The Mithril Knights - Initiation

[Teltasarewen]

Telta raised her glass along with the others. Hue's toast was a gesture that touched everyone. For her the memories were fresh and she would not forget those that she had fought alongside, those who had sacrificed their lives to stop the Red Hammer. She shook her head to clear away the faces that those memories brought back her free hand tightly grasping the handle of one of the knives she had chosen tucked temporarily in her belt.

Hue's next toast was for them, the initiates and when her name was spoken she could not help the tint of colour that rose to her cheeks. After all this time she was still shy and Telta was a little relieved when the Knights finally departed.

When Lasse too was escorted away the elf was a little surprised for she had assumed that she was also an initiate here for the ceremony.

Now there remained only Hue, Brondgast, Meneldor, Djazi and herself. Hue she was honoured and happy to call friend, a dear friend, the other three were unknown to her and there had been no time for introductions nor she thought would there be until after the initiation ceremony was over.

Erinhue's full attention was upon them now. She listened closely as the Guild Herald spoke of the next step to come his voice full of authority yet she detected a spark of the Hue she had come to know peeking through.

The extraordinary powers held within the guild house that she had heard of had allowed Meneldor's great size to pass easily through the door and after their initial shock the small group followed Erinhue.

The tall Warrior/Bard stopped. The line of followers did likewise. He passed them as he headed back the way they had come. Brondgast had stopped and was gazing into one of the many paintings lining the hall walls.Telta watched as he stood there unmoving and seemingly unaware of them.

Something in the picture held him mesmerized and it piqued Telta's curiosity as to what could hold the Beorn's attention so completely that it took Hue's touch to snap him out of it. The "special spices" were taking effect of this she was sure.

[Claymore]

Whatever had been in the food, Djazi was already feeling the effects. He suspected he was walking none too steady and he kept seeing things. He had been looking at Brondgast when he noticed he was not only seeing the Beorning in his bearform but also in his human form. Both were wearing the odd stone around their necks. Slowly a line of men following Brondgast appeared until there were twelve of them. Eleven wore the same stone while the last bore a strong resemblance to Brondgast making Djazi suspect the two were related. The man tapped the Beorning on the shoulder and though Brondgast did not react he did follow the man's finger when he pointed to a painting. It depicted a confused battle before an isolated peak and at the center a bear was about to crush an orc's skull. Brondgast stopped and looked at it transfixed. Djazi could not see what the Beorning was seeing but it was apparently riveting enough that Erinhue had to snap him out of it.

Djazi shook his head and turned his gaze to Meneldor. The eagle was followed by a laughing elf-maiden, with golden hair an bare feet. Around her neck she wore the same stone as the Eagle was holding in his beak. Meanwhile mountains rose around Meneldor. First a peak Djazi didn’t recognize, tall and white and surrounded by clouds. The second range that rose he recognized immediately, he’d crossed the Misty Mountains not so long ago after all. The last peak that rose he hadn’t seen before but he could guess. Black and spewing lava it could only be Mount Doom.

Unsure whether he was seeing the past, the future or anything relevant at all Djazi, profoundly disturbed, turned his gaze again this time looking at Teltasarwen. To his relief he saw nothing but an indistinct cloud at first, maybe because he didn’t know the shy elf-maid well. Slowly though another elf appeared, walking at her side. He was male but otherwise looked a great deal like Telta. He had laid his hand over hers where it clutched one of the daggers she had brought from the armory. He was smiling at her fondly.


Feeling like he was intruding into something personal and hoping to find reprieve Djazi switched his focus to Erinhue whom he instinctively saw as safe. The Bard however walked under the shade of an enormous dragon’s wings. Djazi smiled slightly when he recognized Agarak. The dragonharp however wasn’t the Bard’s only companion. Djazi also saw the faint outline of a dancing elf-maid as well as a tall man in the armour of a Knight of Dol Amroth.

Eager to escape the visions for now Djazi tried looking at the walls but even there he saw wisps that he suspected could eventually transform into full-fledged visions. In a last gambit he looked down at his hands only to find to his shock that his right hand where he was holding his new bow was overlaid with another. It was long-fingered like his own but that was where the similarities ended. The hand was moon-pale where his was dark, unscarred and lacking the bumps that were the result of broken bones a year ago after an opponent had smashed his shield into his hand. He followed the hand to a face. Clear grey eyes met his, surrounded with dark hair where two pointed ears could be seen through the strands. WIthout being told Djazi knew who this was.
Keep your focus, young one. Beleg said. Let this one guide you for now.
Djazi almost flinched when the March-Warden of Doriath raised his other hand but it turned into a smile when he saw the swallow the was nestled in the palm of the elf-warrior.

Djazi had once told the Knights that his name meant Little Bird. However, while it was true, it was only one and the most literal translation of his name. When used together the words “Dja” and “Zi” could also refer to the small and agile migratory bird currently flying of the March-Warden’s palm and it had been with that meaning in mind that his mother had chosen Djazi as his child-name. The swallow chirped at him and flew towards the door Erinhue was leading them to. Djazi noticed that as long as he kept his eyes on the small courageous bird he did not see any other vision. He sighed in relief. He knew they were supposed to go on a Vision Quest but his grand-uncle had taught him a few things before his death. Djazi knew that vision-quests were supposed to happen on a person’s own terms, lest they turn dangerous or in some tragic cases even deadly. Djazi did not intend to be one of those.

[erinhue]

The Guild Herald of the Mithril Knights stopped the small procession in front of the silver inlaid doors of the Initiation Chamber. As he pulled the doors open, the scent of incense oils and rosemary wafted out into the hallway.

The darkened room was lit by four torches one in each corner, and the light of fiery red coals in a small brazier heating a bowl of specially prepared oils. As directed by Erinhue, the four initiates stood in line behind the brazier. Meneldor still held his chosen object tightly in his great beak.

