Beneath the setting sun, a chestnut mare galloped through an empty forest road in the half-light. Its rider was clad in white, a flowing stream of pearly white rippling in the breeze. On they rode, through the waving arms of tree branches, past unkempt clearings scattered with forest litter, and on. Without warning, the horse and rider burst through the last of the forest trees, and galloped out beneath the open sky.

Eventually, they slowed to a stop beside a running stream where the rider unmounted. She ran over to the stream and ran her fingers through the cool water, splashing it over her face, feeling the evening breeze on her skin. She went over to the mare and ran her fingers through her glistening mane to still her beating heart.

‘We’re free.’ Tîwele said simply to the mare, putting her silence into words at last, yet hardly daring to believe what she had just uttered. She sighed and reached over for her pack, preparing to settle down for the night.

[Someone pleeaase continue ;) ]

Suddenly Tîwele turned, hearing a sound behind her. With a ruste of leaves a Man stepped into the clearing and approached her, stopping just out of reach.
"I'm not going to hurt you." he said, and he sounded as if he meant it. "I can see that you're scared and shouldn't be here. If I can help at all..."
Kestrar fell silent and waited for a reply, hoping the prety young woman would in her turn help him. She opened her mouth to talk, thought better of it, and was quiet.
"If you're going somewhere I can protect you." Kestrar tried again, seeing the pack on the floor by her feel was bulging with supplies for more than a short trip. Again she seemed not to want to accept his help, yet she did not seem to be ungrateful, only afraid of something.

Is Tîwele an elf- she sounds like she could be!

Tîwele hid her surprise at the approaching man and turned away. When he did not go away, she finally spoke.
'I...' She was reluctant to give away her purpose, since she didn't know whether her father had sent anyone unfamiliar to bring her back, or if it was a trap '... have been fleeing from my father's men. Have you seen a group of men on horses?'
She paused for a moment. Her eyes met his briefly, and she saw, or thought she saw, a hint of sadness.

'Who are you?' She asked. He did not look like an elf, or leastways like the princes she had known back at home, but she could not be sure.

[Yeh, Tîwele's an elf. If you read her character description I wrote, you'll find out more about her]

"I've not seen anyone but you for many days" Kestrar answered. "Are you fleeing your father? I have a horse, but I'm alone. I can keep hidden if you'd prefer it that way. I'm Kestrar. I've never known my parents, or a real family."
Her reply came swiftly this time; "You must not let anyone find me. If you stay with me you will be in danger when we are found, and I do not want to be held responsible for the death of a Man, for if I guess correctly, you do not posess the immortality my people endure."
They stood quietly, each pondering what they were about to do. Kestrar guessed Tîwele was runnung away from her father, but for what purpose he did not know. Not wishing to break her fragile confidence, he suggested building some sort of basic shelter for the night, for the sky was clouding over as they spoke.


OK, stupid me!!

Sorry- computer being silly !!

While Kestrar went to search broken branch fragments that they could use for firewood, Tîwele got a fire going. Soon they were both sitting under the cover of a large old oak, warming their hands in the light of the flickering fire.

As they sat, Tîwele spoke. 'I'm fleeing from my home,' she said, 'Órelindë, it is called, and from my father Lólindir, the king. I feel as if i have been imprisoned in that land all these years, and unable to be free. It was yestereve that he first spoke to me of marriage. He wanted me to marry Rasten, a young man I had never yet met, and take up the throne after my father when i grew older. But that's not what I want to do. I don't want to marry a man I haven't met, or rule. I am yet young, and have yet to see the world. I want to live, to do, to see!

'No one knows where I have gone But if i were ever found with you, you would be in danger, for my father forbids me to go near any outsiders, and you are the first man I've yet seen.' It was clear Tîwele could not hide her fascination that he was so alike the elves she knew. Men, she had heard from her father, were evil, uncaring, and brought ruin.

Kestrar stared at her, lost in silence.
‘What about you, Kestrar?’ asked Tîwele ‘Why are you out in the wild, a lone man and a horse?’

In the distance, both heard the sound of happy whinnying, as if the horses were happy to find a companion.

"I've never known my parents. I lived with some of my father's friends until the orcs came. They burned down the house. I was hunting, and came back to find the only family I ever knew burned inside."

Kestrar stopped, as if the memory was painful to him. He was a skilled actor, and few would have percieved the lie he hid in his eyes. The hut had been burned, and this small vestige of truth gave him the necessary edge to lie undetected. About his adoptive family, he would say no more, hoping Tîwele would ask no more.

"The horse is easier to explain. Rochir was with me when I went hunting that day." Almost as proof, he opened his own, rather smaller, pack and pulled from the inside of it a strip of dried meat. Placing this on a sharp stick and holding it over the fire to heat, he shivered slightly in the chill wind.

"Aren't the horses glad to have company?" he asked, and they did seem to be happy, grazing together, Rochir's dark tail swishing over the other horse's hear to protect against flies.
"I'm glad of the company as well" Tîwele answered. "If you can be true to your word after what I have told you, I will let you stay with me. Swear never to let our whereabouts be known to my father or his scouts!" There was an urgency in her voice that compelled Kestrar to answer in the affermative.

Am I OK to set this in the Fourth Age?

[Yep, even though these threads are meant to be before the third age, but it doesn't matter.]

Kestrar looked somewhat startled. Tîwele thought liked the look of him. He didn't seem like a nasty person, only a ranger in the wild. Tîwele turned and went over to her horse.

'This is Laeren, my horse,' she said to Kestrar, 'sometimes I feel as if she's my only friend in the world. We grew up together, in the confines of my home.' She gestured somewhere North, 'but home it will be no longer. I vow never to let them find me.'

Tîwele stroked Laeren's mane. Laeren whinnied in answer.

'I have journeyed far,' said Kestrar. 'Me and Rochir, and have not yet met a soul but you. Sometimes I wonder if the world hides things from us.' He fell silent.

Tîwele looked at Kestrar. 'You never knew your parents, and i never knew my mother. My father told me she died when I was born, but I have reason to believe that was a lie. I don't know where she went if she left, or if she's still alive.

