================== Eldarin Calendar in Sindarin ===================
IC time is: Mid Afternoon About 4:21 PM
IC day is: Ormenel Heavens-day
IC date is: 41 Laer Summer
Moon phase: Waxing Crescent HIDDEN
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 3 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor TA 3027
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RL time: Wed Oct 16 13:27:11 2002
===================================================================== Road on the High Moors
You are standing at a point where the remnant of the Great East Road turns to follow a cliff. The crumbling stones lead off toward the west, and downhill, and also to the north along the cliff. Nothing but grasslands surround you, not even a shrub to break up the horizon line... well maybe one or two. You see the Misty Mountains rising in to the east. It looks like you could reach the nearest in a few hours if you go go that way. But more importantly, you feel the cold wind that comes blasting down from them.


Here so close to the mountains, the wind carries a faintly chill bite even in the middle of summer. And for the past few days, it seems it has been blowing constantly. Wading slowly through the whispering grasses, two elves come - cloaks wrapped tightly around themselves despite the warmth of the afternoon sun. The shorter steps gingerly, hesitantly, and leans often on the other's arm. Unlike past days, his bow is strapped to his back and the eyes that search the horizon no longer jump about apprehensively. Now and then, he lifts his head and scans the sky; then returns to his ceaseless watch. Most often does he look towards the north and the west.


Summer it may be, but the wind is cold that blows down from the peaks of the hithaeglir, cold and bitter, the sun doing little to dispell it, and all too soon she will have gone to her long home in the west, leaving nothing but shadow, gloom, and the chill of night. For a full day's travel in every direction, the land is bare, open grasslands northward and south, to the west the open road, in the east the mountains loom, shadows ill-boding lengthen in the foothills; scant shelter can be found on any quarter.

Bleak is the landscape, for the grasses are wind-beaten and grey, and no flowers bloom here; and so it is that northward, a sudden flash of light and colour might catch the eye, standing out against the barren land; a rider, alone, atop a white horse; elven eyes might mark him so, and see more still: he is tall, his mail is wrought as if of silver, his face is fair; raven is his hair as it flows unfettered on the breeze. His steed bears him westward with haste, to the road.


The elleth's concentration seems to be all inward, thought forcing each breath in or out as though she would not breathe otherwise. The grasses whisper at her knees and cloak, and her stave thumps against the ground like a child testing the bottom of a lake with a stick. Caelwen takes a deeper breath forgetfully, and whines with pain, reaching for her companion's arm, turning her eyes toward him... and then beyond him, thus spotting the rider first despite Lothdaimoth's watch. "Look, look!" she murmers. "Are we so near to Imladris, then?"


Lothdaimoth looks down at Caelwen, concern lining his face when she clutches at his arm. "Are you.." he begins, before her works bring his head up and around, long black hair blowing in the wind. The bright flare of white in the sun draws his eyes immediately. "We are near, as I told you." Dark gaze never leaving the luminous rider, he speaks softly. "Did not the Windlord say he would take a message?"


With speed surpassing haste, horse and rider cross the moors and reach the great west road, only there to stop; the rider dismounting, looking all about him, and low to the ground as if seeking something or someone, or marks of their passing. Finding neither, he climbs lightly atop his bare-backed steed once again, spurring it on with a word, southward and east is he bound; and so, perhaps by chance, toward the two forlorn figures near the mountain's foot, though it is perhaps half a mile or more from the road before he crests a hill and espies them there, visible to him despite the virtue of their garb; he hastens on.
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Apple-green eyes never leave the rider, and a true smile slowly spreads across Caelwen's face, distorting old bruises. She slows in her walk, hand tightening on Lothdaimoth's arm. "I think he has spied us!" Words begin to tumble from her mouth. "Do you know him? Did you meet him when last you were here? How close are we...? Will we arrive tonight?" An actual laugh, albeit small and short, springs from her, and her gaze lifts to find an early star.


No laughter comes to brighten Lothdaimoth's face, or smooth the lines of weariness and grief there. Her rush of questions does bring a smile though, brief and humorless though it be. Still they plod onwards through the lengthening shadows cast by the few infrequent shrubs that dare to grow in all this endless grassland. "I do not know." Perhaps his words are ambiguous by design, perhaps he simply hasn't the energy to say anything more.


Closer now; and all the while the quick, stacatto beat of his horses' hooves upon the ground growing louder to the other's ears; the rider becomes clearer to see: tall is he, even by the measure of the Eldar, and fair. His eyes are grey as stormy seas, and bright as the star-filled firmament. Lordly, a descendant of chieftains and kings, Son of Elrond. Soon enough, he nears, and checks his horse, and his voice is clear as he calls out: "Ai na vedui Galadhrim! Mae Govannen!" He leaps down to the ground, a flutter of silken cloaks and raven hair.


