not easily wash away.

Guide for the Three of Moonstone Harbour…

It did not take long to reach the great courtyard currently occupied by the Aelosian forces.
The Archer paused suddenly as the encampment became visible and tensed.
It was obvious to even the most casual observer that the Elf was uneasy, his lips hard and thin as he surveyed the scene.
But just as suddenly, his muscles relaxed and he continued forward.
Reassurance had been received, there was no threat to the Silmellon here.

“Olorndil,” the Elf said suddenly. Pointing out the tall, silver haired figure wearing a shimmering dress armour that glittered with violet gems and etched designs. He said no more and the impression was that he knew no words in Sindarin.
Aruna walked in dull silence as Kaegr brooded and Kaelen rattled away cheerfully, though she was sure their guide understood none of what he said. Just as a small encampment came into view, their guide froze like a wounded animal, growing visibly tense as an aura of ill ease flowed from him. Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, he relaxed again and moved forward. Puzzled, she followed untill suddenly, the guide stopped, pointing to a tall silver-haired elf in beautiful dress armor.
"Olorndil." He said shortly. She had the feeling he spoke no Sindarin, and that they would get no further explanation.
"This is who we came to meet, isn't it?" Kaelen glanced at her and his twin.
"Yes." Kaegr answered shortly.
"I... think so." Aruna shrugged slightly. "We'll soon find out..."
Moving as unobtrusively as she could, she started towards the armored figure, hoping that no one who was armed would take offense at her movement.

Guide for the Three of Moonstone Harbour…

It did not take long to reach the great courtyard currently occupied by the Aelosian forces.
The Archer paused suddenly as the encampment became visible and tensed.
It was obvious to even the most casual observer that the Elf was uneasy, his lips hard and thin as he surveyed the scene.
But just as suddenly, his muscles relaxed and he continued forward.
Reassurance had been received, there was no threat to the Silmellon here.

“Olorndil,” the Elf said suddenly. Pointing out the tall, silver haired figure wearing a shimmering dress armour that glittered with violet gems and etched designs. He said no more and the impression was that he knew no words in Sindarin.
Aruna walked in dull silence as Kaegr brooded and Kaelen rattled away cheerfully, though she was sure their guide understood none of what he said. Just as a small encampment came into view, their guide froze like a wounded animal, growing visibly tense as an aura of ill ease flowed from him. Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, he relaxed again and moved forward. Puzzled, she followed untill suddenly, the guide stopped, pointing to a tall silver-haired elf in beautiful dress armor.
"Olorndil." He said shortly. She had the feeling he spoke no Sindarin, and that they would get no further explanation.
"This is who we came to meet, isn't it?" Kaelen glanced at her and his twin.
"Yes." Kaegr answered shortly.
"I... think so." Aruna shrugged slightly. "We'll soon find out..."
Moving as unobtrusively as she could, she started towards the armored figure, hoping that no one who was armed would take offense at her movement.

And the Palace waited.

Fírë…

Excitement gave Fírë a boost of energy and within the confines of Fëlan’s mysterious craft she felt the presence of death shift a little further away.
Among the stars will death just be a dream?
The seat into which Fëlan had bound her, was comfortable but Fírë still felt nervous about the restriction it implied on her freedom. You’ve nothing to fear, no reason to run within this vessel. She grinned. Where could she run to?

Ondarien seemed as wary as she did about the straps that held them into their chairs, but doubtless there was a reason for this. She trusted that a reason would eventually become apparent and studied Fëlan as he brought about changes within the craft.
A sudden light, nothing like Elven wrought lamps or candle flame, flickered through the small compartment.

“To the stars Ondarien,” she whispered across to her companion. To Fëlan she directed a question, “How quickly will your vessel reach the stars, Exarch?”

Olorndil…

“I think that we can do better than Lembas,” Olorndil smiled. “Would you not have a taste of Silmellon cuisine? I am certain we could arrange something, not every home in the city has suffered and the White Towers still stand.”

He turned away suddenly and there was the air about him of someone listening closely to another. His eyes found the three strangers in the company of an Archer, heading their way.
“Duke Atheril, do your people know of a nation called Moonstone Harbour?” he asked. “Perhaps we’d best great these new emissaries together?”

Alassënyelle…

She considered both replies, still studying her guests.

“It is good that Calanto is not here to hear your words cousin,” she murmured after a moment of silence. There was only the whispering of the trees to distract the Lindai. Where is Malinorndil and the other Elda kin? “It sounds as if you meant to spy on the Silmellon.”
Her tone was light, there was no accusation in her observation and she did not truly expect a reply from Daintáro. "You may go where you will and freely too, you will not be hindered."

If we do not forgive Cousin, we walk a very fragile path between the way of the Eldar and the way of the Moriquendi. It was Fëanor’s downfall to my mind. Her words were meant for Daintáro alone.

For all to hear she spoke aloud, even as her silent words found their mark.
“Perhaps we should consider means by which this hostility the Lindai have toward the Silmellon might be lightened?” she asked, eyes flicking from one to the other.

Celiondur…

Rather than head towards home, Celiondur made for the nearest of settlements. Vanimíca, an echo of distant Aldaringwë, was like many of the settlements within Menaldaron, a city high up among the branches of the trees.
But here there where no ornemalin grew, homes were not as large or opulent and among the vivid green leaves they were even less easily spotted.

Hidden within the canopy, some homes reached up high enough to break through the treetops and Celiondur imagined that the Silmellon here might have glimpsed the golden pyramid already.

As he approached an archer dropped from his concealed watchtower above and moved to greet Celiondur.

“It is a strange time,” the archer murmured. “We must be certain that all who come are of the Silmellon.”

“And those who are not?”

The archer smiled easily, “Those we would guide to Varnamilme. It is whispered that Olorndil can be found in the White City.”

“Then there are no whispers of something on the beach?” Celiondur pointed back. Though the beach could no longer be seen, the distant voice of the ocean was not completely drowned by the many voices of the great forests.

“No eyes have been charged with looking that way. The wisest left to us, have concentrated on the twin cities of the King, Aldaringwë and Varnamilme.” A pause, before the archer continued a flicker of fear in his eyes. “What lies on the shores cousin?”

Celiondur shook his head. “It is as nothing I have known.” He chose his words carefully. “I must speak with the Wise of Vanimíca. Who is wisest among them?

“Itarillë, who is also now Lady of Vanimíca,” the Archer answered quickly, without need for thought.

“Does her home break the canopy?”

The Archer smiled sadly, shook his head. “Only one structure here rises above the forest and none have climbed it since the sorrows of these past months.” He signalled to those who watched and listened from above. “I will take you into Vanimíca and to Itarillë. She must know of this structure grown on our shores, her wisdom will provide for us a course.”

Undómëfal…

There was a flurry of the silver-wings, they were the first born and quickly filled the limited sky of the chamber like a sea of stars.

