Kizár Elená Durin · @SilmarilNaro
16th Jan 2016 from TwitLonger
Stone-verse: Narwafindë
After http://www.twitlonger.com/show/n_1so1m6f
Someone is watching Wolfstone Hall, and those camping in it.
@Gyrfalconsheart @SilmarilAire SilmarilNaro
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Gilborn
Gilborn kept himself in the sheltering brush of stand of trees over looking the ruins of Rácahróta, a long-abandoned hall on the inland side of what was, not that many years ago, land occupied by dwarves. The hall itself, as he had been told by his brother-in-law, was from the early years of the Second Age, well over a millennium before Gilborn's birth. It was originally built by Edain who had not gone to Elenna, the island later known as Númenor, Men who were closer to the Elves on the coast than some of those who headed further inland, and the building of Rácahróta showed the evidence of the close relationship in it's design.
It was one of his common sheltering spot when traveling inland but now he found himself watching it for a different reason, his mother had told him he must. A gust of breeze blew a lock of dye-darkened hair cross his face as he studied the signs - it was not easy to see, but he could tell someone was camping within the walls, keeping smoke from being obvious, but small signs still slipping through.
He wondered if they were what his mother wanted him to look out for, and if they were, what he would have to do about them. Too many people - Elves from other than the northern lands of Forlindon - tried to find a way into their lands, find a way to his mother. They had always stood very fierce guard, keeping outsiders far from their seas, keeping knowledge of who resided on islands that appeared on very few maps protected, but there was always leaks, word slipped out and those who knew the true tales came snooping.
Gilborn's hand absently felt the sheathed blade strapped across his back. It reassured him, a treasure he held onto until perhaps one day he could return it to it's rightful owner, but he was not shy about using it himself and the blade had crossed with other swords that had challenged him. Such challenges were why his hair was dyed, and also why he used the name Gilborn. It was not the name he used in the islands, but like his hair colour, it prompted less challenges to wear a Sindarin name while inland.
Whoever camped in the Wolf Hall were bound to be awake by now, he thought, glancing at the lightening sky, and he could approach, though still cautious, and see who they were. For as much as he knew, they could be from Imladris and therefore friends.
Anvari
Anvari had been dreaming, strange dreams had intruded on his sleep while they were camping in the ruins of Wolf Hall. Shadowy dreams, that did not let him wake. He was running, chasing through the mists of the manor... a child was laughing somewhere... and there was a shadow falling slowly on the place.
Startled awake by a faint noise, Anvari's hand slipped to the blade by his side. He did not sit up but well pretended to still be asleep. If someone crept up on you in Eriador, in the wee hours before dawn, it was bound to be orcs.
On the other side of the fire, he could see Fion, and while the dwarf from the Reach was not exactly quite stable, his senses were sharper than most. Almost unmoving, Fion pointed a finger in a direction, from whence the attackers came.
Had he been alone Anvari might have waited to find out who it was, waited to see if it was a Ranger, but with Lady Elennárë's life entrusted to him, he could not afford such luxury. He waited until he could see a shadow moving, then he jumped up, throwing both blades in that direction.
Gilborn
Gilborn had been expecting a tense reaction though knives being thrown his way was something he should have considered more, considering how risky life inland could be. It took a quick move to get out of the way of one knife and something of his father's training to catch the other before it could hit.
"I would do you no harm, if you in turn hold back your blades," he spoke in Westron. "If you would treat with me, I would like to know why your path seems to head for the western coasts." He remained wary, these two dwarves were not to be underestimated.
Anvari
Fion too had come to his feet, blade in both hands, while he already felt the darkness uncoiling beside him, he held it in tight check. The accent gave their nightly stalker away. Elven. Probably Sindar. They hated Maitimo.
"Maybe you should explain why you sneak up on strangers, resting peacefully in the ruins." he growled. "usually that's what Orcs do."
"Our errand is our own." Anvari replied swiftly, seeing that Fion was even more distrustful than him. "I am Anvari, son of Thirán of the Lost Dwarves, who are you?"
Gilborn
Gilborn tilted his head in thought for a moment. He had heard about the Lost Dwarves while visiting Imladris and knew they were considered decent folk. "I am Gilborn, of the Seariders. I was asked by one who is gifted with vision that I should come here... that I would find something of great import here."
Elennárë
Elennárë stood back, hidden behind a door, shielding her presence heavily. The kerfuffle had woken her, though she had not rested well due to strange dreams rolling in her stoneform, following half-heard voices, including that of a young child. This stranger was of the Seariders? Perhaps he would be a friend then.
Russsandol
Maitimo hated holding back, he disliked staying in the shadows, but in situations like these dwarves were usually less conspicuous than a one-handed Noldor. Yet the word 'Seariders' did not allow him to stay silent. It woke too many memories, of friends, of brave elves who had not shied away from tying their fate to him and his brothers... of people he had fervently hoped would survive the wrath of the elements. And it seemed they had.
