Visitors Come to Court

[Valandil]

A story of early Arthedain, set a bit over one hundred years after Arnor was divided into Arthedain, Rhudaur and Cardolan - and about 2000 years prior to the events in "The Lord of the Rings"

[Valandil]

NOTE: See Page 2 of this thread for updated, improved chapters!

They moved as one – horse and man, for the rider had given his mount free rein to make his way down the slope, and shifted easily from side-to-side, or leaned forward or back, to best keep his balance and help the animal as it made its way along – now picking through difficult places, now dashing forward through clear spots. The trees were not so dense here, but between them the ground was mostly choked with grasses and weeds – all now yellow or brown or gray, dead or dying in the late autumn, but still thick about them. The falling sun, when it pierced the clouds overhead, lit up the remnants of the leaves on the trees – but even those colors were muted, rather than dazzling. The air was filled with the brittle sounds of breaking stalks and the hard footfalls and heavy breaths of the horse.

The horse was a large-boned, dapple gray stallion, and the mist of his breath in the crisp air mirrored the white of his mane and tail. The man was tall and slender and young. His hair was dark and his face intent, focused on something ahead. The short javelin he held in his right hand left little doubt that he was a hunter, in pursuit of prey. His dress seemed unfit for the season though, for he wore no hood or cloak or other coat to keep off the cold air – only a coarse woolen tunic of deep blue, over light gray leggings and undershirt, together with brown riding boots. But the insignia borne upon his tunic was that of the royal house of Arthedain, for the rider was a son of that house and his name was Celepharn.

As he rode he watched and listened. Above the noise of his own mount, now and again he would hear his prey crashing through the undergrowth ahead. Or he might see a glimpse of it darting through an open spot. Even without those, the broken path clearly marked the trail, but it was good to know that they were still close. It had been a long chase, and he was weary, but he would not weary to the point of halting. He would have this beast!

Just ahead now, he saw it charge across a longer opening – an opening that was clear for a good distance ahead of him, and which stretched across his path from left to right as far as he could see. The Great Road! He had come all the way to the Great East-West Road and would soon cross it to the south, even as his prey now did. He dug his heels in tighter, strained forward and held his spear aloft. The great horse, almost as if reading his thoughts, broke into a full gallop as the ground leveled, heedless of the branches and briars that slapped against him.

They were in the clearing now… through a small stream, breaking the thin ice which had formed on the top, then up a slight slope and over a low wall onto the road itself. In moments they would soon be across it, down the other side and into the thicket again. As he crested the road, the rider saw his prey in full view, just before it reached the undergrowth beyond, and marked where it went in.

But wait! What was that? Still on the road, Celepharn pulled back hard on the reins. “WHOA Donner!” he forced from his mouth. His horse, checked in mid-stride, first landed hard on its forelegs, then spun around and reared up before he could regain his control, so great had been his mount’s own desire to continue this chase – and so great its shock to have it abruptly broken off.

Celepharn turned his mount to face what had drawn his notice. Less than half a furlong away, to the right of his former direction, the west, were three travelers. Travelers were rare these days, especially along this stretch of road and in this season. The Hunt was great Sport and the Catch would bring great eating, but travelers, here and now, might be a matter of the Realm.

The travelers had seen him, of course, for how could they not notice first a great wild boar and then a mounted man pass so closely in front of them. They were walking, but each led a horse of his own. They had stopped at his passing, but as he now stood facing them, they resumed their approach. They were dressed alike, in gray cloaks and hoods, but seemed different from one another – at least the one in the middle did not quite match his companions. He was shorter than they, and seemed a little bit older and he walked with a staff. Their faces were in the shadow of their hoods, as the sun was behind them, but the middle one had a beard while the two tall ones had clean faces. Celepharn waited until they were close enough to speak easily, that he might also catch his breath and gather his wits about him before speaking.

“Halt, my good travelers. Whither are you now bound?”

The three stopped and looked first at Celepharn, then slowly from one to another, as if wondering who should speak for them. Celepharn tried to study their faces but could see little. The one to his left kept his demeanor steady and calm, the middle one seemed bewildered and the one on his right struggled to suppress a grin – were they up to some mischief, which this one could not contain?

Finally the middle one spoke up, smiling weakly as he did so; “Why – we are simply going about, from place to place… and seeking somewhere to lay our heads each evening. We did not expect to see such a… powerful rider… as yourself, in… these parts.”

This pricked Celepharn, for he was proud of his horsemanship and this fellow was evidently making a merry joke with his friends of his sudden wheeling about, here on the road. For in truth, Celepharn had felt in danger of falling when Donner had spun as he did.

“I can ride better than any man in all the kingdom of Arthedain!” he boasted. “What is more, I can run faster, swim farther and track more surely than any other, and only my father can surpass me at wrestling or with the sword!” He drew himself up as he spoke these words.

“Impressive indeed!” came the reply from the same who had spoken first. “But who… are you, to give us challenge and ask our… purpose? And who is this father, who alone can best you?”

“I am Celepharn, eldest son of my father Mallor – and he is eldest son and Heir to King Beleg of Arthedain, which land you now cross.”

“Oh… is it fit then, for a future king to ride alone? And to… declare himself so openly to those he knows not?”

Celepharn sat silent for a moment. This was not going well. He had managed to learn no more of this threesome, yet had told too much of himself. If they desired to make mischief, after all, what better chance than on a lonely stretch of road, with a three-to-one advantage on a son of Arthedain? Were they of Cardolan, and did they mean to start trouble with his grandfather’s realm, as well as that of Rhudaur? If they meant to make trouble, he had only one javelin – and his eket at his side, a short sword that was fine for finishing off any wounded prey, but hardly what he would choose to do battle with against three. He saw that the tall ones wore long swords of their own, beneath their cloaks – and that they had unstrung bows on their horses. Trouble might come, and he would be ready for it, but best to try to forestall it.

“It was needful that you know of my right to ask that which I ask. Tell me now… whither are you bound? And who are you?”

The older man laughed softly, and for a moment fear began to creep over Celepharn’s heart. He had begun to think the man witless, but wondered now if this was feigned to cover something more sinister. “Who … me? I am but a lonely pilgrim, seeking the warmth of fire and friends. These companions I have found who promise to take me to Imladris… Rivendell, it is also called. Do you know of the place?”

At the mention of Imladris, Celepharn looked to the speaker’s companions and perceived at last that those two were Elves, though the one speaking clearly was not. Still, all fear left him, and his heart leapt within him, for the Elves were long friends of his kingdom and his house.

“Imladris? Why yes, I know it… Pilgrim. I have been there before. Master Elrond there is exceeding wise, and what’s more, the tales told of the loveliness of his daughter are true, for I have met and spoken with her myself… even the Elves say that her glory is like that of Luthien of old… Yet Luthien chose Beren for herself in times of old, and of Beren am I descended…”

At this the Elf on his right broke out into a merry laugh. He pulled back his hood to show his face. Celepharn’s eyes grew wide with something akin to horror and then he blushed brightly. His mouth knotted up, but then he twisted it into a smile of his own, “Elrohir… thou villain! To stand thus quietly and give me no sign… you let my tongue speak from folly and pride! And this other with thee…” he said, indicating the Elf on the left, “thy brother Elladan, I presume?”

Elrohir replied, no longer laughing, but with a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye, “No, Elladan is away on another errand. This is a Lord of our House named Glorfindel. And have no shame in regards to thy words, for so are the young men among your people inclined to speak, and we delight in seeing you follow your own nature. Although, when thou art old and king, you will learn to keep your tongue in better check, as have all your fathers before you, although they had in their youth spoken even as you do now.”

“As for my sister…” Elrohir drew closer and spoke more softly and more gravely, “I do not think I can offer thee much hope, my friend, though I will not repeat your words to her, nor my father, nor even my brother, though they may guess your mind on it, as I had already done long ago. Yet these things come, and we Elves have learned not to take to heart the affections that you, our brothers, have for us at times. You would not be the first, among Men, to turn his heart to my sister. Yet each in his time, when the fruitlessness of his desire becomes clear, turns to one from among his own people… and all have become happy this way, when all is done.”

The pilgrim had hardly seemed to pay attention to the words between Celepharn and Elrohir, for he was gazing all about, as if trying to remember something. He had muttered only half-aloud, “Well now, something seems familiar about this place… as if something important will happen here. Only… where are the… people?”

Celepharn, more than grateful for the interruption, answered him, even though he had spoken as if to himself, “Our people still have a few farms here, though not so many as in times past, for here was before grown much of the food for the tables of the great city of Annuminas, which is almost 40 leagues due north of here. Most who dwelt herein have removed themselves closer to Fornost, or near the Crossroads by Bree.”

The pilgrim paused reflectively and added, “Well then, I should like to see your city of Annuminas if I may.”

At this Celepharn first looked puzzled and then laughed, “But Annuminas has been abandoned for well over one hundred years now! Her people were divided and scattered, then dwindled, until well nigh all that remained moved to Fornost. It was then that this place where we now stand began to grow wild once more.”

“Annuminas… abandoned?” said the pilgrim sadly, “Could you be so kind as to tell me, young man, the date as folk hereabout reckon it?”

“Certainly,” said Celepharn, surprised once more. “Tomorrow I am out of Fornost for a fortnight, so that today is the 28th day of Hithui, or November, as some men call the month, of the year 1004.”

“And the Heirs of Elendil who ruled at Annuminas… what is become of them?” asked the pilgrim, almost apprehensively.

Celepharn smiled slightly. “My grandfather is accounted the Heir of Elendil, for he is the tenth in the line after Isildur. I myself am of that line.”

The pilgrim gazed more closely at Celepharn and looked him up and down. “Yes… you would be now, wouldn’t you? You are a tall one I should say!”

“When I was a child, my mother thought that I should be as tall as Elendil, but it is not so, for it is said that he was nigh a half ranga over two, while I am just a bit more than a quarter-ranga above that mark.”

“But the House of Elendil is known for more than it’s height. The winter cold is growing and though the snows are late this year, they will not be missed much longer. It is a hard time to be on the road with a long journey. I bid you come to Fornost and enjoy the hospitality that Elendil’s descendants still share with others. You can then go on to Imladris when spring melts the coming winter snows.”

“Snow…?” said the Pilgrim, his mind seeming to drift.

The three companions then looked at one another as if deciding whether to accept. Celepharn wondered if they would come, for it was off their path by several days, and might delay them from their destination for three months or more. He even wondered why he had invited them, for it had only been a sudden impulse. But he had begun to warm to this strange pilgrim, and indeed wished to spend more time with him. And it was always good to see Elrohir.