A quick, fretful glance is slid sidelong toward Lothdaimoth ere Caelwen steps carefully forward, her smile still bright and faintly desperate, like teeth clenched against agony. "Mae govannen!" she replies. "We have had a difficult road to walk to come here. I am Caelwen, Indiri o nos Dinlom, and this is my cousin Lothdaimoth o nos Raavindonserke." She attempts a bow toward Elladan, but gasps in pain and holds tight to her cousin's arm to aright herself. Her lips part as though she would say more, but just breathes shallowly instead for the moment.


A swift glance is cast towards his cousin, and worry deepens in Lothdaimoth's face. But he bows himself, more gracefully than she. "Well met indeed, son of Elrond. I will admit to despairing of reaching the haven of your valley." As he straightens, he looks again to Caelwen, his gaze unfathomable. Dark eyes linger on the barely-healed bruises. At his own temple, a thin red line is all the remains of some gash; other bruises and scrapes have all but disappeared. And turning back to Elladan, his voice held tightly in check, he says, "If I might beg of your indulgence to escort my cousin the remainder of the way? She must see a healer."


Concern becomes evident upon Elladan's face; "Of course;" he says, "It is with that purpose that I set out from Rivendell; for Gwaihir the windlord came bearing news of your need. It was my lot to come south, and for haste I summoned my steed; had I known your need was so dire, I would have called for more. But he shall bear you, Lady Caelwen, and I shall guide you both, if you will. First though, sit, set aside your burdens, let me look at you; I shall tend your wounds as best I can."


Another glance, eyes faintly narrowed, is shot to Lothdaimoth, but her gaze is quickly returned to the grandson of Galadriel. "Aye, Lord, and I thank you." Face then set against the pain, she holds tight to both her cousin's arm and the staff to lower herself to the ground as she was bade. Cuts slice her raiment here and there, with matching abrasions and bruises beneath-- on her left thigh is one, and long scratches mar both of her palms. Indeed, she seems to favor her left side entirely, but the worst hurt is not visible, and causes her slow, careful breathing. She casts her stave aside and settles herself gingerly.


Lothdaimoth moves quickly to aid the young Indiri to the ground, kneeling as he eases her down. Of the packs that he carries, one is slung to the grass beside Caelwen, the other two remain in place. Standing again, he nods. "I am grateful. I myself am uninjured." A step is taken backwards and away, towards the south whence they two had come. "If you will guide her the rest of the way, I will come as I may." The evening sun slants across his face, illuminating it clearly and the flicker of anguish that crosses it to be ruthlessly surpressed. "Erinstar was lost in the flood and I could not find him e're we were forced to leave."


Caelwen's head snaps toward Lothdaimoth, eyes wide with alarm pooling within. "You are leaving?" Words rush from her mouth as though she is afraid he will disappear at any moment. "Go to Imladris and get more supplies! And take someone with you, like Galindrion or one of the guards and a healer!" A deep breath is taken, followed by a whine of pain that dissolves into more speech. "Or if you will not, take all of the lembas from my pack and do not forget my gift to you after the wolf attack!" Shallow, agitated breaths come quick, and tears spring into her eyes as she looks up to her beloved cousin.


In the fleetest, most graceful and silent stream two figures race across the distance from the northwest; horses, elven and unmatched save by the Horselords. From whence did they come? The stock truly must be kin, bred here in northern lands where the sweep of the wind over the mountains is the breath that burns swift through their rippling muscles, poured from determined hooves.

And grey clad elves upon their backs. Riderless before they might have seemed to less than firstborn eyes, but ridered they are, bulges from cloaks indicating figures armed, their approach relentlessly closing.


"It seems a shadow of ill fortune has followed after your company;" Elladan observes, "But do not despair! It is but a day hence to Rivendell, less on horse, and mine is swift." With that, he kneels before the lady, and lays his hands gently upon her stomach and chest, elegant fingers examining the wounds at length, "You have broken ribs," he observes, "I can do little to set them, but I can lessen your hurt, if you will calm yourself." From within his coats he produces a small silver flask, then hands it to Caelwen, "Drink a little, if you will. It is Miruvor," then he gestures, "Some for your companion, too." Then he returns his hand to the wound; there is something then... some act of grace on his part that even those of the elven-wise might stifle to explain; though it is little to be wondered at in this descendant of Luthien, but the pain might well lessen in Caelwen's side.