“Silmerámë,” she named them. Around her arm the first of these creatures still clung tightly to her arm, though Undómëfal’s bleeding had slowed and the skin had closed with a whispered spell. Female, I can feel her. Already there was hunger within it, but above all a sharp intelligence was beginning to form. “As firstborn from this forest of Russëlórien, you are special beyond measure little one and Queen of the Silmerámion. I should name you.”

The creature opened eyes, at the sound Undómëfal’s voice. Blue, a sheen only as metal can reflect, eyes shot through with electric sparks that continually rewove the iris.

Dipping into the tight weave of notes that was the Queen Silmerámë, Undómëfal glimpsed herself as the creature saw her. There was a light on her features, a glow that might be unique to herself. Is this how they will always know me? She wove a soothing note into the music she heard and through the creature’s eyes saw the note as a flare of light passing from herself to the Queen Silmerámë.
Then the creature was unwrapping itself from her wrist and with sudden speed it was airborne and vanishing among the silvered leaves of Russëlórien.

Undómëfal glanced at the remaining fruiting bodies that were not yet ready to release still forming children. Then with a melody rising up through her mind and released into the swooping Silmerámion, Undómëfal led them up the stairs and into her private chamber. She knew how to release these creatures to the air where they so obviously belonged. A song was forming within the Coirëamírë, instructions to her children.

As she fed them the idea, note by note, they set to work.
Powerful jaws and claws tearing at the rock walls of her chamber and though it seemed a furious assault, Undómëfal was certain that the tunnel they were shaping now would be a perfectly smooth construction as though the Eldar themselves had carved it from the stone.
She could sense the Queen among them and again that flicker of something familiar passed through her mind. You are as a memory at the back of my mind. But she let the sensation fade without speculation, her duty now far more pressing.

There was metal within this stone and as they worked, her Silmerámion were growing. At first something only her preternatural senses could have observed, but after time more noticeable even at a cursory glance.
Then the tunnel was giving way to the surface and light poured into Undómëfal’s chamber.
“You’ll find room to grown out there,” she told her first-born children. Voice and music flung forth as one. “For their sacrifice the Silmellon will be greatly rewarded, never has such as you seen light in this world.”

Above, there would be a shimmering tornado of Silmerámion bursting forth from the mountain and catching the dying light of the day. Undómëfal could picture the surprise it would bring to the Eldar; wondered how long it would take them to locate her private chamber. For a moment she feared for the children not yet born, but the Coirëamírë pulsed between her breasts and she clenched her fists. Come not with swords, or I’ll crush you.
Mother’s were crossed only at great peril she thought and smiled.

Last to leave the chamber and rise into the winds of the world without, was the Queen Silmerámë; eye’s deep and knowing. Why is she so familiar, why?

Calamil. The Queen’s voice sung back to her. Mother of Light. And Undómëfal knew more than Fëanor’s pride.

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Undómëfal
©Norma A Peters (http://elfwood.lysator.liu.se/loth/p/e/peters/galadriel3.jpg.html)
(Used with Permission)

Fëlan...

"I was trying to show you the clouds. We'll be in the stars soon", he said with a smile, pulling a lever made of wraithbone, charging the inertialess drives of the vessel's engines. The Solar sails fitted to the back of the ship opened, and with a whisper of the structure the ship started to raise over the sky at an amazing speed, with a thunder breaching the sonic barrier.

"Brace yourselves, I'll go faster", he said as he manouvered the ship to catch the starlight. The ship launched itself up, leaving the atmosphere in seconds, opening to the empty space, the view of the planet below as it adopted the orbit of the globe. Not far the huge yet beautiful silouettes of the Aelosians starships could be seen, along with a Menelmacari Star cruiser, gleaming in the void of the outer space.

"Here you can look the stars closer, this is our people dream", said Fëlan, fixing an automatic course in the controls and relaxing in his seat. Thousands of lights filled the other side of the pressurized glass, as galaxies and stars glew far away, and the planet below was like a blue sphere swimming in an eternal night.

Duke Atheril...

"No, I don't. But it will be a pleasure to meet them. Are they friendly?", said the Duke, smiling. "And of course I would love to taste the Silmellon cuisine, I have spent so many days eating dehydrated rations, and I know that your food bears the taste of ancient and better times".

Aruna, nearly having reached the small assembly suddenly stopped.
"What if they don't speak Sindarin?!"
Kaelen paused in midstep to consider.
"Then I'm afraid, Miss, that we will be in a lot of trouble. They're all looking at us, so it's not as if we can very well vanish into the shadows."
"Let's just hurry up and find out, shall we?" Kaegr asked impatiently.
Nervously, Aruna continued towards the silver-haired elf, Kaelen to her right and Kaegr just behind them.
Deciding to try the best of her luck, she called out her greeting in Sindarin, hoping it would be understood.
"King of Silmesse, we have come with peaceful intent from our Queen across the sea. We ask to speak with you on her behalf."

Olorndil…

“I cannot speak for their intentions, but it would seem from the report I have been given that they wish us no harm.” He gestured for one of his personal guard to come forward; the fifty with whom he had set out from Aldaringwë several weeks ago. “Return to Fánatar, we must prepare a feast for our cousins and our guests. We will eat here I think, rather than travel back to the White Towers. Though perhaps the Duke would enjoy rooms within Fánatar this night rather than in the sparse tents of a military camp?”

He glanced at Atheril but there was no time for the Duke to reply as Aruna
spoke.

“All call me Olorndil,” he replied in fluid Sindarin. “Were you not told my name?” The Archer beside them nodded, then after a moment’s silent communication turned and left the courtyard to rejoin his comrades. “Certainly we will speak and there is another here whom your Queen may delight in word of.” He indicated Atheril. “This is the Duke Atheril of Aelosia, our cousins who now dwell among the stars.”

Atheril...

"It's a pleasure to meet you", said Atheril in a perfect Sindarin. "In your faces I see the heritage of my people. Do you descend from the fair elves of Doriath?. Are you our kinsmen?", he asked, visibly surprised to see the Moonstone delegates, and the resemblance with his own people.

Atheril...

"It's a pleasure to meet you", said Atheril in a perfect Sindarin. "In your faces I see the heritage of my people. Do you descend from the fair elves of Doriath?. Are you our kinsmen?", he asked, visibly surprised to see the Moonstone delegates, and the resemblance with his own people.

All of them bowed politely to both. Aruna, knowing her diplomatic skills were hardly the most polished of the group quickly sealed her lips. It might be best if she stayed quiet and kept her disturbances to a minimum...
Kaelen, finding himself able to communicate again, quickly stepped forward to fill her place.
"Olorndil and Duke Atheril, we are grateful to find friends in what we feared would be a deadly place. The ancestors of our people are indeed from among the elves of Doriath." He was somewhat surpised himself to find relations so far from home. Aruna didn't hear any more of his speech as something suddenly connected in her mind. THAT was what she had sensed! Kaegr glanced at her for a moment.
"What's the matter with you?" he asked quietly. She was suprised, he actually sounded as if he cared what was wrong and wasn't just warning her to keep quiet.
"The princess... the shadow is gone from her. I sensed it days ago, but I didn't realize what it was until just now." She whispered back, eyes still on Kaelen who had begun rummaging in a pack for a map to show where the nation of Moonstone Harbor lay.
Kaegr snorted softly in answer and returned to his previous past time of ignoring her as his twin at last produced the map.