'Your fathers friends... who were they?' She asked, 'where was your home?'

Far away Anithrawyn cursed the elf maiden quietly as the rain stated to fall. Calling over to the others they began heading for the forest nearby... Anithrawyn wondered for the millionth time why they were here. Surely the stupid girl would come home of her own accord, wet and tired, but ok. In fact, she had probably already returned and they were all wasting there time out here. He couldn't imagine her staying out in this whether. When ever he'd seen her with her father she had been dainty and, well, girlish... Maybe appearances were deceptive.
Miraure twitched restlessly beneath him and for a second he was brought back to the real world. Looking round he saw the others had halted 80 yards behind. In the gathering gloom it was easy to miss them, so he called out to them. "Come, night is falling!" his elf voice rang out, braking the silence. The broken silence accentuated the void of noise. Anithrawyn had a brief second to wonder exactally why the others had stoped, and to regret speaking out, before the cold, clamy fear washed over him, and darkness fell.

[hope you dont mind me joining in...and introducing a new character (he's supposed to be a servant out looking for Tiwele) you can go back to your two characters, and i'll bring him back in somehow... if thats ok??]

"I have lived with a family of Men for as long as I can remember. I have little knowledge of their bloodline, but they seem to be related to Beren of the Nine Fingers, or to have knowledge of his family from long ago. I know little of them but their names, Galenon and Orva"

Kestrar was uncertain of Beren's line, but was certain he himself was not a direct descendant of the great king. It was a name often talked of with great respect.

"I do not feel safe here" he continued, in an attempt to change the direction of the conversation; he did not, yet, want to talk about where he had lived, in case the rumours had reached Tîwele. "
I don't like being exposed in the middle of perfectly good cover." He stood up and placed another branch on the dying fire, totally in contrast to what he had just said.

"I like your horse" he continued. "I can see why you love her." She was now grazing again, but seemed reluctant to stray too far from her mistress. Her tail swished over her hind legs, and she raised her head to watch the firelit conversation. The light was fast fading from the sky, and the full moon was plainly visible in the starry blackness.

"Where are you going from here?" Kestrar repeated one of his earliest questions, hoping he had gained enough of Tîwele's confidance to obtain an answer.


It says "to the start of the Fourth age and onward" but we'll go second if you want!! ;)
Bill- do you want another person in the search party?

[that would be great, if someone wants to write one...]

‘I have not given that much thought yet,’ answered Tîwele after a brief pause. She was growing used to Kestrar’s company. ‘I do not know the lands more than 50 miles out from Órelindë, but I long to go beyond that restricted border I have always stayed within. Wherever a road is able to lead, I’ll follow it on its way. Perhaps one day this searching will end, and I will settle down somewhere, but as yet I cannot foresee when that will be. There may even come a day when I come to learn the truth about my mother, and…’ she trailed off, unable to continue. She was hesitant about telling Kestrar what had been buried inside her all those long years before, something she vowed she would uncover the truth of, but had never told a soul, much less someone she had only met that night.

In all her long years, though young she was, Tîwele had, if nothing else, gained the wisdom akin to her people. If she had learnt long ago not to be deceived by her father, but she had also learnt that in every lie, there was a truth concealed, no matter how well hidden that was. She still did not know, or allow herself to be sure, whether Kestrar was one she could trust.

There was something hidden in his eyes that she could not place. He was concealing something, whether from his past or his present purpose, she did not yet know. Tîwele didn’t want to force him to reveal what he was reluctant to, and that if he felt he wanted to tell her when the time came, he would.

She let the dying embers of the fire dim in the failing light.
One thing, however, she wanted to know. ‘Where are you heading for once this night has passed? For it is late, and I think that soon, we should get some rest.’


[Oops sori, I changed it, I remember now. Don’t mind me, this’ll be set in the Fourth Age :) Speaking of the Fourth Age, I have this idea that after the third age, there were no more or very few orcs, so we shouldn’t wind them into the story (the orcs attacking Kestrar’s home had better not have been recent…) but there’ll be other things. That’s just my idea, so ya, tell me if you disagree…
Hey btp! Having another storyline’s fine. We’ll need someone to play the someone else in the search party if that’s what we want (you’ll have some company while you search :)… unless someone wants to do two characters ^_^]

"I'm willing to rest as well" said Kestrar, avoiding the previous question. He wasn't sure where he wanted to go, so he had no way of telling Tîwele this. He only had one name to use in the search for his family, who he was sure were not dead, as he has always been told.

"I'm passing through the forest" he said, to give some kind of answer. Then it all spilled out in a rush- "I don't know where to go. I'm looking for my family. There were no orcs, I ran away from my father's friends. I'm looking for my family. I think they passed this way because as a child I was never allowed into the forest, I was never told why, only that it was off limits. All I've got is the name Beren, who has some connection with them."

He sat down and let his head fall forewards into his hands. Then, ashamed by this weakness, he lay down, pretending to be tired. He slept fitfully through the night, often waking. When morning came Tîwele was awake before Kestrar and alreay roasting some meat over the fire.




I'll play another Searcher, if you want me to.

[thats fine by me]