“We accept,” said the pilgrim. “Now – would you kindly show us the way?”
Celepharn’s face became more serious. “I cannot take you myself, for I must return to my hunting party.” He looked once more to the south of the road, where he had last seen his former prey. “I shall return to them now, for the Black Boar has eluded me again.”

“Elrohir has been to Fornost before, I think, though not in my days. Nonetheless, continue on this road to the east another three days easy ride to the crossroads town of Bree. You will first pass the great Stonebows Bridge over Baranduin, which you will know, about 12 or 15 leagues east, I should say. Until then, you are in Arthedain, but from Stonebows to Bree, Arthedain is upon your left and the kingdom of Cardolan upon your right. Cardolan holds the town of Stonebows upon the east bank, but we have a small outpost of Arthedain on the hither side.”

“From Bree, another three or four days’ easy ride north will bring you to the very gates of Fornost, where the North-South Road ends. Tarry not, for the winter will come on swiftly now. I will go ahead by another way and make preparations for your arrival. For my hunting party, if they remain where I left them, are four or five leagues north of us, and off the better roads for travel.”

“Are your people at war with this… Cardolan?” asked the pilgrim.

“Not at war, but distrustful. Cardolan is at open war with Rhudaur and both are our sister kingdoms, ruled by cousins of my grandfather. But Cardolan is ever fearful that we will attack her. Although this fear is false, the very apprehension may mask their own desire in regard to us. Nonetheless, after Bree, you will be safely in Arthedain once more. And for now, Cardolan keeps the Peace of Amlaith and does not trouble wayfarers on the road. You may safely pass the night at any way station of either kingdom, but say not to those of Cardolan that you make for Fornost, lest you provoke suspicion.”

“Now – I have not enough light left to see me all the way back to my companions, yet perhaps I can find their campfire ere the dusk is too long departed. I must be away. We shall expect you at Fornost then. In a week.”

At that the three companions said their farewells and parted company with the young man, he turning and his horse cantered swiftly northward, back the way from which he they come, while the three mounted their horses and rode slowly eastward, in the same direction they had been going.

[Valandil]

NOTE: See Page 2 of this thread for updated, improved chapters!

The three travelers rode northward now, through a blinding world of white, for the winter snows had arrived. They bent their heads to turn their faces from the wind as their horses plodded along. They saw before them what must be the city and fortress of Fornost, although the blowing storm obscured the view. There was a plateau, said to be 60 rangar high, upon which the main part of the city was built. To the right, and a little behind, the plateau stepped up another 30 rangar, and it was in this quarter that the royal family of Arthedain made its abode, along with the other principal nobles of the realm. And from that upper plateau rose a tower, another 60 rangar in height, standing fully 150 rangar (about 475 feet / 145 meters) above the plain below.

On the south point of the main plateau was set a gate tower of stone, carved from that very face of stone and dressed smooth, for the full height of the plateau. The gate itself stood 20 rangar high, and only a fourth as wide, and above the gate were two tiers of four tall window slits. The road by which they approached now went due north, straight and true for the gate of the city. They saw that another road went nearly due west from a crossroads just one furlong in front of the city gate, for they could see a fire kept burning at those crossroads, with a single guard attending it, bundled in heavy garments against the cold. As they drew nearer, but still almost two furlongs away, he rose to await them.

“He’s a tall one,” said the Pilgrim.

“It is Celepharn,” replied Elrohir.

And it was Celepharn indeed. He was dressed much more suitably to the weather this time, topped off by a heavy cloak and hood of deep dark blue, which he pulled close against himself. And over all was a great white blanket of fur – the skin of a bear rumored only to dwell along the north coasts, a great distance away. He stood close to the fire, and at his back was a small tent. Soon they were upon him and he spoke to them first.

“Greetings, road-weary,” he began. “You are over-long in coming, for we first looked for you a week ago.”

“Yes we are,” replied Elrohir. “For we were detained – first by the desire of others and then by our own desire. But pray tell, does the King now have his own offspring serve as his guards and watchmen?”

“My grandfather the King is displeased with me, and I am sorry to say, it involves you, my guests.”

“Oh?” said the Pilgrim. “Why is this so?”

“It all concerns the Black Boar.” Answered Celepharn, and then he set himself to tell his tale.

“The Black Boar is a great beast – large as a horse – and long has it troubled our farmers and eluded our huntsmen. One month ago we received word at Fornost that it was spotted in those lands south of Annuminas, our old city. I was newly returned from my long sojourn to the far north, and I vowed to my grandfather the King, that I would serve him up the bacon from the Black Boar at his Yuletide feast. Then I gathered what companions I could and we set off on our pursuit.”

“Then one morning as we arose, the very same beast sprang into our camp. He wounded two of my companions and killed three of our hounds. I armed myself as quick as I could and rode toward him, but he fled before me. Swift he was, and untiring, but as relentless was I in my pursuit. Before it was done, my lone companion who had likewise armed himself, and even the remaining dogs, all dropped out of the chase. And then it was I alone who pursued him.”

“It was on that day when I met you, and our meeting broke off my hunt. I returned to my party and found them camped where I had left them, nursing the wounded and warming themselves at the fire. The next day we broke camp and returned to this city, my home of Fornost.” Celepharn swept his arm back behind himself as he said so.

“When I reported myself to the King, he was displeased with me, though I did not mention that two of you were from Elrond’s house – or even that they were Elves. In his anger he scolded me for turning aside to speak with vagabond strangers and inviting them home, while leaving my oath to him unfulfilled. He ever was fond of his bacon, and ham and roast pork. So he commanded me to keep watch for you out here, until you arrived. That was 9 days ago, on the 3rd of Girithron. And I had begun to fear that you would not come and that I would spend the Yule out here in this tent.”

“And you still would not tell him that one of us was I, his old friend?” asked Elrohir.

“No…” replied Celepharn, with a slight smile. “I suppose I became angry with him myself. Now tell me though… what has delayed you for so long?”

“Here then is our tale,” began Elrohir. “We rode just a bit further before making our own camp on the afternoon we met, and the following day, rode as far as the Baranduin, but did not cross it, staying instead at the inn of Arthedain’s small town on the west shore. The next morning we crossed Stonebows Bridge, and were greeted by a delegation from the Thane of Stonebows, who would speak with us. So we met with him for most of that day, until he finally decided to send us along, with an escort, to a delegation of the people of Cardolan, under old King Tarennor himself – a first cousin to your own grandfather, King Beleg. He kept us there as his houseguests amid much merriment for a few days, and we,” Elrohir paused and looked significantly at the Pilgrim, “were loath to leave.”

“Finally he sent us off, about the time we might have first arrived here, had we not been detained. But when we reached the crossroads town of Bree,” again Elrohir glanced at the Pilgrim, “we stayed there for three full days as well, departing on the fourth morning. And that was four days ago, for we made slow going with the oncoming snow and winter winds hindering our horses.”

The Pilgrim smiled and his eyes twinkled. “Elrohir hints aright that I was the chief source of the delays, and for that I beg your pardon. I am eager to meet all I may and to learn their customs. Why, that was the very reason I accepted your kind invitation to see this wonderful stronghold and city. I did not imagine that our delay would inconvenience you so.” And at this last, his smile vanished and his face became sincere, and he bowed his head as much as a man his age could do while seated on horseback.

Celepharn nodded his acknowledgement. “Truly you could not have expected this outcome, but you do not know my grandfather – and even you, Elrohir, have not seen him of late. But you were detained by those of Cardolan? That is a grave matter indeed.”

“Well… not quite detained,” said the Pilgrim, “although they certainly wished for us to stay that they might satisfy themselves in regard to our purpose. If we had not been agreeable, perhaps they would have pressed the issue, but as it was, agreeable we were.”

“Then…” said Celepharn, pausing as if thinking, “we must explain your delay to my grandfather the King, but let us not dwell overlong on where you were – especially your visit to King Tarennor. For his father was the chief player in the division of these kingdoms, and this is the source of my grandfather’s great bitterness.” As he spoke, he began to knock the snow off of his tent and swiftly disassemble it.

“Truly?” asked Elrohir. “It seemed that Amlaith bore it well enough, although he certainly kept to himself afterwards.”

“Yes, that is what men tell me.” Answered Celepharn. “But the loss was harder to bear for the son than the father. My grandfather, as a young man, hardened his heart against all who had rebelled against his own father, branding them deserters and traitors. He sends no word to either of his cousins who rule Cardolan and Rhudaur. And at the rare times as they send word to him, he shuns the messages himself and gives them to his counselors, chief of whom is my father, asking that they only advise him of any import to the Kingdom that the messages may bear.”

“But now,” continued Celepharn, turning to gather what few items he had about himself before emptying the contents of a small kettle into the low fire and kicking snow onto the coals, “with your arrival, my assigned task has been completed and I may return to my grandfather’s palace. Come.”

And with that he turned, carrying his equipment in a single bundle beneath his arm and walking toward the city. The gate opened before him and the three riders followed him through.

[Valandil]

NOTE: See Page 2 of this thread for updated, improved chapters!

Once through the gate, they came into a tall, narrow chamber, lighted by a shaft cut through the rock overhead. Beyond this the path ramped up slightly, until it came to another level chamber, with another light shaft above it. On up again went the passage through the rock, until they emerged again into daylight (and wind and snowfall), fairly in the middle of the lower plateau. They saw guards of the city now, two squads of four men each, who had been alerted to their coming, but knowing who came, stood in orderly array on either side of their path as they came forth from the tunnel.

The guards wore the same dark blue as Celepharn adorned with a similar emblem, though lesser in size than that the trio had seen on him at their first meeting. This was apparently the royal sign of this kingdom. The guards were tall men, but not so tall as Celepharn - each young and fit, and each armed with spear, shield and sword.

Just beyond the guards was an open square, about which ran a circular path. They had gone straight north through the tunnel’s passage and now turned sharply to the right, going eastward on the circular path. After a quarter circle, they took the road which led straight east, toward a cleft in the upper plateau, in which they now saw that there was a path up into that upper tier.

The city about them was filled with two and three story buildings, most of them close together, some with shops of different kinds at the ground level and living quarters above. In most cases, the highest floor was a half floor, the southern wall rising full height, with upper windows to allow in the light that passed over the house of their southern neighbor, and the roof sloping down to the north, allowing light to reach the house of their northern neighbor. Most were of stone, but some buildings were built partly, or entirely of wood.