**The royal castle at Moonstone Harbor**

Throwing open the door to her sister's chamber, Illundia was met by a sight she had dreamt of for months. Naure's wan little face turned to her and a quiet smile crossed it. Large golden eyes regarded her, not emptilly as before, but joyfully. Tears welled up, large and crystaline in Illudia's eyes as she raced to her sister's side, gathering the girl in her arms in a most unlady-like fashion. Dimly she heard the door creak quietly closed as the attendants of the young princess left them alone.
"You are awake at last, little one. Are you well?"
"It's all gone Lundi." The young queen smiled at the nickname. It was a warming sign of recognition.
"What's gone, dear one?"
"All the shadows... " Naure's golden eyes met her sister's intensely. "They were all around me and howling and clawing and then... they were gone."
She shrugged her wasted shoulders and wrapped her thin arms around her sister's neck.
"I was frightened too, sister.... I thought I would never hear your voice again." She drew the thin child to her and the sisters clung to one another, for a time forgetting about everything else.

"Then we're not just friends, we're kin", said the Duke, smiling. "We've never heard of you, but we'll be glad to greet you as our lost kin, and help you in any way we could", as he spoke, the Duke was slowly nodding to Olorndil and the delegates from Moonstone Habor. "In these times of strife and turmoil the elves must remain unite, that's our purpose, to serve as the bridge that can get all the Firstborn together"

"Then we're not just friends, we're kin", said the Duke, smiling. "We've never heard of you, but we'll be glad to greet you as our lost kin, and help you in any way we could", as he spoke, the Duke was slowly nodding to Olorndil and the delegates from Moonstone Habor. "In these times of strife and turmoil the elves must remain unite, that's our purpose, to serve as the bridge that can get all the Firstborn together"

Silmerámion…

There were little more than glimpsed slivers of light in the dusk, even to such skilled eyes as those of the Elves.
Catching the wind, unready to test the engines of their arcane design they chose to drift where the skies would lead them.
At their head, the Queen Silmerámë, vivid blue eyes scouring the mountainous realm below for favourable feeding grounds.

At last, rising before them a vast ridge filled with metal and minerals and they dived almost as one. The music that sang between them as they co-ordinated the shift from sky to mountaintop was inaudible to all save one.
The mysterious Undómëfal, who listened still from her distant chamber in the city of Kemenixë and occasionally looked through the eyes of the Queen, to watch over her newborn children.

The Silmerámion silvered the ridge and had the sun still lingered above the horizon it would have flashed their location to the inhabitants of Silmessë.
The rasp of their hard, sharp jaws against stone filled the surrounding air; a painful discordant music that brought Undómëfal’s voyeurism to a halt.
But she did not care, they were feeding now; growing.
Soon they would be as large as the deadly crafts that had flown above the realm of the Silmellon and as powerful…

Olorndil…

He studied the three as the Duke spoke with them, observed the whispered conversation between two and smiled at the relief that flickered briefly between them. Good news was always welcome, more so in this age than ever before.

“It is as our Cousin says,” he murmured when Atheril had fallen silent. “Gathered together we are certainly prepared for the future, alone we remain ever vulnerable to the dark powers that seethe in every shadow.”
Without sunlight a chill was setting over the courtyard. Even the dying crimson of sunset was stripped away by the tall towers of the White City.
“I have summoned a banquet for our Aelosian cousins,” he added. “You are most welcome to join that we might learn more of your realm, your people and your culture. I offer you as I have offered the Duke Atheril, rooms within Fánatar where you may sleep this night and every other until you wish to return home.”

"That was, perhaps, what we were directed to do," Daintáro admitted, "The Ciriáran did not define how we were to gather our knowledge. But for your offer I thank you. I think it best if I were to send our vessel back to the Tollio Corma to inform the Ciriáran, and the Amillitári, of what has transpired."

We left Aman because we were unable to forgive the crimes of the Noldorin, Daintáro replied on the Other Winds. I fear that I would stand with few others in forgiving you; we left so much behind for that, and we cannot return again to Valinor.

At her next words, Angaráto looked as if he was going to say something, but he subsided after Calarielle shot him a warning glance. Daintáro saw that look, and worried about mutiny.

Calarielle herself, however, was not so diplomatic.

"The extinction of your race, so that your tongue is no longer heard upon the winds of the world, and all Fëanor's folly is erased," she spat at Alassënyelle. "We can accept nothing less, after the burning of Alpalonde."

Daintáro stared at her, aghast. Had she gone out of her mind?

"Be silent!" he said, switching to Lindarin. "You would offer insult to our hosts?"

"I remember Alpalonde," Calarielle said back, "As you seem to have forgotten, I shall remind you - these things, this whore of Fëanor, killed our people. You lost a sister to them, Daintáro!"

OOC Note: Lindarin and Quenya aren't all that dissimilar; Alassënyelle can probably figure out what they're saying.

And the Palace continued to wait. The only sound that could be heard coming from it was that strange, all-pervading music.

Alassënyelle…

It was clear that this had not been intended as a diplomatic mission, Alassënyelle thought as she listened carefully to the words of Daintáro and his companions. Foolish indeed if these were the chosen ambassadors of the Lindai. All but one lack in the art of diplomacy!
There were many things that she wished she could simply ask the Lindai, but knew there would never be words enough to persuade them that she and the Silmellon meant them no harm.

Daintáro, my people may never know the friendship of yours. But we will count ourselves lucky to have the friendship of but one of the Lindai. She studied him as her silent words unfolded within his mind. But I am disturbed to learn that the Lindai have been denied return to Valinor. Have the Vala cursed your people as they cursed Fëanor?

She wondered if she dared speak aloud to him again, for it seemed that his companions had grown angry with him. She had warmed to Daintáro and did not want to bring trouble to him.

Alassënyelle turned to Calarielle and gazed into her hate-filled eyes, unflinching. “And what will you gain? In the winds will only blow the words of your terrible deed, far greater than Fëanor’s ruin will be the folly of the Lindai.” She shook her head, sadness not for the Silmellon but for these children of the Eldar; the Lindai. “There will be no redemption in blood. The Noldor know this as do the Silmellon.”

At this moment, Calanto entered the Hall of Leaves once more and behind him followed a robed figure.
Alassënyelle let her gaze linger a moment on Calarielle as she tried to judge the impact of her words on the Elf. Let it never be said that the Silmellon did not try to breach the wounds inflicted by the false king Fëanor.
Then rose to meet Calanto and the mysterious figure that she knew to be Malinorndil.