“Agarak” Erinhue called out “Would you be so kind as to assist Meneldor?”

The jewel disappeared from the eagle’s grasp and re-appeared in its proper place, fastened around the Great Eagle’s neck.

The bard turned to the huge mural painted all across the Eastern wall of the Initiation chamber and continuing across all four walls Erinhue picked up one of the bowls warming on the brazier and began to walk around the room filling the chamber with the charmed aroma.
The initiates would face first the East wall where the battle of Dagor-nuin-Giliath was portrayed Erinhue’s keen, grey eyes traveled the length of the painting, noting the intense life-like expressions of the paints.

In the top left corner was the arrival of Feanor, his sons, and the Exiles with them, landing in the waste of Lammoth, the Great Echo, at the shores of the Firth of Drengist. They all had their mouths open and their fists raised as they screamed a mighty challenge to Morgoth that they had arrived.

Farther up, near the dark mountains, were orcs, Balrogs, and other dark creatures that were clearly listening in bewilderment and then anger. Erinhue winced a bit as he fancied hearing the growls and foul language of the dark creatures, but then, he knew the murals contained life and energies of their own.

His eyes continued along the colors until he then focused upon the Exiles as they traveled the Firth into the land of Hithlum, and then finally to the long lake of Mithrim.

Erinhue’s heart stopped and his mouth went dry as he looked up to see the hosts of Morgoth moving at an unnaturally rapid pace through the passes of Ered Wethrin and then falling upon Feanor's people, completely caught off guard, with no defenses built or permanent dwelling yet raised.

But the Noldor were mighty and filled with the spirit of Exile that had led them back to Beleriand. The orcs actually fled from them, defeated and baffled at the incredible energy coming forth from the Exiles. Then there was the figure of Celegorm, pointing and drawing his sword, as more orcs joined the fleeing host. It was no matter; Celegorm's band fell upon them and left them in mounds of death. Ten days the battle lasted. A handful of orcs made their way sullenly back to Angband.

Morgoth was not pleased.

[erinhue]

Then, Erinhue's eyes moved near the end of the East wall mural, and there was Feanor, in his anger and white heat, pursuing the orcs alone and into certain peril. There he was, in his shining mail, his sword brandished mightily, fighting valiantly upon the Plain of Dor Daedeloth before Angband, Feanor's laughter echoed upon the iron walls before him.

Erinhue's mouth went ghostly dry as Balrogs were let forth from Angband and with swift precision, surrounded Feanor, who stood alone.
Feanor never faltered nor did his pores issue the scent of fear; he fought on, determined, though he was wrapped in fire and lashed with whip again and again. Finally, though, a mighty Balrog, Gothmog, stepped forth and smote Feanor such a blow that the Elf Lord fell to his knees, dazed, and his sword fell from his hand.

His sons came then, finally, and drove off the Balrogs. But, Feanor had taken his death wound, and he knew it. They carried him from that field and tried to get him to their new home for tending, but Feanor, when they reached Ethel Sirion, he bade them stop. There he cursed Morgoth thrice and as death drew near, the veils between the spirit and mortal world began to intertwine. With anger in his heart, he was granted the foreknowledge that the Noldor would never overthrow Morgoth on their own.

He spoke to his sons of their Oath, and they kneeled next to him, swearing it again and swearing to always serve their own hearts and their own minds above anyone else's. Feanor then took one of the mightiest of talismans and gifted it to Maglor.
When he died, his spirit was so hot and full of fire that his body was consumed and turned to ash before their very eyes.

Thus ended the East wall mural.

[erinhue]

Erinhue went to the brazier and took the remaining bowl of warm oil and several sprigs of rosemary. He walked to each one of the initiates and had them sit down. He waved the bowl of warm and scented oil around them creating a aromatic cloud around the head of each one. He then handed them each a strig of rosemary, speaking words in Quenya that could just barely be heard.

"This represents the life within you and the lives around you, keep it with you, smell its aroma, know it is in this room, and when you wish to return, it will bring you here."

He walked to another corner of the room and retrieved a large, ceramic liquid vessel and put what looked like a piece of metal into it. He walked to each initiate. Kneeling before them, holding the metal piece, which was hollow, towards their mouths and bade them drink from it.
"You have come to answer the summons of the Ancients, " he said, "within this room lies the future and the past...and to know one's self, one must see all aspects. Drink...and know the origins of this Order."

Erinhue stood up and walked to the middle of the East Wall mural and began to walk up and down it, swinging the golden bowl to and fro, and chanting words in a language that was as old as the stars themselves.

“... The light of the stars will be shown to thee.....and you know that the power of the starlight can be used.....great power and strength......behold the makings of the Spirit of Fire, which resides in the stars...and the stars reside in him...and in thee....you have been chosen to witness the first giliath....BEHOLD!”

Within the room, the ceiling became the starry, twilight sky of the First Age as each of the initiates began to glow with a silver aura. The middle portion of the East Wall mural, the Battle of Dagor nuin Giliath, began to move and sway as the figures came to life, battle screams and shouts emitting and echoing from it.

Returning the bowl of oil to the brazier, Erinhue walked in front of the seated initiates and looked each one in the face. None seemed to notice his scrutiny. They were already absorbed in the Dream Quest, they were already inside the mural. There they would remain until the journey was complete.

[erinhue]

Erinhue returned to the Grand Hall, now empty save for the abandoned trappings and left overs of the feast. While the initiates were in the Vision Hall it was his duty as Guild Herald to keep watch through the night, ready to defend or assist as called for during the vision quest. As he moved through the hall he passed the coats of arms for all who had claimed the title of Mithril Knight that covered the walls on both sides of the hall. For a moment he paused to comtemplate one shield in particular. Pushing down a momentary pang of regret and loss, he soon turned away and continued on.