Few people were about at this time, for winter was coming on in full, and it was cold, and the daylight was beginning to fade. Wisps of smoke came from most of the chimneys, as the occupants gathered at the fire to keep warm or to prepare their evening meal. These were usually built up along the taller southern sides of the structures, to reach higher and to soak up into the stone what warmth they could gather from the daytime sun.

They passed an open gate at a guardhouse at the foot of the next ramp, and one more gatehouse after they had climbed it. Inside this last guardhouse they turned to their left and the upper plateau of Fornost opened before them.

In the center was another square, or courtyard, and just beyond it, and to the left and right, were three large structures. The one directly before them was symmetrical about the courtyard and was the most impressive of the three. It was the palace of the Ruling House of Arthedain. Built of stone, it stood three stories tall below its roof, and the roof inclined steeply up from both sides, adding nearly as much height as the three stories below, 24 rangar (76 feet) to the peak. The main entrance at one end faced south onto the square and two wings of equal length stretched east and west.

The building to their left was not quite so tall nor so impressive, but it was nearly as large and certainly older. It looked as though it had gone through many additions, most of them done rather irregularly. This was the long home of the Princely House of Fornost, those who had succored King Amlaith the eldest son of Earendur at the time of Arnor’s division. For Amlaith’s wife was of that house, and her father and brothers had stood firmly by him at his great hour of need.

On either side, facing the courtyard more or less from southeast and southwest, two rows deep, stood the city estates of other nobles of the Realm – the greater ones to the inside and the lesser to the outside. But it was toward the third building on the courtyard itself, the one on the right, that Celepharn led them now. This was the Great Hall of Fornost, and it was here that people gathered together when the weather prohibited their meeting indoors. It was also where the king and his household gathered for their meals, and where he preferred to receive guests at mealtime.

The Great Hall was indeed almost entirely one large room. It was two stories high to the springing of the roof, and its roof did not incline so steeply, but it was wide, spanned across by great timber trusses. On its west side two doors opened onto the courtyard at quarterpoints. Inside there was a great fireplace at each end and an open fire pit in the center. Balconies ran along the east and west sides, and passages connected it to the palace and to various ancillary buildings behind it, but also to the Tower of Fornost, which was behind it, and straight east from the Palace.

They made for the southern door, for it was the nearest. There they were met by a half dozen servants, one of whom took the bundle of Celepharn’s tent, which he had insisted on carrying himself the entire way, another took the great white fur robe and thick mittens, which Celepharn removed and handed to him. Other servants took charge of the three horses while their riders dismounted, then led them away to stables behind the Great Hall.

Once inside they walked through a small vestibule and then into the hall itself, where Celepharn led them to a long table before the fireplace at the far end. There they sat and began to warm themselves, Celepharn from his vigil, and his guests from their journey. Celepharn removed his great blue cloak, burgundy hat and scarf, then a long vest of olive green and long, brown outer tunic. Below this was the familiar blue tunic and gray undergarments they had seen him in at their first meeting. He took off his fingerless gloves and his boots, setting these last upon the hearth, open ends toward the fire. Warm robes and slippers were brought for him and his guests, who had removed their cloaks and their boots as well. Then they sat together on a long bench, resting their backs on the table and their feet on the great hearth.

The hall was mostly deserted on their arrival, and for the first hour as they warmed themselves, the few servants who passed through kept to the far side. After that, a bustle of activity began steadily to grow, as preparations were made for the evening meal. By this time, the light from the high windows had shifted to the east wall as the sun descended toward the horizon outside. “Two meals we eat in winter, for the days are shorter, the food scarcer and the duty lighter.” Explained Celepharn. “In summer we also eat at mid-day, but in winter only at first light and at sunset.”

The table was set with simple fare; small baskets of coarse bread, fresh and warm, clay jars of butter and cheese, and a great pot of stew, with a pile of bowls about it. These were also placed on other tables in the hall – one row each down the east and west sides. Pitchers of drink, and sturdy mugs were set forth.

Celepharn and his companions had turned from the fire and stood to wait, the Pilgrim leaning on the staff he had kept with him. While the food was still coming out, a few nobles and officials and their ladies and children began to appear and stand near their appointed places. One official came to the small party and spoke in hushed tones with Celepharn, before calling servants to quickly re-arrange the benches at the head table, and to place two smaller tables crossways at each end. Then a few great, high-backed chairs were brought forth – the greatest placed at the center of the head table, with three others on each side. Celepharn stood by the smaller table on one side, while the three travelers were directed to the other.

Then from the half-level balcony to the left of the fireplace, a trumpet blew two notes, one low and one high. All became silent and turned their attention. Three couples descended a stone stair and approached the high-backed chairs. First came the Prince of Fornost and his wife, and they took the two chairs furthest to the right. They were a stately elder pair, his hair and beard shot with black and white, and his mantle and tunic were brown. Her hair now an even grey and she was arrayed in garments of dark purple. Next came Mallor, Heir to the Kingdom of Arthedain, and his wife, tall and slender, she still retained the beauty of youth, for she was young as the Dunedain account age. Mallor and his wife both wore blue, his garments darker and marked out with emblems of his rank, hers more simple, yet elegant. Mallor took the seat next to the greatest on the left side, or to the right of that seat, and his wife sat beside him. Then came King Beleg and his Queen, advancing slowly toward the remaining seats in the middle. The Queen advanced slowly but gracefully, her carriage straight and proud, and her own beauty had not faded with the years, but had been transformed. Her hair was as white as the snow outside, and she and her King wore garments of white and silver, covered with robes of crimson red.

Beleg and Mallor were like Celepharn in form, but both appeared far more stern and, like Fornost’s Prince, both wore beards, while Celepharn was clean-shaven. Mallor’s hair and short beard were black, but flecked with gray. Beleg’s hair and beard were white, for he was nearing 200 years of age. As he walked, with an attendant on each side, his eyes darted about the room even as his head remained fixed. Suddenly those eyes lit up and a great smile came unexpectedly to his face. He shook off his attendants and went around to the smaller table at the far end, straight toward the middle one of Celepharn’s three guests.

“Elrohir!” he said with joy, as the two locked arms in greeting. “It has been many, many years. How is your… family?”

Elrohir smiled in return. “Greetings King Beleg! Both my father and mother are well, and so is my brother Elladan. My sister also is quite well. I see that your own family grows. Your grandson Celepharn is known to me now from his travels. And it is good to come into your home this day, for you were not yet King when last we met.”

“Yes – it has been long indeed! I have been King here for nearly threescore years. Wait now… Celepharn! Are these indeed the three travelers you met while out a-hunting? You failed to tell me that they were fair folk… least of all that among them was a dear companion of my youth!”

Celepharn came forward when addressed and bowed his head before his grandfather. “King Beleg, you commanded me to be silent and obey you before I could say so.”

“Yes, well… never mind then.” The King answered gruffly. And then returning to look at Elrohir, “My, my… you have not changed at all! Who now are your companions?”

“This is a lord in my father’s house, named Glorfindel,” began Elrohir, as Glorfindel inclined his head slightly, his face expressionless.

Beleg looked intently into his face, “Yes… I believe I have seen you there before – but that was when my own grandfather was King – and over all Arnor, not only Arthedain. Who then is this other?” he asked, turning his attention to the Pilgrim. “No Elf after all, is he?”

“A simple pilgrim for whom I was sent to bring unto my father’s home. I was bringing him thither when your grandson graciously invited us to stay here at Fornost through the winter.”

“Hmmph!” replied Beleg, looking now intently into the Pilgrim’s face. “Just so you are no deserter or traitor, you are welcome at my table!

His guest met his gaze, first with gravity, but then with a slight smile as he answered, “Never yet have I turned from my duty, nor do I ever intend that I shall.”

“So – you are not one of those who rebelled against my father? Who helped to splinter his land asunder? You could be of the right age, if you have the life of the Dunedain.”

“I am not of the Dunedain, and my age is not a certain thing. But I do make the claim to be, what you would call… Faithful.”

“Very well then,” said the King, seeming satisfied as he turned back toward his chair and appeared once more less energetic, calling his attendants back to assist him. “You may then share in my table, such as it is. Poor fare for a King’s table though, is it not?”

“Where I come from, it is the fellowship that makes a table rich or poor Your Majesty, and in that I judge already that I come to a great banquet feast.” Continued the Pilgrim.

The King now slowly lowered himself into his chair, and once he was seated, all others about the room seated themselves as well. Thus King Beleg now sat at the middle of the head table, and to his left were Queen Hiriluial, then the Prince of Fornost and next his wife. To the King’s right was Mallor, then his wife, Lady Tiriel, and into the seat on the far right slipped a lady in simple clothes, with a shawl over her head and shoulders. Celepharn was first on the crosswise table to the King’s right, and at the one to his left sat first the Pilgrim – his staff now leaning across his shoulder, then Elrohir, then Glorfindel.

“Perhaps,” replied the King. “But one cannot eat fellowship. And this table would be none the worse for a great roast pig, I judge.”

At that, Celepharn winced, but did not speak.

“And where you come from,” continued Beleg, reaching for a small loaf of bread and signaling for a bowl of stew, “how do they treat with a youngster who continually disobeys his rightful King and turns aside to his fancies?”

“Well…” said the stranger, speaking to the King as older men will speak of younger, “If it were in truth just his fancies, he need be trained to attend to his duties. But in some cases, a man turns aside from one task when he judges that a greater has arisen. At these times, the wise must weigh his decision and see if he has indeed chosen correctly. If not, he should be shown his error. Yet if he has chosen rightly, he ought to be commended for it.”

“Where then are you from?” asked the King, pausing from his meal and looking once more directly into the newcomer’s eyes.

“Oh,” laughed the old man, “I am from here and about – quite far away, really. Although of late I have been a guest in Lindon.”

“And more lately at Cardolan, you might say,” replied the King, returning his attention to his bowl. He paused again for a moment. “You remind me, almost, of a few others who came to my table a few years ago. Older men, like yourself, traveling together and denying any connection to the division of our land. In fact… after only a short visit here, they were quite eager to get on to Rivendell – same place you’re making for. Curious that.”

“Your pardon, oh King,” interjected Celepharn. “When was this visit? I recall no such guests to your table.”