When Ani awoke his hands were bound and a blindfold had been tied across his eyes. Every bone in his body ached, but it didnt feel as though anything was broken. Sunlight warmed his face, and so he knew it was morning. When sitting still he could make out some of what was around him. Somewhere near by was another elf, but unmoving. This, he hoped, meant it was one of his companions, but he couldnt be sure. Two horses, or maybe three, were grazing nearby, and one of them sounded so like Miraure that he called out joyfully. For the second time he realised that making noise was a mistake, and this time his words were greeted by slow, diliberate footsteps and heavy breathing approaching.
The shadow of a figure fell across Ani's face and the hands that untied his blindfold were cold and hardened by many years labour. Standing above him was a human man, wearing tattered clothes and with hair and beard un-combed.
"What do you want?" the strange man asked Ani, and although he used man- tongue well, he faltered slightly, as though unaccustomed to speaking.
"I am a traveller." Ani answered in the same tongue, and paused, waiting. But the man seemed content with that answer, and so after a long silence Ani asked, "Why did you tie me up?" The man looked at Ani sharply "Then you do not know what inhabbits this acursed wood? I tied you up for your own good. I could not have you wondering alone after nightfall, so I kept you here to guard you."
"Guard me from what? What are you talking about?" Ani asked, while nervously glancing around. The wood seemed friendly enough. But then seeming wasnt enough. Really. The old man just shook his head sadly, he had said as much as he was going to. Ani couldnt make up his mind as to whether he would rather it was the power he had felt before, or whether there were worse things in this place.
Coldness crept over him, but it passed, and the man came over and cut his bonds. Ani jumped up, wishing to be back home, where nightmarish things were far away, and warm fires and songs filled the halls. As he swung a leg up onto Miraure the man who had been watching said " A beautiful elf maiden rests not far from here. I have seen her in my wanderings." Then the other elf, whom Ani had forgotten about gave a moan. Ani rushed forward to cut his bonds, and by the time he had made sure he was ok, the strange man had gone, without a trace. An elf maiden?
It could only be Tîwele. And with that, all thought of making for home were driven from his mind.


[feel free to play the other elf... hasnt got a name yet...
also, im going away tomorrow, so I wont be around. If you want to use Ani, feel free to do so]

When Tîwele saw that Kestrar had woken, she stopped crossed from the fire to him. ‘It’s a new day,’ she said brightly. She felt as though all the previous day’s troubles had been swept away by the onset of night. This day marked a new beginning, a new life even, for her and maybe for Kestrar as well. Where she went from here only time would define.

‘Do you want something to eat?’ She asked Kestrar, gesturing at the fresh fire. ‘you might not be used to the food I’ve brought with me. The meat’s one of the delicacies, as you might call, at the palace back home. They keep for days on long journeys.’

Thinking of home made Tîwele feel slightly troubled. Of the many that she had felt she would miss the most were some of the palace guards. One in particular, she recalled. His name was Anithrawyn. He was a good-hearted elf, she thought, and he was disagreeable of her father, she knew, but being a soldier, he could only take orders. Since she was very young, she had felt sympathy towards those under the King’s command. She knew how much power her father had in the land, and often wondered that if they had had a choice, whether they would choose to be in the position they were. She and Anithrawyn had only had to chance to talk on few occasions, and she had grown to like him in that brief time.

If she were at home, she would be in her chamber, and would be waited on by many. Here, she was in the wild, lost most likely, and with no sense of direction whatsoever in this vast place. She quickly dismissed these thoughts as Kestrar took the food gratefully. He looked famished.

‘I feel as if we’ve tarried here for too long,’ she said finally. ‘I feel uncomfortable, being only a mile out from the forest. A night is all we should stay in this place. I do not know whether the searching troops have yet given up on me, so I think I should leave as soon as the sun has risen more fully. I do not know where to go from here, but whether you want to come with me is your choice.’

"If you'll permit me, I'll come with you. Neither of us have a clear idea of where we've going, and I've got a better sense of direction than most. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to have some of the meat you're offering. I haven't eaten, except last night, for several days."
Kestrar as well did not feel they should linger, the longer they stayed in one place the faster any search parties would find them. He stood up and took the meat Tîwele passed him. It was slightly chewy, but that was only to be expected. Food for long journeys was often dried or smoked, so was usually chewy and tough.



got to go, bell just rung for next lesson

When Kestrar was finished, both prepared to leave.

'I don't mind if we travel together,' said Tîwele, 'but let us hurry. The sun has already risen.'

With that, they set off carefully down the road, taking such roads as they saw sense to take. As they travelled, the bushes along the sides of the path thinned. At first, they were oblivious of any others nearby apart from themselves. Suddenly, Tîwele stopped, hearing a slight movement somewhere near.

'Did you hear that?' she asked Kestrar.

'No,' he answered, looking around curiously.

The sounds grew silent, and they kept walking, Tîwele growing warier (sp?) by the minute. She knew that they were not the only living things in the area. Suddenly, she heard fast movement and the crackling of forest litter. A figure burst through the bushes to their right. His face was covered and he looked bent and elderly.

[I'm still on hols!]

The man stumbles, and almost fell to the floor. Kestrar ran to support him, and eased him gently onto a nearby log. He sat, wheezing, for a few minutes, then spoke.

He was so quie that Kestrar, at first, could make out nothing. He pretended to listen, but really his mind was wandering, and he was thinking of his home.

"What are you doing here?" The man's voice suddenly became clearer, but the effort involved caused him to slide off the log in a dead faint.

"What can we do? We can't leave him, but we can't take him with us like this!"

" I don't know. I don't want to stay, but we've no choice. If there is another option, I can't see it. Unless he wakes soon..."

The old man groaned and rolled over on the floor.

‘I wonder what a lone old man would be doing out here by himself,’ said Tîwele in concern. Indeed it did seem strange. On him, she noticed a tattered-looking bundle strapped to his cloak via a leather belt, but he seemed to bear no other belongings.

‘It doesn’t seem as if he’ll wake up anytime soon,’ said Tîwele. ‘I think we should move him off this road, not stay in the open, because I don’t think we should move off with him here, unarmed and completely oblivious to anything.’

Between the two of them, they dragged the man into a shady place near a some thorny brambles, and sat down next to him.

‘Do you think we should-?’ asked Tîwele, gesturing to the bundle that the old man bore. She knelt down and gently eased it out of his belt. Whatever was inside seemed to feel oddly shaped. Not trusting herself with it, she handed it to Kestrar.
…

Kestrar unwrapped the layer of cloth from the top of the bundle, only to find another underneath. This was of a fine golden weave, and showed no signs of wear, as the outer layer had. Feeling as if he shouldn't be opening somebody else's belongings, he slowly turned the packet over to see the opening on the underside.
Unfolding the wrapping, he revealed a small group of items, which accounted for the strange shape of the bundle. There was a small bronze medallion, some remnents of some dried meat and another, smaller, package inside, all of which fell into Tîwele's hand. Smiling, Kestrar asked her to open the smallest pack, but she shook her head.
"It's private, can't you feel it?" She stowed the package away, and it was not spoken of for many days. Just then, however, they pair did not know of that, and only talked of the old man, whose breating seemed to be getting shallower.
On a sudden inspiration, Kestrar closed the man's fingers around the medallion, in the hope that it would in some way help.

