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Isillindë
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Post RE: Conquering Helcaraxë (KEEP)
on: February 22, 2008 01:18
“Earlindë will join me as soon as she can.”

Elenwë raised her eyebrows at her younger sibling. “‘As soon as she can’. So to where are you setting off now?” She was sitting on a rock, mending a tear in her overcoat.

Silmë did not stop donning the large fur over her slim shoulders. “I shall move ahead and she shall join me when she finishes with her farewells. This urgency to meet with Elnaira I find overpowering, sister. I must hurry.” At her words the sky above her head burst into lights the colours of new born leaves and over ripe cherries. They looked up as did many of the elves around them.

Elenwë looked back down at her sister’s face, illuminated by the light. Her gaze softened as she took note of the serene beauty radiating from Silmë’s face. Then she tightened her lips. “You shall not be hurrying anywhere, Silmë. Not without an escort.” She bent her head back down to the task at hand.

Silmë’s mouth dropped open in protest. “Elenwë, I am not a youngster. I can fend for myself.”

“I am well aware of that, but you represent a House of the Noldor, and you will be asked to solve a great deal of problems. Sometimes even benevolence can turn malevolent. You are not venturing out into the host without a safeguard. The ice itself is treacherous, Silmë.”

“The ice?” Silmë raised her hands in exasperation. “It is thick enough to join two great landmasses, sister! It shall not open up and swallow me!”

“You know not of what you speak, Silmë,” Elenwë spoke softly but firmly. “I did not know it would give out under my feet either – and if it had not been for Alindo, I would have fallen into the chasm that seemingly appeared out of nowhere.” She turned deep blue eyes onto her sister. “You are not going alone.”

Silmë opened her mouth. Then closed it again. She knew better than to protest: she knew that look in her sister’s eyes very well. However, she tried once more: “But Earlindë is –”

“Otherwise engaged. I know. So you shall wait till she can come with you.” She poked the needle into the fabric too hard and the stitch went awry. She groaned in frustration. “By the Valar’s grace, when will I learn to do this appropriately? Quíni, do mend this,” she said to one of the elven ladies in wait. Quíni came up and took the robe from her hands. She helped Elenwë stand up as well. “My thanks,” Elenwë smiled at her, then turned to face Silmë. “I know where this pressing exigency to meet the Aleaningwë family stems from – but you have to understand my need for caution as well, Silmë.”

Silmë took a deep breath and was about to speak when Idril flounced into their company. “Silmë, look who has decided to join us.”

Silmë and Elenwë turned and saw before them a tall, dark-haired neri with pale grey eyes that seemed almost colourless. He was as broad made as Aikanáro, Lord Arafinwë’s son, perhaps broader. Silmë’s face brightened in recognition. “Hendalacon!”

Hendalacon Altaha bowed his head slightly, a smile quivering over his lips. His black hair blew carelessly over his face. “My ladies,” he said softly.

Silmë raised her hand, and Hendalacon grasped it in greeting. Silmë turned her eyes on her niece. “Where did you –?”

“He had come to pay his respects to Ata, when I saw him. I insisted he come and meet you.”

Silmë turned to her sister. “Elenwë, this is Hendalacon Altaha of the House of Calascon. He is Fanuiamarth’s dearest friend.” Elenwë nodded her greeting with a smile. “But –” Silmë’s brow furrowed. “Were you not with Fëanáro – and Fanui?”

“Aye, that I was.” Hendalacon said. A wind blew up against them and he turned his back to it, shielding the nessi before him. His hair flew forward and through the dark tangles, his eyes looked aglow. “But when my father fell I went to his aid, and was wounded myself.” Silmë’s eyes flew to his forehead which showed the sign of a wound that extended into his hairline. “When I came to, the ships had left.” He ended brusquely.

Elenwë stepped forward. “We are sorry to hear about your father.”

“He died valiantly. For a worthy cause.”

Elenwë’s lips tightened. “Indeed.”

Silmë knew how quickly her sister formed opinions; and an idea suddenly presented itself to her. “Altaha, I need to impose on your favour. Will you escort me into the Mid-host? I must speak to Fanuiamarth’s family.”

Hendalacon looked away for a moment. “I left the Mid-host to travel with the End-host.”

“Did you meet them then?” Silmë inquired anxiously.

“Aye, I did.”

“And? How do they fare?”

“Lord Erumelo and Elnaira are well. Elerossë is wounded.” He stated matter-of-factly.

Silmë blanched. “Wounded?”

“Perhaps mortally.”

Silmë’s hand flew to her mouth. Her throat constricted. Elerossë had known about her love for Fanuiamarth. He was closest to Fanuiamarth. Fanuiamarth had presented her to Elerossë at the Golden Gates of Valmar – how well she remembered his smiling countenance! “Elenwë,” she beseeched. “Forgive me, dilinya (my friend), I need to speak to my sister alone.” She said and took Elenwë a few steps away. “Elenwë, I feel the family needs me. I must go. I know Altaha, very well. You yourself know the House he hails from.”

“Aye, but –”

“Elenwë, you wanted me to have a companion, and I have one. Earlindë and Ondotano shall join me as soon as they are able.”

“Oh, very well,” Elenwë sighed. “You have a wilful mind, Silmë. Will he wish to take you back to the host he has just left?”

“He will.” Silmë flashed her most beguiling smiles and tossed her silver hair. She looked beautiful.

Elenwë returned her smile, shaking her head fondly. “Aye. He will.” She embraced her sister. “Fare well, Silmë. Return as soon as you can. I need you, too.”

* * *

They had walked continuously for two turns of the tide. Silmë forever looking ahead, but talking incessantly. The slender, silver-haired nessi and the broad, tall warrior made their way through the large host that had settled until the Council that was taking place further in the north ended. Silmë answered as many questions as she could and to which she knew the answers, asked by all those who recognised her. Most were about the Council and what was being discussed. Curiosity was rampant amongst most of the Noldor.

“Do you know what they talk about?” She asked, holding the hood about her face as a gust of wind tried to steal it away. “They” obviously meant the leaders seated within the Council of Light.

“Our fate.”

Silmë smiled. “Our fate was created not by them, Altaha. Or do you forget Fëanáro’s hand in shaping it?”

“I do not forget, Sil. But we should be on our way, not sitting here wasting precious time. Lord Fëanáro must have begun his attack on those wretched slopes of slime as we sit here waiting to decide about food and clothes and fire!” Altaha’s expression was stormy; Silmë knew his light eyes would be very dark now in anger. She knew Fanuiamarth’s friend well. Morifinwë had bestowed a worthy epessë on his friend: Altaha, Great Rage. Fanuiamarth had laughed uproariously when he heard that.

She smiled widely. Walking with Hendalacon, kept Fanuiamarth in her mind constantly and she liked it. “But those are essential necessities to cross this barren land, Altaha. Just because you are well-clothed and can fend for yourself does not mean we should forget those who cannot. Where did you get this coat of the North Bear? You or your family have never hunted this far north.”

Hendalacon looked ahead. “I traded Alarcafairë’s sister for it in Formenos.” Silmë looked at his sword that he called Alarcafairë, hanging on his left hip. She smiled further, remembering the jousts Fanuiamarth and he had played against each other. “Those who cannot should have stayed back in Valmar!” He added in a low growl.

Silmë’s smile faded. “Idril cannot fend for herself, Altaha, but she has a valiant heart and would not have been left behind. Do we forget all those who are as her? What about those who were wounded in the kinslaying? You were wounded, too. If not for these recesses in our march, you would have been left behind as well.”

“I would not have been – but that is another dispute.” As they rounded a curve against an outcropping of ice, his eyes narrowed. “That is Elnaira.”

Silmë’s eyes flew to the direction his were set on. The Northern Lights burst out again, covering the scene before Silmë in a vivid indigo. She saw Elnaira, for the lady had walked out to the edge of a precipice that dropped down into the sea. She stood apart and higher than the rest of the crowd. Her violet robe billowed around her and she looked one with the sky. Silmë moved forward, brushing against the crowd that was forming around Elnaira. She did not notice Hendalacon stay behind. When she noticed some of the nessi crying, her eyes widened and she hastened her stride towards Elnaira. The crowd was thick but she pushed her way through it.

“… Though the night be deep,
And Woe my smiles reap,
My quiet heart shall keep.”

She heard the last words Elnaira spoke. The crowd around her picked up the last refrain. “Her heart shall keep.” Then Elnaira crumpled. Silmë gasped and rushed forward as did another nessi. She held Elnaira who had fallen to her knees, with a wretched sob. Silmë helped the other elf to bring her away from the edge of the rock face.

“What is this?” Said a voice behind her.

Silmë helped Elnaira stand, then turned to see who had spoken. She did not need to for he came striding into her vision. He was a huge warrior. Silmë blinked. He was even taller than Hendalacon. She had never seen an elf with his appearance: he had short dark-gray hair and Silmë blinked again to see a short beard covering his chin. His eyes were a bright shade of green, of a sudden, they unsettled her. They reminded her of fresh leaves and fresh grass covered with dew. Covered in dark brown clothing, he presented an arresting appearance.

“She was singing at the ledge for her brother and we just caught her before she fell into the ocean.” The nessi who was holding Elnaira’s right arm said as explanation.

“Thank you my good nessi, go to your families, I will watch over her now.” The giant said with a surprisingly gentle voice. He then took Elnaira, who was all but unconscious, back to the lean-to, leaving Silmë behind.

Silmë took a deep breath and turned to the other Elf. “I pray,” she said, making the other turn to her, “Elerossë –”

“He rests with Námo now.” The other said quietly.

“Oh.” Silmë said softly, her hands hanging at her sides uselessly. The other elf walked away, her head lowered against the wind – or in sorrow.

Silmë had seen death on the shores beside Alqualondë, she had seen it consume the wounded – but she had never been touched by it personally. She had known Elerossë. She could remember his smile. The way his brown eyes crinkled when he smiled. The way he used to jest with Fanuiamarth, making the younger elf angry. The way -

“He is dead then.” Hendalacon said from her side.

“Aye,” she said in a soft voice. “They say he is.”

“I care not to mingle words with the likes of the giant inside. I shall wait beside that outcrop.” He indicated the place he would stand. “You go in and have a word. Then I shall take you back.”

Silmë took a deep breath and collected her senses. “I shall wait here for Erumelmo to get back from the Council. Yes, I know that could take longer than we expected. But Earlindë will be arriving shortly with Ondotano. And I am quite safe here with Elnaira. If you wish to stay do, if not, I shall thank you greatly for your protection, Hendalacon Altaha, but I cannot leave Elnaira like this. Fanuiamarth would have wanted me here.”

Hendalacon’s face turned stormy. But he did not argue. “Very well. I shall wait until Erumelmo returns, or Earlindë joins you. I shall be there, if you need me.” He turned around and walked away. Silmë noticed that he had overturned the coat he was wearing, but forgot about it as she turned to face the lean-to.

The warrior was emerging from it. He promptly sat down near the door. Silmë walked up to him. “Aiya.” She said in greeting. “I am Silmë of the Vanyar. Lady Elenwë’s sister and I am a friend of the Aleaningwë House. I need to speak to Elnaira. But before I do, may I know who you are, Ohtar?”
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Post RE: Conquering Helcaraxë (KEEP)
on: March 10, 2008 02:34
Taurohtar guided Elnaira into the lean-to. She refused the water he offered her, all the while gazing at the porcelain face of her younger brother laid in rest. Tears threatened to choke again, so she averted her eyes to the rocky ground and knelt there. Her hands clasped in prayer. She did not notice when Taurohtar left her presence.