“Oh,” answered the King, sitting back in his chair, “it was while you were away up north, proving your worth, as some might say of you.” He briefly gave Celepharn a stern look, before growing reflective once more. “For he came at the very time we received word from Ciryandil, inviting us to Gondor to celebrate the one thousandth year since the fall of our great foe. Which I would fain not do – not without being High King over that land, as were my forefathers.” He looked once more on the Pilgrim. “The leader of that foursome, for four there were – oh how his eyes lit up at hearing that message. I should have thought he would go straightaway there himself.”

“Indeed he nearly did.” Said Elrohir. “For that very same group came indeed to my father’s home, staying only a short while, then asking aid in continuing on to Osgiliath. My father commanded Elladan lead them there, while I was sent to Cirdan, for we were told that one more would follow them to the Havens. So there I went, and waited, until he came.”

King Beleg listened intently to Elrohir, then slowly shifted his gaze to the Pilgrim. “Tell me more of Cardolan and Arthedain, if you would,” his guest inquired.

Just then a few roasts of fowl and coney were brought out and placed before them. As a servant stepped up to carve some portions for the King, he waved him back, but gestured for the knife and fork. He pondered over the roast fowl before him before slowly beginning to slice into it.

“My forefathers, from Elendil, Isildur and Valandil, lived as Kings of all Arnor and High Kings over all the Dunedain. But as my grandfather descended into his final days, my father’s brothers began to work intrigues and to contest with my father for rulership of the land.” He began to slice more vigorously. “When at last my grandfather died, they had made their allegiances, and tore off for themselves a share of the Kingdom.” With that, his knife passed through the roast fowl with such force that it struck the platter below, severing off one side of the bird. Beleg stood at his work and began to cut with equal force into the other side. He continued, his voice quaking with rage, “So over my grandfather’s grave my uncles massed their armies for war with my father and with one another. But it was a war in which my father would have no part – nor would he command his own brothers slain, despite their great crimes!” And at that, the other side of the fowl was stricken from the remnant, and Beleg stood, his fork and knife aloft, his arms shaking with rage.

The Queen looked with concern up at her husband and Mallor stood up beside him, placing a hand upon his shoulder, then slowly removing knife and fork from his hands, turning them back over to the servant. At his prompting, Beleg returned to his seat once more but continued his tale, his voice still tense but now under control, “Yet while my father would not have them slain, I marred one of them – my uncle Caryontar. Yes, with a long shot indeed, as he rallied his forces to take the city. My shot threw them all into disarray, and placed me at great risk. I was only rescued by my cousin here,” he nodded toward the Prince of Fornost, “and some nobles of distant kin to us. I turned to see them slain, unable to give them aid.” He paused and looked toward his Queen, who averted her eyes downward. “But I have given aid where I may… to their sons and nephews, their sister and… widow.” Beleg reached his hand over to his wife and placed a finger below her chin, gently lifting it up. She took his hand in both of hers and turned to look long into his eyes.

Then Beleg turned back to his guests, “So where once there was Arnor, we now have Arthedain, and Cardolan and Rhudaur. A quarrelsome lot, the other two – but I leave them to their squabbles. What do they fight for but the chance to bow before Gondor, which now only dallies with them both – even while some guess that Tarannon himself was in secret party with my uncles in their rebellion against my father, for they both gave him aid in his wars to the south. But now my cousins reap their own turmoil out of what their fathers did. But all these things are widely known, are they not?”

“As for Gondor – once Arnor was divided and her rightful King made king only of a part of what his father held – for what reason would they acknowledge him as High King, who could not rule over his own brothers? Thus… the High Kingship has passed from our people. No… I would not go to see the grandeur of Gondor in these days!”

They ate in silence for a while, for nobody wished to speak when the King was in a foul mood – as he all too often was. Especially when the talk had turned to the breaking of Arnor. But after a bit, the Pilgrim turned up his head to thank the serving girl as she filled his mug with a dark, steaming drink. He took a sip, then sat back and watched as she continued on her way, noting how she glanced anon at Celepharn, and how she lingered while serving him, then kept her eyes upon him as she moved onward. He noted too how some of the young noblewomen at the tables, attendants of the Queen and of the Heir’s wife, might discreetly turn their eyes to him for a moment, then look away. Celepharn seemed unaware of all this, but the King was looking again right into the Pilgrim’s eyes when they returned toward him, and his eyes showed that he had seen what the Pilgrim had seen.

The Pilgrim spoke once more with a twinkle in his eye, “King Beleg, it seems that not all here hold your grandson in as low regard as you do. Surely a young man like himself would find the favor of any maiden in the land.” Those around the table looked up, except for the young ladies who had been stealing glances before – for they each suddenly found something of great interest on their plate or lap and some blushed lightly. The serving girl finished her pouring and went briskly off to the lower tables.

“Does this amuse you?” asked the King. “Know, Pilgrim, that we Dunedain are not as the Men of Darkness nor even the Middle Men. In all these matters, we live as the Eldar, though perhaps it is no longer so in the Court of Cardolan?”

“Well enough then, but even the Eldar wed, as have you and your son. Celepharn, are you not of an age to wed the young maiden of your choosing?” he asked.

Celepharn seemed uncertain about whether to answer, but all turned their attention toward him, even the King.

“I have only seen twenty and five winters. Among lesser men, aye – many would already be husbands and fathers. But it is not so for us Dunedain. One of our ladies may wed at 30 or 40, but a young man at 50 or 60 – unless he is of royal or high noble birth, for then he must be at least 70. For a young man must make something of himself before he weds, and one of high birth has much to learn.”

“Seventy years you must be. Is it not difficult for a young man to wait so long?”

“It is…” and Celepharn glanced over at his parents and grandparents before continuing, “… an opportunity to learn self-control. One who would rule his people must learn to rule himself.”

“Well spoken!” said the King, and his mood seemed to lighten a little. “There might be hope for thee still. Just learn to keep thy promises – or not to make them. ‘Let the young men catch their deer, and the old men the geese and the children gather the berries, for I will bring down the bear and the boar’ you said. Well – none saw you bring down the bear whose coat you have, and the boar you have not brought back yet.” And then added as he turned back to the meal before him, “And forty-five or even fifty more years will do you good.” The Pilgrim looked intently around the table at each face. His eyes rested at last on Tiriel, mother of Celepharn.

At just that moment a messenger strode hurriedly into the hall. He looked every bit a young nobleman, garbed in blue trimmed out with red, and the emblem of a star on his left breast. He descending the same stairs by which the King and his entourage had arrived. He then made directly for the King, bent low beside him and spoke softly with King Beleg and Mallor. When he was finished he returned by the way he had come.

The King turned his gaze back toward Celepharn. “Well… it seems you will have another chance to keep that promise. The Black Boar has returned, and troubles the farmers at the head waters of Baranduin. Will you bring him to me?”

Celepharn rose as if to go immediately, but the King waved him back to his seat. “No – finish thy meal, for you shall need your strength. Leave before first light. If you stick to your task this time, perhaps we shall see you again at the Yule. The Black Boar would feed many guests.”

“Pardon me, Your Highness,” interjected the Pilgrim. “Might I… and my companions, join Celepharn in this hunt? After all, we are to blame for his turning aside when he had the beast in his reach.”

The King was surprised by this request, but appeared ready to refuse it, when the lady in the shawl spoke up suddenly, “He is the Elf with the Wand! Grant him what he asks.”

“But… he is no Elf!” said Mallor.

The King held up his hand. “My Seer has spoken, and I shall listen. He shall henceforth be called “Wand-Elf”… and he shall accompany you, and those with him, if they will.”

The Pilgrim seemed pleased and nodded his thanks to the King. Elrohir agreed that he and Glorfindel would go out with the Pilgrim, Wand-Elf. Celepharn sat musing on these latest developments. He didn’t see what good an old man would do him on a hunt for the Black Boar, but he liked the fellow – and it would sure be good to have the Elves along. Probably best to just have the four of them. Any servants or more companions just might slow them down.

The ladies excused themselves first. Shortly after they departed, Celepharn spoke briefly with a chief servant, bidding him to see that preparations were made for the hunt; that he be summoned three hours before first light, with breakfast for four awaiting them and that their horses, provisions, winter wear and hunting gear be made ready. Celepharn then excused himself from his father and the King and motioned for his guests to join him.

Celepharn led them up the same stair and through the same entrance that the royal procession had used, beside the fireplace. Then left along a passage into the royal palace, up one stair, then over to another stair and up two more levels, then down a hallway to a corner room. It was Celepharn’s own room, rather small and spare, but a fire had been kindled and was glowing with its warmth. Three mats had been laid out on the floor besides the one cot. Other than these, a stand with washbasin, a chest and a single chair completed the furnishings. One outer wall of the room sloped steeply inward, for they were just at the level where the roof began. At the other was a window facing west.

Celepharn went to the window and stood looking westward, over the city below and to the white expanse beyond. The snow had stopped falling and all was now still. The moon was out, a few days shy of full, and colored the white canvas below it with tones of silver and blue. Then Celepharn began to speak, still staring out into the distance.

“That way lies our quest, my new friends. And that way also lies Annuminas, the great city of my fathers where none now dwell.”

They set the chair and the chest before the fire and sat to warm themselves and chat before turning in for the night. Glorfindel stood by for the chest could only seat two, and with a motion he declined to be seated. Wand-Elf was given the chair and Celepharn was able to prevail on him to take the cot for the night.

Before they had been seated for long, there came a light tapping at the door. Celepharn sprang up to open it. There stood his mother Tiriel, with her two attendants. He greeted her and stood aside to let her in, but she remained at the doorway. “I would speak with Mister Wand-Elf,” she said.

Wand-Elf rose and approached the doorway. The Lady Tiriel turned to take something from one of her attendants, then turned back with a bundle in her hands.

“Mister Wand-Elf, the winters in the North are perilous. If you would venture forth once more, I would give you this.” She unfolded what was in her hands and there she held a long silver scarf. “May it protect you from the howling winds and bitter cold.”

Wand-Elf bowed slightly and held out his hands to take the proffered gift. “Why thank you, Lady Tiriel, this is most kind.”

She then looked straight into his eyes, a look of concern, even pleading on her lovely face, “Please watch over my son.”

Wand-Elf smiled. “I shall certainly do so. I take it that you watch over him whenever you can?”

“I was trained to watch from a young age, for my father is Warden of Elostirion. Lord Cirdan, he who was of late your host, is known to me, and his presence has always warmed my heart, even as your presence does now. I fear that trouble may come unexpected on this hunting trip, but my heart tells me that you might work my son’s deliverance.”