‘I wonder what these are?’ murmured Tîwele, staring down at the strange items that they had uncovered.

Just then, as if by some fundamental nature or by the strange coolness of the medallion on his hand, which seemed to illuminate his fingers with an odd glow, the old man’s breathing became less laboured. Gradually, it became even, and now he seemed as if he was merely sleeping.

Tîwele retrieved the golden garment which had been used to wrap the objects and looked at it closely. It was entirely laced with interwoven patterns, but as her eyes adjusted to cloth, she noticed that there was writing. Writing woven in a firm interlaced script throughout.

'It's in the High Elven tongue,' she said at length to Kestrar, 'And that is a language that we seldom now use. Andavë loar úvanëa ar hessa nésëo na i coacalina it says. 'Long years of fallen beauty and withered youth is the light of the House'. I cannot make sense of it.'

She looked back at the motionless form of the old man.

"What can it mean? I don't doubt you've translated it correctly, but it still doesn't make any sense to me" Kestrar replied, shaking his head.
"You speak the tongue well. I have only knowledge of Grey-elven, my scholar did not teach me any High-elven."

"You have missed a lot. I don't understand why he's carrying it either."
She turned to the West, looking out towards the see as if searching for some higher power.
"Unless he wakes soon, we will have a hard choice to make. To stay, or to leave him."

As she spoke, the man gave a low moan and tried to sit up, but was unable, and sank aback down onto the floor.

Lightly, Tîwele bent and helped the man sit up, helping him so that he could sit slumped with his back propped against the smooth bark of a nearby tree. He seemed finally to have gained conciousness. Dazedly, he stared up at the two travellers, and then, as if his eyes had suddenly made sense of his sight, he tried to scramble away as if he were startled.

‘We’re not going to harm you,’ said Tîwele gently.

The man looked at her, and a sense of recognition seemed to flicker momentarily in his eyes.

‘Did you see…’ he began in a hesitant voice. Then, without waiting for an answer, he said sharply, ‘Do not go back in those woods!’ He pointed to the way Tîwele had rode not too long ago.

He seemed to have gained his tongue once more.

‘There is more of the wood ahead of us,’ said Tîwele to the old man, shading her eyes and gesturing somewhere a mile or more ahead, hidden on the edge of sight by rising ground. ‘The only way that we will be able to pass free of these lands is to take a shortcut through them.’

‘You cannot…’ said the man, his voice wheezing once more, but this time as if out of fear. ‘You cannot…! I warned a young traveller a while before. Careless, he seemed. Folk don't seem to want to pay heed to elderly wanderers such as myself...’

'Young traveller?' said Tîwele, looking back at the man intently.

Nearby, Laeren and Rochir neighed restlessly, pawing their hooves at the ground.

[I almost completely forgot that the horses were there too!]

"Wanderer? We ae not used to taking counsel from those we do not know and trust. Don't be offended, it's just that there are those who would give ill advice in the hope of their own gain." The man looked startled at Kestrar's short speech, but did not seem to take offence.
"I can understand you don't wish to trust anyone. But look at this," he pulled a hidden pouch made of rough animal hide from inside his cloak. Reaching within he pulled out a small packet and started to unwrap it, revealing a small metal object which he showed to Kestrar especially, blocking Tîwele from view.
"What have you got that she cannot see?" Kestrar asked, thinking it was very rude of the man to act in this way. He then gasped as he saw what the man was holding out.
It was a small piece of bronze from the house Kestrar had fled. He could see, in his mind's eye, the mantlepiece over the fire where it had stood, impressed into the wood of the wall of the house.
"What is it! What's wrong?" Tîwele asked, but Kestrar just sank to the floor. Turning to the man, he asked one simple question.
"How did you get it?"

‘It was given to me,’ he said, eyes glinting as he recognised that the carved metal object held something of great value to Kestrar, ‘By a simple servant of your House. A noble man he was, but immensely untrusting of his late master, known to you as your uncle.’
The man held up the object to the light, so that Tîwele was able to catch a glimpse of it as the sun’s rays touched the surface. It was the metal carving of an animal, a bear-like creature.

‘This carving belonged to your father, and was of great value to him. It was a token, you see, of your father’s love for your mother. Yet it was left behind when he disappeared one winter’s evening, to everyone’s distress, left it behind when it was clearly his most treasured possession. Why that was is to anyone’s guess. When you fled the house, your uncle was distraught,’ said the bent man, his voice almost a whisper barely to be heard by anyone but Kestrar alone, ‘He knew to some extent of your errand, and your desire to find your family. For many years since you were a child, he had a single hope, and that was to keep you away from your true family and to convince you that they were lost and gone, and could not be found. That is however, a lie.’

A long silence followed this speech, and Tîwele craned her head to catch a glimpse of Kestrar’s expression. His face was overshadowed, but he was silent.
‘How do you know this? He said at length, ‘Who are you?’

"I knew your father a long time ago" the old man said. "As I said, I am a wanderer and cannot claim to come from any place or to be son of any man, for none would have me."
Kestrar did not like this answer; it was too much like he was trying to hide something. He suspected that the seemingly innocent face before him held more knowledge back than it gave.

"Why was it given to you, what have you to do with it?"
"I am searching for one Kestrar son of Galenon, and have been bid with this token to send him to the court of Lólindir, Lord and King of Órelindë, who much desires to speak with him. I'm guessing," the ond man smiled, "that would be you, judging by your reaction to my trinket"

Kestrar did not entirely trust this man, and only gave a small nod to affirm. Standing, he looked the old man in the eye, and he flinched, and drew away.

"And if I do not desire to do as you wish?" Kestrar stated, for he desired rather to do as he had planned, help Tîwele escape to some place she would be safe, then continue his quest for his parents. He had no desire to meet the King after having heard Tîwele's description of him.