A sharp wind sailed through the insubstantial opening and swiped the cover off Elerossë. Elnaira’s eyes snapped open. She took a deep breath and her fingers dug into the backs of her hands as anger charged through her. She came to her feet in a sudden move and struck the hard rock against which the lean-to was propped. The rock shredded her skin and pushed back two of her nails. A gasp of pain tore itself out through her lips, then a soft moan followed, then a sob. Both her hands throbbed; but the left hurt more than the right, so she favoured it; using her right to brush away the tears.

Her senses were at work again. They had been numbed. She heard someone speak Fanuiamarth’s name and her head lifted. She avoided looking at Elerossë and strode out of the lean-to. On doing so, she came face-to-face with a beautiful elven lady. Her hair gleamed silver and her eyes flashed the colour of newborn leaves – something which this barren land ill-afforded. The nessi had stopped speaking to Taurohtar as Elnaira came out to face her. Elnaira narrowed her eyes, trying to recognise her.

“My lady,” Silmë said. Her eyes were slightly wide. “You – have blood on your face.”

Elnaira blinked. She looked at her hands, they had begun to bleed. Blood must have removed from her hand as she wiped at her eyes.

“Aye,” Elnaira said softly. “I tried to make my body feel as much pain as my heart. More fool I.” She saw Taurohtar rise to his feet from the corner of her eye.

“I –” Silmë began. She stopped short. Then tried again. “I am deeply sorry for your loss, Elnaira. I am Silmë, sister to Elenwë.”

Elnaira’s face lost its frown of confusion and deliberation. “Ah,” she said. “Aye, I recall now. Fanui spoke of you often.”

Silmë’s cheeks bloomed with colour. “He – he did?”

Elnaira nearly smiled. “Aye. Often. In detail. I am the one he confides in, when he has a mind to.”

Silmë did not know how to pursue the topic, not entirely sure now that she wanted to. So she said, “May I wash your hands?”

Elnaira’s eyes clouded over again. It was like the waning of the two trees at the same time. “I suppose. But I’d rather do it out here. The cold seems less bitter than the loss that roves within. I must wait till Erumelmo returns. Come, sit with me.”

* * *

Erumelmo waited for the answer to his question. Artanis had asked a question, too, the answer to which was yet to be given, they all looked to Nolofinwë.

But words from another quarter diverted his attention. “Ata,” Irissë said, “the nissi of my host have learned to stitch the white bear’s fur into blankets and cloaks. I am sure they will be willing to work with whatever pelts are brought to them by the neri.”

Erumelmo nodded. “Aye, milady. We shall venture towards the furthest north, whenever the company shall halt and try and hunt for those beasts that can advance any means of attire that protects us from the cold. During our last halt, my vassal, Taurohtar, managed to hunt down two foxes that bear white pelts, not far from the host. I reason that the hunting parties we send out shall not have to travel far for game.”

Irissë now looked at Artanis and answered her question. “My ladies have also mastered fishing through holes broken in the ice. We can supply fish for at least two of the hosts were we to fish daily, possibly three if it is rationed severely. But it would add to the baskets if you could also offer some of the ladies from your host to aid us in this endeavor as well, cousin.”

Artanis spoke. First, she looked at Erumelmo. “Lord Erumelmo speaks wisely. We shall perhaps have each respite after two or mayhap three turns of the tide. In the in the intervening time, those who form the hunting companies can do the needful. We can wait for one turn of the tide for them to return, if that sounds like sufficient time for a hunt.” She looked around at the neri who comprised the Council; then her blue gaze fell onto Irissë, "And Irissë’s talents bode well for us all. In time, perhaps, she would teach me the use of her skill in needle-work, for I, too, shall benefit from it in what is yet to come.” She smiled softly at Irissë. “But I am glad to note that learning the skill Aulë’s hammer imparted shall find some employment. My ladies and I can fashion crude hooks and rods to serve as fishing implements. So, aye, the aid you seek, unquestioningly, shall be given, cousin.”

“Ah, but, sister,” Findekáno interjected, looking to Irissë, “your ladies and you would do well in maintaining great caution while fishing thus. The ice is treacherous and is inconstant in its stability. You must be assured of protection by securing yourselves as you dig and fish. Never go out on an ice cover alone, and never go out on the ice if there is any question of its safety.”

Findaráto added, “Aye, Findekáno speaks true. Since we form the lead of this great host, Haraninya is overly cautious while proceeding over the ice – and rightly so is his caution. Since we are the leaders of this host, we need to practice this caution; for it would mean the difference between life and death. We shall be travelling over a large expanse of this accursed land. And it is a perilous journey for we traverse over ice that constantly shifts. So I need to counsel every one here: Listen for loud cracks or booms coming from the ice. If you are unsure of the safety of the ice you stand upon, vigorously probe ahead of yourself with your sword or spear. If the weapon ever goes through, carefully turn around and retrace your steps back to areas where the ice is thicker. While walking away from the host, the other hunters in the group should follow in the leader's steps, but stay at least ten paces apart from each other.”

After Findaráto finished his words of advice, a heavy silence fell upon the Council. They realised once again the task that lay before them that had disguised itself as a journey to Middle-earth.

Erumelmo broke the silence by reiterating his earlier question: “Lord Nolofinwë, do the leaders of each host have the right to put on trial and, if need be, condemn those who threaten the order within and the safety of their respective hosts?”
"Why? Because I'm afraid and he gives me courage."
Maralyn_Imladiel
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Post RE: Conquering Helcaraxë (KEEP)
on: March 26, 2008 03:37
My apologies for the length of this post---it was going to be longer, but I didn't want to procrastinate any more than I already have. I may choose to edit this later on...

* * *

Ondotano stood alone with his back to the wind, his cloak flapping gently about his sturdy legs. Everywhere around him there was ceaseless activity: elven families were busy finding temporary places to settle, while the ones that had were consumed in tasks of sewing, preparing food or bedding, or merely conversing among themselves in hushed tones. Many of the neri were out trading or hunting, but not Ondotano. His current task was bent on scanning the throng for a certain gray-eyed nissi.

Where was Earlindë? Perhaps she had run into a familiar face. However, Ondotano could not imagine his wife losing track of time, even if it was for the sake of a friend. Growing more ill at ease with each passing moment, the neri was just about to go off to inquire of Earlindë’s whereabouts when he heard the sound of soft, delicate footsteps approaching him from behind.

Earlindë.

“Where have you been?” asked Ondotano, turning to face his wife. “I was like to go off and find you myself.” Pausing, his deep brown eyes probed into hers, which seemed to hold more malcontent than usual. “Did something fare ill with you?”

Earlindë calmly met his gaze. “I did not know you were such a worrier, melmenya.” The wind suddenly increased in velocity, and she tucked her hands into her sleeves for warmth. “I was merely seeking out acquaintances.”

“I see.” Ondotano was about to ask further questions when he remembered something. “On the subject of acquaintances, your friend, Silmë, stopped by whilst you were away.”

Earlindë’s eyes widened.

“Silmë? Here? Valar, and I have not yet spoken with her!” Clearly dismayed, the dark-haired nissi let a frustrated sigh escape her lips. “She must think me a negligent friend, indeed.”

Ondotano smiled comfortingly. “Nay; in fact, she wished to see you. When I told her you were elsewhere, she said that she was traveling to the Mid-host and would like for us to join her there. Would you like that?”

Earlindë nodded immediately, feeling as if a burden had been lifted off her chest. “Aye...I have sorely missed her company.”

Relief flooded through her Ondotano’s heart—perhaps this was just the first step to the softening of his wife’s heart. “I am certain Silmë feels the same way. If you wish, we can set out immediately.”

“Let us go, then.” Earlindë accepted the arm her husband offered her, and the two set out under the star-strewn sky.

Translations
Melmenya = My love
gwendeth
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Post RE: Conquering Helcaraxë (KEEP)
on: March 30, 2008 04:45
Having ‘firmly’ stated his intention to carry out his vow - whether anyone accompanied him or not - Nolofinwë was ready to return to the main purpose of the Council-meeting.
After he had finished speaking and gave them leave to speak again, Artanis came to her feet slowly. “Haraninya.” She spoke the title and was silent for a long instant. “We all heard the Prophecy on the Wind. Ata chose to return. We did not.” She looked at Findaráto, then turned half turned to meet Erumelmo gaze. “We chose to follow you towards Middle-earth. Our choice remains resolute. This not the time to look back – but forward. To whatever end.” So saying she returned to her seat.

Nodding slowly, the dark-haired neri acknowledged Artanis’ support. It was ‘appreciated’, but unnecessary, as accomplishing his goal was now uppermost in Nolofinwë’s mind, so he remained silent as Erumelmo rose to have his say… and after him Findekáno and Aikanáro. - And, yes, *this* was what he’d wanted discussed… the measuring of supplies on hand, and what each of the Hosts was lacking.

Whilst listening intently, Nolofinwë shot a glance at his daughter, and sighed inwardly when Irissë’s gaze remained lowered. Did she not ‘understand’ he loved her not a bit less for giving her opinion?, he wondered, but Aikanáro was continuing to speak.
“Furs, Haraninya. We need more of them for the injured, since most of the wounded are placed within the Mid-Host.”

“Aye,” Erumelmo agreed, “There has been a death due to this, Sire. Finding the one responsible is nigh impossible but if found, should I deal with the matter myself or send him ahead to await judgment from you?”

Nolofinwë’s brow darkened… the flickering torchlight catching the ‘flash’ of anger in his intense blue eyes that such a question had need of being answered. He wasn’t upset at Erumelmo, of course, but…
“Ata, the nissi of my host have learned to stitch the white bear’s fur into blankets and cloaks. I am sure they will be willing to work with whatever pelts are brought to them by the neri.”

“And food,” Artanis said quietly, “Do we collect it all and keep custodians for it, for due rationing? Or do we let each family fend for itself?”

Facing Artanis with a self-assurance often absent in her dealings with her cousin, she offered her own suggestions in response. “My ladies have also mastered fishing through holes broken in the ice. We can supply fish for at least two of the hosts were we to fish daily, possibly three if it is rationed severely. But it would add to the baskets if you could also offer some of the ladies from your host to aid us in this endeavor as well, cousin.”

"And Irissë’s talents bode well for us all. In time, perhaps, she would teach me the use of her skill in needle-work, for I, too, shall benefit from it in what is yet to come.” She smiled softly at Irissë. “But I am glad to note that learning the skill Aulë’s hammer imparted shall find some employment. My ladies and I can fashion crude hooks and rods to serve as fishing implements. So, aye, the aid you seek, unquestioningly, shall be given, cousin.”

“Ah, but, sister,” Findekáno interjected, looking to Irissë, “your ladies and you would do well in maintaining great caution while fishing thus. The ice is treacherous and is inconstant in its stability. You must be assured of protection by securing yourselves as you dig and fish. Never go out on an ice cover alone, and never go out on the ice if there is any question of its safety.”

Findaráto added, “Aye, Findekáno speaks true. Since we form the lead of this great host, Haraninya is overly cautious while proceeding over the ice – and rightly so is his caution. Since we are the leaders of this host, we need to practice this caution; for it would mean the difference between life and death. We shall be traveling over a large expanse of this accursed land. And it is a perilous journey for we traverse over ice that constantly shifts. So I need to counsel every one here: Listen for loud cracks or booms coming from the ice. If you are unsure of the safety of the ice you stand upon, vigorously probe ahead of yourself with your sword or spear. If the weapon ever goes through, carefully turn around and retrace your steps back to areas where the ice is thicker. While walking away from the host, the other hunters in the group should follow in the leader's steps, but stay at least ten paces apart from each other.”

After Findaráto finished his words of advice, a heavy silence fell upon the Council. They realized once again the task that lay before them that had disguised itself as a journey to Middle-earth.

Erumelmo broke the silence by reiterating his earlier question: “Lord Nolofinwë, do the leaders of each host have the right to put on trial and, if need be, condemn those who threaten the order within and the safety of their respective hosts?”