“Trouble often comes, and yet is mostly unexpected. We will do what we may.”

“I trust that you will indeed – and that you, and your companions, can render the aid that might be of need. Good night, good Wand-Elf.” She ended with a bow.

“Good night, Lady Tiriel,” he replied, inclining his head and then slowly closing the door behind her. Then, still standing at the door, he pulled back his robe from about his neck, wrapped the scarf around himself, then drew the robe tightly over himself. “Yes, that will do the trick,” he said, as he walked back to the chair.

[Gordis]

An awesome story, Valandil, quite well written.

I will not expand in praises here, though I could say quite a lot of good things, especially I like your descriptions of people and places; most of the dialogue is also great. Instead, I will concentrate on nitpicking . Please, forgive me in advance.

Chapter 1.

I had to read quite a long passage before I understood that the "beast" or "prey" Celepharn was hunting was in fact a boar. Perhaps it could have been better to say so much from the start.

It is not too realistic to suppose that on a bright winter day Celepharn could not recognize Elrohir immediately, even if his face was shadowed by a cowl. And you have written that "Celepharn studied their faces"!

Celepharn is 25, but the Numenoreans grow at the same rate as other men, so he shouldn't have sounded so immature - like a boy of 12 (I mean the passage about Arwen ). By the way, In Chapters 2 and 3 he sounds all right.

The pilgrim, which must be no other than Gandalf, is quite fresh from Valinor, so he does not know much about Arnor. Bur he traveled with Glorfindel and Elrohir all the way from Lindon. Curious that Elrohir had not briefed him already on Arnor situation - he must have known pretty well that Annuminas had been long abandoned and so on. By the way, I have a question: do you think Glorfindel has just arrived from Valinor with Gandalf, or has he been hanging around in ME since the middle of the Second Age? (As far as I know, Tolkien canon allows for both possibilities).

Chapter 2 is quite interesting, especially in the part describing the King's reaction to Arnor's division. Also it seems quite plausible that Gandalf was eager to visit the Cardolan King and Bree etc.

Chapter 3.
Great description of Fornost, but I feel that a nice map would much facilitate the reading.
Also I didn't understand were the walls of Fornost man-made or just natural rock formations, like in Isengard?

Very interesting passage about roofs of the houses sloping to the North, allowing sun to come to the next row. Have you seen that somewhere in real life? Or is it your own invention?

About the Hall. I wouldn't expect any house that far North to have that many doors leading outside: "many doors opened onto the courtyard, with principal doors at each end and at the middle." Normally in the North the entrances are restricted to a bare minimum, and each has a stout door opening into a small vestibule (here you were right!) from where another door leads inside. Only that way it is possible to keep a house warm.

So, four other Istari passed through Fornost and Rivendell on the way to Gondor in TA 1000. Very interesting. The one eager to go to Gondor must have been Saruman?

I liked the story of the division of Arnor. Cleverly incorporated into the story.

It seems people around FEEL that the Pilgrim is more than a mere man. The female Seer, and the others as well.

And Wow! Gandalf got his silver scarf!!! So at the time of the Ring-Quest his scarf was... 2000 years old !!

[Valandil]

Originally Posted by Gordis

An awesome story, Valandil, quite well written.

I will not expand in praises here, though I could say quite a lot of good things, especially I like your descriptions of people and places; most of the dialogue is also great. Instead, I will concentrate on nitpicking . Please, forgive me in advance.

Thank you for the compliments Gordis, and thanks for all the comments that follow.

Chapter 1.

I had to read quite a long passage before I understood that the "beast" or "prey" Celepharn was hunting was in fact a boar. Perhaps it could have been better to say so much from the start.

Oh... I don't mind keeping you in suspense on this one!

It is not too realistic to suppose that on a bright winter day Celepharn could not recognize Elrohir immediately, even if his face was shadowed by a cowl. And you have written that "Celepharn studied their faces"!

Well... I thought it was a mostly cloudy late autumn day. I'll re-check that. Maybe "Celepharn tried to study their faces" or something.

Celepharn is 25, but the Numenoreans grow at the same rate as other men, so he shouldn't have sounded so immature - like a boy of 12 (I mean the passage about Arwen ). By the way, In Chapters 2 and 3 he sounds all right.

Sorry - I was incorporating a rather bad 'running joke' that amuses me - that all the men of Aragorn's line in turn develop a crush on Arwen. I really SHOULD remove that part... (did you catch Elrohir's measured answer to Beleg when he asks about his family?)

The pilgrim, which must be no other than Gandalf, is quite fresh from Valinor, so he does not know much about Arnor. Bur he traveled with Glorfindel and Elrohir all the way from Lindon. Curious that Elrohir had not briefed him already on Arnor situation - he must have known pretty well that Annuminas had been long abandoned and so on. By the way, I have a question: do you think Glorfindel has just arrived from Valinor with Gandalf, or has he been hanging around in ME since the middle of the Second Age? (As far as I know, Tolkien canon allows for both possibilities).

Maybe they just talked about Elf things. Glorfindel - could go either way. Actually, I first heard about him possibly coming with Gandalf when I originally conceived this story - long time ago (I have LOTS of these story ideas forming themselves in my head), and meant to incorporate that. But then I saw Tolkien's later conclusion that he must have come in the Second Age - so my story works mostly with that one. Here - he went out to Lindon along with Elrohir to wait around for Gandalf/Olorin to show up, so he came Second Age.

Chapter 2 is quite interesting, especially in the part describing the King's reaction to Arnor's division. Also it seems quite plausible that Gandalf was eager to visit the Cardolan King and Bree etc.

Yes - I think Gandalf would want to get to know ALL the Men of Middle Earth.

Glad you mentioned the King's reaction. I'm going off the supposition that if a man is wronged, he can sometimes accept it and deal with it - but sometimes his son (or someone else who loves him) will feel more pain and bitterness over it than he did. That's what I'm portraying with Beleg - who is very bitter about the pill that his father Amlaith had to swallow.

Chapter 3.
Great description of Fornost, but I feel that a nice map would much facilitate the reading.
Also I didn't understand were the walls of Fornost man-made or just natural rock formations, like in Isengard?

Better than a map - I've made a more-or-less decent sketch, which I need to color, scan and post. I plan to get it in this thread at some point - along with maybe a few other illustrations. Mostly natural though, with some augmentation.

Very interesting passage about roofs of the houses sloping to the North, allowing sun to come to the next row. Have you seen that somewhere in real life? Or is it your own invention?

My own idea - as far as I know. Seems logical enough though, huh? I just sort of took some passive-solar ideas and ran with them.

About the Hall. I wouldn't expect any house that far North to have that many doors leading outside: "many doors opened onto the courtyard, with principal doors at each end and at the middle." Normally in the North the entrances are restricted to a bare minimum, and each has a stout door opening into a small vestibule (here you were right!) from where another door leads inside. Only that way it is possible to keep a house warm.

This I should definitely change - thank you. I was thinking in terms of the vast number of people who might come in though, and that the doors could be kept closed, but you make a sound argument and I think you're right. Vestibules: even here in Chicago - almost every building has a vestibule, so I couldn't miss that one.

So, four other Istari passed through Fornost and Rivendell on the way to Gondor in TA 1000. Very interesting. The one eager to go to Gondor must have been Saruman?

I liked the story of the division of Arnor. Cleverly incorporated into the story.

It seems people around FEEL that the Pilgrim is more than a mere man. The female Seer, and the others as well.

And Wow! Gandalf got his silver scarf!!! So at the time of the Ring-Quest his scarf was... 2000 years old !!

Yes - Saruman was the one interested in power centers - the Istari arrived about the time that Gondor reached its greatest power, and I think he would have been very interested in that.

I hope to treat more fully with "The Division" in a separate story. Maybe later this year...

Yes - the scarf. You can believe one of two things. Either the preservation power of the Elven Ring kept it intact for the next 2000 years, or he replaced each with another like it whenever one wore out (OR just happened to have a new silver one in 2941). Anyway - I'm not giving him the blue hat... after all, he DID just arrive, and there's no need to complete his outfit so soon!

[Rían]

nice, very readable, but too much architecture stuff for me (natural, given your profession! ) and I'm just not into politics, so all the kingdom-shifting details make me lose interest. But you write nice dialogue in general, and good descriptions, and have a nice turn with a phrase

(now please have rpg-Val say something nice to rpg-Rian in the Commerce class! )

[Gordis]

Oh, Rian, Without politics and architecture what is there left? Love angst?

Originally Posted by Valandil

Sorry - I was incorporating a rather bad 'running joke' that amuses me - that all the men of Aragorn's line in turn develop a crush on Arwen. I really SHOULD remove that part... (did you catch Elrohir's measured answer to Beleg when he asks about his family?)

No, leave the joke, it's a funny one and readily believable. I advise, just change Celepharn's words about Arwen to his thoughts. Make him say very little and blush. Then the reply of Elrohir could remain as it is.
And no, I haven't caught it about Beleg, though I see it now. You better make this part more explicit, otherwise it will be missed. Yes, it is very funny.

Re: the scarf. Narya was the most powerful of the Three. If Nenya could preserve a whole realm intact, than Narya could surely preserve one silver scarf!

[Rían]

Originally Posted by Gordis

Oh, Rian, Without politics and architecture what is there left? Love angst?

Horses and friendships and archery and dancing and failures and overcoming failures and victories and celebrating victories and and and

and love

Re: the scarf. Narya was the most powerful of the Three. If Nenya could preserve a whole realm intact, than Narya could surely preserve one silver scarf!

[Gordis]

Originally Posted by RÃ*an

Horses and friendships and archery and dancing and and and

and love

I am sure Val's story will have all that.

I only miss some cute Nazgul No nazgul, Val?

[Rían]

*whispers "too much politics and architecture!"*

[Rían]

(ps - my oldest son wants to be an architect - I was thinking of having him talk with you sometime, Val, if that'd be OK )

[Earniel]

Now, what was I suppose to do here again? Oh yes. *starts raving about Val's new chapter*

[Rosie Gamgee]

Nice story, Val! Just read all you've posted in one go--whew! I have to admit that the architectural descriptions really make it feel Tolkienish, what with his own fascination for loooong descriptions.
The characters are nicely fleshed out so far. I like the way the familiar characters ('Wand-Elf', Glorfindel, Elrond's son) are done--mostly very authentic, especially Gandy.

Skipping out now. Nice!