“Lady of the Silmellon,” Calanto spoke with a formality that in ages past had been reserved for conferences between Kings and Queens of old. “I have news of the Elda you’ve expected, Galdern of the Eldar of Tor Yvresse. I am afraid that he will not be joining us now as there is strife brewing in his home world and he has been summoned back. He is gone from Silmessë.”
He stepped aside then, allowed the figure standing behind him to be fully revealed. “This is he, whom the trees have called Malinorndil.”

In the fading light, the old man seemed worn as though time had slowly etched itself deeply into the wrinkled layers of skin. Even among men, such ageing was unknown.
Though aged in appearance and more akin to mortal man than Elven kind, when Malinorndil stepped forward he appeared still to have the strength of youth about him. There was something that to Alassënyelle’s eyes spoke of an eternity spent in this guise.
Even the faded robes, which had once been a rich brown were light-faded to bronzes and sepia-hues.

“The trees of Lisselillassië have already welcomed you to Silmessë,” Alassënyelle’s eyes rose to meet those of the stranger and within them she could perceive the light of Valinor. For a moment her words were stilled, as she and Malinorndil studied one another. “But in the name of Olorndil and the Silmellon I too would offer you welcome.”

“Were it not for the passing of ages Alassënyelle,” the elderly man murmured and the Lady of the Silmellon started; eyes darting to Calanto. Did you tell him my name? “This land would not be as precious to me as it is now. I knew many places as beautiful, but they are long gone.” He sighed. “But it is not to speak of the fairness of the realm of the Silmellon that I come now to you. No.” He glanced past Alassënyelle and took in the Lindai. His powerful gaze sweeping over them as though their secrets were unveiled to him. “I come my Lady from the Vala though I have waited many centuries to speak with your people.”

The announcement was met with shocked silence.

“Among other things, I come to tell you that though others may have forgotten the Silmellon while they lay under the spell of Maídë…”

Alassënyelle broke the name into its constituent parts and came up with an inherent meaning. She who Desires.

“…the Vala did not. When my companions and I were sent forth into the world, my duties were not the same as theirs. I have waited a long time to speak with you Alassënyelle, your kin and those you would meet in this ancient age.” His eyes were ever moving, alighting on one face and then another. “Though the trees have their name for me, I would have you call me by a name I have held since the beginning of my journey through this world beyond Valinor. Call me Aiwendil,” he glanced at the Lindai and added, “or Radagast if you will.”

http://gallery.cybertarp.com/albums/userpics/12052/allassenyelle.jpg
Alassënyelle
©Norma A Peters (http://elfwood.lysator.liu.se/loth/p/e/peters/galadriel3.jpg.html)
(Used with Permission)

Celiondur...

Itarillë was young to be so highly esteemed in Vanimíca. This was the thought that flickered first through Celiondur’s mind as he came into her presence.
Her hall was a simpler place than Lassimardë of which the Elvish poets often spoke, but it was in its own way as beautiful.
The great chair of the Lady of Vanimíca stood in a hollow that acted as a graceful arch rising up above her throne, flush with green ivy; made for her a small dais from which she could look down on the chairs for her guests.
Celiondur was seated in one of these chairs and the Lady before him in her own.

“There is something you have to tell me,” Itarillë said. “Something I do not yet know.” She frowned. “What is it?” Her voice was gentle enough. Yet Celiondur felt as if he’d been commanded by the Lady of the Silmellon herself.
Without pause he began to relate to Itarillë his tale of the golden pyramid on the shores and the words that had been spoken.

When he had told her all he could remember he waited until she was ready to speak.

“I am wary as you were wary Celiondur,” she said at last. “But we must go and discover what we can of this arcane construct. It must not fester without investigation.” She rose from her seat and beckoned him to follow. “Olorndil will be informed.” She left the hall, made passage down the spiralling staircase that ran round the trunk of an old oak; one of seven that held up the hall of Vanimíca.

Once she and Celiondur had reached the ground, he found that a gathering of Silmellon already waited for them. Itarillë made swift work of retelling his tale, commanding her people to action.

“There will be a watch placed on this pyramid while I am gone from Vanimíca. Let word be sent to Olorndil the moment there is any perceived threat.” She told those who would lead the city while she was gone. To the gathering archers of her city she simply said, “We march for the shores now. I will take with me only fifty. It is a number as suitable as any other.”

It seemed that Itarillë was a woman of action. There was little time spend in preparations before the small group headed back the way Celiondur had come. At the forefront, Itarillë and Celiondur; scouring the land for any trace of danger ahead.

When at last they arrived the pyramid seemed unchanged.
Itarillë nodded to Celiondur who hesitantly hailed the structure.

“As you asked, I have brought one with some authority in the lands of the Silmellon. The Lady of Vanimíca, Itarillë will speak with you.”

Itarillë stepped forward, stood at Celiondur’s side. “However, I will not speak to the air.” Itarillë was determined to set rules at the outset. Celiondur wondered if her firm approach would yield greater results than he had achieved with the pyramid. “You will come and stand before me if you wish to exchange words with any of the Silmellon. Behind those golden walls you may no longer conceal yourself.”

They waited a response, Celiondur pale but Itarillë using the time to study the walls of the construct.

Fírë …

Among the stars there was not even a hint of death.
There was no need to shield herself and she could put the energy to better use. Gazing out into the void that surrounded them she could understand Fëlan’s love for the stars.

“Once I would have found this emptiness too terrible to bear,” she whispered to her companions. “Now it is healing for the healer.” She laughed. There was no sign of strain in her voice. How long can we drift among the stars?.

Ondarien glanced at her, smiled before his eyes returned to the view through the window. “I couldn’t imagine living among the stars, “ he said. “But I’m glad of the chance to pass through.”

Fírë nodded, though neither of the men were looking her way.
“Yes, it isn’t a place we were meant to live,” she agreed. “But it is a place to visit and I hope that the Silmellon will one day join the Aelosians and travel among the stars. If only for a little trip and then back to our beautiful home.” How long can we stay?
Already she feared the return to Varnamilme. Perhaps I should ask the Exarch if we can stop over near Aldaringwë? The whispers of the Ornemalin forest has always been soothing.

She forced stillness over the turmoil of her thoughts and let the stars and the round sphere of the earth mesmerise her.

Felän...

The Exarch turned off almost all lights in the cockpit, setting the auto pilot and crossed his arms over the back of his neck, assuming a resting position. "Just wake me up when you want to leave, all right?. I'll rest a little, you can stay as much as you want to". He pushed a button in a board and a strange music filled the cockpit of the ship, flowing from the "speakers". Fëlan closed his eyes, and leaned on his seat.

Before entering his resting trance, Fëlan said "It's human music, sometimes, when I'm sad, I like to hear it. His name is almost unpronounceable, Lodvig Fon Bithyoben, Lughinf Phan Bithoven, something like that".