Momentarily ‘distracted’ by the two nissi, Nolofinwë halted further speech with a graceful lifting of his hand. To his son, and to Aikanáro, “I will leave it to you two to take charge of the wood and furs, and getting them both distributed as needed,” he stated. “Irissë, your suggestion of fishing is an excellent one, but I agree… no one, neri *or* nissi is to fish alone. We will ration, but our trek will be difficult enough without one Host trying to supply the needs of all three. The Host Leaders will designate someone to be in charge of distributing food to their people.”

Responding to Artanis’ comment about his daughter’s needle-work, as well as her previous one, “Rest assured, Artanis,” Nolofinwë said sternly, “No family, no *person* will be ‘fending for themselves’! Whatever skills can be taught when they can will be of use.”

Turning then to Findaráto, “When unsafe ice is found, I want markers placed to warn others who follow. Three rocks in formation will be appropriate, I think."

With those observations dispensed with, Nolofinwë’s deep blue eyes rested again on Erumelmo… remaining upon the neri as he considered his reply.

Shaking his dark head after a few long moments, “I would need to have the specifics on a case-by-case occurrence,” he said finally, “But I will keep your concerns under advisement.”

There remained only to determine the route the Hosts would take across the treacherous ice sheets of Helcaraxë. After hearing the various opinions of the others, Nolofinwë nodded and gave his decision. “We go to the north,” the neri told them, it seeming the best - though the ice would have to be carefully watched, since it could be thinner in more places than anyone liked.

At that point, Nolofinwë then rose to begin bidding the others farewell - unhurriedly meeting everyone’s eyes. Erumelmo… Findekáno, Findaráto and Aikanáro… Artanis, and with a smile to Irissë, his daughter. Overhead the aurora continued bursting into eerie ‘flames’ of color as he spoke one last time. “If there is nothing else,” he said solemnly, “In four turns of the tide the Hosts will continue on their way. In that time, I expect everyone to make themselves ready…”

[Edited on 31/3/2008 by gwendeth]
"Tolo si, a tiro i cherth Eru" "Come now, and see the works of God"
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Post RE: Conquering Helcaraxë (KEEP)
on: April 21, 2008 12:04
“If there is nothing else,” Nolofinwë said solemnly, “In four turns of the tide the Hosts will continue on their way. In that time, I expect everyone to make themselves ready…” Then, he left.

Erumelmo watched his departing figure and fell saddened. He looked upon the High King as a father – especially now that his own he had left beyond the Pelori. Somehow, he felt that Nolofinwë was displeased with him. But try as he might, Erumelmo could not think of a reason that he had given the King to merit any disapproval.

“I know what it is you think, Rumel.”

Erumelmo turned to his right and found Artanis standing next to him, her eyes followed her uncle’s retreating back. Then she turned the full force of her blue gaze on him. “Do not burden yourself with troubles that are not your own. He worries, too. And it caused partly by your own concern – by our concern. This journey will be recorded in the annals of elven history. We commit ourselves to it for we have the knowledge that this very same anxiety is what shall make us renowned in later times.”

“I do not do this for glory, Artanis,” Erumelmo rasped, his dark brown eyes flashing with pinpoints of white. “Nor for renown, nor that the Aleaningwë name shall be inscribed in elven lore! I cross this abject place for the love I bear to those with me here – and to the one who faces Thangorodrim even as we utter words here. It is to them that I commit.”

Artanis drew herself straighter and looked down her nose at him. “You do not believe that the Silmarils are worthy to be sought back? Or that the one who took them should be punished? Or that the creator of these stones, who betrayed us, even like Bauglir, should be made to see the error of his ways?”

“Nay,” came the immediate retort. “I do not. It is not for us to deal out judgement. Though Melkor –”

“Morgoth.”

Erumelmo sighed. “Morgoth. Though he was iniquitous, though the trees were destroyed, though Fëanáro’s loss was so grave – and I mean most the death of his father, instead of merely the loss of those jewels – though he betrayed us – it is not for us to decide who should live or die. We do not know all the ends to all things, Artanis. And it would be folly to presume we do.”

“Nolomelmo, indeed.” Artanis whispered. Erumelmo could see the anger in her eyes, even though the Northern Lights had stopped glowing. “Since you have journeyed here for love, Rumel, I recommend your speedy return to where your sister and brother repose.”

Erumelmo’s eyes tightened. Then the lines around them cleared as he understood. “Rosse.” He whispered. Without bidding anyone good bye, he strode out of the circle of rock and toward his siblings.

“Rumel!” Findekáno called out. When Erumelmo did not look back, Findekáno said something to Irissë and followed his friend out of the circle.

Behind, Artanis blinked and in a few moments, the anger left her. She shut her eyes in an admission of guilt.

Aikanáro walked towards Artanis. “What has provoked this haste?” Findaráto narrowed his eyes. Then exchanged a glance with Irissë.

“A disquiet which I should never have conveyed,” Artanis said bleakly. Gathering her hood, she followed in Findekáno’s footsteps.


* * *

When they reached the place of the lean-to, they saw that it had been turned down. The rock still stood there – large and imposing, buffering the wind from the sea, but not enough to keep clothes or hair still even for an instant. Snow began to come in on the air; it stuck to their faces and created a glaze on their brows and eyelashes. For the time being, it went unnoticed.

Elerossë was laid out on the ground. His expression serene. His hands rested on his stomach. The hilt of his sword, Zarussë, lay between his fingers. His dark hair was the only thing that still had life, skipping over his cheeks and forehead in repetitive movement. There was no movement of brow or chest to indicate life within Elerossë though. Serenity devoid of life.

Elnaira was seated near him, when she saw Erumelmo, she stood up and came to his side. She did not say anything, just lay her head on his shoulder and her left hand came to rest on his heart. Erumelmo wondered if she could hear the wail trapped within his chest – for it beat against his ribs most forcefully and threatened to erupt. But now was not the time. Now was not the time.

He felt a hand over his shoulder and he knew it was Findekáno. Another presence beside Elnaira. Artanis. He was glad. Help was around. He needed it. For if he moved but a little, the cry would wrench out and he would not be able to end it – such was its power.

Without another word, Findekáno and Artanis stepped forward. They looked around and surmised the crowd of elves around them.

“Silmë,” Artanis said, “he needs to be covered well in his cloak.”

“Taurohtar,” Findekáno said, “Hand Zarussë to Elnaira. Elerossë shall not need it where he now has to journey.”

Elnaira sobbed a little at that, but stepped away from her brother. She held out both her hands. The sword was handed over to her.

Artanis knelt down by Elerossë’s head. She took his face in her hands, bent, kissed his forehead. “Find your way to the Western Halls, Elerossë Manarnéca.”

Tears betrayed Erumelmo, when he heard the epessë given to his twin. Manarnéca, Dim Fate. He stepped forward then and knelt down to press his lips against the cold brow of his brother, so like his own. “Rest now, Elerossë. We shall meet again.”

Erumelmo, Findekáno, Taurohtar, and three other neri lifted the body, and carried it to the precipice. Far below the sea raged. The swell heaved its bosom and crashed against the incline, the water tossed high into the air, calling out to them.

Elnaira dropped to her knees as they carried her brother passed her. Her sobs tearing out of her. Silmë went to her and took her in an embrace.

When Erumelmo began to sing, they all looked up at the brother who carried a brother on his shoulder.

“When the Elves on High call Elerossë from Taniquetil,
His sweetest songs they shall find have fallen still:
Varda has lost one of her brightest stars this night,
Yavanna shall know why some of her flowers have spurned delight;
Manwë himself broods on his mighty, airy throne,
While Niënna weeps, sitting in the farthest West, all alone.

This Elf’s sister mourns the loss of fraternal love,
To resemble her heart the other stars darken above;
This Elf’s brother, so like him in appearance and form,
Conceals within his heart the bitterest storm
That wrenches like this foaming, gasping sea
And echoes this wind’s absolute cacophony.

Quiet in mood, calm as the dew collected within Varda’s wells,
Vala, we commend this elf, ere we submit him to this sea’s swells,

In Valinor, his mother shall look for the return of his constant smile:
Without suspicion, without disdain, without any presence of guile.
The sea shall carry him to those blessed shores again
Where he shall be free from doubt, torment, fate and pain.

In Valinor, his father shall look for the return of this beloved son
Who lived his life for others when all was said and done,
This wind shall carry him beyond this barren and cold air
To a place of light built for hearts which are fairest of the fair.”


It seemed as the wind collected Elerossë from their shoulders. It bore him down and he entered into the foaming water, feet first, his cape billowing about him like a wild thing. In a few moments, he was lost to sight.




[Edited on 5/5/2008 by Erumelmo]
"Why? Because I'm afraid and he gives me courage."
TurinTurimbar
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Post RE: Conquering Helcaraxë (KEEP)
on: April 22, 2008 12:02
((Sorry for my absense and the berevity of my post))

Taurohtar had fallen back into thought until Erumelmo and Findekáno suddenly appeared out of the snow and handed him Elerosse's sword.

“Taurohtar,” Findekáno said, “Hand Zarussë to Elnaira. Elerossë shall not need it where he now has to journey.” With that simple, command, Taurohtar obeyed and then stood slightly behind Erumelmo, ready to do anything asked of him.

The hulking, steely elf did not shed a single tear, but his face was etched with not only the pain of losing a friend, but also of sharing the pain of Elerosse's family as he helped to carry Elerosse's body to the edge of the ice.

Taurohtar stood silent when Erumelmo first started singing his song, but soon Taurohtar joined in with his deep, bass voice seemingly resonating through the elves around him. The voice with which he sung dripped with saddness, but had a resoluteness to it that comforted those who heard. As the song came to a close, Taurohtar's voice finally cracked and a single tear fell from one of his gray eyes.

He then turned to Erumelmo and said, "If there is anything you need me to do...tell me, and I shall accomplish it."
Maralyn_Imladiel
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Post RE: Conquering Helcaraxë (KEEP)
on: May 16, 2008 03:01
Ondotano wondered why his wife stayed silent on their way to the Mid-host.

True, her attitude toward him had been cool of late. But hadn’t she brightened when told of Silmë’s visit? Surely she was looking forward to meeting a good friend, especially one she had been parted from for so long!

Instead, Earlindë looked absentminded. Her grip on Ondotano’s arm was stiff and cold, and her face—though barely visible beneath the hood she wore—was little different. Ondotano decided then was as good a time as any to inquire of his wife’s thoughts.

“You do not speak, melmenya. Does something trouble you?”

Earlindë's voice betrayed little emotion, as usual. “I did not know my silence was discomforting to you.”

“I do confess to missing your voice,” Ondotano admitted, “But I was inquiring of your attitude towards Silmë’s visit. Are you not delighted to see her again?” He steered Earlindë out of the path of two neri bearing a dead animal of some kind upon their shoulders, wrinkling his nose at the stench.

“I do not express my delight as other nissi do, if that is what you were expecting.”

This was true---Earlindë’s quiet, thoughtful nature had set her apart from other nissi in Tirion, and it had been one of the things that had drawn Ondotano to her in the first place. She was not prone to babble and rarely giggled, but expressed her joy in subtler ways. However, none of these could her husband detect now.

“Forgive me if my skills of observation have declined of late.” When his wife did not respond, Ondotano decided to change the subject. “Why do you not sing with the other nissi upon the march? I remember it being a favourite pastime of yours.”

Earlindë’s step faltered for the briefest of moments, and Ondotano could sense—if not entirely see---the surprise on her features. Clearly she had not been expecting this question.

“I do not sing for reasons of my own,” she finally replied, refusing to impart anything else.

As they walked, the sky above them softly exploded into a rainbow of shifting colors. Ondotano drew in his breath in wonder, and even Earlindë made a small noise of appreciation.