He stopped in front of a shield that bore the blue and white of Dol Amroth. In the upper left quadrant was the White Swan emblem of House Elitan of Dol Amroth. The shield was crossed by a sword engraved down the center the blade for half its length.
Beneath the coat of was a small plaque that read

Lord Erinhue of Belfalas
Warrior/Bard – Battle Captain
Knight of the Runed Blade

“Well old worm,” Erinhue spoke out in the empty hall, “looks like this is where we spend the night.”
A twinkle of bell like notes responded and the dragonharp appeared hovering in the air parallel to the coat of arms. Another series of bell tones echoed in the large space.

“Yes it is a pretty thing to gaze upon, isn’t it?”

More notes, in a different pitch.

Erinhue laughed in response

“You’re right. What kind of guardian am I going to be with no weapon?” Smiling still Erinhue held out his hand and called out “Clarion. To me.”

The ever obedient sword appeared and Erinhue grabbed it from the air.

“Now that’s done, it is time to settle in for the night.”

A pile of large pillows appeared beneath the blue shield. Erinhue sat down and made himself comfortable. When he was finished adjusting the pillows that were firm or soft where desired, Agarak floated down to sit in his lap. The bard laid his left hand flat against the harp’s strings and the hall was filled with soft music that carried tales of long ago.

[Cock-Robin]

Meneldor received the rosemary, and then drank from the metal vessel that was proffered to him by Erinhue. It was barely a drop to him due to his great size, but it was incredibly potent. He felt himself surrounded by a glimmering shadow of himself as he looked again at the mural.

In a transition that seemed to last a mere microsecond, but also seemed to last for ages, he found himself perched atop the tallest of the three peaks of Thangorodrim, which he had seen before in a previous dream or vision, and also had seen when he was there in the past. To the north was Angband, which was teeming with orcs, Balrogs and other evil creatures. The sound of their dark tongue met his ears. To the south was the plain of Ard-Galen, and to the southeast was the land of Hithlum. He saw all Beleriand laid out before him. But something drew the Eagle's attention. The light of fires to the west, at the Firth of Brendgist. The fires of burning ships. The din of the creatures of Morgoth rose to a great clamor around him, as they were alerted to the presence of Fëanor and the Noldor where they camped, and they were sent rapidly to where they were, to catch them by surprise.

But the attack was rapidly turned against them into a rout. The light was merely the light of the stars, but the eagle-eyes of Meneldor were adjusted to the light, and he witnessed the battle, which lasted for ten days, and slaughtered the hosts of Morgoth.

But then, hot with wrath, Fëanor broke away from the vanguard, pursuing the Orcs to a plain just below him. Meneldor had a unique view of the battle. None like him would ever arise, and the elf fought valiantly against impossible odds. Gothmog, leading the Balrogs came from their hiding holes beneath where the Eagle was perched, their fiery whips and weapons snapping. The FOOL! He was standing alone against that host.

Meneldor spread his wings and prepared to dive down on them, joining Fëanor in battle, but felt a wing against him. "No, Sorontel." He looked around to see Thornondor, King of the Eagles beside him. The King dwarfed him, and he felt like a thrush beside him. "No, Sorontel, you must not go down. It is forbidden to you. What comes to pass is what must be. You will understand in time."

Meneldor stifled a cry, but obeyed, and watched the battle. Fëanor was surrounded by flame, lashed by whips, and yet he fought on. Any he knew would have been slaughtered in the first onslaught, but Fëanor seemed unhurt, fighting on, until finally Gothmog delivered the fatal blow.

Only then did his sons catch up with him to drive off the Balrogs. "Go. Follow them, but do not interfere, Sorontel. Yours is to watch, and learn." came the voice of Thorondor his lord.

Meneldor lifted up and followed from far above. It was dark, but they seemed to glimmer with a strange light, and something Fëanor carried, shone brightest of all.
The Eagle alit on a mount overlooking Eithel Sirion, and witnessed the last words of Fëanor, the admonition to follow in his stead and remembering their fatal Oath. Then, he died, but in a flash of flame, his body was consumed. It was the beginning of a futile series of battles before the Valar would intervene.

The Eagle lifted up his voice and wept. Such greatness, but marred by pride and wrath.

He sang of what he saw.

How great a star has fallen!
Curufinwë the skilled,
Creator of the palantiri
And greater talismans,
But the greatest,
The Silmarilii, the Holy Jewels,
Bearers of the light of the Trees,
Lost for all time,
Until the very end.

Such great a spirit,
A spirit of fire,
Fëanaro, fiery spirit of the Noldor,
Pride was his downfall.

Only at the end will his greatness shine forth.

He fought against impossible odds,
Alone against hordes of orcs,
Then Balrogs, the very demons of fire,
But he fought on,
Alone against the hosts of Morgoth.
Flames surrounded him,
The crack of whips sounded,
Going even before the throne of the Dark Lord.

The thrice-cursed,
Greatest of the Valar,
But fallen due to his own pride and wrath.

The spirit of Fëanor,
fiery to the last,
fled his body,
consuming it to ash,

None shall see his like again,
Until the last day,
The Dagor Dagorath,
when he shall arise again.

A tear fell, and as sudden as it began, he was back in the Hall. He had been away for mere seconds, or was it forever? He couldn't figure out the difference.

[Teltasarewen]

The liquid Erinhue bade them drink eased down her throat bringing with it an odd sensation. Her vision blurred and as the room faded Telta closed her eyes letting herself drift.

The sounds of metal on metal and shouting brought her to her senses. She was standing no more than a few steps away from a group of Elves and Orcs in the midst of a great battle...

..."Dagor nuin Giliath." she said softly as the enormity of what she was witnessing sunk in.

Bodies of slain and wounded Elf and Orc alike lay upon the blood drenched land where they had fallen.

The smell of blood, which lay in dark pools and stained the earth where it had soaked into the ground, mixed with the stench of Orcs overwhelming her. Telta swallowed hard and concentrated on the images before her. She watched as one Orc fell under the deadly stroke of an Elf's sword the axe he held flew out of his lifeless hand and in the next instant it passed through her.