Atheril

"It will be a pleasure to enjoy your hospitality. I'll remain a little longer, but duty will call us soon. We heard about a slaver country nearby, and the slaves are calling for help. We'll pay them a little visit soon, this men and weapons are needed elsewhere", said Atherill, a shadow covering his face for a moment, but his smile returned soon. "But this is a time for joy, and not for dark tidings and news. Let's see your palaces at Fánatar, Olorndil".

[quote="Silmesse"]Olorndil…


“It is as our Cousin says,” Olorndil murmured when Atheril had fallen silent. “Gathered together we are certainly prepared for the future, alone we remain ever vulnerable to the dark powers that seethe in every shadow.”
Without sunlight a chill was setting over the courtyard. Even the dying crimson of sunset was stripped away by the tall towers of the White City.
“I have summoned a banquet for our Aelosian cousins,” he added. “You are most welcome to join that we might learn more of your realm, your people and your culture. I offer you as I have offered the Duke Atheril, rooms within Fánatar where you may sleep this night and every other until you wish to return home.”
The three of them glanced at one another until Kaegr, suprisingly stepped forward.
"We accept your invitation."
Aruna elbowed him sharply. "And are very grateful for it." She added. Narrowing her violet eyes slightly at Kaegr she half wondered if he had come along with no other intent than to make her life difficult. Kaelen on the other hand simply looked appologeticly at her and immediately asked if there was any way the three of them could be of service in preparations for the banquent.

Olorndil…

“Very well,” he smiled, glanced at each of his guests. Left them feeling that for just a moment his attention had fallen on them alone. “It seems that our banquet will be in Fánatar after all.”

He turned towards the towers themselves though now they were only silvery shadows in the coming dust, windows glowing as though moonlight filtered out from a mysterious skyscape concealed within Fánatar.
There was a whisper threaded through mind alone as the Lord of the Silmellon communicated with the Elves inside those towers.

He turned back to Duke Atheril. “You must still dream of a time when your people lived as we do,” Olorndil said. “It may be that we will win another memory to hold in the sacred places of your heart this night.”
A distant thunder sounded and then Silmellon stallions, wraith-like in the shadowed road and still some way off as they were, sounded out their path across the cobbled road towards the Aelosian camp and Olorndil.

“Tonight Duke Atheril, you shall ride to Fánatar as an Elda would have of old and as they do still here in Silmessë.” It was a token gift, but Olorndil was certain that the Aelosian would receive it in the manner in which it had been offered.

To the three ambassadors from Moonstone Harbour he said, “There is no need for guests to take to the kitchens in Varnamilme. The city has been injured true, but the Silmellon are still well enough to treat their guests well.” He whistled, a note that rippled like the voice of a stream; hushed then loud and then hushed again. The stallions slowed, ten of them. “I hope that in Moonstone Harbour horsemanship is still a lauded skill. I have steeds for you too.”

“My Lord Duke, does the countess ride?” he asked, suddenly aware that Melian may well never have seen a horse in her life. She was still so young, he had forgotten that. “You may bring with you as many of your men as you wish. But there will be food and tables brought here to your camp, so that all the Aelosian host who have gathered here and defended our realm may share in the fruits of our table.”

http://gallery.cybertarp.com/albums/userpics/12052/olorndil.jpg
Olorndil
©Norma A Peters (http://elfwood.lysator.liu.se/loth/p/e/peters/bitterwind3.jpg.html)
(Used with Permission)

OOC: Maídë = Slaanesh? Oh dear oh dear...

Your friendship is a boon in this dark hour, Daintáro replied to Alassenyëlle. Perhaps I can avert a second Kinslaying, and perhaps not - it depends upon the edict of the Ciriáran, and he is close to his mother the Amillitári. And the Amillitári Elenna will never forgive the Goldórin for the burning of Alpalonde.

Yes, we are barred from Aman; the Balar have decreed that none who leave their shores may return while Arda remains.

Calarielle opened her mouth to reply, and Daintáro's look could have killed.

"No matter your politics, Calarielle, this matter shall be judged fairly by the Ciriáran," he hissed in rapid Lindarin. "Not by you! Remember that mutiny is still a capital crime. I would not wish to be the first captain to slay a crewman, but know this; should you continue in this vein, I shall. War may come or it may not, but it is not your decision to make."

The Lindarin listened to the words of Malinorndil - no simple mage, but one of the Istari - with growing suprise.

"Do the Balar bring word to the Lindarin also?" Arpenio asked, suprising Daintáro; Arpenio was not known for speaking often.

Olorndil turned down their offer of help, saying, “There is no need for guests to take to the kitchens in Varnamilme. The city has been injured true, but the Silmellon are still well enough to treat their guests well.” He whistled, a note that rippled like the voice of a stream; hushed then loud and then hushed again. The stallions that had thundered to his call from somewhere distant slowed, ten of them. “I hope that in Moonstone Harbour horsemanship is still a lauded skill. I have steeds for you too.”

"I have never ridden myself, nor I'm sure have my companions, but I have read much about these creatures." Aruna was proud of herself, she almost sounded confident. Time to test if reading could do her any good...
Aruna carefully approached the horse and set her small hand in front of it's nose to let it take in her scent. It sniffed for a moment then lowered it's broad forehead to be stroked.
"I think we understand one another." she smiled, softly patting the stallion before climbing onto it's back. Perhaps empathetically sending it assurances of her goodwill was cheating, but if it saved her broken bones and embarassment, she was willing to let it go just this once.
Kaelen was also carefully examining the creature in front of him, and followed her lead, reaching out one long fingered hand to allow it to smell him. The stallion seemed uninterested but patiently allowed him to climb up onto it's back without reaction. Gingerly he reached down and gently patted it's neck. He was met with a whinney of something like approval.
Kaegr, however, seemed to be much less timid. He simply looked the creature over as if deciding the best angle at which to scale it and then climbed more nimbly than she would have suspected him capable of, onto the creature's back. There was a somewhat resentful snort by the stallion at having not been introduced to it's rider as the other two had, but it did not make any attempt to throw him.
Finally, each aboard their mounts, the three questers were prepared to follow wherever they were to be led.

"Indeed it will be a deep pleasure to ride with you, and finally take a good look on this beautiful landscape. About Melian, well, she can ride with me, but I think she would be more delighted in riding with you, Lord of the Silmellon", said the Duke jumping into the mount with ease.

The young Duchess just blushed, looking at her feet, unable to raise her stare from the floor. Atheril laughed in good trim, finally the happiness had returned to the elven people. Maybe not for long, but these moments should be enjoyed at maximum while they last.

The Palace towered above Itarillë, in appearance more akin to some impossible mountain that to any ship or building of the Young-Kingdomers, its myriad towers spired upward toward the sky, each topped by a banner displaying a stylised green snake on a black field, and the entirety of its gleaming golden surface, which appeared to have been carved straight from some stupendous block of solid gold, for there were no joins or seams to be seen, was covered in complex runes, glowing with an unnatural light of their own, which could be discerned even in the midst of that searing inferno of reflected sunlight. The runes were in no language with with Itarillë was familiar, nor did they seem to represent the shapes of any plants, beasts or material objects.