“Beautiful,” she murmured, though her voice held a hint of sadness.

“Beautiful, indeed,” Ondotano mused aloud. “Perhaps some good has arisen from these tribulations, after all.”

Earlindë turned to face him. “Good?” Resentment was evident in her voice. “How can you believe anything can compensate for the evil that has been committed?”

“I never said that.”

“It was implied.” Earlindë’s voice was beginning to hold more than bitterness—she was releasing all the anger that had been locked inside her since the Kinslaying.

“Forgive me, melmen–”

“Nothing can justify what happened at Alqualondë. Nothing!” She was going on as if Ondotano had never spoken. By now they had stopped walking and were facing each other. Several nissi hurrying by shot curious glances towards the couple.

“I know that!” Ondotano was starting to get irritated. What right did his wife have to attack him in such a manner, and without warning? It simply wouldn’t do. He was beginning to think he preferred the old, indifferent Earlindë to this new, firey one...

“Why did you allow yourself to be misled by Fëanáro in the first place?” She spat out the word as one would a piece of rotting fruit. “We might have been safe and content in Tirion right now instead of wandering these desolate, freezing wastes!” A sudden gust of wind swept the hood from Earlindë’s head, and Ondotano noticed half-frozen tears running down her cheeks. His wife was crying. Crying!

But she was far from finished. “I’ve had enough, Ondotano. You keep saying everything will turn out all right, but I fail to see how it can when my own kin–” here her voice caught in her throat, but she continued after a long pause. “--When so many Teleri lie dead beneath the waves, and the Valar themselves have forsaken us. We are a doomed people, Ondotano. If not doomed to die here, then doomed to fade away in a strange land devoid of the things that we hold dear.”

Her husband could do nothing but listen. He had grown used to his wife’s melancholy nature, but this...he had never seen her like this before.

“I want to go back,” she whispered. “I want to visit all the old places, and see all the people whose voices are now beginning to fade from my memory. I want to walk through the shipyards at Alqualondë and sit upon the prow of my father’s ship, like I did when I was a youngster.” She swallowed more tears as they threatened to overcome her. “I want there to be light again, Ondotano. I want everything to be the same as it once was.”

A sudden wave of pity swept over Ondotano, and he tentatively reached out and took his wife’s hand. “It is impossible for things to go back exactly the way they were...you know this.” When Earlindë made no effort to move away from his touch, he lifted a hand to wipe the tears from her stricken face. “Please don’t weep, melmenya...would you dare to hope again, for me?”

His wife let a weary sigh escape her lips—clearly the outburst had drained her of her energy. “Hope in what? In Nolofinwë? In the Valar?” She pursed her lips and turned her face away from Ondotano. “No one dares to hope—not now, not here.”

Ondatano found himself at a loss for words. What could he say to soothe his wife’s aching heart? When it came to rock and ore, there were none more skilled than he. But he had never had a way with words. Not like his own dear mother, who had always known what to say to lift his spirits. Not like Fëanáro, who had moved an entire city with his voice alone.

“Come,” he finally said, offering Earlindë his arm. “Silmë is waiting.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Neither elf spoke throughout the rest of the journey.

Though she had resumed her cold visage, Earlindë was angry---angry at herself for being so weak, and angry at Ondotano for a variety of reasons.

As often as she tried to keep her mind on the present, her thoughts kept straying to the past. The words ‘if only...” repeatedly flitted through her head. If only Morgoth had not stolen the Silmarils...if only Ondotano had not gone to hear Fëanáro speak in the first place...if only the Teleri had given up their ships without a fuss. If only...if only...

As she was thinking these things, the Northern Lights began to wane, and finally disappeared altogether. Oddly enough, this suited Earlindë, who preferred the heavens to reflect her mood. The stars still shone, however, the only sources of light to be found. Ondotano had once referred to them as ‘beacons of hope’.

Earlindë clenched her jaw. She was not ready to set her heart on feeble strands of dreams that would probably never come to pass. Not yet.

She was so absorbed in her own thoughts that she almost failed to notice the gentle nudge her husband gave her. He had brought them to a halt, and was now pointing a finger in the direction of a stony outcrop.

“There,” he said, “Is Silmë.”

Earlindë turned her gaze in the direction her husband was pointing. She could make out a lean-to of some sort, and beside it stood her friend. Suddenly, Earlindë felt a twinge of nervousness. It had been a long time since she had last met with Silmë, and they had both dealt with much. Would this somehow affect their friendship, make their conversations awkward?

Ondotano stood by expectantly, as if waiting for his wife to greet her friend first. Earlindë, however, could not bring herself to move. It was as if she had been rooted to the spot. Her husband eyed her in concern, no doubt puzzled by her uncharacteristic behavior.

Perhaps we should come back at a more suitable time, a part of her was whispering. However, it was too late to think of turning back---Silmë had seen them, and was now striding towards them with a radiant smile lighting up her features.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

((Thank you all for waiting patiently for this post. It's still a rought draft, but should suffice for the present.))
Isillindë
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Post RE: Conquering Helcaraxë (KEEP)
on: May 20, 2008 02:48
Silmë waited for Taurohtar to say something but he did not. Flustered by his silence, she took a step backward. She turned to leave, then hesitated. She had to meet Elnaira somehow. She looked into the gathering of elves close by – they must know the family, Silmë assumed, and must be wanting to stay close by in their hour of need. She searched for Hendalacon but could not recognise his form amongst the cluster. Her hands dropped to her side and the wind immediately took away her hood from atop her head, it wilted behind her neck, giving an occasional flutter. Her silver hair caught in the wind and snagged into it with sharp wavers.

“Ohtar,” she said, more sharply this time, directing her steely green gaze at the tall warrior seated before her. “You must let me pass! I am a friend of the family. I have known Fanuiamarth for innumerable blossomings of the Two Trees, and I wish to lend whatever help I can provide to Elnaira at this time of need and distress. Fanuiamarth and I –” Silmë’s words were cut short, for Elnaira had just walked out of the lean-to.

Elnaira narrowed her eyes, trying to recognise her.

“My lady,” Silmë said. Her eyes were slightly wide. “You – have blood on your face.”

Elnaira blinked. She looked at her hands, they had begun to bleed. Blood must have removed from her hand as she wiped at her eyes.

“Aye,” Elnaira said softly. “I tried to make my body feel as much pain as my heart. More fool I.” She saw Taurohtar rise to his feet from the corner of her eye.

“I –” Silmë began. She stopped short. Then tried again. “I am deeply sorry for your loss, Elnaira. I am Silmë, sister to Elenwë.”

Elnaira’s face lost its frown of confusion and deliberation. “Ah,” she said. “Aye, I recall now. Fanui spoke of you often.”

Silmë’s cheeks bloomed with colour. “He – he did?”

Elnaira nearly smiled. “Aye. Often. In detail. I am the one he confides in, when he has a mind to.”

Silmë did not know how to pursue the topic, not entirely sure now that she wanted to. So she said, “May I wash your hands?”

Elnaira’s eyes clouded over again. It was like the waning of the two trees at the same time. “I suppose. But I’d rather do it out here. The cold seems less bitter than the loss that roves within. I must wait till Erumelmo returns. Come, sit with me.”

They did not walk into the lean-to, but sat just outside it, where Taurohtar had been sitting. They kept their backs against the wind. Elven ladies came up to Elnaira and offered their compassion, by a look and a touch, they did not stay for they realised she wished to speak to the silver-haired nessi sitting beside her.

Silmë gently took the water that one of the elves offered and the fabric that Taurohtar was now holding to her. She smiled at him, her earlier annoyance with him forgotten. She wet it and then proceeded to clean the scraped skin on Elnaira’s hand; seeing the broken nails and the blood oozing from the abrasions, Silmë gritted her teeth; but she kept her silence. She cleaned the wounds as gently as she could, casting surreptitious glances at Elnaira, but the older nessi’s eyes had a far-away look in them. She seemed to not sense the injury to her fingers at all.

“As youngsters, Elerossë and Erumelmo would often try to confuse us regarding the identity of the two of them. But we soon realised how we could tell them apart.” Elnaira whispered, her eyes still holding the look of memory.

“How?” Silmë asked in a murmur. The wind swirled between them and for a few moments, when Elnaira kept her silence, Silmë thought that the wind had taken up her word.

But: “Rossë always followed Rumel. In whatever task. He would always abide by Rumel or my directives.”

Silmë smiled. “Fanui said that Elerossë favoured his left hand, while Erumelmo favours his right.”

Elnaira smiled, too. She turned to look at Silmë. “Aye. ‘Tis true. Fanui spoke as much about us to you as he spoke about you to us, it would seem.” Then her head lowered. “‘Favoured.’ We already speak of him as in the past.”

“Oh,” Silmë’s face took on a look of contrition. “My lady, I did not mean – I –”

“No.” Elnaira said, shaking her head. She squeezed Silmë’s hand. “It is a fact – you need not be regretful. If you are done with my hand, I have to take care of – a few things.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Oh,” Elnaira said, standing up and securing her hood, “dispense with the decorum, Silmë. Call me by my name – you know us – Fanui – well enough.”

Silmë blushed and stood up with Elnaira. “How can I help?”

“We have no need of the lean-to.” Elnaira said perfunctorily. “And we need to ready Elerossë.” Elnaira stopped and took a deep breath.

Silmë did not say anything. She just placed a hand on Elnaira’s shoulder. Elnaira’s head lifted slightly and she called out to Taurohtar.

* * *

As they cleaned Elerossë’s torso and face, Silmë could not help but feel the loss as deeply as if he had been her brother, too. The sedate look on his face defied the wind outside. The lean-to was brought down just as Silmë fitted his headdress on his brow. The metal glinted as smatterings of the northern lights threatened to burst in the dark sky.

Slowly, the elves, who had been around offering help, came in closer to pay their respects. Silmë stepped back. She looked for Earlindë. White snow began to drift about in the air before her eyes as they searched the crowd, but her friend was – then she saw her. Delight rushed in on seeing a face she loved and recognised so well. Earlindë was walking beside Ondotano. He saw Silmë first and directed Earlindë’s gaze to her. Silmë was already rushing forward with a smile on her face.

She reached the couple and took Earlindë into a warm embrace. “Oh, I am so thankful that you have come.” She said. She pulled back and turned her smile on Ondotano. Without leaving Earlindë, she pressed his forearm with her hand. “I am glad for your company.”

Then she looked at Earlindë again. “Elerossë has left for the halls of the Valar once more.” She said with a sigh. “The –” Her words were cut off in a gasp, since her eyes had fallen upon Elerossë. He was walking! Silmë blinked furiously, then she realised that it was not Elerossë she was looking at – it was his twin brother, Erumelmo. She took in a steadying breath and told Earlindë, “Come, we must go to them.”

As they approached, they saw other High-Elves join Erumelmo. Findekáno, Prince of the Noldor and Artanis, Lady of Light. Elves bowed their heads in respect as they approached the body of Elerossë.

Without another word, Findekáno and Artanis stepped forward. They looked around and surmised the crowd of elves around them.

“Silmë,” Artanis said, “he needs to be covered well in his cloak.”

Silmë stepped forward and took the cloak that lay just on Elerossë’s right shoulder and pulled it to cover his entire frame. With help from Earlindë, she lifted Elerossë’s head and pulled the cloak’s hood up around his face.

“Taurohtar,” Findekáno said, “Hand Zarussë to Elnaira. Elerossë shall not need it where he now has to journey.”

Elnaira sobbed a little at that, but stepped away from her brother. She held out both her hands. The sword was handed over to her.

Artanis knelt down by Elerossë’s head. She took his face in her hands, bent, kissed his forehead. “Find your way to the Western Halls, Elerossë Manarnéca.”