Telta spun around and crouched down beside the deadly weapon. She should be dead.

The sounds the smells the very battle itself were all very real but she was not. She was nothing more than a shadow here and for that she was very, very grateful as she glanced down at the axe imbedded in the soft ground where she had been standing.

Her instincts, the essence of who she was and everything she had been taught combined to urge her, to push her into some kind of action. But even as she reached for her sword she knew there was nothing she could do as she stood helplessly by.

A deafening roar brought Telta's hands up to cover her ears.

Balrog!

The word sprang to her mind. Her head snapped up her keen eyes seeking out the source. The battlefield had disappeared and in it's place a lone Elf stood sword drawn as the enemy surrounded him, Feanor High King of the Noldor stood upon Dor Daedeloth.

Dor Daedeloth, Dagor-nuin-Giliath, Mithrim, Ered Wethrin. She knew these names from tales her father had told her. Today they were more than just words. Today she was witness to them first hand.

As she watched Feanor fought fiercely seemingly undaunted by the blows he was receiving from the Balrogs surrounding him. One Balrog in particular stood out among them delivering blow after blow upon the raging Elf. Gothmog Lord of Balrogs.

Finally Feanor was cut down. Gothmog's triumph was cut short as the High King's sons arrived to drive off the Balrogs. But Telta knew it was too late.

The scent of rosemary drifted up to her and the vision began to fade...

...Feanor High King of the Noldor would be no more.

[Cock-Robin]

As Brondgast drank from the vessel, it went down warm, then set him afire, reminding him of when the Stone claimed him for its own. He doubled over, growling in his bear form, and then his senses, as sharp as a bear's, heightened even further. He heard the cries of elves, the foul screaming of orcs, the clash of weapons, the smell of blood which drove him mad with feral fury.

He opened his eyes and found himself in the midst of the battle. Fëanor and his Noldor were fighting the orcs on the plains of Hithlum. The battle of Dagor-nuin-Giliath was in full roar, and Brondgast roared with it. He was in its midst, but it was also like he wasn't there at all, as both orc and elf ignored him. He swiped his paw at a nearby orc, but it went through him as if he was a ghost. But a sword went through the orc and it dropped, and he found himself face to face with Fëanor. The fire in his eyes caused the Beorning, Dragon Warrior that he was, to back away, but he saw the intensity of the light of Aman within him, and learned why the armies of Morgoth who surrounded them couldn't prevail against them. And yet, the King of the Noldor looked right through him as if he wasn't there. The majesty, the glory, that even Elessar couldn't match!

No wonder his seven sons followed him in his dreadful Oath without question. One who even defied the very Valar, futile though it was. The Stone on his breast glowed with the ferocity he saw in Fëanor's eyes. But he turned and it seemed his sword was ten swords.

The orcs were slain in heaps. It was towards the end of the battle, and the lake, the nearby Lake Mithrim was red with blood. The smell of blood and the stench of orcs drove him wild. And yet, the power of the Stone steadied him. He was an observer only. The orcs, the soldiers of Morgoth, fled, and Fëanor pursued them, leaving even his sons behind in his wrath. Brondgast followed in top speed, barely keeping up with the King. They ran, throwing weariness to the winds, to the very base of Thangorodrim, the very gates that made the Black Gates of Mordor look like a child's toy.

There, the Noldor King slew at will, but then, it was like the mountains erupted with flame. The Balrogs were coming! He had never seen a Balrog before, and it terrified even him, but he stood with Fëanor, looking at the onslaught. The heat! The smells of brimstone! Here was indeed Gothmog, Lord of the Balrogs, leading the horde.

The whips cracked around the elf, as he fought alone against them. He wanted to lend his power, but the other eleven were not around him like before the other, the Battle of Five Armies. Bar had not been born yet. And it was not his battle, anyway. He could not interfere, though he rose up on his hind legs to take it all in as even the flames went right through him as if he wasn't even there.

Fëanor fought valiantly against impossible odds, but Gothmog was too much for even him, as he was struck down. Brondgast roared in dismay. It was then that his seven sons caught up with him and drove the Balrogs away. Fëanor was borne away until they arrived at Eithel Sirion, where their lord bade them lay him down. Brondgast sat down on his haunches beside this dreadful King, and heard him curse Morgoth thrice. It was like he was seeing through Fëanor's eyes as he saw that their battles against Morgoth were ultimately futile, until the Valar intervened. He heard the seven sons reaffirm their Oath, the Oath that would lead them all to destruction and despair, then Fëanor, aptly named Fire-Spirit, fled his body, and the body fell to ash.

Brondgast took all the sights, the sounds and the smells to heart. This was the end of pride and hate. He had learned the power of love as a Beorning. He took the sprig of rosemary and smelled it. The scene faded before him and he found himself back in the hall. The transformation brought by the Stone was complete, the vision quest was complete, as he transformed back into a man and collapsed to the floor, utterly spent. The Stone was around his neck, glowing softly, as he wept.

[Claymore]

Djazi barely noticed what was going around him as he focused on the swallow currently nestled on his arm. More and more the wisps of visions were edging in on the corners of his sight and he did not dare to take his eyes off his little guide. He could faintly hear the din of a battle accompanied with the shrieks of orcs and the fearsome bellows of creatures he could not identify. He was tempted to look around but he resisted. He only looked up when Erinhue reached him with a bowl and a sprig of something Djazi had learned was called rosemary. He barely kept himself from flinching when instead of seeing the Bard’s merrily twinkling eyes he met the Berserker’s fierce glare which then promptly turned into Agarak’s slit-eyed yellow orbs.

