The Golden Hall of Meduseld

[Wolfchild]

Her illusions danced cruelly, and the pace in which events had proceeded slowed to a dizzying grind. The beings around her, be they truth or lies, flickered; their existence entwined with her own. She could see nothing now, and heard only the drumbeat, the heartbeat, the echo of noise. Stumbling down from a cindered wreck, burning flesh filled her nostrils. Where the daggers of teeth would once slaver wickedly, the throat that fed their greed spluttered and choked blood.

Vargaz was five, perhaps ten miles from Umbar, and though the fear of pursuit had diminished, it would take a stride of leagues to put it at rest. A broken leg was dragged by the other in a fitful run, soon dashed upon wild rocks that sat to be marked in warpaint. She fell upon the ashes of a hillside, her limbs shrinking to her side. Retching as chords clenched, all that gave life came to a shivering end. For the tussle of northern and southern winds upon her body, she felt no impact.

[Beren One-Hand]

*The collective hords gathered, roaming the countryside on the hills above Pelenor.  Beren commanded the generals and captains to organizse their legions and to form their lines.  Each captain would lead his respective army into battle, thus all the armies would charge the battle field in unison.*

*The forces in Minasal gathered.  They were as numerous as the sands on the sea shore, and as powerful as the ocean waves.*

*The sun was rising; war was in the air.  All armies gathered, while the captains on both sides made ready to make their speeches before the charge.*

[Wolfchild]

In a surge of panic, Meklian forgot the subtlety that had served him so well. Human, he held his head feverishly as a pain unlike death hit him hard, the flame burning from his insides. Through bleeding eyes he felt the shape of his hands, yet saw nothing of his body before him.

His screams twinned with another, as within the ranks Erekuil was discovering the same fate. To the horror of those soldiers around him, his physical form spent but a moment resisting, before buckling to the molten agony within. Both he and Meklian flickered, as all those of Her creation flickered, their lives lying in memory and invention. She had forgotten them, her kin made in rebellion, and without the mind of Vargaz, they were lost. They smelt her blood upon the air, and wept. Without another moment, they disappeared, and were gone from the realm of Men.

Some miles away, a woman awoke to the resurrected pulse of her own heartbeat.

[Beren One-Hand]

*Thranduil and his host attacked at nightfall.  They struck Mindasal's army from the east.  Mindasal's army took quite a large hit with the intial strike, as they had not anticipated a strike from the east.  "Where were the Easterlings?"  Thought Mindasal when this took place.  But eventually as the Corsair chief began to focus his forces on the eastern plain of Pelennor, the elves started to take some heavy casualties.*

*Beren could see Thranduil struggling and rode along the lines of his great host.  "Dwalinstone, Drenobi, Eldarion, and all ye captains of Middle Earth.  We ride today for valor, for death and for glory.  Surely the gods will aid us in our plight.  May Valinor cast her gaze upon us today!"  The mighty host shouted and cheered at their captain as he galloped along the lines.  Each captain joined his respective armies.  "I am proud to ride and die by your side, my lord."  Said Erekuil.  "And me as well, wolfman.  Do not possess fear, but know that if you should perish today at Pelennor, that the gods will reserve a special seat for you in the halls of my forefathers."  Beren put his hand on the wolfman's shoulder and the two men acknowledged a mutual respect for each other.  Then they prepared for the charge into battle . . . *

[Wolfchild]

((Beren, did you read my post? I won't write out Erekuil if you don't want me to, but it would have contradicted the idea that they were all Vargaz' creation if I made him an exception.))

Her lungs filled with air as the curse of Awle brought her back from death once more. At first she thought it the waking of troubled sleep, and were it that her skin did not seer with every movement, the illusion could have remained. She was overwhelmed with a feeling of terror, and yet knew nothing of where it came. She tried to name her location, but found no words with which to construct the meaning. Crawling upon her stomach, the world was a blur of unknowns. Beneath her, the foundations of the earth shuddered like a crashing tide upon the shore. She cast a blurred glance to the rocky plains in her sight, and the dust seemed to grow from afar.

[Beren One-Hand]

(Hey Wolfy, lol.  Um, well Erekuil never left Beren's side, according to how the battle was developing.  He wasn't with Meklian.  I was hoping to keep him in the story.  Maybe to avoid a contradiction, we could say that Erekuil only remained because he was a half-breed, half-wolfman, half-human or something of that nature.  What do you think?)   