Spinning round, Kestrar threw himself to the floor just in time to avoid an arrow, which plunged into a nearby tree. He heard one of the horses panicking, breaking the tie that bound it to a tree, and fainted.

Sorry, couldn't stop myself with the end bit, just trying to bring your half the story in!

Tîwele's surprise at the sudden threat roused her from her motionless state. She had grown both surprised and fearful of the old man's tale, whether it were real or imaginary, for something had seemed to stir in the back of her mind. A childhood memory. But she had could not give the matter further thought for the moment. Kneeling, she shook Kestrar on the shoulder with concern, and when he did not react, she said to the old man, 'We cannot give you an answer until we have had further thought, for I fear this matter does not concern Kestrar alone. But we cannot stay here. We have strayed in one spot for far too long.'

Tîwele left the elderly man to look after Kestrar, though without complete trust, but she had no choice. Taking Laeren, she searched the surrounding lands, and soon, stumbled upon a small fissure in the mountains where lay the entrance to a cave. Upon further inspection, she noted that it was reasonably safe and dry for a temporarily camp. She rode back to the spot where Kestrar lay, and with difficulty, heaved him onto her horse and mounted behind him, bidding the old man to ride Rochir as best he could. By sundown, they reached the caves that Tîwele had found. There, at least, Tîwele felt they could lie low without fear of prying eyes for a small while. She feared they were once again being hunted.

Now, sitting in the gloom of the cave's eaves, the memory brooded upon Tîwele once more. It seemed now, as clear as it had been that day, as if there were only a small space of time between now and then, and if she were to step into that time and place, into that long forgotten dream, it would be possible. Her mother and father held her, in the space of that forgotten time. Their images, clear as day, engraven in her mind. Her hair was golden, cast flying behind her that day, and he was tall, caring, noble. Before his love was lost and his mind overwhelmed by his kingdom. He was out hunting that day, and brought home an animal. A deer, but not a deer. Its fur was snowy, and its woolly coat resembled a large bear...

She stepped out of her thoughts and turned back to Kestrar, to notice that at last he was awake and staring back at her.
'Kestrar,' she said, her voice unsteady. 'Your true unfostered family. Who were they?'

[Mysteries, too many of them ;) Interweaving the two characters' storylines... As is what happens with me, couldn't help it, got a likkle carried away :) ]

Kestrar raised himself from the floor and looked at the rough shelter Tîwele had found. He saw the old man sleeping nearby, heard Tîwele speaking and answered her question.
"I know nothing of them. At least, nothing you would find useful, only a few memories. But I cannot have been older than 3, and they may only be fantasies. I remember a room, stone walls and large tapestaries. Knights and horses flowed across them and I wished to be a knight, to ride a horse." Kestrar gave a hollow laugh, and began telling all he could recall of the memory.

"They were black and red, and stood out against the walls of gray. There was a window; the Sun shone through it. I think I was hungry, it must have been early morning. That means that the window faced East. I can't recall a view, but I think I was in a castle..."

Kestrar's voice trailed off as he realised that there were very few castles in the surrounding regions. Had he thought it through, this would have been the perfect place to start the search for his real parents. Tîwele spoke quietly, bringing Kestrar back to his senses.

"You said you knew your parents' names? I'm sure you have told me but I can't remember them. It seems a long time ago that we met."

"Galenon and Orva. I remember my foster father telling me. He refused to say any more, only saying that I should know who I am only when I am ready." He broke off again, pondering the importance of this. Then a new thaught hit him, and he wondered why it had not occured to him earlier.
"Are the horses OK, where are they?"



I could go on for hours. It seems I've lost that writer's block now- I'm getting some ideas.........

‘They are grazing outside,’ answered Tîwele. ‘They seem to have been getting along reasonably well in the short time since they met.’

Cheerful whinnies of Laeren and Rochir from just outside the cave’s entrance seemed to prove Tîwele’s words true. As she knelt to retrieve some small dried feed to take to the horses, she pondered the image of Kestar’s memory. A slice of what Kestar had told her made her pause in her footsteps. It had slipped her before, and it had nearly slipped her again, or maybe it was simply too distant a fact to allow herself to accept, to acknowledge.

She turned back to Kestar. ‘My mother’s name was Orva,’ she said.

In the shaded light of the cave, she could not read Kestar’s face. A rustle of movement next to them made them aware of the old man’s wary presence not far away. He was holding carefully onto every word spoken. Tîwele saw him open his mouth to speak, but close it again in a gape of horror as the chilling sound of a black arrow hit the entrance of the cave just feet away from where he sat.

In the next moment, several things happened. A shrill neigh and the sound of horses in panic rang from outside. Alert though shaken, Tîwele sprang to the mouth of the cave and craned her eyes to see the horizon. Kestar was close behind her.

‘There are people on horses bearing battle gear,’ she said hurriedly to Kestrar. ‘They are heading this way, fast. What do we do?’ She searched his face for an answer.

As they headed near enough for Kestar to make out the individuals, he said, ‘It looks like an assault. I know not these people’s purpose, and nor are they familiar to me at first glance.’
If there was fear hidden in him, he did not show it.

Resisting the urge to pull him back, Tîwele watched Kestrar step out into the open and raise his hands in a token of peace. The riders, however, did not halt.

‘Kestrar! Get back!’ Tîwele’s voice was shrill. ‘They do not look friendly, or seem likely to stop.’

Just as she spoke, she saw an arrow narrowly miss Kestrar’s ear as it whistled past them, and still Kestrar stood there. Seeing no other choice, she ran to him, grabbed him by the shoulder and forcedly dragged him back to cave's mouth.

‘It’s no use,’ she said shakily as they ran. ‘We’ll have to fight.’

In the dim light, she saw Kestrar nod grimly.


[I'm sori, but this 'battle scene' has been brooding in me for a couple of days... I fort we needed just a likkle bit of action ;) Aw I know how it is when you're stuck :( And if you're reeaally stuck, write anything and everything ^_^ But how it is, I think I could go on for days if you let me... :rolleyes:]

Feeling Tîwele’s hand on his shoulder, Kestrar jumped back into the cave as he ducked to avoid the third arrow. For all he had said, he was not sure he had not seen the same livery of black and blood red before. It seemed to stir some other memory, flickering in and out of his mind. To read it was like to catch wind, impossible, yet entrancing.