"I knew the Seariders once," he spoke up, having risen as well, he gestured Fion to step back a bit, so he could more easily cover Skar, who would be at a disadvantage if this was a trap. "in days long gone they used to call me Carandol." It was a simple translation of his epressë Russandol, but one only used by the Seariders. "If you are one of the Seariders from what House do you hail?"
Gilborn
For a moment Gilborn could only stare at the figure that stepped forward, his hand itching to touch the sword at his back. There were paintings at home, ones done in memory of lost family, and this face was in one of two in the personal office of the Lord of Himring.
"My mother was adopted by Egandír, after he rescued her from the seas. My father however..." his voice trailed off for a moment, but then he spoke again, this time in Quenya. "I am known on the islands as Narwafindë, son of Canafinwë Macalaurë, Lord of Himring and guardian of the islands of the North."
Russsandol
The words could not have found Maitimo more dumbstruck. He had expected the son or grandson of one of the clans, maybe a son of Egandír if luck allowed such a thing and if the fierce Searider ever found a lover that was not the icy sea. But the son of... Cáno? Of his eldest... and most beloved brother?
He stepped fully into the light of the fire, that burned up brightly, because Skar made it burn. For a moment words failed him. For all the hopes about the Lord of Himring... seeing a son of his brother, his nephew here was overwhelming. It had been so long that Little Silver had been born, back in those long lost years. "Narwafindë," he spoke the name carefully, like trying to find the right sound if it. "Of all the things I hoped to find, when we came to the western shores... this is the most unexpected - and most welcome."
Narwafindë
A tension left Narwafindë as his uncle spoke a much-needed welcome and he offered the elder Elf a smile. "I am glad to finally be able to meet you too, my Uncle. I have heard word that you were living to the north of Rhudaur, but it seems I have never been in Imladris at the times you came south, or I would have invited you to come west... and returned something of yours I have been keeping."
He reached to unbuckle the strap holding the sword sheath, pulling the sheath with the blade around to present it to it's rightful owner. Elenlanta was Maitimo's blade, made by his hand, for his stature. Even though Narwafindë had used it at times, it did not suit him well, being too long for his liking.
Elennárë
Elennárë quietly stepped into the light, watching quietly, studying the young Elf who had named himself her nephew. There was a large question on her mind about him, but she could hold back for the moment.
Russsandol
Elenlanta's familiar glow shone when Narwafindë presented it to Maitimo, the soft light of the fallen star reminded Maitimo of the past, of finding that stone, of splitting it up... he sometimes wondered where the other two pieces had ended up. He stepped closer, gingerly placing one hand one the hilt, not taking the blade. When he had made that sword, he had still been whole, unchanged and while he had wielded that sword in all the battles of the first age, it was not his any more. "No." he said to Narwafindë. "It is yours now."
Narwafindë
Brow furrowed in confusion, Narwafindë looked at Maitimo for a moment, before shaking his head. "I... had kept it with me because I was the one most likely to encounter you, since I tend to carry Father's messages to Imladris, but I never considered it to be mine and now I feel... abashed that you would give it to me." He looked at the sword for a moment before a small sound made him look up to the new person he had not noticed. A woman of the Edain, she seemed at first glance, but it was almost as if his mind did not want to acknowledge what his eyes saw.
"May I inquire as to the name of the lady in your company?" He asked, still eyeing her in puzzlement.
Russsandol
Maitimo had wanted to insist that Narwafindë keep the sword - and he would do so later - but Elennárë drew the attention of his nephew and it was time he got to know his aunt. "Fion - make a circle of fire, I don't want anyone to overhear us." He said in the direction of the blond dwarf, who at once gathered up some glowing ashes from the fire and strew them around their camp, causing an eerie wall of fire to rise from them, one that would preclude any listening in, be it by people outside, or by magical means. It did not exactly feel comfortable this fire, but Fion's knife-edge balance with his gifts gave him some powerful skills.
Once the wall had risen Maitimo turned again to Narwafindë. "Though she has taken the appearance of a Lady of the Edain, my companion is not of their blood." he said. "She is Elennárë, the Star of Fire, my sister... and your aunt."
Narwafindë
With little thought Narwafindë strapped the sword back into the place he had carried it for last several decades before approaching Elennárë and holding out a hand to her. "It would seem then you are the preeminent reason Mother send me here," he said, letting his own spirit open just enough to sense the fire within him. He knew it was a rare flame he and his sister had, bright white-gold, and beyond them and Elenairë's young children held only by their mother, and her sisters. "Though not even she knew for sure what I would find here, but I do believe she will be glad to have you back ."
