Of Ebbs and Flows

"Thar i' urra anfauglir,
imya tum ar' lad
lye auta a' i' ndor en' gondor,
yassen varna vesta ta ona..."

A chorus of melodious voices.... a sea of ornate garbs brushing against the golden sand and stirring it at their hems.

I know this-this is not a dream, it is a memory.

I am young-my feet don't touch the ground, I ride in the back-saddle of another wanderer. There are horses, carrying supplies... all of the women carry packs, or baskets in their arms, bundles at their sides.

The women on the outside carry something else-bright, glistening weapons and shields.  They move with a steady pace.

I can see nothing beyond a sea of white sand-the sun reflects harshly on it and makes my eyes want to shut tight to block it out.

"Lye auta utu- lye coia,

n'ala wanwa a' i' ohta

sii' lye maa ten' seere,

lye eska, y' winya beginnien"

They continue, but I do not yet know all of the words. I only know the strange feelings it invokes in my young soul; hope, peace... it begins to lull me to sleep as I fixate on the garbs of the women in front of me, swaying to and fro with their rythmetic steps......

---

"Cuiva, amin hin...."

I wake up. No longer on the back of a woman.. below me is a horse I had fallen asleep on. Behind me, a figure stirs my shoulder. I open my eyes, and another woman carries a bundle towards me, looking down on it with a beautiful smile. She holds it up somewhat as she nears me, still keeping her arms around it so it does not drop... it is a small, white creature with horns on it's head.

"Ta naa lle nosta re, Mosaine. Mani will lle yela ho?"

I looked on his dark eyes and small stature, reaching out, nearly leaning off of the horse. I felt a hand catch me at the waist, and they offered the goat up to me to hold in my lap. We were not much different in size, then.

"Astal."

---

"Lle caela istim- quen- i' sanya lambe en' edain." Farmona spoke firmly,

"Amin uma il- merna a'... Mankoi uma lye anta a'?" I respond. I don't meet her eyes yet, but I am taller now.

"Ten', i' ohta naa wanwa.  sal', i' edain en' i' ohta naa il- ie' seere.  Ta naa ante ie' sina coiasira.."

I wanted to continue to learn of the flowers, of the land I would be entering into, the creatures of it... how to hear to the wind and listen to the trees, to play the instruments of my people, as we had been. Still, I would not argue.

"Eller naa somethien eile..." Farmona said, producing a beautiful weapon. I looked in awe at it's detail-the jewels upon it's hilt, the gold and stunning blue imbued into it's design. I didn't recognize the words upon it's blade, written on both sides elegantly.

"Mani uma sina parma?" I asked. When Farmona spoke again, it was in a tongue I didn't not understand.

"To battle without prayer, is injustice. We raise our swords solemnly, and invoke Thy name, that this sword may rest one day in peace."

"Lle istima dagor-, tul're."

---

Images of sewing and basket weaving, of nights of dance and song around a fire, of following the wind to find water and food, of my beautiful family on our journey... we began the trek admist the war, our fathers and brothers having been lain out upon the land, their blood staining it's earth. We traveled for days and nights. Learning, growing. Some, growing into youth. Some, growing into oldness, and some, passing on into the stars, their journey never destined to make it to the safehold called Gondor. We learned of joy and pain, of loss and of gain....

Most importantly, I learned of my desire to protect. First of all my people... and then this place I would call home when we reached it. I would not lose it as I had lost my first home. I would protect it, even unto death.

---

I blinked again, the next image was of fields and houses, of townspeople staring on at the strange villagers arriving. The next time I blink, there is a massive white wall before me.... but it does not bring the same joy it does then. Something is different when I look upon it now, in this vision. There is pain, and fear accompanying it. There is a deep ache within my heart, and a feeling of loss.

The other villagers are gone-they have blended into the peple of Gondor, selling their crafts and wares, marrying the men who are stricken by the beauty of the swarthy skinned women, who speak the common tongue in an intoxicating voice, and can lull them to sleep from a long day with their enchanting songs. I never learned-why did I not learn then? I am still seen as an outsider.

Farmona is not around. I do not know where she has gone. I have taken up the sword to fight for peace, but no Captain of these men will take a woman of the South. So I must go alone, to fight for peace, the peace written on my sword.

Amin uma il- merna aut- ereb.