He stands, "I have done what I can; remove your mail, and it will ease your breathing;" and he glances northward to the approaching riders, "At least it seems you will not have to travel home alone, now; for if there is still one lost in the wilds, then I shall go to find him. Long have I travelled in these lands and far, and there are few even in Imladris that can surpass my skill at the hunt, save perhaps Gillhach, or Randinen... but they are not here."


Golden brown strides the leftmost steed, hooves churning soft grass underfoot as he gallops just slightly off the road. Borne on his back is indeed a lithe grey-clad figure, bent low for haste it would seem. Black cowl adorns his head, pulled high over his swept blonde hair, fragments of which peek from the shadows as he rides hard alongside his companion. Swift glances does he offer to his flanks progress is made along the endless road, until he finally draws his fine mount to a whinnying halt, before sweeping his legs over and landing on the floor with nary a noise.

The rainment of his head is pulled aside, and the figure is revealed as Erucolindo, Knight of the Gweth Mellyrn. Glimmering blue orbs do scan the surroundings, pricked elvish ears seek for any sound.Leaping over mid-sized boulder and stopping in a swift halt, the chestnut brown and black-tailed beauty bearing one of the two approaching riders rears upon hind legs, and twisting lands solidly again.


In a leap from its back comes Galindrion, a hand sweeping to lower the deep black folds of his hood, emerald electricity dazzling in twin beams and silence locked upon full cherry lips. Wordless still, he turns to his companion, points, and immediately takes off at a full run. Bramble, boulder or boundary there is nought to stop his furious approach.

Turning the corner past one final piece of rubble, remnant of times long befallen to the dangers that have lingered in these lands, the cause of this very moment, Galindrion leaps one final bound, gaze in a sweep collecting each present and tears immediately the answer. Silent still he falls to his knees, a limp left arm falling to lap, the right making weak gesture of blessing, to forehead, lips and heart. His silence breaks with three words, "It is true."


"Caelwen," Lothdaimoth says painfully. "Please. You must be calm. I have plenty of supplies, and if it pleases you, I will take the lembas as well." Then he falls silent, watching as Elladan aids his cousin. In his dark eyes gratitude begins to glow, deepening at the other's final words. "You would come? Indeed, Lord.." but his voice falters. "I am afraid that while I recognize you, I know not which you are.. you are too like your brother." Distant sounds draw his head up to see those approaching, before he returns his attention to Elrond's son. "I am grateful beyond words for your aid." A harsh indrawn breath, and his eyes shut for a bare second before opening again, the grief in their depths more apparent. "I could not leave her, yet to go without finding him..." Galindrion's arrival brings a tenseness to his shoulders and he remains unmoving for several long moments before turning and walking to his friend. "Mellon, I am sorry..." Quiet, almost unheard, his voice cracks in the midst of speech and he stands silent; head bowed, a tear tracing its lone way down his cheek.


Not more than a few seconds part Galindrion's arrival with Erucolindo's own, jogging forward with light footfall and standing, stony-faced beside his companion. Words do not cross his lips yet, only now a wry, tender smile forms and sweeps his countenance gently. Sheathing the sword that he had drawn ere his arrival, he merely turns to survey those that have been found, and in some cases, been finding.


Caelwen tears her gaze from Lothdaimoth to Elladan again and takes the silver flask, then sets her face in a grimace of pain at his first touch, tears gathered now falling. Ah, but at the second touch, a sigh releases some of the tension in her muscles, and with a mixture of thankfullness and sorrow she murmers to the Lord. "Again, I thank you." She arises, a little more easily than she lowered herself, and takes a deep swallow of the miruvor. "I pray that you do find Erinstar, and quickly, and that Lothdaimoth is kept safe." She attempts another bow, this one a little more successful.

Silent tears still fall, taking in hungrily the twain of riders with cloaks obviously Galadhrim make, a weak smile given through this to Erucolindo. But Galindrion runs now toward them, and Caelwen's weeping redoubles, low sounds of grief choking her throat. Flask still clutched in her fingers unmindfully, she steps nearer Lothdaimoth without speaking. A hand is set on the Counsel's shoulder, and she finally must turn her head and close her eyes.


Gathering breath in deep retreat, the Counsel Galindrion lingers knelt upon the ground. Eyes slowly lift to dwell upon the Indiri lost and returned; a great sin washed away to be redoubled with the searing absence. Rising in rustle of cloth and jostle of metal upon metal, he closes his cloak tight against the cold and approaches those formerly lost. Clasping his fellow at the wrist with deep thanks requiring no further word.

