Brothers in Heart

[Turgon]

This is RP is set against the backdrop of the Last Alliance of Elves and Men, and is by invitation only. So please don't join without permission. We will be looking for one or two guest-stars as the RP progresses so there are still one or two juicy parts on offer...

Brothers in Heart; a Tale of the Last Alliance.

'Tall ships and tall kings,
Three times three,
What brought they from the foundered land
Over the flowing sea?
Seven stars and seven stones
And one white Tree.'

The Akallabêth tells of the downfall of the Island of Númenor and of how its people were corrupted by the cunning of the Dark Lord Sauron. In the wrack of that great kingdom Sauron perished from Middle Earth, or so it was said, for none were spared save the followers of Elendil the Faithful.

'Nine ships there where: four for Elendil, and for Isildur three, and for Anárion two; and they fled before the black gale out of the twilight of doom into the darkness of the world. And the deeps rode beneath them in towering anger, and waves like unto mountains moving with great caps of writhen snow bore them up amid the wreckage of the clouds, and after many days cast them away upon the shores of Middle-earth.'

Elendil came ashore in Lindon, where he was succoured by Gil-galad, last King of the Noldor, and a great friendship grew between the two. Travelling east, beyond the Ered Luin, Elendil entered Eriador, and took up lordship in the north. Many great works he built there, and the craft of the Dúnedain seemed a wonder to the wild-men that beheld them. Annúminas he built, on the shores of Lake Nenuial, and there he made his capital; and upon Amon Sûl he commanded a great watch-tower to be raised, for from that place it was said that a man could look out across all the wide lands of Eriador. Arnor this land was named, the Land of the King, for Elendil was counted as high-king of all the Dúnedain in Middle-earth.

Elendil's sons, Isildur and Anárion, came ashore at the mouth of the great river Anduin. In days gone by the Faithful had much traffic with the men of southern coasts: indeed the Blood of Númenor flowed in the veins of many who dwelt there. So it was that Elendil's sons received great welcome, and they too began the building of a Kingdom. Minas Anor they built, at the feet of Mount Mindolluin - it was here that Anárion made his home; in the east, on the very foothills of the Mountains of Shadow, Minas Ithil was raised, and it was here that Isildur dwelt. Yet perhaps the fairest of their works was Osgiliath, the Fortress of the Stars, high-capital of the Realm of Gondor. This city was a marvel indeed, straddling the River Anduin in glory, and it was from here that Isildur and Anárion ruled as joint Kings of the Southern Realm.

Thus from great evil came great hope, or so it seemed... yet it was not to be. Ere long the fires of Orodruin spewed forth anew, for Sauron had not been lost in the wrack of Númenor as had once been thought. But sat once again in the Tower of Barad-dûr; and as he looked out upon the glory that the Men of the West had wrought in his absence, a bitter hatred welled up inside him. He prepared for war...

[chrysophalax]

Banners and pennons flying, the Host of Gil-Galad rode forth to join forces with the armies of Isildur. Their armour glittered in the sun as the stars above Arda in the night. Here, among those of his House and those of all the great Houses of the Eldar rode Gil-Galad and his heart was high as he urged his Kindred onward. For Amon Sul was in sight and Isildur was waiting.

Among those waiting for the arrival of the Elven-Host was Alduric, a warrior mighty in arms, close to the ear of Isildur himself. As he looked out over the land, he watched for a certain banner, for beneath that banner rode his friend Ithildin, an Elf of surpassing skill with the bow and messenger of the High King. Too long it had been since they had last sat together, telling tales by a fireside, Alduric prodding Ithildin for more details of the West.

As he strained his eyes, At last! There it was! Gil-Galad's banner and Ithildin proudly bearing it up the slope to the fortress, announcing the High-King's arrival in a clear, ringing voice. Alduric turned and ran to greet him...

[Turgon]

Alduric stood upon the brow of Amon Sûl looking westward towards the setting sun. Below him, the Elven-host arrayed in splendor, their arms glittering in the last blush of daylight; above, a luminous sky slowly fading, east to west, into a deep blue twilight. His heart was soaring, never again would such beauty be seen in the wide lands of Middle-earth, some moments happen only once and then are gone forever.