Then Erinhue spoke and to Djazi his voice was overlaid with two others. Djazi quickly looked down to the swallow and the sprig of rosemary clasped in his hands and to his relief Erinhue’s voice faded down to one. He quickly realized however that even with the Bard’s voice down to normal he still couldn’t understand what Erinhue was saying. The Bard spoke Quenya and though Djazi had learned quite few languages, the Elvish languages weren’t among them.

After having given everyone a sprig of rosemary Erinhue came back with another vessel. Djazi eager not to have to look Erinhue in the eyes again( one was normal now while the other was still yellow) took a gulp that was propably bigger than was responsible. The liquid seemed to burn as he swallowed it and all of a sudden the whisps that up till had been mostly grey exploded into all kinds of color. Djazi was aware that the Bard was speaking to him. But whatever words came out of Erinhue’s mouth was lost in the battle-din that was growing louder. Djazi tried to speak, tried to ask him to talk louder but before he could open his mouth the whisps suddenly turned black an invaded the rest of his sight.

He re-opened his eyes in the middle of a battle. He barely had time to take stock of his surroundings before a screaming orc tried to cleave him in two. Djazi stepped aside, whirled his spear and stabbed down. He barely had time to disengage before the next attacked and for the next few minutes the world shrank down to blocking, dodging and slashing. Then as battles were wont to do it hit a lull and Djazi found time to take breather and look around.

Djazi quickly concluded he was not in any place he knew. Unfamiliar mountains rose around the battle-plain and he was surrounded by more elves than he’d ever seen together before. In fact he quickly noticed to his shock that except for the orcs the elves were the only people around. Not a single Man to be seen. He looked up to the sky. The stars were familiar but indicated he was a great deal more to the West than ought to be possible. He ought to be swimming right now. He also noticed that the moon was suspiciously absent. It could have been a new moon but Djazi suspected that the moon was simply not present at all. A shiver ran over his spine when he realised what it must mean. Whatever had been in the brew that Erinhue had given them it had brought him right back to the beginning of the First Age.

He looked at the battle once more. It was mostly over by now, with only a few of the more rested warriors making a half-hearted attempts at pursuing the fleeing orcs. One elf broke out from the rest and went off alone. Djazi cursed. The fool was going to get himself killed. He grabbed the reins of one of the wandering horses and clambered in the saddle. It wasn’t like riding Dabayl but the gelding was biddable enough and didn’t seem to mind too much that Djazi was taking him back into danger.

In the time it had taken Djazi to find a horse however the elf had already gone too far ahead. It was only after what felt like hours that Djazi finally found him again, dying and apparently already surrounded by family. He observed them from a distance for while and was already preparing to turn back when the elf died and promptly went up in flames. With a startle Djazi abruptly realized who the elves had been that he’d been observing.

He didn’t know much about the West’s history and for a long time his only source of information had been Baran who was a soldier not a historian. But as father Baran had known a lot of stories and the legend of Faenor had been one of them. Djazi had however unknowing observed the first moments of the Order he was hoping to join.

In that moment Djazi committed one of the gravest mistakes a hunter could make. He stopped paying attention to his surroundings. And while most of what remained of Morgoth’s army was either dead or had made its way to Angband there were still plenty of stragglers. Djazi heard a few stones shift and a snarling breath but turned far too late. He felt a sword pierce his side and screamed while the pain blanked out his sight. He fell, gasping. Unnoticed to anyone the sprig of rosemary he’d still held in hand fell and quickly got trodden down in the muck by iron-shod feet.

Back in the Vision Hall Djazi’s body began to bleed and in de Dining Hall Agarak emitted a set of jangling discordant notes.

[erinhue]

“What? What? What happened?”

Erinhue startled to wakefulness in response to a loud blast of discordant sound from his harp.

“What?!

The bard’s voice was full of dismayed shock. “That’s not supposed to happen.” He cast an incredulous glance towards the Initiation Chamber. “That’s never happened before for as long as I have been a part of this Order.”

Erinhue was already on his feet. He snatched up his sword and began to run. By the time the great blade, Clarion, was clear of it’s scabbard, the sound of battle filled his ears

[Cock-Robin]

Brondgast looked up from where he was hunched down. Chaos was about, and he looked back to the mural. But the mural showed something different than what he had seen. It was no longer the Dagor-nuin-Gilliath. That was over. Instead, it showed fleeing orcs and other evil creatures, and Djazi laying in the mud, a wound through his side. Another big orc was standing over his friend. The Beorning, now in human form, rushed to the mural and slammed into it. His vision quest was over, and it didn't admit him anymore. He hit it again and again, but it was futile. He couldn't get in, and Djazi couldn't get out. A broken sprig of rosemary lay trod in the mud.

Then, the smell of blood, but it wasn't coming from the mural. It was coming from nearby, and he saw Djazi there, bleeding from the wound he saw in the mural. He knelt by his friend even as the door to the Initation Chamber burst open, and Erinhue entered, the sword Clarion in his hands. NOOOOOO! He had to do something. Anything.

It was then that the Stone of Bar around his neck glowed brightly, and the red dragon form erupted from the Stone and gazed into Brondgast's eyes. He found himself back in that strange forest that he couldn't recognize as anything in his home forest, but it was his home. He was seated in the circle in bear form, and the other eleven were seated as well.

Meanwhile, back in the Chamber, Brondgast as a human sat beside Djazi's bleeding body, but his form was insubstantial as he had been in the mural. Anybody would go right through him.

Now to what was going on with the Twelve Dragon Warriors.

The other eleven, Bar leading them, rose up on their hind legs and raised their paws, the Stone on each of them glowing brightly in that home forest. Brondgast was motioned to do the same.

They began to chant in the tongue of bears, the light of the Stone focused on the center. Chanting in unison, they said,

The Knight Initiate
Danger falls,
Let help come to him
From the walls.

Defend him from
The foes who hate,
And spare him
From the gruesome fate.

Let darkness fall
Before the Light,
And let love, our power
Defeat hate in the fight;

Call upon
The kin around,
And what was never lost
Let it be found!