Erumelmo was crying as he stepped forward and knelt down to press his lips against the cold brow of his brother, so like his own. “Rest now, Elerossë. We shall meet again.”

Ondotano came forward to help Erumelmo, Findekáno, Taurohtar, and two other neri to lift the body, and carry it to the precipice. Far below the sea raged. The swell heaved its bosom and crashed against the incline, the water tossed high into the air, calling out to them.

Elnaira dropped to her knees as they carried her brother passed her. Her sobs tearing out of her. Silmë went to her and took her in an embrace.

When Erumelmo began to sing, they all looked up at the brother who carried a brother on his shoulder.

Silmë could not help but cry as she saw Elerossë disappear over the cliff. She looked at Earlindë over Elnaira’s head and wished that all those she loved would never go through such pain – ever!
Erumelmo
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Post RE: Conquering Helcaraxë (KEEP)
on: June 26, 2008 01:58
There was nothing left to do but move on. Brother and sister stood at the precipice from where they had seen their younger brother last. The snow fall had increased, but their eyes could still make out the sea below through the shifting whiteness. But there was no sign in the foaming sea below to mark Elerossë’s passage. It was turbulent and angry, raging its might against the rocks. Despite the dark converging with the snow, they both could see the frothing spumes against the dull grey of rock. The dark was gathering but it was no match for the darkness that now settled within their hearts.

Far in the distance, the Horns of Nessa resounded, in the east and then came the answer from the west. Erumelmo’s eyes shifted to the East. Elnaira’s shifted back towards the West. Erumelmo glanced down at his sister and brushed his lips against her forehead. He turned to face Taurohtar, who had been standing behind him. He nodded his assent to the tall warrior. The sound of the Horn reverberated in the air, carrying itself over the mid-host, in gentle waves.

Findekáno was standing beside Silmë. Erumelmo walked up to them. Findekáno’s eyes held great compassion and a promise of help. Erumelmo’s eyes flickered with indebtedness; then he turned to look at Silmë. “Elnaira has spoken to me of you. I was not aware of your bond with Fanui. But, if you could –”

Silmë stepped forward and took Erumelmo’s hand in hers. “Say no more. I shall be willing to stay as long as your family has need of me.”

Erumelmo smiled. He looked at Findekáno. “I am beholden to your family, Fin.”

Findekáno took in a breath, his eyes held untold remorse. “Nay, Rumel.” He said, coming forward and grasping his friend’s shoulder. “It is we who are beholden to yours.”

“Fare thee well, Fin, my beloved friend.” Erumelmo said, embracing the dark-haired son of Nolofinwë. “We are to finally brave this land of ice and face whatever that awaits us beyond it. For it is with the utmost certainty, have I realised that the gates of Tirion are closed to us forever.”

Findekáno stepped back and gazed into Erumelmo’s darkened eyes. “Forever is not something we can ever be sure of, Rumel. Even the Valar cannot tell what shall happen with the next turn in tide – it is for us to create our morrow. The next step is what we should think about; there is no wisdom in despair – and certainly no hope. Nay, I know what it is you will say – and I shall have none of it. You have to think of the ones who love you, Rumel. The right to being desolate is not yours – not until every last one of us reaches Námo’s Hall. Remember that.”

“I shall remember it.”

“Good. Then be well, my friend. I shall look to you when we halt next.” Then he cast a glance at Silmë. “And to you, too, little one.”

Findekáno smiled and moved away into the crowd. Silmë was standing with two other elves, she presented them as her friends, Eärlindë and Ondotano. They helped in gathering their meagre belongings together. It was not long after that the host began to move onto the seemingly never-ending plains of ice.
"Why? Because I'm afraid and he gives me courage."
Isillindë
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Post RE: Conquering Helcaraxë (KEEP)
on: June 26, 2008 02:02
The snow had not stopped falling since the Elerossë’s passing. After Elerossë’s funeral, there had been others. Death was not uncommon. Elves who had previously been injured kept succumbing to their wounds, but to be sent to the Halls of Námo, in the company of a High Prince of the Vanyar was in itself an honour. Some, who had survived by an effort of will, finally gave in when they heard of Elerossë’s passing.

The snow covered all their bodies and gave them mantles of white as they passed into the sea. Silmë walked with Eärlindë, telling her of the events that had transpired so far and lending assistance to a family if they needed it. It was one such snow covered body that she noticed Hendalacon. She walked up to him with an inquiring expression.

Without looking at her, he said, “He was a friend.”

She took his hand and pressed. Eärlindë stepped back and gave them some privacy.

“You are going to accompany the mid-host?”

“Aye,” she answered. “For a while. Elnaira needs me.”

“Your own sister needs you.” His voice was a hiss, barely containing his anger.

“You are angry.”

“Aye, I am. You care more for them than you do your own family.”

Silmë’s green eyes flashed. “Fanuiamarth’s family is the same as my own, Hendalacon. He feels the same about you and me – for all of his friends. Or have you forgotten why he joined Fëanáro, to begin with?”

Hendalacon’s face suffused with colour. “Nay, I have not.” Then his eyes turned hot again. “Always, you think of him.” His hand grasped hers tightly.

Silmë’s eyes flared. “I must.” She tried pulling her hand back, but he would not let go.

“Must you? Why can you not feel the same about me?”

“I do feel for you, Hendalacon. You are like my broth –”

“Cease!” Hendalacon dropped her hand, like it was molten stone. “Cease!” His grey eyes turned lighter and flashed with the deepest intensity. He looked at her for a long moment. Then he twisted his large form and stalked away into the crowd, the white fur of his cloak disappearing amid the falling snow.

Troubled by what she had seen in his eyes, Silmë walked back to where Eärlindë stood.

***

They met Findekáno on their way back to the lean-to. He raised a brow at her in question. “I have permission from Turukáno and Elenwë to be here.”

Findekáno nodded. He did not probe her for more; though by the half-smile he came to have, she assumed he already knew more than she thought he did. They stopped as they saw Erumelmo and Elnaira standing at the brink of the precipice, holding each other, looking out to the sea. Silmë bit her lip.

Findekáno waited by her side patiently. When the call of the Horns of Nessa assailed the air, Erumelmo stirred. He came over to them and his first words were to her.

“Elnaira has spoken to me of you. I was not aware of your bond with Fanui. But, if you could –”

Silmë stepped forward and took Erumelmo’s hand in hers. “Say no more. I shall be willing to stay as long as your family has need of me.”

Erumelmo smiled. He looked at Findekáno. “I am beholden to your family, Fin.”

Findekáno took in a breath, his eyes held untold remorse. “Nay, Rumel.” He said, coming forward and grasping his friend’s shoulder. “It is we who are beholden to yours.”

“Fare thee well, Fin, my beloved friend.” Erumelmo said, embracing the dark-haired son of Nolofinwë. “We are to finally brave this land of ice and face whatever that awaits us beyond it. For it is with the utmost certainty, have I realised that the gates of Tirion are closed to us forever.”

Findekáno stepped back and gazed into Erumelmo’s darkened eyes. “Forever is not something we can ever be sure of, Rumel. Even the Valar cannot tell what shall happen with the next turn in tide – it is for us to create our morrow. The next step is what we should think about; there is no wisdom in despair – and certainly no hope. Nay, I know what it is you will say – and I shall have none of it. You have to think of the ones who love you, Rumel. The right to being desolate is not yours – not until every last one of us reaches Námo’s Hall. Remember that.”

“I shall remember it.”

“Good. Then be well, my friend. I shall look to you when we halt next.” Then he cast a glance at Silmë. “And to you, too, little one.”


She had kept silent through the conversation Erumelmo had with Findekáno. Now that she was spoken to she replied softly, “Pray, tell my sister that I shall be with her soon enough.”

He smiled and nodded. As she gazed at him disappearing into the crowd, she felt that she should have returned with him. But the feeling was a fleeting one and when Eärlindë called to her, she completely forgot about it.
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Post RE: Conquering Helcaraxë (KEEP)
on: June 26, 2008 02:04
The tide had turned its cycle ten times. Elnaira knew this for she never lost sight of the sea. As a grave precaution, for snow covered the ice everywhere now, the host tried to remain as close to the sea as was possible. For Elnaira, it was a boon. She felt closer to both her brothers this way. Elerossë’s laughing eyes shifted before her perspective of the sea and her own eyes burned.

They had marched continuously for word spread through the hosts that Artanis had predicted the onset of a blizzard. The snow, it seemed, fell with a resolve now and the winds tried to push them back. Snow permanently nested on their brows and eyelashes. It stuck to their hair and clothes. When they would speak they would have to turn their backs to the wind in order for their voices to carry. Sometimes, the winds grew so fierce that they had to bend down and lumber behind each other, taking hold of each other.

There had been numerous accidents and deaths – for the journey was fraught with danger. Some who were reckless were thrown off balance by the gusts of wind into the sea. Some who walked in the interior sections of the host fell through thin sheets of ice that were treacherously covered by layers of snow.

Elnaira hardly noticed the snow. She pushed ahead with one aim in sight. Fanuiamarth. She would meet him and somehow, Erumelmo would get them back to Valinor. But what she had to do now was find Fanuiamarth. However, when the wind grew to its bitterest and all the stars were hidden, like they were now, Elnaira felt the cold seep into her heart. She began to grasp now what Miriel had once felt. She could never understand Miriel’s despair, when she was told about it, so long ago, in the halls of Ingwë. But now – now she found she realized the anguish of what it was to lose something.

Fanuiamarth was her last salvation to hope.
"Why? Because I'm afraid and he gives me courage."
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Post RE: Conquering Helcaraxë (KEEP)
on: June 26, 2008 02:06
“I have heard that a blizzard approaches.” Silmë said.

Elnaira turned slightly to her left to hear the younger nissi. “That shall not hinder the host’s progress.” Elnaira stated assuredly. “Until we can move through the snow and the wind, Nolofinwë shall not stop.”

“You know this?” Silmë practically shouted.

“Aye.” The syllable was taken by the wind before it even left her lips.

“Elnaira, I –”

Elnaira cut her off. “Aye, Silmë, you should be with Elenwë. I am grateful for your presence through –” She paused. The wind took her sigh. “You should be with your sister.”

“You are my sister, too.” Silmë’s green eyes flashed, they looked white under the snow covering her eyelashes. She was holding her hood up with both of her hands.

Elnaira smiled and blinked against the wind. In an impulse, she enfolded Silmë in an embrace. “I know. But I have Rumel with me. Elenwë needs you.”

Erumelmo had come to them from the front. He heard bits of the conversation and gathered its entirety. “Nay, El. Silmë, you must stay with us till the worst of the storm is over. You are my responsibility. I know you have Eärlindë and Ondotano, but it is too dangerous now. I cannot risk losing you all to the snow.”

Silmë understood his reasoning and bit her lip.
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Post RE: Conquering Helcaraxë (KEEP)
on: June 27, 2008 03:38
The beginning of the storm lasted for three turns of the tide.

Through the first two turns, the host had trudged along the snow, until it reached just below their knees. This was the first time, an element of the natural world hindered an elf. It seemed like Morgoth and the Valar were united in their determination on this one score: to not let them pass. As fatigue, eventually, overrode not only their hunger but also their determination, the host finally settled to bear out the storm. They huddled together in large groups, shielding themselves against the fierce currents of air that seemed worse than the raging of the sea, accepting each other’s meagre body warmth.

One certainty charged their will: They had reached the heart of Helcaraxë! Though they could not see the distant lands curve on either side, though the stars were all hidden, they all knew that this was the zenith of what they had to endure. They had not eaten much for the past four turns of the tide, but none among the host complained. They all knew that this was their fate, and it had been chosen by none other than themselves. All they had to do now was endure.