Ithildin! There he was, carrying the banner of his lord and king. Gil-galad all could see, his shining helm drew all eyes to it - like the first star of even. Yet to the Dúnadan no sight was more welcome than that of his friend in a place of high honour.

'Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo!' Alduric ran to greet his friend, clasping him in a warm embrace. 'It's been too long... But come, tell me how you've been!' The two friends sat in the shadow of the great watch-tower and soon found themselves deep in talk. Above them in the high firmament the first stars had been kindled, when the sound of a myriad elven voices were suddenly lifted in song, echoing about the the barren hills with a haunting melody. Alduric began to murmur softly...

A Elbereth Gilthoniel,
silivren penna míriel...

[chrysophalax]

Ithildin mingled his pure, clear tenor with Alduric's resonant baritone...

o menel aglar elenath
Gilthoniel, A! Elbereth!

Alduric looked at the Elf in wonder, for in all the long years of their friendship he had never heard him sing. "Mellon, why have you never sung with me before? Your voice has such purity!" Ithildin gazed at him, a wry grin on his face. "One must never reveal all one's gifts. How ordinary I would appear in your eyes if I couldn't amaze you now and again." He stood gracefully, stretching his legs. "Ai! I am used to travelling afoot! Light-footed though she is, my Estel has tried my muscles this day!" He looked up into the star-dusted sky and broke into a radiant smile. "Alduric! Behold! Menelmacar, striding among the stars."

Long he stood, gazing upward, lost in the beauty of the sable night. Alduric shifted, moving nearer the fire. He was used to Ithildin's reveries. In time they would resume their conversation...

[Turgon]

Alduric gazed long into the blazing fire; watching the smoke rise in slow curls, only to be caught on the night breeze and wafted softly eastwards. Ithildin had been quiet for some time now, as was his wont. No matter, the Dúnadan was used to his friend's silences. There was no discomfort between them when this happened, they had long since passed that awkward stage.

After while he stood and stretched his long legs, walking over to the elf he tapped him on the shoulder and smiled. 'A fine voice you have my friend! A gift you have hidden well until this night - what is it that makes your soul soar so? Do you think on her... your lady? It is said that the caged bird sings sweetest; be careful she does not clip your wings!'

[chrysophalax]

Ithildin looked at his friend and smiled. "Nay, Alduric. My lady is of surpassing beauty and sweetness, 'tis true. I greatly desire that the two of should you meet! I fear you will be jealous, as I have never seen on a woman of your race her equal! Keen of wit also she is, having a viper's tongue at times..." He looked again into the distance and sighed. "Alas...these are not my only thoughts."

[Turgon]

'Come my friend, what ails you? A burden shared is a burden halved - or so it is said.' The Dúnadan led his friend back towards the fire, where they sat and shared a cup of honey-coloured wine. The firelight gleamed in Ithildin's bright eyes, but he seemed reluctant to speak. Alduric could imagine what the elf was thinking. A good friend burdens not his companions.

[chrysophalax]

A haunted look crossed Ithildin's face as he looked at Alduric, then quickly away. "He knows me far too well." he sighed, his thoughts darkening. Alduric's brow furrowed in concern. This was unlike Ithildin. Quiet he might be, but never morose. He reached across and placed a steadying hand on his arm. "Tell me..."

"I fear death, foolish I know for one of the Eldar, yet fear it I do. I foresee my death in this great under-taking of our Lords and I fear it! The halls of Mandos hold no appeal for me, I desire life and it's wonders too greatly to have them slip away so needlessly..." He poured his wine onto the ground and tossed his cup into his gear. "Enough! Tell me of your family...how do they fare?"

[Turgon]

So that was it? Alduric had been born in the shadow of death, as had all his kind, and yet it held no fears for him. Alas! The same could not be said for all his race. Much suffering had befallen his people in the old land, in Númenor, all from this self same fear; it had corrupted the hearts of the great and the good alike.