As they chanted, Brondgast saw images of what was happening back there in the Chamber and in the mural, and hoped for the best.

[erinhue]

Pushing through the Mithril filigree doors, Erinhue rushed into the Initiation chamber. Elbren had once told him something about what to do should some misshap occur and the bard strained his memory to recall as much of that long ago conversation as he could.

From the corner of his eye Erinhue caught a glimps of the four Initiates. Meneldor and Telta still sat motionless. Brondgast was pounding on the mural wall. The Beorning had returned to his human form. D’jazi was crumpled over in a heap.

There was nothing he could do for D’jazi here in the Initiation Chamber. Without stopping, Erinhue raced across the room towards the East Wall. Without stopping ,he raced to the wall, through it and into the mural, his sword drawn, ready for battle.

[Cock-Robin]

Meneldor stirred from his rapt trance, just in time to see Erinhue go into the mural. He looked around. Telta was still sitting in a trance, Djazi was slumped in another place, bleeding, and Brondgast...It looked like he wasn't all there. That blasted Stone around his neck was obscuring his form, but he was human again.

He swerved and looked at the mural again, but it had changed. It showed Djazi on the ground, a wound in his side, and the Berserker rushing to him. He hoped it was to help and not to harm.

For the first time, the Moon was rising, shedding light upon the darkness after the Battle under the Stars. That would mean the battle of Lammoth was beginning on the western shores, far away, led by Fingolfin.

The cries were reaching his ears, and then a cry from above. He had almost forgotten, his kin, the Great Eagles, had arrived from the West to take up their eyrie at Thangorodrim at the call of his lord Thorondor. He could have sworn that he saw himself at the tail end of their procession, the Last Eagle even then.

But what could he do? His vision quest was at an end, and he doubted he could reappear in the mural.

He could have sworn again he heard the voice of Idril Celebrindal. Do not doubt, brave Eagle. It gave him courage, but was moral support all he could do? He dared not be there when his former self was there as well. The elf-stone he chose because it brought him memories of the Elder Days, and he doubted it had any power. It was probably a "shiny" that birds fancied. But he saw Erinhue was protecting Djazi from the orcs. He saw his former self had just alit upon the eyries of Thangorodrim, and he focused his gaze upon him. That Meneldor was him as well. Could it be possible?

A silver sheen was about him as he found himself there. He was his former self and yet his present self as well. And looking down, he saw Balrogs were starting to emerge once again to traverse the land where Erinhue was. He could stop them and drive them back, and there he could help without marring what must be.

Screeching his battle cry, he dived down upon the Balrogs, diving to frighten them back, not to do battle. Thornondor saw and screeched his support. Again and again Meneldor dived at the fire-demons of Morgoth. In that way, these foes would be away from Djazi and Erinhue until other help arrived.

[erinhue]

The eastern wall of the chamber was rapidly drawing closer and closer, but Erinhue did not slow his pace as he ran towards it. Not yet trusting in his new found control over The Berserker, the bard used the blood lusting proclivity of his alter ego and carefully chose a spot in the mural. As the choice was made, Erinhue hit the east wall of the Initiation Chamber, passed through it and into the scene.

Erinhue heard the bellowing roar of The Berserker’s battle cry as the battlefield became real around him. Behind him, Feanor and his people were busy with the tasks of disembarking from their ships and preparing to make a defensible home beside the Mithrim.

In front of him were the Passes of Ered Wethrin. Several small passages threading through the mountains came together in one narrow mouth on the plane opposite the long lake. The passages were flowing like black rivers, clogged with the moving armies of Morgoth. The plane before him would soon be filled with the minions of The Enemy and the loosed spirit of The Berserker went silent and charged towards them.

The Bard had chosen well.

[erinhue]

Clarion screamed in blood thirsty delight. It joyously sliced through bone and blood as the Berserker’s charge brought him to the front line of the Enemy forces. Those first encountered had a moment to wonder at the madness of this single Man daring to attack their huge numbers, but moments was all they had before their necks were sliced through or their skulls split.

Erinhue made no attempt to interfere with the actions of the Beserker on the field. Like a remote observer, he marveled at the speed and grace of movment in the killing machine he had become. Each stroke of the sword brought gushing blood. The blade was held two handed and swung about in patterns that dealt out death in multiples. As the bodies piled up, The Berserker wadded into the masses constricted to the width of the joint mouth of all the passages, hacking and slashing back and forth with the great runed blade.

Pulling his mind away from the warming crave for battle was difficult, but Erinhue fought it back to concentrate on exactly where he really was and why he had entered the mural. The sound of commotion behind him signaled that The Noldar had collected themselves enough to do battle. They would meet the forces of Morgoth as they should. It was time for him to go and find D’jazi.

[erinhue]

Running. Running, heart pounding, legs pumping, Erinhue was running across the wide landscape portrayed in the mural. From inside the chamber his tiny figure was inching across the mural wall. Inside the mural, Erinhue was running miles from one scene to the next.

There had been no time to locate D’jazi in the mural from the outside. Inside, Erinhue used what he knew of the young man to guess where and what might have drawn him. The answer seemed obvious or perhaps his famous luck played a small hand, but Erinhue was running because he knew where to go. He did not know how much time he had to get there in time.

Feanor had fallen. The Elf Lord died with his sons gathered around him.

Erinhue could see them in the distance and ran all the harder. He was too late. The surprise attack came, D’jazi fell and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He arrived to help drive the attackers away but the young initiate had already taken the blow

A shadow passed over the field, a shadow made by the wings of a Great Eagle. Erinhue looked up to see Meneldor swoop down and drag his tallons through the ranks of Darkness. In the moments of terror and confusion caused by Meneldor’s attack, Erinhue knelt down beside the wounded D’jazi.

“This is your dream, D’jazi. It does not have to go this way. You can choose its path. Remember where you are.”