He put this to the back of his mind to be entertained later, if he should survive the coming hour. He looked into the elf's piercing eyes, and did not hesitate to show her superiority. "How many did you count? It was too quick for me!" Hoping that she wouldn't see the annoyance that she had keener eyesight than him, Kestrar pulled on the leather breastplate and light helm that Tîwele must have removed whilst he was sleeping. He shivered at the thought of her hands on his bare skin, then recalled that he wore still his undergarments.

There was no more time for talk, and this likewise was pushed to the back of his mind as he reached for his sword. Feeling his fingers close round the cold metal Kestrar felt new strength flow into his, as if holding the sword would revive him. Turning to face the onslaught he heard Tîwele’s answer.

"There seem to be 17 of them, all with a short sword and armoured on the front...."
One of the persuers turned, maybe to report the finding of his quarry, and sped away Westwards.
"...but not on the back! If we can fight them two on one in the narrow enterance, we have a chance!"

Kestrar noted that she was armed, and had removed none of her armour although in a place of what had seemed relative security.

"It's the one who's gone that worries me, this could be the vanguard of a larger force."

There was no more time for talking, and both sprang forwards to the cave enterance in the hope of defending it. As the first of the opponents came within striking distance, they raised their swords, and the glimmer of them caught the light from the setting sun.

Wow, I like this!

As the cold steel rang in the air, Tîwele felt a twang of fear as her arm was jerked backwards by the sudden force of the opposing blade. With all the strength she could muster, she thrust her sword forwards into the man, striking him down with a vigour that exceeded her will. She forced herself to overt her eyes from the horror of the dying man as she turned to meet a new onslaught. There were two men riding towards her on horses, both holding aloft bows pointed straight at her heart. With only a split second in which to regain her senses, she plunged herself to the ground just as the arrows flew past her to meet their target deep in the bark of an old willow near her. Heart pounding, Tîwele raised herself, and as fast as her wary senses could react, was forced to roll away in the attempt to save herself from being trampled by the angry hooves of the men’s horses. Springing to her feet, she dealt a swift blow across the back of one of the soldiers, sending him crashing from his horse, averting the second man’s attention. It was not long before he too was sent plummeting from his horse.

Tîwele felt dread with each blow she gave, each time she reluctantly raised her sword to meet its match in an unalert or distracted soldier. She was on whole, defending her life, Kestrar’s, the old man’s, as well as their shelter from these ruthless men. Wild and untamed, they seemed, but her thoughts kept drifting awry, back at Kestrar, and the situation at hand that had suddenly sprang on them both like a dart to the heart.

Who are these men? She wondered. Are they men of free will or are they merely acting under the power of a larger force, whatever that may be? Fear, without her realising, paralysed her insides. Like Kestrar, she held anxiety of the departed man’s hidden purpose.

Shifting her eyes from her immediate dangers and risking a glance at Kestrar, she saw him fighting a few feet away. They were clearly outnumbered, but whether they still stood a chance, Tîwele was not entirely sure. She could not defend herself with sword alone. Snatching a free moment, she ran, ducking an arrow, back to her pack, and retrieved her bow. It had lain hidden for long, unused. Now was the time for it to fly once again. Naurhimë it was called, a foe of fire.

Returning from the cave, she witnessed, for a swift moment, Kestrar as he fought a man on horseback. Skipping a heartbeat, she saw the man that had departed from the crowd return, leading a few followers. As he drew near, she saw him raise his arrow and point it at Kestrar. Unaware of his danger, Kestrar fought on, and Tîwele was too far off it seemed, unable to reach her companion.

‘Kestrar, watch out!!’ she screamed from where she stood, arrow poised in hand, frozen in mid motion.

[I'm getting all jittery writing this. I'm not sure the Sindarin says much... It's getting exciting :rolleyes: Sori for the long-ish-ness *cheesy grin* ]

The men were not unskilled in battle, after the first few had fallen at the door, none would come near enough to be in range of the swords. What worried Kestrar was the fact that they had bows, stout and made of yew, gleaming as if newly polished. He surged out of the rudimentary doorway into the centre of the onslaught.

Kestrar could see Tîwele also out of their doorway, taking man after man with the speed and grace only an elf could manage. She did not seem to feel fear or exhaustion. Registering this in a fraction of a second he made an instant resolve to at least attempt to stay on his feet as long as her. It seemed to him that the odds were hopeless, then, spinning and wounding a mounted soldier on the knee, Kestrar saw the vanishing man materialise with a few others, shifting that balance in the favour of the attacking force.

Barely noticing Tîwele's change of weapon, Kestrar continued, attacking the legs of his opponants. Partly because without them the could not fight unhorsed, partly because they were the only place he could reach, the ploy appeared to be working. Many were falling onto the ground, not fatally injured by Kestrar's sword or the arrow that had knocked them off the horse, but still unable to fight.

Very soon the pair had a pattern going, Kestrar wounding the legs, and Tîwele shooting. If she missed the heart it was of little consequense, the injured, without horses, were as good a fighting force as children clashing wooden sticks in the summertime.

Hearing Tîwele's scream Kestrar ducked, and the arrow that had been aimed at him flew over his head and into the cave. Not knowing what this could mean, he faught on until there were very few of the attacking force left. Wishing to sink down onto the ground, he turned and thrust his sword deep into the neck of the last man, ending the fight.

Looking around, he noticed that they now had at least six horses each to take care of, it wasn't fair to blame the beasts for the nature of their previous masters, it would be unfair to harm them.

Long is good so long as I don't have to match it!
Nope, I don't get the Sindarin at all. The first part, naur, is good, but when I tried to take himë back from the lenited form to the regular simë I couldn't find the meaning of the word. I'll check Dragonflame when I get home later. I'd use Naurgoth, fire enemy, from naur + coth.