[Valandil]

Originally Posted by Rosie Gamgee

Nice story, Val! Just read all you've posted in one go--whew! I have to admit that the architectural descriptions really make it feel Tolkienish, what with his own fascination for loooong descriptions.
The characters are nicely fleshed out so far. I like the way the familiar characters ('Wand-Elf', Glorfindel, Elrond's son) are done--mostly very authentic, especially Gandy.

Skipping out now. Nice!

Thank you Rosie, glad you liked it. It was with great trepidation that I approached the notion of writing about 'Wand-elf' - especially trying to do dialog for him. OTOH, I thought it would be cool to just do either Elladan or Elrohir. Like many twins, they're always associated together and can't have anything distinct about them. Besides - I don't think they have any speaking parts in Tolkien's work (or do they?).

I have something coming up in Chapter 5 that makes me even more apprehensive. It's something that Tolkien did - and pulled off so well - and I would just hate to really 'crash and burn' with it. You'll see...

[Rosie Gamgee]

The elven twins (or at least one of them) have some spoken words in TTT, don't they? In... oh, The Passing of the Grey Company, I think it is, when they give Arwen's banner to Aragorn?

There's a little something I wanted to add to my little commentary there, that I didn't have time to last night: the elves. I just think they're a teensy bit too stoic, especially the aloof Glorfindel. I know that the elves are solemn and somewhat sad some of the time, but don't forget in the time of The Hobbit the elves of Rivendell at least were pretty merry. They seemed to get sadder with the rise of Sauron, though. Anyway, I just wanted to say: they're elves, not Vulcans; they don't have to be logical and precise all the time. (Of course you did have that mischeviousness with Elohir waiting for the King to recognize him. ) *shrug*

[Valandil]

If you've noticed, Glorfindel hasn't spoken a word yet. He has a few lines coming, but VERY few - and they're doozies!

[Valandil]

NOTE: See Page 2 of this thread for updated, improved chapters!

For the third straight morning, Celepharn awoke to the pleasant smell of a newly started fire. He got up on one elbow and looked out from his lean-to. There was Wand-Elf, huddled over the burning kindling, positioning bigger sticks and small logs to nurture the fire along. Whatever else the old man was, he was a wizard at starting a fire – even out in the snow and cold! No sign of the Elves, but that was expected. Each evening they had sat up talking long with Wand-Elf and Celepharn, then sat up longer in a sort of trance while the other two went to sleep in their lean-tos, then gone off sometime after midnight, either picking up a suitable breakfast or hunting for traces of their prey – the Black Boar.

The snowstorm had ended the day of the visitors’ arrival at Fornost. The wind was not so bitter cold and travel was not so uncomfortable. So they had made pretty good time. At mid-day of the second day on Ridge Road from Fornost they had crossed the small bridge over Baraduin at the old town of Portage, where water still trickled through the mostly frozen falls. Then they took the old River Road toward the spillway of Lake Nenuial, rather than staying on Ridge Road straight on to Annuminas. For it was from the guardhouse at the spillway that the message about the Black Boar had come.

It was still dark, as it had been the other mornings, for the daylight hours were shortest about this time of year. The moon was still up, but would be setting soon. It would be full when it rose this evening. The brightness of the moon and the clear sky had aided their travel, for they had stopped to eat at the setting of the sun, then went on at the rising of the moon, until they made camp when he was high overhead. Today – their fourth day out from Fornost – they could reach Annuminas.

Before long, Elrohir and Glorfindel had returned, they had all breakfasted, quickly broken camp and mounted their steeds. All was done with little speech, for those who travel much in the wild become well practiced at their tasks and carry them out swiftly. Now as they rode along, the light of dawn growing behind them in the east, it was Wand-Elf who broke the silence.

“So, young Celepharn, today we will reach this city of yours which I so long to see. Tell me something more about it.”

Celepharn sat up straight in his saddle and drew in a deep breath. He sighed, but then turned to face Wand-Elf, his eyes lighting up as he began to speak, “Annuminas was once our great city. It was built by our father Elendil himself, on coming to these shores from Numenor, and founding the Kingdom of Arnor. Many thousands dwelt there in those happy times. And even after the War took Elendil and so many more, still the city continued on for many centuries. For almost a thousand years it was the great capital of the Dunedain, the Faithful Numenoreans in Exile from their lost homeland.”

“My home of Fornost is now our greatest city in the North, and several thousands dwell therein – but five times as many lived at Annuminas, and it was as different from Fornost as Day is from Night. Fornost always has been my home – and likely always shall be – but my heart yearns for Annuminas.”

“A white city it was, of alabaster stone - with grand domes of gold. Its walls were low, for never came war to its gates in all those days. It sat on a hill above the Lake of Twilight – and there its ruins still sit, and from that lake it drew water up to the people of the city. There our people prospered and flourished. They made great works, and grew great in knowledge of lore. The Library of Annuminas was the wonder of its age. The streets ran straight, north and south or east and west. Straight west, through the main gates, and passing through many courtyards and by many great buildings of stone, was the Palace that Elendil made there for himself – Vinyamar! – Grand, domed palace with many courtyards and gardens all its own. And behind the palace stood the Tower of Annuminas, from which Elendil and his descendants could view all the land. And men say that they were of such farsightedness, that from there could they survey the entire Realm of Arnor – and even beyond!”

“Remarkable,” said Wand-Elf, and a look of something – was it mild amusement? – crossed his face. “And yet it is no longer the city of your people, but none other has taken it. How did this come to be?”

“When Arnor was divided among the sons of Earendur – before the birth of my father – the city of Annuminas was divided as well. Some sided with this son, some with that. The nobles – and others with means - fled the city and joined with the factions of the day. And the city that had seen no war came to war’s very brink as armies massed outside. But war was averted that time – although some lives were lost in skirmishes. The brothers who were the kings met the next year and agreed to the Peace of Amlaith. And although this city sits in the Realm of Arthedain – Amlaith relinquished his right to make it his capital again, in order to keep peace with his brothers. Besides, if war ever were to come between them, it could not be defended as easily as Fornost. Not without four times as many warriors and new stronger walls built around it. And while Arthedain has not yet gone to war, Cardolan and Rhudaur have warred with one another at times since before my birth.”

“They say that four parts of her people left Annuminas in those first months. The remnant soon dwindled, scattering across the land, for the palace gates had been locked, the leaders of the people were all gone. Most of the rest left soon after, scattering into the countryside. When the devices that brought water up from the lake failed, none knew how to mend them, and only a handful remained.”

With that Celepharn turned to look directly into the face of Wand-Elf. “That last part I got from one of the few hermits who dwelt in that City of Kings, when I was a small boy. Even they are all gone now.”

“So the city is now totally deserted?” asked Wand-Elf.

“Yes,” said Celepharn, and his head hung low. “Some even have removed stones of the city to build homes or roads or bridges elsewhere. But none has yet touched anything in the royal palace.”

“Does the line of Amlaith hope to restore it then?”

“That is my dream,” said Celepharn, lifting his head once more. “I guess that it is also my father’s, though we never speak of it, but it is not my grandfather’s hope. For we say that when the city of Annuminas is restored, then shall all the Dunedain be reunited once more!”

“And that is your dream?” asked Wand-Elf.

“Yes… if it is not already so when I become King, I hope to restore that city and make it my capital once more.”

“Will that cause trouble with Cardolan? Or Rhudaur?”

“I hope to win them over first… somehow,” and Celepharn’s eyes gazed off into the distance.

“Do you think your people would return there?”

“I know not for certain. Mayhap they may come to see it as I do. For to me that city has a charm, and I cherish it greatly. Oft have I visited its abandoned streets and explored its empty halls. Its…”

Celepharn was silent for awhile. Finally, Elrohir leaned forward from where he was riding behind them and said, “Come now Celepharn, you can trust him with your secret. If anyone is trustworthy, it is Mister Wand-Elf.”

Celepharn turned back sharply. He was surprised that Elrohir would speak out of turn like this. But when he turned back to Wand-Elf, the old man was looking at him evenly. Something warmed in his own heart, and he believed that he could indeed trust this man with his secret - with almost anything.

“I have a key…” began Celepharn. “It will open the palace gate, and all doors within – or nearly all. I have spent much time here – and Elrohir helped me once with his brother – gathering whatever could be found of treasures left behind. I have stored them all up in a secret vault, hidden beneath the very Tower of Annuminas itself. There are scrolls and tapestries from Numenor of old – stores of great learning in lore and in craft. I have placed works of art from the days of that city’s greatness, something marking the reign of every King who ruled there. Even things such as books on heraldry, chronicles, maps, each hundred-year census.”

Celepharn was silent for several moments, but then raised his head and drew himself up tall in the saddle, looking ahead, “All these things I have set aside against the day that Annuminas may be restored and Arnor re-united.”

On they rode then, mostly in silence. The air was still and quiet, for no wind blew in their ears and the songbirds had left the northern lands for a warmer place to spend their winter. The only sounds came from the horses – the crunch of their feet in the snow, and sometimes a soft neigh or whinny. The daylight hours were short, so they pressed on at a slow, steady walk, with only a few short stops.

At last they came to the end of the River Road as they sun began to sink before them. They heard before them the tinkling of water – whatever was not yet frozen as it made its way through the iced-over spillway up ahead. Up a last rise to the left of the spillway, and everything came into view all at once.

Before them was Lake Nenuial. So wide it was that they could not see the further shore, but beyond it were the Hills of Twilight. The lake was an unbroken surface of white – frozen over now and all covered with snow.

Before them the River Road ended at a “T” with a crossroad. To the right, the crossroad – which was Lake Shore Road – ran up to the spillway. From there, a sort of bridge, or rather a pier, skirted the spillway with an arc out into the lake and back to the shore beyond the spillway. There, just across the way and about 200 rangar (a furlong) from where they were, stood a small sturdy-looking building of stone blocks – two stories high with a lookout post above. Beyond it, the shore went in a straight line between north and northeast for as far as the eye could see – the lake to the left of that line and forested hills rising to the right of it.

To their left, the shoreline and road arced away from them until they both ran nearly west. At the range of Celepharn’s sight was a large, bare, gentle hill on that southern shore. Atop it he could just barely see a distant tower.

“There, my dear Wand-Elf,” he said, pointing to the tower, “is Annuminas – the city of Elendil and the former glory of the Dunedain - and that – is the high tower of the city.” He then gestured to the other side and continued, “This spillway is the source of Baranduin, and from here it runs to the Sea. That beyond it is our guardhouse, and there we may find a better place to rest for the night, hot food and good company from the guardsmen – as well as any further news of the Black Boar.”