After seeing to the well-being of as many elves as he could, Erumelmo returned to Elnaira. Seeing him return, Taurohtar stood up to take charge of his duties. Elnaira was sitting between Silmë and Eärlindë. Ondotano was on Eärlindë’s right. Erumelmo squatted down and then pulled his feet out of the snow. He swiveled around to sit beside Silmë. Their backs were to the wind. Blinking back the hardened snow, he looked at their faces. Only Elnaira looked back at him. He was staggered by the amount of expectation he saw in her eyes, what made this contact painful was the despair he saw mingled with faith.

Suddenly, an image flashed into his mind. Instead of Elnaira’s eyes, he could see a silver sphere rotating and shedding a translucent, hoary light through utter darkness. At the very thought of it, he felt the thrill of hope. When he blinked, the sphere was one with the pelting snow. The hope still remained warm in his heart.

***

As the tide turned, the storm abated. They knew it was but a brief respite, before the blizzard would return. The stars shone through a dark sky and shed silver light onto the white landscape, creating a surreal panorama. They could see for miles in either direction and concluded that they were indeed in the very centre of their journey. In the farthest horizons on the east, they could see the latter half of the storm raging and slowly moving towards them. It was a beautiful and terrible sight!

Immediately, factions of the most able warriors were sent out to gather whatever they could in terms of food. Taurohtar led one of these groups. Elves from one host moved to the other carrying news, or to ask after those they knew or were related to.

Artanis and Findekáno both approached the mid-host, the former on her way to Turukáno, the latter on his way to meet with Nolofinwë.

Artanis looked the same – she showed no sign of hunger on her face. This was true of most of the elves, since their minds were occupied with concern and worry, hunger did not yet have that much sway as yet.

“You fared well?” She asked.

“The families have accounted over three score missing.” Erumelmo reported grimly.

“That is a better fate than our host,” Artanis said.

“And ours,” Findekáno added, a tick in his jaw conveying his feelings regarding the deaths.

“I have to carry the standards of Nolofinwë to Turukáno. These,” she indicated to three tall masts, each held by an elf. Erumelmo looked up and squinted at the banner that flapped in the wind. On a bed of deep blue, was a yellow circle, with arms of fire shooting out of it. “The vision appeared to him as he led us through the snow. He explained it as a globe of fire, sailing through the sky. The artists in his host made these – the task was completed just before the storm.”

“Did he tell you what it meant?”

Artanis shook her head. “Nay.”

“It was a globe of fire?”

“That is what he said.” Artanis mentioned. Then she narrowed her eyes. “You have seen it as well?”

“Nay.” Erumelmo said, thinking back to the image he had seen when he looked into Elnaira’s eyes. “It was not a globe of fire. It was something infinitely more subtle, like a pearl trying to be found in the depths of the darkest sea.”

“A globe?” Findekáno asked.

“Aye.”

“What do you think it means?”

Erumelmo looked at Findekáno. Then at Artanis. “It reminded me of the light from the elder of the Two. It made me recall Telperion.”
"Why? Because I'm afraid and he gives me courage."
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Post RE: Conquering Helcaraxë (KEEP)
on: June 30, 2008 10:46
Silmë blinked twice to get rid of the snow covering her eyes. When it proved difficult to displace, she used her hand. She was surprised to see it trembling. She was feeling cold! The realization did not make her forget the thought running through her mind. She had discussed this with Eärlindë and the latter agreed that it was time.

She stood up with effort. The snow had made all movement terribly arduous – this was not something that she could have ever thought possible. Though after what she had witnessed in the recent past, she did not think that anything was impossible to either feel or experience. She stood up with Eärlindë’s help. Dislodging the snow around her legs, and, after she came to balance on her feet, she dusted the snow off her cloak. The wind was still strong, though not as powerful as the one that came with the storm. She motioned with her hand, indicating that Eärlindë need not get up.

She walked over to where Erumelmo stood, talking to Artanis and Findekáno. When they noticed Silmë, they stopped talking and gave her their attention. Silmë bowed differentially to the High-Elves and then looked at Erumelmo. “My lord,” she began, “I must take this opportunity. The storm has abated –”

“For a while,” Erumelmo interjected, his brown eyes appearing black in the gloom.

“For a while,” she agreed with a small nod. “But I mean to take this opportunity to go back to the rear-host. I wish to be with my sister.”

“As it happens,” Erumelmo smiled, “Lady Artanis is on her way to meet with Lord Turukáno with news. She shall make it just in time, for the rest of the storm approaches.”

Artanis met Silmë’s eyes and smiled, too. “I shall be with the rear-host then, as Findekáno moves to the former. You shall be my ward until we meet your sister, Silmë.”

“I shall be honoured, milady,” Silmë said, with another bow.

Within a span of a few moments, Silmë was ready to leave. She clasped Elnaira in a warm embrace. “I have found another sister,” she said softly, close to Elnaira’s ear. Then she looked at Erumelmo, “I shall not be far, in case you ever have need of me.”

“I shall be close, too,” he said, softly.

***

As they walked back, Silmë saw the ravages of the storm. She saw elves move towards the outer boundaries of the host – for there were those who were trapped in the snow. Many, who were separated from the periphery of the host, were now found: buried within the snow. These were the places where the dead could be found; in other places, all that remained was a gaping hole, where the ice had suddenly decided to shift and break apart, taking down several who were unfortunate to be walking on it just then.

This made Silmë uneasy and anxious. She felt threatened by what she had never thought dangerous – and it was not a feeling she liked at all. She yet did not know fear in the true sense of the word or feeling – but when she thought of her sister and those she loved, she felt a disquiet that built a knot in her stomach. This perhaps was something what fear felt like.

Every time the ice moved, the knot tightened. The storm was approaching fast.

Artanis walked ahead, answering the queries of those who were too harried to think of decorum. Many wanted more questions answered; but Artanis replied just as much as she wanted to.

Suddenly, silver light enveloped them for a few moments and there fell a hush over the elves. As one, they all looked up to the skies. The haze had parted temporarily and the stars shone bright. They were like bright diamonds kept on a bed of the deepest blue velvet. A slow murmur grew within the host. Silmë saw what the others could. The stars appeared to be falling – they were not actually – they merely appeared to be. Some just seemed to burn out without leaving the skies. Then the haze covered them all once more.

Artanis’ inhaled deeply. Then turned her face back to the sea of elves and began walking briskly. Her face was impassive, betraying no emotion. Silmë walked faster and caught up with her, despite the clinging snow. She took a grave look at Artanis’ face. Those brilliant blue eyes flashed and caught her own green ones once. Silmë gasped. The stars foretold numerous deaths. Silmë stopped in her tracks.

But whose? Her eyes abruptly began to water. She had family everywhere now. Her heart seemed to tear under the weight of decision. Where should she be?

Artanis noticed that Silmë had come to a standstill. She turned around and walked to the younger nessi. “You have already made your choice,” she said, more sharply than she intended, for she, too, was fearful. Being a leader, she was burdened manifold! “And it is too late to go back.” She added, making her voice softer. “Come, let us not tarry.” She turned around and began walking again, ignoring the questions that came at her.

Silmë felt the push of a gentle hand. She looked at Eärlindë who was standing at her side. The tears rolled down her cheeks, and almost instantly froze.

***

After the presentiment, the call of Nessa’s horns rang out from the first host. Nolofinwë had decided not to wait for the storm to come to them. He intended for them to set out and greet it! The first host had already begun to move.

As the tide turned for the second time, they heard the horns calling from the mid-host. Silmë shut her eyes and could nearly picture Erumelmo and Elnaira beginning to walk into the storm. When she opened her eyes and walked a bit further, the crowd parted and she saw Elenwë, bent over a warrior, tending his wound. Idril saw Silmë first and rushed to greet her, crying out her name. Elenwë heard her and came to her feet. She met Silmë’s eyes and she smiled, in complete relief. She waited for Silmë to reach her, then she stepped forward and took her younger sister in her arms.

Just then, the latter part of the storm hit the host that was being led by Nolofinwë.
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Post RE: Conquering Helcaraxë (KEEP)
on: September 24, 2008 02:45
He watched Silmë walk away with Artanis. Then blinking against the light snow dusting his eyelashes, he turned to Túrë. “You will take care of Elnaira.” He questioned, but it was a statement.

Túrë smiled. His dark, straight hair was a thick cloak in itself as it gathered around his shoulders. The colour of leaves blossomed in his eyes, like green diamonds fresh from the earth. “You know I shall, my Prince.”

A corner of Erumelmo’s lips twitched in reply. “Aye, I know. So I tarry unnecessarily. I shall go then. Findekáno awaits.” As he turned to leave, Erumelmo hesitated. Then he looked back at the tall, lithe elf, who had barely seen two score years. “Túrë, what makes you follow Turukáno?”

“I love him.” He said simply, with another smile that flashed its might against the cold. “But if other reasons are needed, then ‘tis because I owe him my allegiance; his daughter has been my comrade since we were five. I also think sometimes of my folk back in the forests of Beleriand. I have long desired to meet with them.”

“Ah, yes,” Erumelmo said, recalling, “You are Olwë’s grandson. That would make you kin to Elwë Singollo.”

“Aye.” Túrë said, then he looked over Erumelmo’s shoulder. The light in his eyes became softer.

Erumelmo turned as he felt Elnaira’s hand on his arm. He looked down at his sister. Then covered her hand with his. “I shall meet with Nolofinwë and return with due haste. I shall be back before the storm descends.”

“Then do not linger any longer, brother.”

Erumelmo brushed his lips against her forehead. Then he walked away.

***

Nolofinwë gazed out at the expanse of ice before them. Then as it turned black in the distance, he looked up at the skies. They were covered by thick masses of sweltering clouds. They broiled like noxious fumes coming directly out of the mouths of Thangorodrim. “A globe?”

“What do you think this portends, my lord?” Erumelmo murmured, his eyes looking at the clouds, too.

“Light, Rumel.” Nolofinwë said softly.

“Light, my liege?” Erumelmo enquired just as softly. He looked at the dark haired elf by his side.

“We have to endure and help shall come.”

“Help?”

Nolofinwë’s blue eyes shot down to Erumelmo like a bolt of lightning from the skies. “Your mind brims with questions, Rumel.”

Erumelmo knew it would do no good to avoid answering. “I wish to believe, my lord, but I fear to hope.”

“At times then, it is best to do neither. It is best to endure despite the fear, despite the hopelessness. It is best to live on the hope of others.”

“It is also best to live on the hope for others.” Erumelmo smiled wanly.

Nolofinwë smiled back. Then put his hand on the younger elf’s shoulder. “Aye, for others.”

***

Elnaira took a morsel of the food Túrë offered her. It was wet seaweed washed up on treacherous rocks and found by the scavenging groups of warriors. It tasted like wool and had a vague taste of salt and fish. They were sitting together with three other elves, conserving their warmth. The winds were not as harsh as they would soon get. As she chewed, she let her eyes move over the face of the warrior before her.

He had dark hair. A high forehead. His dark brows were two slashes of thick lines, sheltering his hooded eyes. His eyes were bright green, luminescent and startling. High cheekbones and an aquiline nose, over a full mouth. He was young. She looked away.

Túrë did not look at Elnaira. He knew she had been watching him. He smiled inwardly. He gave her another chunk of seaweed.

***
They heard the horns of Nessa ring out in the distance just as Erumelmo threaded his way back through the resting throng. They began their preparations to begin the march through the rest of the storm. It rumbled a short distance away.
"Why? Because I'm afraid and he gives me courage."
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Post RE: Conquering Helcaraxë (KEEP)
on: October 03, 2008 01:30
The centre of Helcaraxë felt as though it had no foundation. It constantly shifted.