Tîwele, her relief evident, ran quickly over to where Kestrar stood, just as he heaved his sword with an effort out of the dying man, who fell rasping, to join his fellows on the dead leaf-littered floor. Tîwele’s momentary anxiety had faded, to now be replaced with dread and uncertainty. The remaining forces, those soldiers that the returning messenger had lead behind him, were now assembled a few feet away. They did not appear to intend a hurried fight, after having seen the deadly fighting skills the two strangers held between them, unlikely as it seemed. Instead, they were silent, merely intent upon watching Tîwele and Kestrar, as if waiting for a rash reaction from either.

Now that they were so close, Tîwele beheld in the messenger himself for the first time, not the unknowing, almost innocent glance of the soldiers she had just fought, but a sharp, almost intent air. His sunken mouth was twisted in a grim expression, and when he spoke, it was that of a man used only to giving orders to the lowly. His tone was proud, arrogant, and before he had even uttered, Tîwele saw at him with distaste, and to some degree, loathing. She was a man, she felt, could cause them trouble.

‘Who are you, wanderers, and what is your errand here?’

Not knowing whether or not to answer, Tîwele glanced fleetingly at Kestrar, who gave her a brief nod.

‘We are travellers in this land, of which name we know not,’ began Kestrar. ‘I am Girrien son of Herunn, and this is my comrade and friend, Kanniae.’

Waiting for an answer, Tîwele saw the messenger glance at his men for a split second before turning back to them. Whether it was an expression of surprise or expectancy, she could not tell, though keen as her eyes were. She shared Kestrar’s distrust. It could not be seen as a friendly gesture for a group of men to attack two lone travellers out of the blue, only to talk calmly with them afterwards. After all, she and Kestrar were not without harm. Tîwele sported a large gash on the side of her arm and Kestrar, she noticed with apprehension, was limping slightly, but whatever was wrong, he took care to keep the injury to himself.

[Hey, you don’t have to match anything, the idea is only to write ;) I’m not entirely sure simë does mean anything much. At the time, I meant for it to mean that the sword was merely a foe of fire, not that that was what the name was supposed to mean, though the ‘naur-’ is deliberate. I suppose I could also use naurgoth… now I’m undecided!]

Kestrar also felt that he could not trust these men. Having made no effort to stop their companions attempting to slaughter himself and Tîwele, they were evidently up to no good. Travellers, if not welcomed, were never usually set upon and attacked.

He looked the leader in the eyes, and would not break contact. Within seconds the taller man had looked away as if physically wounded by Kestrar's gaze. Staring at the ground he replied slowly, hesitating frequently.
"You will have to forgive my men. I gave no command to attack-"

"Then who did?" retorted Tîwele, daring to smirk openly at the blatent lie. She felt braver having seen the messenger back down.
The messanger stood for a minute, then opened his mouth to speak. Closing it again, he looked behind him, as if the secret was not his to tell. At this display of weakness another of the men rode forwards, and the messenger melted back into the crowd.

The tallest of the group, and with the brightest armour, this man looked a more fearsome opponent, both in battle and in riddling speech.
"It matters not to you who ordered the attack. It was not destined for you, if you be who you say, of which I have great doubts. I am seeking my son, Kestrar, and I wish to know if you have seen any travellers. He would be on his own, and I am told he rides a chestnut horse."

Another of the men called from the rear, his voice ringing out against the surounding hills and trees like a trumpet.
"Thestron, my Lord, the boy looks to be the same age as your missing son."

Why am I thinking of the Mouth of Sauron? And don't worry about the Sindarin, nobody said it had to mean anything!

Tîwele swallowed her surprise at the man’s words and turned to glance at Kestrar, whose surprise was evident by his shocked expression. In an attempt to keep her gaze calm and neutral, Tîwele answered, ‘We have seen no other travellers in these parts but ourselves. Who may you and your men be, lord, and what is your purpose here?’

She did not want to give herself away because the words she had heard spoken, for she still did not trust to these men. She and Kestrar had been attacked, and if indeed these men were looking for Kestrar, and told them that the attack had not been intended for them, two strangers upon the roads, then who had the assault been intended for? Kestrar? The name she had heard one of the men use echoed in her mind. Thestron. If indeed he were Kestrar’s father, as he claimed, why would he wish to attack his own son so suddenly and brutally, after being sundered from him all these long years ever since Kestrar was a child? And surely did not Kestrar clearly voice to her that his father’s name was Galenon? The thoughtful though uneasy look in Kestrar’s face told Tîwele that he too, was thinking along these same lines.

Kestrar’s voice broke into her thoughts, ‘It may not be our business to ask, such strangers as we are, but I wish to know the reason why you are searching for someone named Kestrar, no relation to us as he is.’

[Otay xD Is it deliberate, or accidental, that you named Kestrar’s father Thestron? I had almost forgotten the fact about his father’s name until about halfway through! Hm… it does have reference to the Mouth of Sauron, so it might just be why ;) I mean, think about it- Evil, twisted looking messenger. Though actually when I wrote that, my mind was anywhere but the Mouth of Sauron. So, strangeness…]

"I wish to..." the man began, but stoped dead in mid sentence, tumbling forward off his horse onto the bloodstained Earth. He fell face down, and everyone could see the arrow sticking out from his unprotected back. Clearly this man had no thought of needing armour there; he would never run from the field of battle.
There was no covering nearby, save for the cave in which the horses and old man still stayed hidden. The arrow, therefore, must have been shot by one of the men. There are many ways a mighty man can fail, and treachery not the least among them.

The smaller man, who had originally seemed to be in control of the company, again rode forwards. He seemed not to know what to say. Kestrar did not trust any of them, and did not lok away. Again he stared into the man's eyes, but this time the gaze was held far longer. Not blinking, Kestrar stated: "I give you the same question. Who is Kestrar, and why do you seek him?"

"He is the son of my Lord. Not the one who fell. He was only the leader of the company, and caused more harm than good. It was he who ordered the attack. All who obeyed are now dead, killed by your hands. It is a revolt against the Lord Galenon, long in the making, I fear."