Following Celepharn’s lead, they all dismounted and led their horses to the right – along Lake Shore Road, then out onto the pier over the lake, around to the far bank and on toward the guardhouse. But as he drew very near and looked up to the guardhouse once more, Celepharn stopped.

“Look – the door is ajar – and all is quiet here,” he said.

“Yes,” said Elrohir, “and no smoke rises from yon chimney – a strange thing on a winter day.”

Securing their horses to a post, they all stepped forward. The door was not simply ajar, but was off one of its hinges. They peered inside. The lone room at the ground floor was in disarray. The table was broken, the benches overturned, and smaller items scattered about the place. The fireplace was dark and cold. Ice had formed in places and there was a little snow scattered about the room.

“How can this be?” asked Celepharn. “ There should be six or eight men at this place. None are here!”

“They couldn’t be… deserters? Could they?” asked Wand-Elf, his eyebrows rising with his sidelong glance toward Celepharn.

Elrohir, perhaps missing Wand-Elf’s meaning, moved forward into the room, poking and prodding various objects as if searching them for the meaning to all this. “No – these men did not desert. There was obviously a struggle of some sort.”

“Well,” said Wand-Elf, straightening up, “What sort of beast IS this Black Boar?”

Glorfindel stiffened at those words but said nothing.

Celepharn smiled grimly. “The Black Boar has indeed been trouble for farmers and woodsmen, but is not capable of routing a guard house.” He paused thoughtfully, “We have never had a raiding party from Cardolan or Rhudaur – but Cardolan is so far from here and Rhudaur even further – and so deep into our land, and at this time of year – it just doesn’t seem possible.”

“But,” said Elrohir, “even a raid seems unlikely. There are no bodies, not even a trace of blood. Let’s check upstairs.”

All but Glorfindel went to the upper floor and checked the bunk rooms. These were also deserted. The hatch to the upper lookout tower was still secured. The only odd thing was that a large window at the end of the upper hall was open, perhaps accounting for the ice and snow inside.

They went outside and checked the grounds but saw nothing remarkable. There had obviously been people coming and going many days since, which would be expected at a guard-tower. But even what traces had been spared by the recent break in the snow were at least a few days old. As the sun set they found their horses something to eat and went back inside, where they righted a couple benches to sit for a while.

All of the party now seemed thoughtful. They were at a loss to solve the mystery of the guardsmen who were not at their post.

It was Wand-Elf who eventually broke the silence. “Well,” he said, “it would be a shame to not at least see Annuminas – after coming so close.”
None could think of any objections, or any better course to take, so they agreed to rest there until the moon rose, then to make their way on to the city.

After a few hours of rest – only Wand-Elf got any sleep – the moon had risen in the east and the party mounted, returned across the pier about the spillway and made their way south and west along Lake Shore Road. They rode easily, at a slow, steady walk of their horses. As the moon rose higher, the light about them grew – and it seemed almost as bright as the winter day had been, with the sun staying so low on the horizon. But the moonlight gave an eerie feeling as well – at least Celepharn thought so. All about them was still – and mostly white with snow and ice, but the white was cast in the silver-blue of the moon’s glow.

As they drew nearer to the city of Annuminas, Celepharn began to feel even more uneasy. The tower was now fully in view – though not to be seen as clearly as in the day – and something looked odd about it. It almost seemed… misshapen somehow. It was Elrohir who first remarked on this – and Celepharn looked troubled, but said nothing. Then they were close enough that this was apparent to all. Celepharn looked even more distressed, but none spoke.

At length they reached the entrance to the city, the gates long since removed. The low outer wall was mostly intact though, and it ran long and straight in each direction. Fully enclosing the city, it was 100 furlongs (exactly 2000 rangar) wide, north-to-south, and 25 furlongs (5000 rangar) long, a full league, from east-to-west. Entering the first gateway, they went through a passageway with stone walls on each side, but open above, and came out into a large outer court, where there had once been a second gate.

This outer court had been kept in good order, in times of old, but had now fallen into disarray. Debris was strewn about, partly covered now by winter’s early snows. And from this court, they caught once more a clear view of the tower – straight ahead now and still the better part of a league distant, and clearly mis-formed at the top.

They traveled on by the light of the rising full moon on the glistening snow – through more broken gates and onto a broad avenue, punctuated by courtyards, and always their path led them straight west through the city, toward the tall tower ahead of them. The buildings about them were all clearly abandoned – and had been for some time. Windows were broken out in places, some roofs had fallen in – there were even signs of fire damage. Plants had grown here and there about them, unattended and unmanaged – halted only for now by the onset of another winter.

At the halfway point between the entrance to the city and that to the palace, exactly ten furlongs in, that they crossed another broad street going off to the north and south. This was old Market Street – with the Fisherman’s Gate at the north end, above the lake, and the Farmers’ Gate to the south.

It was on this avenue, as the tower grew larger in their view, that the sight of something else gripped them. They saw the mighty domes of the palace far ahead – or what was yet left of them. For the great domes, at the center and on each of the four wings, were all broken, and only shattered remnants remained.

At this sight, Celepharn halted – his mouth agape, and signs of great loss and heartache showing in his young searching eyes. His companions stopped as well, with grave faces, turning their own gaze from the palace ahead, to their young friend, and then back once more.

Slowly, Celepharn’s eyes hardened and his mouth was set with grim determination. Seeming oblivious to those with him, he urged his mount onward at a trot, then a canter and then into a full gallop, his gaze fastened before him. His companions swiftly followed him through the deserted city, the hooves of their horses kicking up snow as they sped onward through the eerie silence. The buildings on either side of them became grander in size and in style, yet still broken and empty - but they sped on, barely heeding them now. They passed through a large open square, which ended at a tall gateway, again gateless, atop which sat a high balcony. Beyond this were the remnants of large estate homes, in even greater disarray now than the rest of the city.

As they drew nearer to the tower, the secret of its shape became clear. The top one third or more was frozen – covered with a layer of ice. Not ice that would naturally form with the thawing and freezing of snow – for that would have run down the walls when melted. There was something un-natural about this ice, thickly bunched at the upper reaches of the tower while the lower parts were free of it.

At last they came to a gate. It was the seventh gateway they had reached, but the first that was not broken. Celepharn leapt from his horse and drew something from beneath his heavy winter clothing. It was a key. He struggled briefly with the frozen tumblers of the lock, but at last – after blowing upon it with warm air, and much shaking of the doors, he un-latched it. Then he began to pull on one great gate, drawing it slowly toward himself as it dragged through the snow. When he had opened it wide enough, he slipped through and was gone.

His companions dismounted then as well. One pulled and two pushed to open the door wide enough to bring the horses through, Elrohir leading Celepharn’s horse along with his own.

On either side of them stood walls of stone, 5 or 6 rangar high, and before them the path inclined up slightly for half a furlong, so that the walls staying at the same level, and the path rising, met some 100 rangar beyond them. One set of footprints marked the snow on the ramp before them, and ahead of them, at the summit, they saw Celepharn, sunk to his knees, his head hung low and his face distraught, unable any longer to look at the wreck of his ancestral home before him.

The palace Vinyamar had five domes; a great one in the center and lesser ones – still massive – on each of its four wings. All were now broken. Or at least the four they could see from here were broken, and they had little doubt that the fifth one, beyond the center, was broken as well – else they might have seen it rise beyond. The front entrance was also smashed in. The rest still stood, but there were marks of destruction all about – a crushed corner here, an uneven gaping hole where a window had been over there. No doubt the inside was choked with the wreckage of the mighty domes. They were still far enough back to have a good view of the palace in its entirety. In fact, the spot where they stood was precisely two furlongs from the center of the greatest dome. About them was a mocking silence, and above the wrecked mansion, stood the great tower – another two furlongs beyond the center, it’s icy upper reaches gleaming in the growing light of the full moon.

They stood silent for a long while – Celepharn still on his knees, his companions standing behind his shoulders. It was he, at last, who broke the silence.

“I do not understand,” he began, and a puzzled look came over his face. “For all these years, as the city fell into ruin, all the palace grounds at least were left untouched. Now… this place is in utter ruin, and yet… the gate still stood locked!”

“Strange indeed,” replied Wand-Elf. “And what do we make of the icy tower?”

They said little more, but Glorfindel seemed on edge, if that were possible. Always his eyes searched this way and that, and he appeared bent on discovering whatever clue he might to these mysteries. At last though, they all agreed to set up their camp for the rest of the night. At the corners of the wall about the place grounds sat four small guardhouses. They chose one of these as a likely spot – at the northeast corner, off to their right as they had come in. Near the edge of it they built their fire, and they unloaded their packs and prepared to bed down for the night, that they might examine things more closely with the morning light.

Because the ground here was raised above the surrounding city, they could see right over the walls. Celepharn told them what was in nearest view.

“To the east, over the wall, are the city homes of the Thanes, along with the higher nobles and greatest officials of the realm, those who did not, by nature of their duties, dwell within the palace proper. Over this north wall were the royal gardens, right up to the city walls. Beyond that is Lake Nenuial, or Lake Evendim – the Lake of the Twilight.”

“How… odd!” said Wand-Elf, gazing far out onto the lake. “There is a mist upon the waters.”

The others were drawn to see.

“Yes,” replied Celepharn, “the great cold draws mists up from the lake like so.

“And yet,” added Elrohir, “that would happen over the whole surface, if it grew so cold. This mist comes from only one place – over there.” And he reached out his arm to point in the given direction.

“Does it… move?” asked Wand-Elf?

“Yes…” replied Elrohir, “it comes this way.”

“Is it a… creature?” asked Celepharn.

“Yes – a living thing… a creature of frost and cold!” answered Elrohir.

“It is a foul creature,” spoke up Glorfindel. “Worm-spawn of Angband!”

[Valandil]

NOTE: See Page 2 of this thread for updated, improved chapters!

They watched transfixed, as if frozen themselves, while the creature grew slowly in their view. Its movements over the ice were strange. In part, it slithered - not side-to-side like a snake, but up-and-down. As it drew nearer, they saw that its fore limbs pulled it along, while the rear limbs and the wings – the latter flattened against the surface – pushed in turn. Its long neck lunged forward and back, as its great head alternately bobbed high and then strained forward. It seemed to move slowly, but that was deceptive, for it advanced with great speed in this way across the ice. And as it moved over the surface of the lake, mists of frost rose about it, and mists trailed behind it.