Under the pressure of the bodies that moved upon the ice, even the bodies of the Elves, the ice cracked at several places. Those cracks were avoided. Columns of the elves became thinner, so the time to cover the space increased. At times, the cracks would rip into chasms and sea water would shoot out in a fury. Its ferocity competed against the viciousness of the winds that came with the remainder of the storm.

The elves were caught between the anger of the skies over their heads and the insecurity of the ice under their feet.

Snow obliterated vision and Silmë could hardly see the forms of the elves who strode a few hands away. She held onto Idril as she walked, Elenwë and Turukáno taking the lead. Artanis had moved behind and now Silmë did now know her whereabouts. She could have ventured back to the mid-host for all Silmë knew. Right now, she was too caught up with trying to keep the snow out of her eyes and check for cracks in the ice under her feet.

“Silmë,” Idril protested, “you are holding my arm too tight.”

“Oh,” Silmë loosened the hold on Idril’s arm. “I am uneasy, Idril. There is a part of me that wants to stop and wait this storm out. But you know why I am holding onto you so tightly.”

Idril leaned in closer to hear what Silmë was saying. When she heard her fully, she responded, “Aye, I do.” As if to stress the sentence, the ice groaned loudly under their feet. They froze and under their faltering feet they could feel the waves of the tempestuous sea lash out against the ice. The floor of Helcaraxë groaned again and steadied itself. Idril moistened her lips with her tongue and continued: “Atarinya said that if we stop now, the ice would cover us and it would be difficult to fight against its enveloping power.”

Silmë nodded, as they moved on after Elenwë and the High King, who had also started moving. Then she realised the nod would be imperceptible. So she said aloud, “Aye, I understand. I was merely –”

A commotion from ahead drew their attention. Suddenly, a heavy form fell through the walking elves, and crashed against the floor. Silmë recognised the cloak of white fur, before she recognised the one who wore it. “Hendalacon!” She gasped. Just as she bent lower, another form jumped atop Hendalacon. Idril pulled Silmë back just as a sword swung through the chaotic air missing her stomach by a breath.

A few feet away, the ice groaned once more.

Then, with a resounding scream, it ripped open.
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Post RE: Conquering Helcaraxë (KEEP)
on: October 08, 2008 01:38
Túrë and Elnaira were trudging through the snow that collected against their knees and were, at the same time, wary of where they shifted their weight. The ice beneath kept creaking like a gold plate that had been worn perilously thin by too much hammering. Túrë moved a little further, surreptitiously so, in order that Elnaira not know that he was protecting her from a sudden break in the ice. If it happened, he would be the one to be in danger first, and he could push her away as fast as he could.

“Rumel has not sent word.” Elnaira said loudly over the wind.

Túrë smiled. He looked askance at Elnaira. “He cannot, milady. It would be folly to take a messenger away from the ones he or she loves.”

“He is away from me.” Elnaira stated. Immediately, she regretted it. Her words sounded self-seeking and petulant.

Túrë’s grin grew wider. “He is a High Prince, milady. He has duties that need to be fulfilled.”

“Aye,” Elnaira said, softly. “I realise this. I apologise to you, Túrë, Son of Ornélion. I am not myself. Sometimes, the despair clouds my judgement and I wonder why it is that our choices cannot have brief moments of respite. This is too harsh a punishment, Túrë.” Elnaira felt her tears freeze the moment they left her eyes, each falling a little less upon her cheeks.

Túrë’s face lost its smile. His eyes became clouded with feeling. He realised then that all he wanted to do was make Elnaira happy. The realisation made him blink. Softly, he said: “All choices have consequences, milady, some graver then the others, some more difficult to bear. But I promise you this: there shall always be moments of respite. There shall be light again. We shall hear birds sing once more; see the flowers grow like they did in the gardens of Lórien. We shall. For we still have choices ahead of us – and we can still make the right ones yet.”

“What other choice is there to be made, Túrë?” Elnaira said, nearly shouting over the gale, then, she stumbled. Túrë held her by her arms and steadied her. Other elves passed by them, slowly. Elnaira turned her weary eyes on him and was instantly arrested by the vivid green of his. Despite the falling snow and the heavy wind, she could see rolling plains of grass there, newborn leaves of old trees waving gently in the breeze, under a golden light.

Túrë smiled gently and wiped the falling snow from her upturned brow. “The choice to keep loving. To know love from the past, to treasure it, in order to love anew and with the same hope.” Then in a lilting voice, that defied the wind swirling about him, he sang. His voice a clear tenor filled the air surrounding Elnaira. It was rich and velvety, just a trifle above a deeper baritone. Even though the Teleri were known to have magnificent voices, his expression surpassed most.

“The light may diminish,
The dark may gather round,
The stars themselves may fall
And lay stark upon the ground.

The heart may lose its hope,
The mind may lose its hold,
The body may grow weary,
The soul itself may turn cold.

But the turn of a smile,
On someone who I love,
Will make all seem brighter,
Just like the stars above.

So smile, you can know not
Who looks to you for hope,
And smile still, for somewhere,
You charm a lost heart and it learns to cope.”

Elnaira’s lips parted. Then she smiled slowly. It was a tremulous smile, but as it widened it grew stronger. “Aye.” She whispered.

“Elnaira.”

Elnaira turned to her left and looked upon Hendalacon. The tall neri loomed over both of them. “Hendalacon.” Elnaira greeted, nodding her head.

Hendalacon looked at Túrë, then back at her. “Do you fare well? Do you need my assistance?”

“Nay,” Elnaira said, stepping away from Túrë. “I do not. This is Túrë, Son to Ornélion, and Axëa.”

Hendalacon’s eyebrows disappeared upward into the white fur of his hood. “This is Olwë’s last son?” When Elnaira nodded. He added: “The last are always the smallest.”

Elnaira’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Túrë merely smiled slightly at Hendalacon’s words, though his eyes now grew dark. “Rightly said, Hendalacon Altaha, for I do believe you are from the very last Houses of the Noldor: the House of Calascon, if I am not mistaken.”

A muscle twitched in Hendalacon’s jaw. “Enough!” Elnaira barked. “What is that you want, Hendalacon?”

“Silmë.” He answered brusquely. “Where is she?”

“She left in the company of Artanis, back to the rear-host. She wished to be with her sister.” Elnaira grabbed hold of cloak as the wind tore it from her front and whipped it behind her like a broken wing. When she looked back to where Hendalacon was, she found herself staring at passing Elves. He had disappeared into the crowd. Túrë was looking into the direction the taller elf had taken for an exit.

“His presence corrupts the very air,” he whispered. As he turned to face Elnaira, another elf came up to him from the moving throng.

The elf had silver hair beneath his hood, and his eyes were aqua. He bowed low to Túrë and spoke to him in Lindalambë. “My lord, I am Telemnar. If I may ask: the elf you shared words with, do you know who he is?”

Túrë squinted at the elf, appraising him. After a moment’s pause, he answered, “He is Hendalacon, of the House of Calascon.”

Telemnar’s eyes burned. “He is dear to you then?”

Túrë’s eyes narrowed further. “You presume too much, Telemnar.”

Telemnar bowed to Túrë and then to Elnaira. It was stiff but it was convincing enough. “I ask your forgiveness, milord, I meant no offence; but I have need of this knowledge. I want to know if you have a place for him in your heart. Or if the Princess of the House of Aleaningwë bestows a fondness on – Hendalacon, of the House of Calascon.”

Elnaira could sense the desperation in the Telerin’s voice, and she let her momentary pity rule her reason. “Nay, Telemnar, neither I nor your lord owes Hendalacon any concern.”

Telemnar straightened. His eyes burned a bright blue. “I am grateful for your words, milady. It makes my choice easier.”

Túrë had gritted his teeth when Elnaira had answered for him. Telemnar’s words ascertained his doubts. “Since you deign to make presumptions, Telemnar, I shall make some of my own. Whatever grievance you owe Hendalacon – and there is no need in wasting time denying this – can wait until we cross Helcaraxë. You only need bring whatever is in your heart to the ears of King Nolofinwë. You shall be heard, I give you my word.”

Elnaira realised her folly. If she would not have mentioned that Hendalacon was not affiliated with either of them, Telemnar would have reconsidered the course of action he was now clearly determined to take. “I give you my word as well, Telemnar,” she said.

Telemnar looked caught within the throes of indecision. Then he turned haunted eyes on them. “The cloak he wore belonged to my brother, my lord.” He rasped. He lowered his hood as a blast of wind buffeted them.

They crouched low, as did everyone around them. The wind howled and displaced a couple of elves who were still standing and tossed them several feet to their right. Túrë reached out his hand and managed to grab hold of one of them. The other elf yelled as he rolled further away, but his outstretched arms were caught by others, and Túrë exhaled aloud. When Elnaira and he came to crouch back in sitting positions, he realised that Telemnar was nowhere around.

***

Telemnar moved through the throng, remaining in the midst of the bodies so that the wind could not batter against him as strongly. Yet it was powerful, so he moved by bending nearly double, his hand on his short dagger. He had long since lost his bow, but the dagger he knew how to use just as well as a quiver of arrows.

Now he had a name to place with the face that had stalked his dreams. He knew well the face that twisted above his brother’s dead body. After Alqualondë, he thought he had realised the full extent of what misplaced passion, betrayal and cruelty could lead to...but he had been wrong. Silfánë had been murdered for nothing else except his belongings.

Silfánë had been attacked with no provocation. In the confusion of the mass of bodies, no one really realised that his brother’s throat had been slit, until he collapsed. As Silfánë fell, and Telemnar tried to hold him steady, he chanced upon seeing the face of the elf who then came to hold his brother’s cloak. All that elf had to do was step back and the crowd swarmed ahead of him, Telemnar had not grasped that Silfánë had been killed until he saw the blood bathing his forearm that he had around his brother’s chest.

The only reason Hendalacon had attacked Silfánë was because he was Telerin. It was indubitable that Silfánë’s cloak was noteworthy, it had been brought down from Middle-earth in one of King Elwë’s ships...but Hendalacon would not have taken it from one of the Noldor!

They had chosen to be lax in their guard for they felt safe within this host. What irony! Telemnar’s brow twisted with fury as he pursued Hendalacon through the mid-host.

***

Telemnar spied the white of Silfánë’s cloak, even through the falling snow, just as he was entering into the first flanks of the rear-host. He knew that he was no match for the larger elf. The only chance he had was by way of surprise. Barring everything in his field of vision save the whiteness of the fur before him, he leaped.

His shoulder crashed against the back of Hendalacon and then both collapsed with a jarring fall on the ice. Before he could regain his breath, Telemnar whipped around with his dagger, intending to bring it down upon Hendalacon’s stomach. But he misjudged Hendalacon’s dexterousness and found his wrist caught in the other elf’s hands.

Before either Hendalacon or he could make another move, they felt the ground beneath them tear asunder with a loud report. The bitter, cold sea that churned beneath shot up at them through the crack, gushing upward with the force of a thousand spears. Telemnar screamed as he felt the water cut through his clothing. Hendalacon gasped and released Telemnar as they both reached out with their hands to brace themselves against the collapsing floor.

Hendalacon heard Silmë scream. In quick succession, he heard other screams and yells. The ice joined in the clamour as with another ear-splitting fracture, it opened to allow the sea to churn upward. In the next instant, Hendalacon and Telemnar were submerged in the burgeoning, frigid sea.

"Why? Because I'm afraid and he gives me courage."
Isillindë
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Post RE: Conquering Helcaraxë (KEEP)
on: February 06, 2009 03:04
OOC: Loads of problems. And setbacks. But I finally finished with the second last post that I had to write for this thread with Rumel's help. Thanks, Rumel, for the collaboration - and we shall complete the last post within the week. Rumel shall post it.