"So where is my... Where is the Lord? Why has he not come, so desperate he is to find his son?" Kestrar corrected himself. Trusting the man before him, he turned to Tîwele, blinking the shimmering rainbow of light out of his eyes. She looked startled at the revelation.

"I am not at liberty to answer the question. I must tell you that he has long trusted Mahtar-" He indicated the man lying dead on the ground, "but that those you still see living did not. The scum sook to rule for his own ends when your father was gone. For I believe you are Kestrar, son of Galenon, and your father is dying, with no heir but you"

Was on purpose, honest!

The man remained visibly unsurprised as he said the name, eyeing Kestrar directly so as to lock his eyes to his. If Kestrar was surprised by the sudden recognition, he took care to hide the fact.
It seemed to Tîwele that this man’s words were perceptibly fairer than the other, hiding no malevolence behind his innocent expression.

The man continued, ‘Your father sorely regrets not having sent for you sooner, though I assure you, it was by no willing choice of his that he left you. You were but a young child then, in times so long past it seems hard to envision them clearly, and you did not know, could not yet understand the circumstances you were born under. It was I who watched you grow through the youthful days of your childhood in those brief days after your birth when you were still under your parents’ care, that hardly could I not recognise you, even though you are much changed, my boy.’

At these, Tîwele saw a flicker of recognition in Kestrar’s eyes. He said nothing.

‘Your parents were afraid to keep a secret from you, Kestrar. For an act forbidden, your mother sent you away without your father’s knowledge, knowing that one day, you may set out to discover your true identity yourself. You are not who you have thought yourself all your life, however hard that may seem to take in.

‘Your father gave me this simple message to pass to you long ago, should we finally find you. Alas, the search has proved long and hard. “Kestrar,” your father said. “It is by no fault of yours that you have not known your true parents all your life. I regret having tarried so long in finding you, for lately, I have been in doubt. But now, I fear my time is drawing near, and it is inevitable that I find you so that I can tell you what I should long before have told you, had you not been sent away. I know also of a young lady by the name of Tîwele Elensar. If she is known to you, please bring her with you, though our purpose for that you need not yet know until we meet. I know you must have reason to disabide my wishes, but please grant your dying father’s wishes this once and return home. Your mother and I long to see you.” Though I had feared that by the time this message got to you, it would have been too late. I do not yet know if my fears have proven true.’

A vast silence followed the man’s words, which was broken only by Laeren and Rochir as they left to inspect the newcomers.

[*suspiciously* I'll believe you ;) Hey, is it only me or do I vaguely remember that not long ago the two heard summons (from the old man I think) to head for Orelindë? Are we cancelling ourselves out or are they being called to two places at once? Or are they in fact, the same place...?]

"And if I wanted to do as you wish?" replied Kestrar, keeping a tight veil over his emotions. "How would I reach Lord Galenon, and where does he now reside? I am sure that Kestrar would wish to speak with his father, if as you say they have been long sundered from each other."

"I was told" the stranger replied, "that my Lord feared that the Lord Kestrar would believe his father guilty of bad parenting. I would explain the reasons for his departure if I knew them, but he wants them told to as few people as possible."

At this Kestrar turned to Tîwele, and spoke to her, his voice quiet and barely heard in the still air. What passed between them nobody knew, but some change seemed visably to have taken place and Kestrar seemed a different person to the one he had been before.

"I will go with you, if you plan to lead me to my father. My companion must choose her own way for I wish to take none unwilling on the paths that I must follow. Now, where does my father now reside, and what had stopped him sending for me before?"

He glanced not at the cave. The old man was capable of looking after himself and would not slow the journey.

‘I will follow where you purpose to go,’ said Tîwele. ‘For I have made up my mind not to return to Órelindë, as was previously our undecided destination. My intention in setting out is still strong in my mind, and I cannot abandon that hope, lest that path is lost to me once again.’

Kestrar nodded his understanding. As if the old man’s disappearance during the whole sequence of the conversation were a conspiracy carefully planned, Tîwele turned to see him tottering from the cave and head towards them, just as they had proclaimed their purpose to leave. Whether he had overheard what had been said Tîwele could not tell at this point, for his eyes were neutral.

As he drew near, his eyes grew wide upon seeing the men on horses, apparently in uneasy recognition. ‘Are these the men who made assault upon our shelter?’ he said, his eyes searching.

‘Yes,’ said Tîwele, ‘Though it was a misunderstanding. All has been made clear, and now we are preparing to leave with these men as our guides, and to find Kestrar’s father.’

As if expecting this answer, the man hesitated. Finally, he exclaimed, ‘Do not put your trust into these men! For that would be a rash and foolish decision; you do not yet know these men. Their clouded purpose seems worthy of suspicion, as is their claim of innocence for their attack on us. If these indeed are Lord Galenon’s followers, which I doubt, why so suddenly out of the blue? Why not before?’

It was the first time Tîwele had heard the old man speak so openly. What he already knew about them or guessed, she had no way of telling.
‘Lord Galenon has his reasons,’ answered the stranger who had spoken before.

[I won’t tell you why I made the old man say all that, because then I’ll be telling you my ideas about how the RP turns out. Let’s leave it spontaneous ;)]

"Nevertheless, I am going with them." Kestrar turned to direct his voice to the old man. There was a slight shake to it, as supressed emotion threatened to spill forth. He then looked back at the ordered company of soldiers and spoke to them.

"I put my question to you for a third time- where does my father now reside, and what had stopped him sending for me before? I am willling to listen to anything you have to say, even if it is only guesswork and speculation. But if you make me ask again you will long regret it."

Swinging a leg over the front of the saddle, the man he had spoken to dismounted from his horse and landed lightly on the ground, bending his knees slightly as his feet touched the floor that had become slick with blood.
"He now resides at the same place as he did when you were born. And as for why he has not contacted you before, he did not trust me with this knowledge. I do not mean to do you a disservice by my answer, Lord," he added hastily, as Kestrar's bloodstained sword caught the light and flashed silver.

Kestrar stood, wanting to believe the man, wanting to follow, but afraid to put his friend in danger. He stooped suddenly, and turned his back on the stranger to wipe his sword clean on the grass as a sigh of trust.