The worm was all white, and the light of the winter full moon high overhead cast it in silver-blue. It was an ice dragon – or a “cold drake” – for dragons were called “worms” by the Eldar of old. It was long and slender in form – perhaps 10 to 15 rangar from snout to tail, if it would stretch out and hold still to be measured. So it was still young for a dragon, but old enough to be fell. There was only a slighter bulge in width at the middle, where the torso would be – between the front limbs and the rear, and its great wings grew from the sides of the torso, just behind the fore limbs. It was full of spikes all about – at each joint and at the end of the tail. In place of horns, it had a half-ring of spikes around its head – though two were more prominent than the rest, and the others stepped down in size toward the edges of its mouth, where two larger spikes grew at each side.

When the dragon reached the shore it stopped and drew itself up. Ice and snow fell from it as it shook out its wings and brushed off its limbs and torso. It sniffed the air and looked about, but after a few moments, its eyes came to rest on something high and far to the left of Celepharn and his companions. The Tower! Slowly and deliberately, it extended its head in that direction, until its neck was stretched out behind it. The great wings first lightly moved up and down, but then they flapped in two powerful strokes, and on the third, the legs pushed from below and the dragon took to the frigid air.

It rose slowly at first, barely passing over the shallow incline that led up from the lake’s edge. Then steadily it gained in height over the land, rising upward, in a purposeful line, straight for the Tower.

The dragon passed high over the city wall and higher still it rose. When at last it drew near the tower it let out a great shout, and all about it trembled. But when it passed the tower, it’s powerful tail snaked out and struck it. The Tower shook and ice and stone flew from its side and fell to the ground.

“NO!” shouted Celepharn into the sky, drawing his sword from his side and stepping forward.

The dragon rolled slightly over and turned its head back toward them, spotting their campfire. It hissed, then turned its attention straight ahead, continuing to rise.

“Why did you shout?” asked Elrohir. “Do you wish to call the beast on us?”

Celepharn gave no answer, for he stood staring in disbelief at the Tower. But Wand-Elf answered for him, “It matters not, for he would have soon seen us anyway. I think that he will deal with us in our turn, for he is intent on another matter.”

“Should we not flee to the city below and hide?”

“Let us wait,” replied Wand-Elf.

The dragon rose up high into the sky and circled about, surveying all below it. At last, as if it had satisfied itself, it dropped into a shallow dive – toward the Tower once more. This time it did not strike with its tail, but as it drew closer, it opened wide its mouth. Mists streamed from it, and suddenly a great blast of ice and frost burst forth from it and struck the Tower. Hail pelted the Tower, and then ice began to form around the spot where it hit – the same spot where the tail had just struck on the last pass, about half-way up the Tower.

Passing the Tower, the dragon rose once more, rapidly beating its wings. Up it went, and by the moonlight they caught glimpses through the clouds as it circled back around. Then down it came plummeting, dropping steeply and swiftly this time. It passed the tower without a blast of ice, but the tail swept out and struck, with greater force than before. The Tower shook at the blow, and a corner crumbled and partly collapsed, leaving a gaping hole in the middle. The upper reaches tilted perilously sideways.

Again the dragon rose and again it flew by, delivering a blast of ice – taking care to place it at the same damaged spot. Again it rose higher still, dove sharply down and dealt a mightier blow still to the reeling structure.

This time the Tower trembled throughout and gave way with the sound of a great crack. More stone flew from the spot of impact, and the upper portions twisted and collapsed, crumbling down on the lower walls with a great rumbling roar. The lower walls gave way in turn, until all that remained of the Tower of Annuminas was a giant heap of stone… and ice.

When the last stone had settled into place, and the rumbling noise had ended, all was still, but only for a moment. Then the dragon bellowed forth a great yell of triumph, and turned in its flight toward the Men and the Elves.

As the dragon had yelled in triumph, Celepharn had cried out in grief and despair. Then his eyes narrowed, his face hardened and he set himself for what was to come. Before his companions could stop him he rushed forward to meet the dragon’s advance. And as the dragon drew slowly nearer, he quickly readied himself.

His scarf he wrapped about his ears, and tucked in the edges of his hood, that he might resist the dragon’s voice. With half his cloak he wrapped his left arm, and held it before him – watching the dragon above and below it – that he might not look into those fearsome eyes. Then he drew forth his great sword and held it high above his head and behind him – ready to strike when the dragon came close. And there he stood like a hero of old, alone on a field of snow, by the light of midnight’s full moon, awaiting the rush of this dragon of ice.

Wand-Elf ran to the fire and began piling all the wood close at hand upon it. Elrohir and Glorfindel came forward to stand behind the young man Celepharn, one to each side.

The dragon had advanced as if to attack, but when the curious man-things did not flee, it pulled up short, stopping within 10 rangar of Celepharn. It was the worm who spoke first.

“Who are you that stand so defiantly before me?”

Celepharn heard the voice, despite his wrappings, for it shook the frozen earth below him. He called back in response, “I am one who defends the Tower of Elendil.”

The dragon laughed mirthfully. “You come too late then, for that very tower I have just ruined! And if I have broken such a mighty work of stone, can I not much more easily crush such puny works of flesh – as yourselves?”

“Yes – too late to defend it I am, yet no steel was raised against you while you struck it. But now I would avenge that tower, and the steel to do so stands here to give aid to this flesh.”

The dragon hissed at this. It has seen the mighty sword, and knew what harm such things could wreake. So it changed tactics. “Why would you offer up your life in honor of that which is no more?” it asked?

“Why did you destroy it?”

“Now really, you should answer my question before I answer yours,” the drake said coyly, but then drew itself up and declared with pride, “But answer first I will. Elendil, who built this tower and this city, is no more they say. But I hate him and I hate his memory. For I am Helkaruth, and my great-grandsire was Ancalagon, whom Elendil’s forefather Earendil slew in ages long past. And so I would now wreck all of Elendil’s that remains.”

This time Celepharn laughed, and then said grimly. “Make good then, if you can, for before you stands Elendil’s heir. I am Celepharn, and Elendil was my ancestor!”

Helkaruth roared in rage and his head rose on high, “Then I will devour you as I did those men by the Lake!” but he paused.

All this time, Helkaruth had tried to catch the eyes of his intended prey. He thought he’d had a glimpse of them from up high, before the man swung his arm up to shield them. And now the man stood perfectly still, as if transfixed – or was he merely waiting? The beast’s head dropped low and darted forward, very fast, aiming for a decisive strike – while still trying to reach the eyes of this pest.

Suddenly, the sword of Celepharn came swiftly round with all the force he could muster. Helkaruth pulled back his head and turned it aside from that mightly blow only just in time to keep from losing it. As it was, the sword struck off the two great spiked horns behind the left side of his mouth. Helkaruth shrieked in pain, shaking his head. But then he drew it on high once more, and this time, drove forth his frosty breath.

Celepharn huddled behind his cloak-wrapped arm as a storm of ice and hail blasted down upon him. The force of the blast nearly knocked him to the ground. He tried to watch the dragon’s feet and torso, to guess when it might strike again – and come once more within his reach. But the ice spewing forth encrusted his arm, pulling it down, and ice formed all about his face – even over his eyes, so that he could hardly see. At last the ice-storm stopped and Celepharn tried to see what he could below his ice-covered arm, now nearly frozen in front of him. It appeared that his foe was being drawn off to his left – or retreating from something on his left. And all Celepharn could feel was a growing cold – a mind-numbing cold.

If Celepharn had been alone that night, it would surely have been his last. But Celepharn had friends with him, and they had sprung into action.

It was the voice of Glorfindel that he next heard. “Halt foul beast!” he said, “For I am a Noldor of Gondolin, and the sons of Earendil are under my protection!” It was to him that Helkaruth turned, now faced with enough doubt and dismay to temper his rage. For Glorfindel stood with his sword at the ready. His golden hair gleamed in the moonlight, his eyes blazed with fire and there was a fiery glow all about him – as if he had been transformed.

The strong hands of Elrohir took hold of Celepharn, but he found that he could barely move. So Elrohir led him away, half-dragging him backward – away from where Helkaruth and Glorfindel faced one another, as if each were sizing up the other.

But then a voice spoke, so loudly and clearly that its ring seemed to fill the while night around them.

“Helkaruth! This is not… of stone, or steel. It is not… of flesh, and blood.” This was the voice of Wand-Elf. The icy wood he had thrown onto the fire just moments ago had already been kindled and now sent their flames up high into the night sky. And before the roaring fire now stood Wand-Elf – with his staff in his right hand and a brand from the fire in his left. He seemed transformed himself, but differently – and perhaps not so completely – as Glorfindel. He raised up staff and brand, and both his hands looked like they glowed with fire itself. The glow spread into the staff, and it seemed alight with an inner fire – and spread also into the brand, and up leapt its flame. And he spoke once more.

“This… will be of Ice… and Fire!”

At that, he threw his arms outward, with staff and brand and slowly swung them around before him. Flames arced out from the fire behind him in two long arms, running along the ground until they formed a great ring about Wand-Elf, Glorfindel and Helkaruth. And then the flames rose higher and burned hotter.

The dragon stood and shrieked. Clouds of icy mist came forth from its very hide, but the flames burned the brighter and turned the mists to steam.

“You are young, Helkaruth, yet you are fey…” continued the surprising old man. “But you have not faced one like me. Leave this land now, and return to it no more!”

The dragon screamed once again – either in defiance at the words, or in pain at the burning fire and scalding steam. It shook its great wings, fanning back the flames, leapt up with its hind legs and slowly began to rise.

But Glorfindel spoke once more, calling out after the creature as it turned back toward the north, “Beware the sons of Elendil, you spawn of Thangorodrim! For the next day you face his heir, shall be the last day of your accursed life!”

They could not say for sure if it the wind, or if there was there one last hiss from the dragon in response. But onward it flew, over the frozen lake, until it was lost in the northern sky.

Glorfindel was himself again. Wand-Elf seemed weary, leaning on his staff. Elrohir at first watched the dragon’s flight, but then turned back and beheld Celepharn, who now lay upon the ground. He was mostly covered with ice. His face was pale, and almost blue. His eyes were fixed forward, with only a slow blink now and then – and the chattering of his teeth was now all the broke the still silence about them.

“Come,” said Elrohir, “we must see to our friend.”

[Earniel]

Very brave, but very dumb Celepharn.

You've continued! Wheeeee! *more fangirlish screams*