*The orcs and pirates at Pelennor turned to face the oncoming onslaught of the vast northern host, while the rest continued to fight Thranduil and the elves.  The forces of Mindasal on the front lines knelt down, with their spears to the earth to brace themselves for the charge of Beren's cavalry.  But Beren pulled out the lost Silmaril that he had once captured, eons ago, from Morgoth.  "We ride unto battle as though the whips of the Valor strike out backs.  Death may embrace us, but death, glory and valor are ours unto all eternity!"  The vast host cheered and screamed at his words, and Beren lead the charge, with the army pouring o'er the hills of Pelennor to meet the Corsair's.  Beren used the Silmaril to cause a temporary blindness into the eyes of the soldiers aiding them in their attack.  Beren's army broke the lines of Mindasal, cutting down his soldiers, making quick work of the pirate lord's host . . . *

[Wolfchild]

(I don't know, Beren. I can't say I'm comfortable with it.)

A flourish of hooves dotted the horizon with black, their bridles reflecting the blinding light of the sun. Resistance caught and toyed with flowing garments that flew above a scattering of debris, making the shape of a shimmering, insect-like mass. Covering the distance much swifter than she had herself, they hastened onwards. Soon, the pulse of their footfall shook the pebbles beside her, despite the quake stemming, it seemed, from another source. On instinct alone she recoiled her hand as a dozen appendages tore at the earth, only to be replaced instantly by a dozen more. The ash of it filled her throat, and disregarding threat, she choked upon it painfully. Appearing now as a worm caught in daylight, she was no more a stone of the landscape. The drumming paused, inquisitive. Before her the bulk had separated, and was divided amongst five segments. Five horsemen, whose steeds were not alone in their assortment of trinkets. Flowing gowns glistened with gold and precious jewels, that balanced above crisp, white linen and intricate stitching. She noticed none of this, hiding her eyes away amongst dry soil.

"Apira...f...sair?" one uttered, as his feet touched the ground with a deep boom.

"Erap" another answered. "Serta?"

"Iye...doutak?"

At this, he seemed to approach her closer. When he found there was no response, he clutched her arm, trying to see her face. She turned, and opened her eyes blankly, but there were no words to be had.

"Dou tak?" he asked again.

"Lou...jurbi norm. Uset outer...fer..." His partner noted, his observations striking a chord with the first.

"Onet emid i..." He looked in the direction from which they had come, with the same concern that she had once held. He stared at her for a moment longer, before releasing his grasp, and turning his palm into an invitation of assistance in standing. She did not understand the meaning of the gesture, but took it out of blind curiosity. She was hoisted up roughly, and leaned upon her right foot before being carried like a child to sit upon the saddle of her inquisitor's vacant horse. He looked outwardly across the plains once more, before rejoining the steed himself.

"Nar" he exclaimed, and the clamor proceeded eastwards.

[Beren One-Hand]

(Hi Wolfie.  Okay, I think it is fine if we go with your plot-line with regards to Erekuil.  Oh, and thanks for letting me know about that stupid spammer lemontree.  I wish I could ban him, but until my mod-powers are increased, I don't think that will be possible.  For the time being I have to just stick to deleting spam.)

Back to the story . . .

*Thranduil and his host had been effective in their attack, but with their success came significant loss.  More than two-thirds of the elfish host and its combinded forces had perished.  But Beren's forces, including all the other armies that rode with him had been successful.  Dwalinstone's dwarfish host slaughtered the late-coming Easterlings and Haradrim from the east.  Beren's men and the bounty hunters from the north had cut-down all in their pathway up to Minas Tirith, with the city's Corsair occupied forces basically surrending.  However, Mindasal remained in his tower, wondering how it could have went so wrong.*

*"The Corsair dream of Middle-Earth total dominance has failed.  I have failed."  Cried the pirate lord, as he watched the hordes of Dwalinstone burn and pillage his ships.  "Soon the Reborn One will return.  Momentarily he shall come and apprehend me.  In all likelihood I shall be imprisoned for what remains of my life, or hastily put to death.  The clock ticks and I cannot stand to wait any longer . . . "  Said Mindasal, as he approached the open window of his tower."*

[Wolfchild]

Their route continued many miles, unwavering in its course. The horsemen rode swiftly, though no matter how often she looked back for a sign of danger, she saw none. The feeling of fear she carried herself remained dominant, and she wished for the chance to envision what caused it as well as it did them. Throughout, there were no words spoken between their number; all seemed to follow the guidance of her rider upon each fluctuation of the hoof. They moved from unquenchable, stony ground to endless seas of sand, all whilst the sun burnt their backs and boiled their bones. At times, a jewel would fall from its clasp, or a piece of golden filigree tear itself from dense stitches, and yet none would pause to retrieve them.

After the sun had fallen, the shadows of the land lapped at their feet. She was in awe of this barren world, that did so well to purge itself of living things, or keeping what remained to burrows and below. Where their skin had once seared, it now shivered. The horses ran no more, and the riders slowed them to a walk, before ceasing completely. It was a sign of inexperience that they did not make camp whilst the light could yet aid them, but regardless, they didn't carry the equipment to do so. All evidence began to prove they had fled without question or thought.