'All that lives must die, passing through nature to eternity.' said Alduric solemnly. 'We know that you and I. But come my friend, put these dark thoughts from your mind. If we are to die, we die as warriors, fighting a cause both noble and just. Is it not so? If we give our lives, we give them so that those who follow can live in a world free from darkness.'

Alduric smiled grimly for a moment before laying a firm hand upon his friend's shoulder. 'We march with Gil-galad and Elendil the Tall. Yes and my Lord Isildur too! Who shall stand against us?'

[chrysophalax]

"I...would not see you die, my friend." The hand on his shoulder tightened and he turned to look again at Alduric. Of all the Men he had come to know through many life-times of Men, this one he regarded as most dear. A sadness crept through him and he shuddered. Pulling his pack over to him, he reached in a withdrew a beautiful glass bottle with amber-coloured liquid inside and he presented it to Alduric who whistled appreciatively. "Miruvor? It's been far too long since I last tasted this magical draught, my friend." Ithildin grinned at Alduric's enthusiasm, his capacity for drink was legendary.

[chrysophalax]

The two comrades sat up drinking long into the night, telling tales and speculating on the war to come. Eventually Alduric could hold his eyes open no longer and yawned until he felt his jaws would split.
Ithildin grinned and said "Elf-friend you may be, but no Elf you are in your need of sleep! Go. Get some rest. I know that come sunrise we will begin the march to Imladris, where my love awaits! I would have you fresh when you meet her. Ah! Here is Dorlas now, come to tuck you in it seems."

Alduric glared at his friend and rose from his place at the fire. "Indeed, it is as you say. Here is the miscreant now. Where have you been all night, boy? Up to no good surely!" He clapped Ithildin on the shoulder and bade him good night, leaving Ithildin to return to his eternal star-gazing.

[Khamul]

Dorlas quickly came running, winded from a long run. His master would not be happy, if his deeds of the day would be revealed. It was not his fault that he had stumbled across a girl who looked like she need help carrying a loaf of bread. “Master, what does thou require, besides a good long sleep? Your eyes are weary, and the lack of rest, shall disable your mind.”

[Turgon]

"Indeed Master Dorlas? Less sauce from you would be a good beginning! Do I dare ask where you have been all day?' Alduric feigned a swipe at the young ohtar's head and then picking up his pack he threw it to the squire with enough force to knock him of his feet. 'Be at ease, I can find my own way to my bed. It would be wise to turn in yourself; we have a long day ahead of us. No more adventures eh? We ride at first light - have the horses ready.'

With this the Dúnadan turned and made his way slowly to his rest. It had been quite a night - the sight of the Elven Host riding up out of the west would be something that stayed with him always; and yet he felt a slight sadness in his heart that young Dorlas had not been around to witness it. Alas, it was ever so with the young - gazing off into the bright pastures of tomorrow with never a thought for the beauty of today.

[Khamul]

"Well, off with ya', don't let none of the rocks bruise your puny self. We don't want ya' dying as soon as you see an orc! Get some sleep."

Dorlas paused, took a deep breath, attempting to hold in his excitement, slumped to the ground, and with a sigh, fell into a peaceful, yet restless sleep.

[chrysophalax]

Ithildin sighed as he watched his friend retire to his tent for the remainder of the night. The young Dorlas was probably going to prove to be more than a handful for Alduric. He smiled to himself, then walked in the direction of Gil-Galad's tent.

Many torches blazed around the large pavilion and as he entered, the High King nodded to him, waving him to a seat. "So cousin, how fares your comrade? Well, I trust?" Ithildin replied, "All is well, Majesty. His company is more than ready it would seem for battle. Men are ever thirsty for blood-shed." Something close to melancholy began to steal over him and he shrugged it off. "Is there anything you require ere I resume my watch?"

Gil-Galad handed him a message. "Take this to Isildur. This contains some of the plans to be discussed once we reach Imladris." Bowing, Ithildin left then and walked away on his errand. All too soon the sun would rise and they would leave on the East-ward march.