The scrolls of Dafin the swift Handed -2

Lallinvorn-- It has taken a lot of digging but Drake and I have found one of the scrolls... I fear that most of the rest of the scrolls are lost to time or fire, Drake is Working as hard as he can to bring as much as he can back from the scrolls.. But I it will take some time..

The scrolls of Dafin the swift handed.

The First scroll is a bit worn, and most of the script has been smudged.. And most of these scrolls are like that, I'll do my best to restore them.. ~Lallinvorn

x

The Snail Wrider

General, 

I hope this letter finds you well in body as in spirit. It is my pleasure to report that Mosaine has been acquitted of the charges for which she was held captive in Minas Tirith these past months.  The honorable men of the court determined that she was acting in self-defense, and, owing to the testimonies of the noble women at the Houses of Healing, they saw fit to release her without further tribunal. 

With this matter now addressed to the great joy of all, I believe I will return to the northern kingdom. As well as it has done me to see the state of the old guard houses, and find Minas Tirith as lively as ever after the war, I still feel that my coming while necessary was premature. Minas Tirith has brought me nothing but solemnity where it once brought me gladness. I find that all my old friends are scattered abroad on the eastern fronts, defending the borders, and doing battle with the remnants of dark forces in distant lands. New young men now stand on the walls where my old brothers once stood. I feel I must return to the field, or else abandon myself to the tide of idleness that takes the redundant and antiquated.

If there is any service I may perform while I am yet in this country, my strength is yours to command.
Your servant,

Tyrral Ezekiel Jones.

****** 

My good friend, 

Messengers do not run quick enough between the Shire and Gondor, nonetheless I finally received your letter of the twenty-first of November yesterday afternoon. I am pleased to know of the cessation of Mosaine's trial, and that the good men and women of Gondor's upper circles have the sense to spare one who has sacrificed so much for the sake of her king and country. No doubt your efforts were aided by the Hand by which justice and mercy are rightly administered. 

As regarding your return here, I look forward to seeing you again and hope the others will join you. It has been far too quiet here lately. My errand-runner returned with the antidote to the rivers and springs two days before your letter, but those who fell ill in early autumn are taking longer to mend than those who were taken to it recently. The dragon who caused their suffering has withdrawn to the north for which purpose I can only imagine to be evil. She cannot be allowed to remain in seclusion, lest perchance her second flight of chaos be worse than the first. Nonetheless, our strength must be gathered sufficiently before we pursue a dragon into its lair. If you should chance to see Tarvhos while you are journeying back tell him to come to ride with you at once. I will be holding a council the moment you are again in the Shire.

Until then, may the back of your horse bear you safely and his hooves carry you swiftly.

Yours faithfully,
Skalithor MountainZephyr.

******

General, 

I write from Evendim and hope my letter is carried with the speed with which I entrusted it. I beg leave to apologize for my error, as it shames me that I forgot to inform you of my meeting Tarvhos in Gondor prior to Mosaine's trial. I am sorry to say I found him in a tavern attempting to regain his wits, though I learned later the cause for his overindulgence and aided him to the Old Archives of Minas Tirith. There, we learned somewhat about this dragon you have mentioned. We found an ancient tome regarding an expedition of some sort which took place in the Second Age. I have enclosed a copy of the document with this letter for your review. I regret, however, that you will find the story incomplete, as many areas of the tome were singed beyond readability.

  

As for myself, I have seen the dragon with my own eyes and witnessed the devastating power of her breath. Tarvhos, I found, was bound by oath to confront the beast and I would not have him go alone, nor would others of our comrades. He did well to forbid us from it, lest peradventure we return not. But the terror of facing even such a magnificent beast as Bloodfallen could not compare to the terror one feels at the prospect of losing a friend and brother. To think that I should let him go silently and never see or hear from him again... I could imagine no greater torment. Therefore, though he threatened me severely and rode out alone, Captain Evonfall knew of his designs and we two arrived ahead of him. 

It will come as no surprise to you, I trust, to know that the Captain of the Dead awaited us. For of a truth it was he that held Tarvhos bound by blood oath to come, and others were also expected. I fear to think what might've become of our friend had he come alone. Nonetheless, we were joined by the golden masked elf, with whom you are previously acquainted, and whom the Captain seemed to treat with a fair amount of mutual respect. Then the Captain led us into the lair of Bloodfallen.