"Tangar" their leader said to another, denoting his instruction. Whilst the rest removed their cloaks and rested them upon the ground, he turned, and maintained his gaze west, from whence they had ridden.

In her dazed state, she attempted to remove herself from the horse by her own devices. This met with a rush of those who sought to bring her from the steed much as she had been brought to it. As she was lain upon a cloak herself, exhaustion overwhelmed into the throws of sleep.

[Beren One-Hand]

*Bam.  Bam.  Bam.  Was the sound of the battering ram as it shattered the tower room door to pieces.  Beren walked past and over four unconscious guards that had originally stood beside the door to guard it.  No one else remained in that tower room, except Mindasal.*

*Mindasal debated whether he'd fight the hero, surrender, or jump from the tower window, thus ending his life.  Somehow the pirate inside him could not consent to suicide, so he drew his sword, and would fight to the death to defend his honor, and that of his people, the Corsair race.*

*Beren drew his own sword, and the two foes wasted little time with banter, as metal blade clashed with metal blade.  The dual lasted for several minutes, but soon enough, Beren caught the pirate lord off guard, and cleaved him through the stomach, pulling out his sword, as the Corsair fell hard and fast to the floor.*

*"So much for the pirate's life, eh matey?"  Said Mindasal, as he breathed his last.  Beren offered no words, but just a deathly cold stare into the eyes of his foe as he died before him.*

*Now it was finished.  The battle had been won, and the war over.  Beren had finished his task.  The Valor would be pleased with him, and he would soon be off to the Grey Havens to sail to Aman - to the Undying Lands, forever.  But something else plagued his thoughts - or someone else . . . He could not stop thinking about his old flame, Vargaz.  If only he could see her one last time.  If only they could sail together to Valinor.  If only he could find her . . . *

[Wolfchild]

When the sun rose, she found her face had been shrouded in silk, and her injured leg cocooned by the same measure. The rider's captain sat nearby, and watched her reaction.

"Umat eli onaf, re. Efosi narloa."

She shook her head. She did not understand.

"Apira unt os itun? Erio fa?" His tone got progressively sterner.

"Ishi inaon te, usteh risoe. Ufre alki nata." His partner commented, to which they both agreed.

"Terisoa sund arjuris na. Eral efujas re." The captain's words seemed to resolve the matter. At that, the men continued to clear the ground they had inhabited. Looking around her, she could see they had slept in the shadows of a towering dune, upon which one rider stood, looking out to the waves of sand that followed it. She could not see it yet, but his eyes were drawn towards a green gemstone upon the horizon. The jungles of the Haradwaith were near.

[Beren One-Hand]

*A large gathering took place following the great war, at the White City.  Eldarion was re-commissioned as king, and once again the people of Gondor put their faith in the line of kings.  Beren One-Hand was also given a special honour.  The entire assembly gave him a crown also, naming Erchamion the Valor Returned, or Valorion.  Atop his head was placed the crown of Thingol, long hidden and cherished, deep inside the vaults of Minas Tirith.* 

*Dwalinstone, Valorion's most dear friend and comrade was also crowned - crowned High King of the Dwarves - the first dwarf to be given rule over all dwarfish kingdoms on Middle-Earth.  Many dwarf lords would still rule various areas, but the ultimate scepter would remain in the hands of Dwalinstone.*

*Narnobi and the Bounty Hunters and their kin returned to rebuild the northern Ice Bay, and forge a new life for themselves, forever having the frienship of Gondor and other peaceful kingdoms on Middle-Earth.*

*Thranduil stood by Beren's side, and would finally set sail to Aman, leaving the shores on the continent behind.  He placed the rule of Mirkwood and its elves that remained in the hands of his nephew
Drand-Eldine.*

*After many more days of celebrating and festivities, Beren and Thranduil headed with a small company to the Grey Havens - a journey that would take many a day.  But still in Beren's mind was the thought of his old flame, Vargaz.  Would she hear his call?* 

[Wolfchild]

The dunes were crossed with caution, bringing their convoy to a laborious pace. Her vision was crisper now, and she could see with some eagerness the verdant forest that made the others talk with such relief. It seemed to emerge from the arid horizon like an emerald fortress, as endless in scope as its Mirkwood brethren. The closer they drew to its gloriously tropical foliage, the greater its allure seemed. Drawn beneath the first eaves of exotic trees, their wonder was nourished well. Increasingly, birdsong began to fill their ears, and to the men their whistles and chatters surpassed those of the carrion call by leagues. On they pressed, until the glare of sunlight was forgotten, and the depth of their new region began to take shape.