Elennárë
Sensing the fire within Narwafindë was enough bring tears to prickle at Elennárë's eyes. She had known, yes, that Elenlossë was on the islands, but to meet absolute proof of her sister's presence like this? Her emotions were too much for her and her only way of dealing with it was to pull her nephew in to hug him.
Russsandol
The radiant light and the words... suddenly Maitimo understood who the Lady was that Egandír had adopted, and that Cáno had married. He had known that his brother had been closest to Elenlossë, but to know they had found love, and happiness... he smiled.
Anvari watched silently, seeing Elennárë hug her nephew. If he understood what he sensed right that it was a nephew on both sides, by clan marriage. Dwarves would not speak of a nephew but a second-son, though he'd certainly not debate family trees with the elves here. It seemed like Elennárë would find more than just a bit of family by the seas after all.
Lossanárë
Lossanárë let herself manifest in visible form, having only caught the tag-end of this meeting after being pulled away temporarily.
"I think your mother will gain even more surprise that she expects, though a good one, I do not doubt." She spoke up as Narwafindë noticed her presence as well.
Narwafindë
When Elennárë had dropped the shield she had around her spirit enough for him to sense the both familiar and new flame Narwafindë had thought he was sensing some phantom double until the other figure had appeared as if from nothing. He stared in shock, her presence not one even he faintly considered, knowing how far separated she had been from Middle Earth.
"Pardon my confusion but I do not understand how....?"
Elennárë
"Aralaimé made a crystal that he originally intended to use to call your mother to the surface," Elennárë offered an explanation."I had already gained a link that allowed Losá and I to talk and of late her to even make ghostly appearances, but Aralaimé's Star Crystal helped give the bond strength for her to appear as she is now."
Anvari
"Lady Elennárë could talk to her sister in the skies even before that.", Anvari added softly. "She used to sit outside in Osgiliath and talk to her at night. But thanks to the crystal her Lady Sister now can join her at times." Strange, Osgiliath was the fallen citadel of the stars, and there two of the sisters had tentatively rejoined at first. As neither Boromir nor Kíli were present, Anvari felt someone ought to explain the rest.
"Lady Elennárë's stone form was ejected from Mt. Orodruin along with other Lava, and eventually found by a young Gondorian soldier, who had just escaped enemy hands. With him she remained, conversing with him in dreams, until an arcane smith could give her form."
Elennárë
Elennárë nodded, a smile on her lips as she heard how well Anvari knew her own story by now. "Anvari's people have been invited to join the Dwarves of the White Mountains so Boromir and Kíli are accompanying them south." She glanced Russandol's way, then back to Anvari. "I know that with Anvari and Maitimo plus his companions crossing from Rivendell would not be a risky journey... but even so I would have risked it if it meant seeing Elenlossë again."
Russandol
Maitimo was not too surprised how much Anvari had put together, or maybe had sensed since the vision Elennárë had. There was something with this young dwarf, that had acted as an anchor at least once, and who knew what he had seen and not shared in that moment. That he had spoken up, was clearly in explanation of his clansman Kíli and of Boromir, who had entrusted him with Elennárë's protection. A strange, if stubborn family his sister had acquired in the South.
"Elennárë wished to search for her sister, and thus we went with her." Maitimo explained calmly to his nephew. "Though we certainly did not expect to meet part of our family half-way through Eriador." He still could not quite stop looking at the younger elf, his nephew... an entire new generation had begun out there on the island, it was something Maitimo never quite considered might happen.
Narwafindë
"And I cannot call it wholly luck either. Mother knew somehow something was headed our way," he shrugged and smiled, amused at the converging paths they had here. "Though now that we are here I would be all too pleased to accompany you back to the island. I admit I wish to be present to see how Mother reacts, I know she has missed both of you." As he spoke, his eyes moved back to his two aunts.
Elennárë
Elennárë nodded but seemed momentarily distracted in thought. "If I may ask... how did she come to have Elven form? The only way I know of came from dwarven crafting, a design known only to the line of Durin, and even then near lost."
Narwafindë
There was a smirk that crossed Narwafindë's face as Elennárë mentioned the line of Durin. "A design theorised by Durin the Third... in cooperation with Telperinquar." He answered her question. "The tale I know from both Mother and Father is that he came to visit the island specifically because he had worked out that pattern. That was some years before Annatar revealed his true face and declared war."
Anvari
Anvari silently wondered how the secret had survived the fall and loss of Durin III. While the Dead Ones were not great on history, he had been thought by both of his fathers and knew that Durin III vanished in the chaos that was the fall of Hollin, his body never found. His son had succeeded him after ten years of interregnum, which had seen several challenges for the throne, all failing at the hands of Durin the Third's bonded protector, who had lived up to the oath a bonded protector swore, and ensured that Ingvar II had been crowned according to the will of the fallen King. He also thought of the empty ruins they had traversed.