And no more does he wait, wrapping arms deeply around Caelwen and embracing her through three slow breaths duration. Releasing at last, a tilted head tender and eased, though wet with the signaled pain of the moment, his right hand is quick to his belt, returning with a fresh handkerchief which he places gently in her palm. Wiping his own face upon the fabric of cloak draped over arm, he turns to Elladan and bows - full deep and long. A fist locked with passion gestures as he declares, "Daernoss Earendil, greatest of blood and report and first with tender care upon our need. My thanks was yours in greeting, my life is yours for safe-finding. My compatriot is Erucolindo, fine knight of our Order; Lothdaimoth, return with Caelwen into the safety of Imladris. Elladan, wish you to give them safekeeping? I should ask you no more." Humbly his hand returns then to rest at his breast, a deep swallow and penitence swelling in his eyes.


Elladan rises, then, and if with cool regard he observed the exchange between these friends and kin reunited; at the last, he smiles, saying in answer: "Friends in need and kin need ask of naught from the sons of Elrond, nor wonder at their providence, for all is freely given; your lady shall travel to my father's house without need for fear." A few steps bear him aside to his horse, who stands by with breath steaming, a tall white stallion of many hands in height; and he strokes the beast's nose idly, whispering words of command under his breath. At length, he announces: "My steed shall bear you, Lady; as I have said. He is swift, and will not throw permit you to fall, and knows well the way home." Then he gathers up his cloaks, steel and silver glinting beneath; "Those who will go with you may, if they will, though I do not command it; and I shall look for your friend."


With reverance does the fair-tressed Silvan Knight gaze upon the form of Elladan. Bowing and inclining his head to the son of Elrond, mimicing the gesture of the Counsel to every detail. "Indeed, sir. Gracious thanks extend from all our kin at your deeds and words. My heart does leap to meet you, son of Elrond, and to your service do I offer myself."

Rising slightly, he looks at the dishevilled form of the Indiri as a tender smile locks his face. "Cry not, mellon, for we come here to find and return you to those you hold dear. And you, Counsel...", he continues, looking now at Lothdaimoth. "It is with the blessing of the Valar that we find you alive and well. Hopeless hours have been given in search, and now our prayers have been answered."

A breeze laps the hair of the Knight as he lays a supporting hand on the shoulder of his compatriot.


Lothdaimoth's head bows and his shoulders slump. The wordless grip from Galindrion seems to bring him no ease, rather a deepening of distress. But he bestirs himself after a moment, giving Erucolindo a twisted smile before turning around to look again at Elladan. "I will come with you. Caelwen," an arm is slid about her shoulder, greyness of cloak falling back over grey shirt beneath, "Do you ride to Imladris and await me. See? As you wish, I will have companions and provision for the journey."


With only a small gasp of pain, Caelwen returns Galindrion's embrace a bit more weakly, body shaking with quiet sobs unchecked. His hankerchief is gathered between both dirtied, scratched hands, and she covers her eyes with it, huddling around her sorrow. As Elladan speaks, she takes shivering breaths to calm herself, then looks over to the fair Lord beside his steed. Her voice is calmer, albeit scarred with with grief and weeping. "My daernoss holds longer memories even than most, and I swear the gratitude of the Dinlym will last yeni nigh-uncounted."

Here, a beseeching glance is thrown to Erucolindo, and a smile is half-attempted in return. "It is.. more." With this odd statement, Caelwen sets her head against Lothdaimoth's shoulder even as his arm slides over her shoulder. "I will wait... and you will come after, aye?" Bright eyes are piercing as she looks up to him.


Measuring Elladan's words, gathering his strength all the while, Galindrion allows eyes to fall shut, lips easing and opening finally, "You shall not look for my friend alone." Eyes close tight, and open again as he turns to Lothdaimoth, adding then in slow weighted tones, "Where I failed to protect the Lady nos Dinlom, so now I ask you to continue, my kinsman. Celebedhel waits there, and you may return to meet us if Imladris indeed granted patrol, and it may be found nearby?" The mingled inquiry hangs upon the air as he turns to Elladan, swallowing deeply and pausing.

"Nay. You shall not go alone, though I doubt not the task to be fair match for your knowledge," continues the Lady's Counsel then, swallowing in further pause, "Erucolindo and I shall follow, for my friend who is lost be named mother's sister's son. Erinstar. Even if all we shall find will be his memory." The crimson arc of quivering lips purse tight as he looks askance, raising a sleeve again to his face. Bitterly and crisply cold, the ceaseless wind of the ageless Moors smacks him across the cheek.


"So be it." Says Elladan, "Let us make our partings quickly, for need brooks no delay; and soon it will be dark, and colder still."