[chrysophalax]

Ithildin crossed the camp toward the tent of Isildur and as he approached, two guards detained him, asking him what business he had with Isildur. He produced the missive handed him by Gil-Galad and after inspecting it, they allowed him to pass.

He entered the tent to find Isildur and several of his aides poring over some maps. Bowing low, he presented Isildur with the message. After looking it over hastily, Isildur dismissed his Men and beckoning Ithildin closer he spoke urgently. "Your King wishes for you to ride on ahead of the vanguard to Imladris. Apparently the Enemy is moving more swiftly than anticipated. You must take this message, along with another that I will entrust to your keeping to Lord Elrond as soon as you can take to horse." As Ithildin waited for Isildur to write his message, his thoughts turned to imladris, and Tindomerel who awaited him there.

Taking a small pouch from his jerkin where it lay next to his heart, he removed from it a jewel, an emerald wrought in the shape of a star. set in silver. "So do her eyes shine in my mind, as brightly as the jeweled belt of Menelmacar as he strides the night." He brought the jewel to his lips, then replaced it in its pouch.

Isildur soon finished with his addition and as he handed it to Ithildin, sealed by his own hand, he asked him to take one of his own men on the road with him to ensure the missive's safe delivery. Thanking Isildur, he bowed again, then set off in search of Alduric's tent.

Alduric was snoring loudly, when suddenly he felt someone nudge his shoulder. His eyes flew open as his hand closed around the dagger at his side. He looked up to see Ithildin laughing silently, and he growled, "Have you lost your mind? What are you doing here?" Ithildin crouched down beside him. "Not quite the greeting I expected! I have been given an errand on behalf of our lords and Isildur has given me leave to choose a companion to ride with me to Imladris. Interested? Or shall I look elsewhere for a guard?" In an instant, Alduric was on his feet. "You wouldn't dare!" he said, pulling on his clothes. "Dorlas! Where is that useless squire of mine?" Ithildin retreated outside the tent while Alduric made ready and went in search of his horse.

[Turgon]

Alduric hummed a stirring battle-song as he readied himself for the journey ahead. Pulling on a gleaming shirt of mail, and donning a black surcoat emblazoned with a Silver Tree - the symbol of his lord. Then girding Dagorlin about his waist he went in search of Dorlas.

He found the squire sleeping by a campfire, and waking him none too gently, sent him in search of their steeds. Alduric's horse was a heavy brute, and he himself was not much of a rider. For the most part the Dúnedain fought on foot, dismounting before battle and engaging their enemies at close quarters. It was a style of fighting that suited Alduric well.

It was not long before Dorlas returned; he had packed their travel gear too, something that always slipped Alduric's mind. In truth he was a good squire, regardless of Ithildin's teasing, and would make worthy knight one day - assuming he stayed out of trouble.

Climbing into the saddle with a sigh, the Dúnadan made his way back to the camp where Ithildin was waiting. His friend looked thoughtful, but that was nothing new.

'Come Ithildin,' Alduric laughed. 'Why so pensive? You have a pretty maid waiting for you in Rivendell... a worthy reward for doing Lord Isildur's work. The best we can hope for is a place at Lord Elrond's table...'

[chrysophalax]

"True indeed my friend, yet the fare at Lord Elrond's table is nothing to be taken lightly! Other things there are that will delight you there I feel certain, for there it is, in all this wide world save one place, that you will see glimpses of the West that was. Few of your race have gained admittance, so remember it well! This will be a tale to passed down for many years of Men." Leaning forward, he whispered to his steed and they began their journey.

Dorlas was already nearly asleep in his saddle even before the sun had fully risen. The air was crisp and sharp and Alduric filled his lungs with it and laughed aloud. Ithildin cocked an eye brow at him. "What amuses you so? There are times when you Dunedan give me cause to wonder." He looked around him and the beauty of the of the woods and fields through which they rode filled him with longing. War was hateful to him and the thought of leaving this land for the stark halls of Mandos chilled him to bone. He ran his fingers threw his hair in an attempt to shake off his melancholy mood.