"Do you know anything of his fate?" he suddenly asked. "Zil-Tanûr... Telperinquar's that is." In reflex he had used the name by which the dwarves remembered the legendary smith. It was a sign of great respect and honor that he had his own name in their tongue, for he had surpassed even their greatest crafters.
Elennárë
Before Narwafindë could answer Elennárë had her own bit of information that came from Elenaria. "A number of arcane smiths referred to him as Khaldan and dared to reach him, imprisoned though he was..."
Narwafindë
Narwafindë looked at his aunt, wondering where she had heard that from. She did know dwarves, perhaps one of them knew about Telpë. "I heard about him from overhearing dwarves, though they did not expect me to understand their tongue. The truth is he is now living on the island of Himling, as I followed that piece of information to it's end and found a way to break the shackle that kept him trapped. I could do no less for a kinsman."
Russandol
Maitimo looked at his nephew with new respect. He had heard such stories, also that more than one student of the legendary smith had tried to free him to no avail, to having found a way around Annatar's trap spoke of skill and courage. Wordlessly he extended his healthy hand and embraced his nephew, unable to express in words what he felt.
Narwafindë
Narwafindë leaning into the hug, welcoming the fond contact with his uncle. "I know my sister decided to mother him when he arrived, not that she did not have enough children to take care of already, but she is a healer and felt a need to see him get well."
Russandol
"You have a sister who has a family as well?" Maitimo asked surprised, it seemed that their family on Himring had flourished during the long intervening years.
Fion tilted his head to the side and smirked. "You are a grand-uncle now, Maitimo." he said with a fond warmth in his voice. "And I think this means we can take break form searching for that accursed Hammer? Not that I mind finding the next ancient Orc-leader up in Forodwaith and beat all relevant information from him.... but you might consider being an example to your grand-nephews, ere there's great-grandnephews to think of."
Maitimo cast a short glance at the dwarf, Fion understood what clan meant, what family meant, even as he had to tease him a bit, about being ancient. "I think I will want to meet all my family, and for Elennárë to meet her sister, nephews, grand-nephews and nieces..."
Narwafindë
"Two daughters and a son, still under two thousand years all three of them. I believe you would know their father too, Elenairë married Váquetír, who I know was in yours and Father's care in their youth."
Lossanárë
Lossanárë frowned in thought at hearing the name of her nephew-in-law. "The Refused...? That sounds faintly... familiar..." Somehow she thought she had once heard that in the attack on Sirion.
Narwafindë
Narwafindë looked at Lossanárë, the knowledge of where she had been in the First Age quickly coming to mind. "I do think you would know him, he once lived in Doriath, the sons of Dior, he and his brother once were."
Lossanárë
"They did live..." Lossanárë could not help murmur. "I cannot say that I truly believed it at the time, but back then I was not quite in my right mind and had trouble believing anything that came from my brothers." She shook her head at the memory.
Russandol
Maitimo approached he spirit form, he wanted to hug her, to hold her, to tell her that she had been right not believing them back then, they had not acted rightly towards her, or their sisters. Closing his eyes he reached beyond his physical form, to bring his fëa into the foreground, he had not done so in many many millennia and it hurt... but it allowed his fëa to supersede his physical existence. He reached for her, gently touching her spirit form with his own. "You were right, back then, sister." he said softly. "it were your brothers who abandoned those children... they really were left in that forest." he felt the tingle from the touch of her shoulder but still did not let go. "After we found the, we tried to return them to their people, but no one believed us... the Sindar claimed them dead, and denied any other claim. This Cáno and I raised the brothers, much as we did raise Elwing's sons in the end."
Lossanárë
"Before Thingol turned my mind away from you, I still wanted to return to you, or Cáno, even though I knew how Turco, Moryo and Curvo treated Lûthien." She said as she leaned into his hold, letting her willingness to forgive him be felt. "Though now even Elwing no longer resents you, though it took her time in Lady Estë's care to come to accept everything that happened."
Russandol
Maitimo's gently embraced his sister, her warm forgiveness felt like a cloak falling around them both. He frowned when he her of Elwing though. "It... it may be good that I will not see her again." he said as neutrally as he could. "Though it is good that she found some healing."
Lossanárë
"She has," Lossanárë felt she could say more about how well Elwing was now, including how she was now good friends with their own mother, who came to visit on a semi-regular basis, but she held off as she felt it was still an old pain for Maitimo. "But here and now I think all of you need to rest before you set out in the morning."
Russandol
Maitimo embraced her, he did not speak of his anger - his contempt for a woman who had abandoned her little sons to her enemy's hands for something she believed to be a stone. he well remembered those two small elflings, their eyes... if anything had reminded back then of what he was becoming, it had been them. He hugged her gently. "You are right, dear sister. We shall rest and speak more at another time."