Nodding with deep assent, a hand of affirmation twitching in grip about sword-hilt, Galindrion adds, "Two more steeds then lie ready for your need; a blessing upon this day that you two should be returned. Even if darkness lies yet ahead." Waiting no longer he indicates the horses where they remain, northerly, ready then to follow the Peredhil's lead.


Lothdaimoth shakes his head slowly, dark hair shifting across his back. "The windlords will watch. I cannot go and leave him, Galindrion. Not again." His voice is inflexible, but under lays a depth of anguish born through these last days. "I am coming."


Caelwen strays a little toward the horse, but watches uncertainly Lothdaimoth. She speaks naught to sway him either way.


Elladan permits Lothdaimoth this: "It would be well for you to come; for I know not where last you saw your companion, and so precious time shall be saved." He inclines his head toward Caelwen, "You need not fear for the Lady; my horse shall bear her away with speed unrivalled should danger come near, and I saw no rumour of evil in the wide land 'ere I came here. By dawn on the morrow she shall be safe in the valley."


"If it is as you swear," answers Galindrion, marked curiousity twisted amongst his blatant grief, "then I shall leave the decision in the hands of she who has passed the darkness with him. Caelwen?" With question posed, he turns, a plea silent for options amongst thos present. "I doubt not thy report, but doubt not the depth of my apology. Hiril Caelwen, Indiri nos Dinlom was granted to our journey only by my promise of safety; this has been broken, and I am not hasty in the reperation."

Swallowing deeply he then declares, "Please decide mellyn, for my mind is stooped in sorry, my words are drenched in regret; there is no more time."


Speaking no more, the Knight inclines his head and nods. "I shall escort the Indiri back to the Valley, if she so wishes." He looks to her with twinkling eyes, before bringing the cowl back up around his head. "We have not always seen eye-to-eye, tis true, good lady. But I shall offer myself in complete protection of your well-being, if you deem fit to come with me."


Caelwen twists Galindrion's hankerchief between her hands as she studies her cousin anxiously, fresh tears again brimming. "I do agree that Lothdaimoth would well improve Erinstar's chances, and to the Herald I owe my life." Her voice starts to tremble. "If you would go, Caranteil, then I say aye to it, and pray success."

She hides her eyes briefly in the little cloth again, then sniffs and looks up to Erucolindo, "I thank you, my once-kinsman. Do we walk, mellon, that these three may ride in better haste?" She takes a step towards the Knight, then turns and walks quickly to Lothdaimoth, throwing her arms about him and burying her face in his shoulder.


Again, gratitude joins other less-comfortable emotions written across Lothdaimoth's weary face. "And where I searched while yet there was time." Erucolindo's offer is noted, and one last glance is given his young cousin before his eyes are torn away and returned to Elladan and Galindrion. "He is right. We should make what haste we may for already much time has passed since.. since he was lost." The setting sun slides down the arc of the sky, intensifying the bitter chill of the wind. Swayed physically as if compelled by the intensity of his need, he steps away back towards the south.


"You will ride, lady; for it is better that you go with haste and find healing in my father's house." Elladan bows his head, "For myself, I am fleet of foot at need, and will not tire whilst there is hope still; go on, I bid you!"


Caelwen's embrace fierce and fleeting, she turns away from him to bow her head to Elladan. "Again I thank you." She then does step to the tall steed of the Lord, scooping up her stave in the meantime and securing the flask in her belt. Chin ducked slightly, she looks to Erucolindo. "I have broken ribs and do not think I can mount alone. Would you mind giving aid to me, that we might be on our way?"


"We journey into the mountains, ay?" questions Galindrion, desperate eyes falling upon Lothdaimoth, he whose knowledge is key, and then upon Elladan, for he knows the lays of these lands. Closing eyes tight, lifting them at last and then walking several paces eastwards, he draws hood again over his head, distant and wordless. Awaiting instructions, a hand rests upon hip, the other as yet clinched about his sword.


"Yes." The words are thrown over Lothdaimoth's shoulder. "Twas on our way through the pass." Another step is taken, almost involuntarily; but then he too stops and waits.


"Then help I shall provide, good Lady". Aiding the Indiri onto the steed, he mounts in front of her. "May Elbereth smile with fortune on your labours", he adds to the party as they depart towards the Valley. (Erucolindo)


"If in the pass it was, then to the pass we shall go;" Elladan declares, then says to Caelwen and Erucolindo: "Farewell, you both; may your journey be swift and untroubled;" then he looks eastward, and to the mountains that loom before him, and his gaze is met by the unforgiving wind; without word or cry, he sets to a run, and the others follow after, three figures, silver and grey; they fade, then are gone from sight.

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