The Guild Herald of the Mithril Knights reached into his pocket and took out a bent and battered sprig of rosemary. Crushing it in his fist, Erinhue held the herb to the fallen young knight’s nose for what moments he had to spare. He dropped the rosemary sprig to the ground by D’jazi’s head as he jumped to his feet.

Taking a stance above his fallen comrade, Erinhue raised his sword to a defensive position. Clarion’s blood thirsty scream was audiable. The Berserker’s howl chilled all who heard it to a stunned and startled pause. Erinhue dared any foul thing to come near and in his heart swore to die protecting the fallen initiate.

There was little more he could do.

This was D’jazi’s dream.

[Cock-Robin]

Meneldor also knew this wasn't his battle, but D'jazi's. But he could run interference. His brethren from atop Thangorodrim were screeching support. It was then that Thorondor noticed a strange greenish glint in Meneldor's eyes that wasn't there when he had seen him last. Was this the Meneldor he knew? He acted with the experience of one who had done battle many times before. Not the timid one who originally objected to crossing over, showing his youth.

Spreading his great wings, he dove down to join his vassal. He saw he couldn't drive the Balrogs alone. As he flew beside the youngster, he said "ARE you Meneldor?"

"I am. I can't explain it, but I am the one you know in your age, and yet I am not. But see those two down below? The wounded one and the other defending him? They must be protected at all cost, and I am keeping the hordes, the Balrogs, away from them, giving them a chance."

Thorondor nodded. He would remember this. "You cannot do this alone. I will aid you."

With that, the two dove screeching at the Balrogs and others who were massing even then. They scattered like leaves. It was now up to D'jazi. The two would run interference until it was time.

[Teltasarewen]

Telta's senses slowly returned. She opened her eyes.

Her vision was blurry but well enough that she caught a fleeting glimpse of Erinhue as he rushed passed a glint of torchlight reflecting off of something in his hand. A sword?

Something was wrong.

Her hands went to her newly aquired knives easing them from their scabbards as she rose swiftly to her feet. Feeling a bit unsteady the effects of the drink still affecting her, Telta searched the room for what she was not sure until she saw the dark red stain on Djazi's side.

She moved to where he had fallen over. Laying her knives down Telta removed her cloak rolled it up and carefully placed it under his head. The blood on his clothing indicated a deep wound. She needed a clean cloth.

Her vision now clearer she spotted a small table under one of the torches with folded linen upon it. It would have to do. She grabbed it and quickly knelt down by Djazi.

Telta tore open the tunic around the wound not wanting to use her knife to cut the cloth in case he should move and pressed the linen down to try and stop the flow of blood. She was no healer but she could do this much until one was found.

Only then did she wonder at the disappearance of Hue and how Djazi came to be injured.

[Claymore]

Slowly the pain receded and to Djazi’s surprise he had not yet met death by way of orc. Instead he heard a familiar roar. He tried to look up and nearly passed out again when he moved too fast. Panting he laid back trying to assess whatever damage the stab wound had done. He could breathe just fine and though the hand that was clutched to his side was wet, blood didn’t seem to be gushing out either. WHile he had not been able to dodge the scimitar completely it seemed that he had turned enough that the blade had not gone straight through him but had ended half grazing his back and half piercing the muscles of his side. Though it hurt like Utumno’s deepest pits Djazi suspected the wound was not going to kill him the next few minutes at least. Slowly he scrabbled to his knees using his spear as a crutch and careful not to jar the wound any further. What he saw when he finally hauled himself into a position to look almost made him think he was having visions inside a vision. Erinhue, or rather the Berserker was unleashing his anger on the orcs who were now mostly fleeing. Up ahead a eagle that looked like Meneldor and another one, even bigger than Meneldor if it was possible, were harrying creatures that made shudders run ove Djazi’s spine.

He didn’t know how his friends had ended up in what was supposed to be his vision. But he suspected that they were risking a lot by helping him. He instinctively knew he was in no state to fight. He could however remove the need fo protection. He could go back.

There was a crushed sprig of rosemary next to him and he could spot another dash of green a bit farther ahead. Fleetingly a whiff of it’s woodsy smell reached his nose. Rosemary was for rememberance Djazi suddenly recalled. To remember where he really was and that he needed to go back to it. For a moment the vision blurred around him and he could hear the chirp of a swallow. Then to his dismay the vision almost physically slammed back into focus.

‘Somebody is interfering rather heavy handedly, birdling,”a familiar voice said. Djazi turned, too fast and bit back a curse. There were few people who’d call him birdling. All of them were dead and this particular person would probably wash out his mouth with soap if she ever caught him swearing.
“Mansa?”he whispered.
“Hello, birdling,”his mother said as she knelt to his side.
“Mansa, you’re supposed to be dead,”he stammered, tears pricking his eyes. His mother had been dead for eight years and even in a vision she was a sight for sore eyes.
“And is this the real world, birdling?”she answered, her head tilted playfully. Djazi half laughed and half sobbed. For a moment he reveled to smell her sandalwood scent and to look once more into yellow eyes like his own instead of foreign blue and green.

“What did you mean by saying that someone was interfering?’ He finally asked.
“I don’t think you were supposed to go that deeply into trance, were you?”she asked back. Djazi shook his head.
“So either this Erinhue miscalculated the dosage,which I find unlikely,”his mother explained. “Or somebody is taking advantage of the fact that you lack certain protections to strike back at you and through you at your friends. Do you know of any enemies who might have some power over the mind?”
Djazi thought for a moment.
“The Knights of the Silmarils,”he finally said. “ They are illusionists apparently and they interfered with our mission several times. I don’t know much about them though. I think it is still a rather sore subject for the older Knights.”
“Hmm, not much help from that corner then,”his mother mused. “We do not know where they are and we don’t know how they are doing this. We need something else.”