You will forgive me, I hope, for not recounting the details of our visit. The dread with which we entered, and the terrors which we encountered are not worthy of recall. Yet I will say that we escaped, or rather, were permitted to leave after we learned the dragon's true interest. It appears that for whatever purpose, the dragon and the Captain are united in their common pursuit, and seek none other than Tarvhos' half-brother Taivian. This was the Captain's interest in Tarvhos all along, but he was deceived I suppose in part, for which I am grateful. Taivian's whereabouts remain unknown to them at present, and I hope for the sake of all he remains so. 

As my letter has grown particularly lengthy, and I trust we will have time to speak before long, I will close with the only bit of cheerful news I have. You see, it was discovered after we escaped the dragon's lair, much to our amazement and delight, that the golden mask was worn by none other than your friend Hawkinz. How he played such a magnificent part is beyond my understanding, but even the perceiving Captain of the Dead was taken unawares. Now I am in company with them all; Tarvhos, Evonfall, Hawkinz, and Lartenell. We come to the Shire in two days time, and then I shall hope to speak with you in person.

With good faith that this letter will precede us, I remain

Your servant,

Tyrral Ezekiel Jones.

Homecoming

For a long moment, he kneels there upon the shore, digging his fingers into the sand of the land that will become his home.  The West.  The sea called him.  A different song than the music of the wind in the trees, than the clang and hiss and spark of the forge, of the shouts of battle and the laughter of the kin-home.  It had been long in coming.  There was work to be done.  Words flash through his mind, from long, long ago.  He closed his eyes and the face appears again before his mind’s eye.  Once, Thannor had said that love bid him stay as surely as it bid him go.  And he had stayed, for a time, doing what work he could, however small.  A word.  A shield.  Until his long vigil was over and he could lay his sword and shield down.  Until he could rest, sure that the land he had loved so was in good hands.

For a moment, all he can hear is the hiss of the tide and the call of sea-birds.  He is here.  He is here at last.  Now there will be no more sorrow, nor pain, but joy everlasting.  He will be with kin, with friends, with…  And yet, he does not rise.  Not yet.  Some part of him wonders, wonders if he is worthy.  Worthy to be here, to see….  One hand clutches the thin chain he still wears about his neck, a lifetime ago, and the still-bright silver rings forever intertwined.  And he remembers.  Remembers the songs he sang as he drew the wire, shaped the rings.  Songs of hope, of joy, of love everlasting as the rings. That was a lifetime ago.  Slowly, he takes a breath and lets his hand fall to his side.  He squares his shoulders.  He is here now.

His keen ears catch a faint sound.  Footsteps in the sand.  Just one person, a light step…. He glances up, blue eyes narrowed.  And all he can do is stare for a long, long moment. He longs to run to her, to call her name.  But he cannot speak.  He is trembling.  It is her.  It is a lifetime since he saw her face, since he heard her voice, but it is burned into his memory.  She is not as he saw her last—no, she is whole and hale and so fair that his heart aches.  The sunlight turns her hair to gold.  He can scarcely hear the waves over the pounding of his own heart.  She smiles, her face alight, and he swears it is as if he has given her his heart all over again.

A name he has not heard in a lifetime leaves her lips.  And the spell is broken.  They run across the sand—she flings her arms about his neck, he cups her cheek with one hand, pulls her close and holds her as if he will never let go.

(Hi, guys.  So, this came about because I really wanted to write Thannor again, and...Well, this is what I came up with it.  Hope y’all like it.)

A Bitter Melody: The Tale of Ragnböurg, Part I

 The daughters of the house of Beorn, born along the Anduin under the long shadows of the Mirkwood eaves, have never been called fair for their thick skin and wiry hair; which more often then not hangs at great lengths about their shoulders; frayed at the hems and knotted as it will. But it is well known that all Beorn's daughter are strong, lively, and fierce, even as the blood that flows in their veins.

My story is not one that may be related without some quiet remorse, but it is one I can justify to relate in that I have no real regret. Trial and error was the doom from the beginning, and bountiful mistakes were made. But I know more about life now than I once did, and I won't blame myself for stumbling on a highway none can tread without falling.