Suddenly, lines of fire appeared on the front wall, forming the shape of a door, which then proceeded to open silently. From within marched a double-column of tall warriors, each clad in armour of black leather, and greaves and bracers of the same material. But their conical helms were of iron, each with a strip of green silk, matching the snakes of the banners above, draped around the tip, and while swords hung at their sides, over their shoulders the warriors carried strange weapons, the like of which the watching Silmesse had not previously encountered, but which any modern human nation would have recognised as simple breech-loading rifles.

The warriors formed up on either side of the gate, and waited silently, as that strange, alien music swirled about them, piercing deep into the hearts and minds of all that listened. Then at last, a group of four hunched black-robed figures shuffled forth, their features hidden within the cowls of their robes, led by a warrior clad in many-hued armour, that shone as brightly as the sun itself, the colours constantly shifting, both in hue and in intensity. He strode toward Itarillë and bowed formally, even as one of her archers gaped in awe at the sight of the mighty Dragons wheeling and dancing above.

“I am Prince Lykean al Vvishiak of the Empire of Kalessin, lord of the Palace of the Emerald Dawn, and rider of Silver Iustithyunkal. I bring greetings from my liege lord, Prince Drazyen al Vvishiak, Warden of the South Marches, and in the name of the Emperor of Kalessin, I welcome you to this world.”

Olorndil…

Olorndil smiled at the young maiden, whispered something inaudible to all and a stallion drew close.
Mounting smoothly, the grace of one who has spent a lifetime on horseback, he offered Countess Melian his hand.

“I’d gladly have you ride with me,” he said. To Atheril he added, “We will travel this way then.” With a nod of the head he indicated the road that led out of Varnamilme and into the expansive plains without. “And then round back into the main gates of the White Road and the great avenue to Fánatar.”

Melian took the hand from Olorndil and place herself behind him, with no doubt a little nervous, and blushing even more...

Alassenyëlle…

“Aiwendil, all word from the Vala is as ever welcome in Silmessë,” Alassenyëlle said. “Please come and sit among us and share our meal.”

Even as she spoke, her silent words were delivered to Daintáro in reply to his own. Then we will work together. If there is not to be friendship between the Silmellon and the Lindai, let there at least be no more bloodshed.

Arpenio‘s sudden question, froze Alassenyëlle. What would Aiwendil’s answer be? She had some hope that the curious man could alleviate the tension in the room. It was entirely too difficult to conduct affairs of diplomacy within a room filled with blind anger.

“What could I tell you, that you do not already know?” Aiwendil asked, eyes fixed on his questioner. “If there is any memory of the lands you abandoned, then you must know whom is welcomed there.”

Itarillë…

In her mind’s eye, Itarillë concentrated on memories of the lands the Silmellon had abandoned to follow the false king Fëanor. Far more splendour there than she saw now, but she could not ignore the events unfolding above and before her.

As the brilliant figure approached, Itarillë wondered at his dark companions. Is your brilliance mere camouflage for that which comes in your wake? She tried to study the cloaked and hunched figures, wondering if they were deformed beneath their black robes or simply intent on fading as much as possible into the background.

When finally he stood before her, addressing her, Itarillë’s gaze was fixed on him alone. Other eyes would watch for her, she knew.

“And I am Itarillë,” she studied his eyes. Shadows or light, what glitters beyond this raiment that you wear? “Itarillë, it flows simply from the tongue Prince Lykean. There is nothing to conceal or deceive in such a simple word and you will find it typical of the Silmellon when even our king walks the land with but a name and no other accolade to him.” She smiled. “In Olorndil’s name and for all the Silmellon I thank you for the welcome Prince Lykean.”

She felt compelled to explain why she remained standing before him. Though her words were somewhat sharp, she did not truly dislike him. Her wariness had put her on defence and she was not ready to simply accept the Prince at face value.
“There is no bending of head or knee in the land of the Silmellon,” she said.

Then raised her hand to indicate the massive pyramid, the wheeling creatures in the sky.
“You’ve a splendid show,” she murmured. “But I am far more drawn to substance. Tell me, Prince Lykean, what lies behind the shimmer and the glimmer and the guile?”
She glanced once more at the figures behind him, raised her brows questioningly.

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Itarillë

Olorndil…
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Pulling on the reigns Olorndil spun his stallion around, drawing the young Melian’s arms round his waist as he did.
“Hold on my Lady.”

Glancing at the Duke and the three from Moonstone Harbour he smiled.
“The Stallions will follow, you need not worry. As only Duke Atheril has some experience I suggest that you three allow the steeds their head and do not fight them.”

He ran a hand across the white, warm neck of his stallion and leaned close, whispered to the animal before rising up. In one fluid motion, the horse began to move.
The clatter of shod hooves striking against the cobbled road drowned out even the voices of the militia within the courtyard. They moved swiftly, the narrow gates before them obviously rarely opened where more a feature of beauty. As they opened before the approaching riders, a smiling Silmellon archer smiled and waved them through.

The shadow of the White City lay far stretched across the fields without and for that Olorndil was grateful. There were scars in the once beautiful plains before Varnamilme and with the lie of the shadow these wounds were scarcely visible. In time this plain will be as it once was.
To the west the mountains rose in the distance, marching ever northwards. Though the sun had already sunk, still faint echoes of their silvery hues were glimpsed; now greyed and dreamlike.

“The Arinoronti,” Olorndil shouted out to his companions and pointed to the mountains. “It snakes as a single mighty range across Silmessë and within the many peaks and valleys are most of the cities of the Silmellon.”

The stallion followed a great arch, moving through the fields; each footfall releasing a potent mixture of scents, perfumes both sweet and spicy.
Above the first stars were twinkling into visibility, Olorndil glanced up and sought any sign of Fírë and Ondarien. Would Fëlan’s ship glitter like a lesser star?
The green of the Menaldaron was deep in the dusk, a shadow that swallowed the east into midnight’s darkness.

“The Menaldaron,” he yelled into the wind. Let his words be carried to those who followed behind. “Within that domain are many forests, blending into one another. But though it is vast, it is but a lesser forest compared to the whispering trees of Lisselillassië.” He frowned at the distant glimmer of light, golden that flashed far beyond the trees. What light is that I wonder?

At last the stallion turned back towards Varnamilme, found the ornate entrance gates to the city; open and welcoming, before them.
“Varnamilme,” he shouted. “I wish that we could make this tour in the full light of day or even when all the stars were brilliant above us, but now we make for Fánatar.”

Through the gates and down the wide cobbled avenue; Fánatar itself rose as a many towered and many tiered structure. If words were turned towards description, one would have called the structure a tower fashioned of many towers. Among the residents of Varnamilme, it was the Heights of the White City and as the stallions rushed onwards it rose above the riders until even craning their necks they could not glimpse the peak of it.