IC: Elenwë turned around the moment she heard the tear of ice. Turukáno had already left her side to fly towards the sound. Idril! Silmë! She saw the mass of confusion a few paces ahead. As she ran towards it, she heard several splintering resonances – and finally, a louder crack. The ice vibrated like it never had before and several elves lost their balance.

Elenwë managed to keep standing but she was nearly bent over with her arms raised ahead of her when she saw the tear shooting at her – like black lightning on a white sky! Many screamed but she could only watch as it turned toward her own feet and before she could utter a cry, the ice beneath her shoes tore asunder. The water shot upward like a restless beast caged for too long carrying her upward for a brief moment. She felt the wind, mercilessly still raging, she felt the cold of the water, and for an instant the stars above shone brighter than ever – the storm’s haze had parted to allow her a glimmer of Mandos’ Halls. ‘My time’, she thought. Then, ‘keep them safe’. She closed her eyes and opened her arms as she fell back into the water with a score of other bodies.

***

Silmë was buffeted by the wind on one side and the crush of the crowd on the other. The elves were avoiding the cracks and running into each other in bedlam. It was Aqualondë all over again! Her grip on Idril jerked terribly but she did not let go as Idril screamed. The ground gave way. Idril dropped into water that had risen upward. In an instant they were both drenched by the spray that shot up. Idril lay hanging with her feet within the reach of the rise and fall of the frigid sea.

“Idril!” Silmë cried. She was pulled to the ice floor, as Idril had fallen through a rent; Silmë lay prostrate on the ice, her shoulders nearly over the crack. She gripped her niece with a strength she never knew she had. Hendalacon was swept from her mind as she looked to her niece. The ice floor had given way to fissures from where the grey sea rose and fell – frothy and furious. The sea churned below and each wave sent out bitterly cold spray onto their bodies. “Idril!” Silmë screamed again, looking down at her fainting niece. “Do not let go!”

The ice cut into her arms and she bit her lips, but the weight of Idril was pulling her over! “O, Manwë, help.” She whispered.
Suddenly her ankles were caught and she was pulled behind. She screamed in pain as the jagged ice edges cut her arms as she was pulled backwards with Idril holding onto her. “Silmë!” It was Turukáno. He caught hold of her protectively then, with eyes of fire, he pulled Idril further into the safety of his arms. Idril lost consciousness. Shock swept over Silmë’s body, but she felt Turukáno pull them both away from the fissure. Then they heard a succession of fracturing outbursts nearby and then came the loudest one yet.

The sea became a volcano as Helcaraxë shuddered in revolt against the weight of the thousands who crossed it! It demanded payment. Turukáno and Silmë both saw elves being thrown into the sky with the force of the raging sea. They both saw the unmistakable red of Elenwë’s cloak, before it was engulfed by the chasm that had opened under. For a moment, Silmë’s eyes flared as loss penetrated the heart then, mercifully, her body gave in and she collapsed in Turukáno’s arms.

Helcaraxë was sated.

***

When the tide turned, it took away the storm.

The winds persisted, but not as fiercely as they had earlier. Scouts and messengers were sent to the rear host to take note of the loss. Túrë joined them in seeking the well-being of his Lord. He returned to find Turukáno in charge of damage management. But Turukáno would not mention his own loss, for he was responsible for the others who had lost their loved ones; so it was not until much later, when Túrë free from the tasks, Turukáno had set out for him to complete, met with Idril and he learnt of Elenwë’s death.

In shock, he looked to Silmë. But it was as if the lady had left her soul behind in Valinor. She had stopped eating and she had stopped talking. She gazed vacantly out at everything. Idril could only cry silently.
Erumelmo
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Post RE: Conquering Helcaraxë (KEEP)
on: April 10, 2009 03:04
Hendalacon had never felt such bitterness of cold as he felt when the sea enveloped him. Reaching out in a mad frenzy, he caught hold of a tunic. The one who wore the cloth lashed out and Hendalacon realised it was Telemnar. The sea receded as Helcaraxë shifted once more and Telemnar rushed to use both his hands to hold himself to the ice above. “Help!” He gasped.

“Hold on!” Hendalacon shouted. “Bend your knee for an instant and I shall use it as leverage to rise up – I shall hoist you once I reach –”

“Never!” Telemnar screeched. “I shall let go and risk my death but will not allow you to –”

Hendalacon narrowed his eyes and in a sharp move of his left hand, he plunged a dagger deep into the elf’s back. In the blink of an eye, he used the dagger as a step and elevated himself out of the crack. The shock of the injury and the downward force exerted on the dagger made Telemnar lose his grip in the same instant Hendalacon found his footing. The last thing Telemnar saw as he dropped into the fissure was Hendalacon’s passive face.

***

The stars had spoken the truth. Artanis looked away from the still veiled skies and rested her eyes upon Turukáno. “The leaders must be informed. The dead need their interments.”

“There can be no interments without their bodies, Artanis.” Turukáno whispered. He was holding his wife’s girdle and his fingers kept brushing the gold filigree at its borders.

“Nay, but we have to do what is necessary to aid their journey to the Halls of Mandos.”

Turukáno’s jaw twitched. Then he nodded imperceptibly. “I shall send Túrë.”

***

When Erumelmo returned to the mid-host, Elnaira flew into his arms. They embraced for a long instant and then she drew back. “I am glad to see that the storm has not harmed you in anyway, brother.”

“I feel as you do, sister,” Erumelmo grinned. He brushed back her hair, gazing at her lovingly. “How fares the host?”

“There have been several deaths.” Elnaira’s voice grew sombre. “I fear more than three score. The land tore beneath our feet. I saw a fissure take a whole family before my very eyes – and I – I could do nothing but scream.”

“There was not much you could have done, El.” Erumelmo whispered back just as softly. “I have heard from Taurohtar that you saved three children and their mother by removing your own cloak. One life saved is saving the world entire.”

Elnaira closed her eyes and sighed, frowning as she remembered the experience of a few hours before. When she opened her eyes, they held intense apprehension. “The rumours are that there has been great loss of life at the rear host, Rumel. I had no one to send to find news of them.”

“Messengers have just begun to move amid the hosts. I shall send whoever I deem is less fraught with individual strife. The first host fared better than the rest. Our services would have been better utilized behind us.”

“Do not regret – what is it, Rumel?”

Erumelmo’s eyes had glazed over. He was looking at her but his mind was somewhere else. “I see it.” He murmured.

“See what?”

“It is made of silver.”

“What is?” Elnaira searched his face.

“It is full of light, Elnaira.” Erumelmo said, his eyes widening. “It’s sailing through a dark – a very dark ocean. No, wait – it is not an ocean.”

Elnaira’s expression was fraught with interest. “Is it something that comes from the sea? Is it another portent of danger?”

Erumelmo’s eyes adjusted. He looked at her, his own expression clearing. “It is not the sea it comes from – it comes from the skies. It is a beacon of light.”

***

For two turns of the tide, messengers moved from the different hosts, carrying news of those who had died and of those who needed assistance. At the third turn of the tide, each leader of each host began a lament for those who now made their way to the Halls of Mandos. The dirge began from the east and it carried its tune over the host – and as each elf began to join in, the song gained volume till it seemed like a sea in itself. It cascaded and it rippled over the manifold heads of the elves and the very skies parted to let it through.

The Northern Lights broke in splendour above their heads and the voices grew stronger at the glimpse of light and stars overhead. The light and the song merged into one another and far away from Elnaira and Erumelmo, Silmë broke down and wept for her lost sister. Her cries mingled with many others, making the melody a truly poignant and fitting lament.

***

They began the march at the next turn of the tide and walked with heavy hearts but also accompanying them was a grimmer determination that overstepped physical injury and a will that disregarded spiritual pain.

***

Nolofinwë let go off the hold he had on the hood over his head. It fell back immediately, for the winds – though naught compared to the ones that the blizzard had brought forth – were still strong enough to deter their passage. There had been considerable loss that the elves had faced in life over the route atop the shifting ice. Many wearied and rumour had come to him from the latter hosts that some had given in to despair and merely stopped walking. There had been five turns of the tide since Helcaraxë had been fed with the lives of scores of elven folk. It did not shift as much anymore, but that was either because they were nearing stronger land or it knew that the desolation it had emitted was enough of a burden.

As a leader, Nolofinwë felt his heart shrivel when he heard such reports but he knew such was inevitable. All he could do was pray for the strength he and his people needed to get over the never-ending spread of ice. Erumelmo had sent word of the vision he had of the glowing orb. Light that was brought forth somehow that seemed to rival that of Telperion! Ah! If only the vision would be true, for Nolofinwë felt despair penetrate his cloak like the wind did right now. Some of it, however, seemed to be fading for his eyes were seeing a hazy line of light to the east. It was the dullest of browns, and through the shifting, light snowflakes it seemed –

“Do you see it, too, atar?” Findarato said, from his right.

“Aye.” Nolofinwë whispered.

Within moments, other elves began whispering.
Arakáno came to stand by his father’s left. From under brows heavy with falling snow, he peered at the faint line. It was a horizon other than that of the sea. “Is it –?”

A slow smile crept over Nolofinwë’s lips. His blue eyes sparkled. “It is the Northern most tip of the Ered Lómin.”

***

The news spread like wildfire through the host. The leaders were hard put to control the crowds who were determined to walk faster towards the line that shone iridescently in the darkness. Erumelmo had to send out all the warriors that served him to maintain order among the elves. When the leaders realised that control had been achieved, they began moving at the same pace that they had maintained for so long.

Erumelmo looked towards his right, over the heads of many, and saw a shimmer of red in the greater distance. His eyes narrowed. He felt Elnaira beside him.

“I hope he is safe,” she whispered. She did not have to mention of whom it was she spoke. He knew. She looked up at him, taking her eyes away from the horizon they were walking towards. “It has been a long journey, onóro...he has to be safe.”

“I hope for the same, Elnaira,” Erumelmo murmured finally, “with every breath.”

Within another turn of the tide, the darkness before them took on another form. It was more solid and appeared vast, but it was not infinite. The peaks of Ered Lómin glinted a muted crimson reflecting some far-off light. Soon they heard distant howls and wails which quailed the minds of many. The steps of the hosts slowed down. The men-folk drew out their weapons, until word reached all that the clamour they heard was nothing but the winds ringing hollow around the vastness of the mountain range.

Erumelmo explained to the messengers among his host: “It is the winds from Helcaraxë that meet with the winds issuing from the mountains themselves. Nolofinwë has sent word that the land we are about to step onto is a barren waste, for nothing grows on the beginnings of Middle-earth. So the austere land itself laments. But, most importantly, the land is tainted by the cry of the Enemy. We are not to utter any sound that is more than a whisper as we cross it. Now take this message and spread it to our host and to the messengers of the latter host.”

***

When the tide turned for the seventh time after the ending of the blizzard, Nolofinwë stepped foot onto Middle-earth and onto the land of Lammoth. Nolofinwë had scarce felt the passing of the Enemy and Ungoliant through the Echoing Land, when the skies split open.
Each face turned toward the sky, for light tore through the darkness of the world. It was silver. It was beautiful. It was not bright but to those who had travelled through the misty dark, it was light sublime!

The shroud of black velvet lifted and a translucent haze spread over elf, rock, mountain, ice and sea. As they all turned around to look for the source, Erumelmo turned toward Valinor and the skies above the West. Tears rushed up into his eyes and he held Elnaira close.
A huge globe, silver in essence, rose across the sky. It glimmered white and radiant as it tore through the dark.

The elves smiled. Some fell to their knees.

The moon had risen for the first time over the face of the world.


OOC:
So ends the RP of “Conquering Helcaraxë” If you have made it this far, I hope you, the reader, has liked what he/she has read.




[Edited on 11/4/2009 by Erumelmo]
"Why? Because I'm afraid and he gives me courage."
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