 My tale began when I took a blade I crafted long ago and cut the long threads that had been the comfort of my shoulders since childhood. 
I was a woman of twenty years, the only daughter of my father Gudbrand, the son of Hallbjörn, the son of Hildreth who was a daughter of Beorn the Great Chief. And from this lineage of nobility I descended, to become a wayfarer in the lands of men....

 ****** 

In my youth I dwelt in the mountains overlooking the Vale of the River Anduin. I grew with my brother under the roof of our father, and learned the essential skills that profited our people's way of living. I learned to plant roots and harvest herbs, to craft and mend clothes, and to cure wounds and diseases - which were greatly common in some months and seasons. My brother, Bodvir, learned his first love for the ways of a healer there as we tended to the wild beasts that lived as our neighbors and friends. We reaped the crafts of the bees and the flocks and herds who imparted kindly to sustain us, and we were happy to be unwise in those days.

Beorn's Hall by J.R.R. Tolkien

 I recall many fond memories had in the months of Tribal Gathering, when our father Gudbrand would take we two children down the mountain to visit our cousin's kindred at Chief Grimbeorn's Lodge. The smoke that filled the great hall and the smells of the feast hung so thickly in the air that every emotion contrary to mirth and gaiety were crowded out of the heart and soul of everyone who entered therein. There was a warmth brought about and a feeling that set our hearts at ease when the sounds of laughter and the voices of family made merry and cheerful together.

     Children gallivanted under tables and around the legs of adults from one end of the hall to the other. They went unhindered by their matured peers who, knowing of their safety, were content to let the restless roam. Even the grave-faced chiefs and elders were at peace with the noise, content to ignore or else conceal their own hidden delight at the boisterous amusement of the young.

      I was seated by my brother and many of our cousins near our matrons and patrons on one such day, as we spoke in uplifted and hearty tones. Those who had been my playmates in the activities of youth were now my companions: men of bold-brow and dauntless chin among deep-eyed women whose cheeks were beautifully browned by their vigorous work under the Vale's noonday sun. All of us had grown to have a place among the adults of the tribe, but we still felt too full of life and apt to become bored when the conversation took a turn toward the future that we did not spend our time long in ripened company. They who knew and took greater interest in the topic were happy to discuss matters of union and posterity with every hint that we, ourselves, were some subject of conversation. But we would find ourselves idle among them, and therefore had often turned an invested interest in the mirth of the children and the serious mutterings of the elders.

      It was at this time of quiet interest that I overheard a word imparted between the greater chiefs concerning lands westward, and I felt to pardon myself from my cousins and slip out of the hall unnoticed. I stepped out into the twilight of that night, and I remember that the evening was warm with the smell of the woodland trees coming in over the hedge. The bee families where bringing in the last of their daily harvest and the air was beginning to grow quiet in the absence of their lively thrum... Stars had already appeared in the eastern sky and all around me the world darkened at a quickening pace. Thus, it was not long before I was traveling through the black of night under the mighty trees of the Vale. The night-song of the creeping creatures and the sparse pools of moonlight were as my only company, though I went on for miles to climb the Great Carrock and there tarried for a season.

****** 

The cold winds were fierce in the high crags that winter, nonetheless our ancestors came from these mountains and instilled in us their resilient blood. While the anger of the giants shook the peaks and snow cascaded from the skies, the children of Beorn endured. Many feet made our covering a thick blackness of ice and snow, yet with the rising of the sun we broke free onto the white plains and resumed our journey west.

I was in company with seven others sent as emissaries to the lands of men. We passed over the Misty Mountains together into the hill country of the west. We were then obliged to bid farewell to each other and take our path in many threading roads. I will never forget the day of our parting when I looked on the brave faces of my cousins for the last time.

******

Ragnböurg: A Decision to Help Rescue, the Might to Save.  

. 

******

White Hands and Red Cheeks

"Lynsyrien, I don't want you to go..." Maeflower whispered weakly, holding fast to the elven maid's long white fingers.  
"What shall I do?" The latter replied, smiling softly as she swept the hair from the former's fevered brow. "Shall I send them off into unknown lands without aid?"
Tears rolled down Maeflower's hot red cheeks.  "No," said she, with a broken sob. "But I don't want to be alone again."
"Gentle spirit," The elven maid whispered. "He will come to watch over you."
Then she leaned down and pressed her cold lips to the hobbit's forehead and whispered quieter still, "You need only say my name..."