“Welcome to Fánatar,” Olorndil intoned as they swept through the open gates and into a courtyard of pale white marble.
Moonlight glimmered over the tiles and white walls, but above in the heavens were only the first stars of the evening.

Dismounting, Olorndil helped Melian down and took her hand as a Lord would lead his Lady.
“There are many many rooms within Fánatar,” he told their guests. “But I am certain that climbing stairwells and walking down long corridors is not what you wish this night.” He smiled. “The days have been too hard.” The smile dimmed. “So we shall remain within the confines of the first floor of Fánatar. But if any should wish to climb the heights,” he glanced over them all. “Ask.”

http://gallery.cybertarp.com/albums/userpics/12052/olorndil.jpg
Olorndil
©Norma A Peters (http://elfwood.lysator.liu.se/loth/p/e/peters/bitterwind3.jpg.html)
(Used with Permission)

Undómëfal…

No longer able to share the music of the Silmerámion; the rasping cacophony of their feeding sent shudders down her spine and spikes of spidery-pain through her mind, Undómëfal turned her attention back to the caverns of Russëlórien.

In the many threads of musings that had crossed her mind, she kept returning to the golden ring. Not even silver hued, no touch of the bright starry metal.
She wondered if there was any way for her to reach the mind, that distant link that had shared in the creation of the ring. Could I see your thoughts within the ring?

Took the first steps back into the mysterious cavern, felt the pulse of the jewel buried in her flesh and knew that there would be a path opened to her. The ring will obey two masters. She wondered if she should feel cheated, or if there was value in giving up complete mastery of this one simple creation...

Illundia stood on the docks in silence, looking up at the dark bedchamber in which young Naure lay. It had been a few days since the young princess had awakened and already her slender form grew healthier by the hour. Her cheeks had regained a pinker shade and her limbs were beginning to fill out as they should. Despite her sister’s much improved health, she worried what had become of the three she had sent to Silmesse. They had reported nothing thus far and there had been no word on the fate of the mysterious isle in weeks. Vaugely she thought about what should be done as she continued the walk she had begun nearly an hour ago, enjoying the soft cool night breeze from the harbor as they fluttered her glossy locks against her shoulders. She didn’t wish to ask any more of her people to risk their lives in Silmesse, and she had no way to contact the questers without knowing their exact location. Quietly she returned to the castle and wondered if there were not some hidden way in which she could locate these missing three.

sorry, posted too many times

sorry, posted too many times

sorry, posted too many times

sorry, posted too many times

Fírë …

Fírë closed her eyes.
This is where I go in my dreams. But I can't stay here forever. She thought about the residue of death that lingered still in Varnamilme; waiting for her return.
I can’t stay up here forever. She opened her eyes, looked toward Fëlan. He slept on, she could feel how his body needed its rest and hated the idea of waking him.
But surely, she thought, He would be required to return to the Aelosian encampment in the White City. She leaned forward, touched his shoulder gently.

“Fëlan,” she spoke softly. “Fëlan, I think we should go back now.” Ondarien turned to study her and she smiled. “I’m strong enough to shield against whatever taint remains in Varnamilme.” She hoped her words were reassuring. She wasn’t entirely certain that she spoke the truth.

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Fírë

The Prince slowly removed his shining warmask, revealing aquiline features, that, in their beauty, were rather similar to those an elf, though they lacked the delicacy that marked Eru’s creations, for this being’s face, while unblemished and noble of aspect, was harder and more forbidding that that of any elf. His eyes were green, and as deep as the emerald seas, telling of untold age and experience beyond recounting, and within the neckguard of his armour, the points of his lobeless ears could be seen. He smiled genially, and a wave of warmth and trust drifted softly into the minds of Itarillë and her followers.

“Guile? We have only just arrived on your shores! What trickery could we possibly have embarked upon, and why would you expect such from us?”

He chuckled gently;

“Ah well, I expect that others have come here before us, and it must be admitted that there are other powers in this world who are less to be trusted than the Empire of Kalessin.”

The robed figures behind the Prince did indeed appear to be hunched and deformed by nature, and their movements seemed to speak of age and its many ailments, rather than stealth.

Fëlan...

"Oh, I see", said the Elven Exarch, waking up. "We'll be there in a minute", he continued as he pushed several bright eldar runes in the console of the Cockpit. "I'm glad to see that you have regained your inner strength", he said as the vessel started to move back to the planet.

Atheril

"Beautiful as I imagined it, Olorndil. Indeed your people still live as the Elda of old. I'm surprised and pleased to see that", said the Duke. At his side, the Duchess Melian just blushed as Olorndil took her hand.

Arpenio nodded, and kept his conclusions on Aiwendil's statement his own; Angaráto scowled. Calarielle looked as if she was going to speak, but changed her mind.

He didn't answer, Daintáro realised. But what he means - no news from Aman, and the Ban stands. But I do not think that we would return if we could, after so long an exile.

To Alassenyëlle he sent, Insofar as I am aware, my lady, the Lindai have as yet spilt no Silmellon blood. But you are correct; it should be kept that way.

Itarillë…

Itarillë smiled, shook her head.
“You may think what you will of my choice of words Prince Lykean,” she murmured. “But I still require an answer to my question, what lies behind this façade? Speak, I am never wary of listening.”

Her eyes wandered back to the shrouded and crouched figures just behind him.
“I like not the look of them and I fear you may be collecting questions now. What are these and what manner of servant would they be to a Prince as lustrous as you?”

She glanced back at Celiondur.
“Did the voice from this mighty palace not promise to reveal many things to the Silmellon?” She did not wait for his reply but turned back to Lykean, studied the figure and added, “You seem more reticent now that you’ve stepped out of your stronghold my Lord. Beguile me, please.”

[this space reserved]

Alassenyëlle…

As Aiwendil claimed an empty chair among those arranged before the thrones of Silmessë, Alassenyëlle wondered what duties the bright and wise Valar had handed to him aeons ago.
He will confide these things only when the time has come. She knew this and yet she could not help but speculate.
And yet she dare not abandon the Lindai, for it was troubling to her that she harboured such hate and anger in them still.
Had Fëanor not been punished enough by the curse of the Valar? She strangled the impulse to shake her head. In political arenas it was far too easy to misinterpret a gesture or a word.
Sinking back into her chair she reached forward and picked at the sweetened petals of silmalislóte, the delicacy of the Silmellon.

“Have you partaken of these?” she asked the Lindai, glancing from one to the other. “It is something unique to Silmessë and sweet as honey, flavoured sunlight some name it.” She placed a pale, almost translucent petal on her tongue and savoured it as it melted away, leaving the full flavour to linger in her mouth. “It is a time consuming endeavour to create silmalislóte, silvered honey flowers as first young unopened flowers of a certain tree must be picked and then placed in jars of crystal with a mixture of honey, water and herbs. Thereafter it must be placed out in the sun, turned daily so that the flower itself matures and opens without obvious imbalance in growth on all sides.”

She glanced at Daintáro for no longer than she looked upon his companions but in that moment sent her silent words to him, eyes brighter for the smile she did not allow to play on her lips.
We must practice patience then and learn not to hurry things. Perhaps in time, there will be an end to the anger that burdens your people and there will be more than peace between us, a fellowship in truth among kin.

To the gathering she said aloud, “Gather what you need and return to your people with news of the Silmellon. Bring your diplomats to Silmessë and let wisdom, not bruised and burdened feuds lead our people into a better future.” She smiled at each and found Aiwendil silently studying them all. “Eat now and rest yourselves. There are chambers for all that desire to dwell with us overnight and stores aplenty to replenish you for your voyage home. We will not let the Lindai leave our lands ill-equipped nor without gifts.”

Olorndil…

“The White City will shimmer the brighter when next you come across her Duke Atheril,” the Lord of the Silmellon said. “We will restore her to her original form and yet I think there will remain ever some sign or symbol of this struggle and of your people’s aid.”
He glanced about the courtyard, brow furled in gentle creases as he mused in sudden thought. Then smiled, gently patted the delicate hand of the Countess Melian and gestured towards the great open doors before them.
“We stand outside when we should make merry in the Halls of Fánatar,” he laughed. “I hear the music already, many lie gathered within the Élsambë to sing of Aelosian warriors battling against the shadows that fell on Varnamilme.”
He turned, Melian at his side and led them all towards doors gilded with silver and as they prepared to pass from the courtyard, the moon reached high enough in the night’s sky to shed light across the already glimmering white marble.

It completely transformed the area, turned the simple but beautiful structures into an intricate garden of visionary delight. Ithildin awoke to the moonlight and shimmering like flowing streams of liquid light, fashioned patterns that were born in Silmellon dreams.
Another world was echoed in these sweeping designs, Valinor unveiled as though it lay but a small step away.
“Perhaps,” Olorndil murmured with a small sigh, “I should advise my guests to climb one of the towers of Fánatar after all.” He smiled. “I sometimes forget that under the moon the White City is silvered, a tapestry woven long ago when first we set foot on this Isle of Silmessë.”

Fírë …

She kept watch from the portals of Fëlan’s craft, wondering how it did not crack under what surely were powerful forces pressing against it.
Thoughts that frayed and disappeared when she glimpsed the shores of Silmessë and spotted the city of Varnamilme; knew it now from a new perspective that caused a soft gasp of wonder.

“The White City is a fallen star,” Fírë murmured. “From up so high it seems so, does it not Ondarien?”
She did not listen to his reply, was not even aware if he had given one.
Her mind focused on the silvered light below them, growing larger every moment.

“I may not dwell among the stars as your people do Fëlan,” she said and there was laughter in her voice. I must be well, there is joy in me again. “But I live in what looks to me, like a fallen star.” She let her laughter grow into a peal of chimes that sounded almost discordant against the richer, deeper notes of the music that played in the craft. “I suppose it should come as no surprise, the Silmellon are children of the starlight and the moonlight and lovers of her element.” She stroked a silver ring glimmering on the left hand, round her small finger. “You’ve given me two memories to treasure Fëlan,” she whispered. So low that only elven ears would have picked up the words as anything more than a breath of wind. “I shall not forget.”

"A magical land for a magical people. I envy you, Olorndil, you rule over a land and a people marvelous and beautiful", said Duke D'nan as he rode by the Silmellon Lord, his eyes trying to record everything he saw, with his mouth half opened by the awe and surprise.

Melian was feeling the same thing. Being in this place was like being inside a fairy tale, with Olorndil as a shining prince coming out of somekind of legend as they walked through an Eden, an alive paradise.

"We're happy and surprised to be honored by your people. If our blood must be spilled across the universe to protect places and peoples like these, then the price would be small in comparison if half my army falls in battle. Yet again my mind takes me to unpleasant places. Today is a day of joy, and happiness, to forget the darkness and the suffering that lies behind", continued the Duke, smiling at Olorndil.

Fëlan

"Then keep those memories, so you could remember the infinity of the universe and the darkness and the beauty that lies outside the known world", said the Aelosian pilot as he changed the course of the vessel to return to the planet, quickly compensating the gravity of the planet with an inertialess drive to slow it down. "At least I'm happy to see that you recovered your joy, although I know that your happiness will be never the same thing after what you have seen lately. Sometimes you feel that you're losing your sanity. I would like to live a quiet life, yet I have a duty to attend, even if that means to see horrible things", as he spoke, another shadow covered the face of the Sindarin elf, giving him a grim and sad expression to his otherwise noble features.

Alassënyelle

In Aldaringwë, the trees whispered songs to the moon; sleep never came to the Ornemalin trees and their music had ever been the lullabies of the Silmellon that dwelled in the forest of Lisselillassië.
Alassënyelle, her guests now gone from Lassimardë, stood and examined the thrones of her parents.
Moonlight that trickled in through the windows of the hall her only light, but elven eyes saw well even when skies were clouded and the land became a place of shadows.

Finally, a soft sigh trailing in her wake, the Lady of the Silmellon left the grand chamber and crossed an open corridor; gentle winds running fingers through her golden hair, whipping at the shimmering material of her gown. Yet her footing was certain and she moved quickly, came to stairs that lead down into the forest floor below and made her way without hesitation.
Something in this night called her out of the forest, to gaze up at the naked stars in the darkening heavens above.

Following the path that wound its way out from the city of the old Silmellon King, listening to the Silmesírë add its musical voice to the melodies of the trees; finding the night altogether more magical the further away from Aldaringwë she drew.

At last the canopy above dwindled, torn fabric against the starred heavens, until she stepped away from the last of the great whispering trees of Lisselillassië and nothing obscured her vision of the glittering lights that had first seduced the Quendi so many aeons ago.
Sinking into the soft grasses, their scents released and perfuming the air as her weight bruised them; gown flaring out round her, Alassënyelle let the tranquillity of the night enfold her.
The songs her mother had sang to her, began to flow from her lips; filling the night with liquid notes that seemed to linger in the air, carried on by the wind.

The night aged slowly and still Alassënyelle sang, gazing up at the stars and recalling the names that her mother, Fánanyelle had taught to her.
Only when a shadow flickered across the heavenly jewels, were her songs finally interrupted and the stillness of the night returned; broken only by animal's calls and the rustling music of things moving through the underbrush.

"What creature comes to Silmessë that shimmers with the starlight?" she asked, awed and not yet frightened by the great form that drifted on silvered wings above; circling her.
The musical reply that it gave her startled the Lady of the Silmellon, strange and beautiful, alien and somehow intolerable. Music that was not meant for ears of flesh, Alassënyelle imagined and did not have time to plan her defence when the creature swooped down; jaws open.
And swallowed the Lady of the Silmellon whole…

OOC:

Space for post reserved (rawr). This time I mean it, Sil' :wink: .

This space is a bump...it's also reserved for replying to Sauron...when he fills his space. Come on Sauron!