“WHat did you mean when you said that I lacked certain protections,”Djazi suddenly asked.
“Birdling, of all my children you were the one to spent the most time with your father’s uncle,”she answered, amused. “I think you can figure it out yourself.”
Djazi thought for a moment and then it struck him.
“My name,’He whispered.
His mother nodded.
“A child name is to tell you who you are,”He continued. “An adult name is to protect you when you leave the protection of your parents and I don’t know my adult name.
His mother nodded again.
“Would it help if I did know it?’he asked.
His mother’s smile turned dangerous.
“It most certainly would,”she said. “ Now call your grand-uncle, he most likely knows. He spent the whole afternoon before you came back from your hunt smiling like a cat who got the cream.
“How do I call him.” Djazi asked.
“You know the legends, Birdling,”his mother said. “Call a person three times and he’s bound to answer sooner or later.”
Djazi nodded.
He straightened up a bit and yelled:“ Shaman Aram of the Lion Tribe, I, Djazi of the Lion-Tribe, call you.”
Nothing answered except from an occasional far-off shriek of an orc or bellow from the Berserker.
He called again: “Shaman Aram of the Lion Tribe, I, Djazi of the Lion-Tribe, call you.”
No answer again.
He tried a third time and hoped that like the legends it would work this time.
“Shaman Aram of the Lion Tribe, I, Djazi of the Lion-Tribe, call you.”
The answer this time was immediate.

-Now, now, birdling, no need to yell this much.
Djazi smiled and turned around, a bit more carefully this time.
-Anmou!
“Hello, Birlding,”his grand-uncle chuckled. “You have grown a great deal since I last saw you.”
“And you haven’t grown at all,”Djazi answered as he scanned his grand-uncle from the top of his grey dreadlocks down to his knobby feet.
“Adulthood has not stripped your of your clever tongue I see,” Aram groused good- naturedly. “Now what is all this fuss all about,”he added as he lowered himself to the ground with the care of the old.
“Somebody is interfering with Djazi’s vision,”his mother answered. “They have drawn him in too deep and wont let him go. He needs the protection of his adult name. I suspect you have known it for quite some time.”
Djazi’s grand-uncle chuckled.
“Ah yes,” he said. “I have known for quite some time. Suspected it for even longer after an eight year old boy came to bother me during a meditation, wanting to know what I was doing.”
Aram sighed. “ You were supposed to be my heir, Djazi. I think you can figure your name out for yourself.”
Djazi blinked, somewhat in shock by his great-uncle revelation.

His great-uncle had been named Aram, which meant Keen-Eyes and was a reference to the Peregrine Falcon. The shaman before Aram had been named Maknai, Swift-wings, which also reffered to the crepuscular bird of prey and each shaman before them as well.

Among Djazi’s people the Peregrine Falcon was believed to guide the sun each morning to the sky and to guide her back to her rest each evening. ANd so just like the the bird itself guided the sun so did the men and women bearing its name guide the tribe. If Djazi had been supposed to become Aram’s heir, his adult name was also supposed to refer to the Peregrine Falcon. There were many names that could be used to refer to the bird of prey but Djazi knew instinctively which one was supposed to be his. It wasn’t much of a change from his old name.
“Djaleh,”he whispered. “Sun-Bird”
The old shaman smiled and suddenly there was a falcon perched on his arm. He extended it allowing the beautiful bird to step on Djaleh’s shoulder.
“Follow her Djaleh,”he said. “She’ll guide you home.”
The falcon screamed and took off. SHe flew straight up into the sky, towards the sun that had rosen for the first time unnoticed to everybody. Djaleh tried to follow her with his eyes, but soon she was too close to the sun and he had to shut his eyes to avoid being blinded.


When he opened them again he was looking at Telta’s worried face.

[Cock-Robin]

Thorondor, together with Meneldor, were harrying the Balrogs and even more evil creatures than that, buying Dj'azi time. And it worked. On the ground, the Berserker kept foes away as they did from the air.

After what seemed an eternity, two appeared beside Dj'azi, then a falcon appeared leading him out. Their task was done. "Go!" commanded Thorondor. "We will take care of the rest."

"Yes, my lord." said Meneldor. "And,...please be patient with young Meneldor. He has a lot of learning and growing to do before he comes into his own, and it will take great loss before he gains. That I can tell you."

"I will, my son." The Eagle-Lord then called out, and others left their perch to join them. Meneldor flew up to the eyrie on Thangorodrim where he would leave his younger self. He smelled the rosemary embedded in his feathers, and found himself back in the hall.

Brondgast was still unsubstantial, and D'jazi was in the arms of Telta, being tended by her.

"Wh...who was that giant eagle with you, Meneldor?" said Djazi, or Djaleh as he now was.

"That was my lord Thorondor, greatest of our kind." said Meneldor. "He has taught me greatly. We await Erinhue, and I think Brondgast will be back as well from wherever that Stone took him."

[erinhue]

The Great Eagles swooped down from the sky sharp beaks and ripping talons tearing through the dark horde swarming the battlefield. They kept the Balrogs and other most terrible creatures at bay and thinned the ranks moving towards the fallen knight. Theevil army scoffed at the lone defender until they were forced into his range. The Berserker used his blood lusting sword to slash through the necks and limbs and bodies of all that came near.

Erinhue looked towards D’jazi and almost looked through him. The young man’s image was fading. He seemed to be talking to someone the bard could neither see nor hear. In the next moment D’jazi laughed and made some sort of declaration. His image thinned out to smoke and then disappeared.

One of the Great Eagles took a different direction from his brothers raking the battlefield. Erinhue knew it for Meneldor. He watched the eagle soar high into the sky, fly up into the sun and then vanish.

His duty as Guardian was complete now that all the Initiates had made an exit from the mural.

The enemy was no longer eager to attack the lone man standing on the field. Erinhue waited for the Eagles to wheel high in the sky and turn as one to a scourging attack. When their line of destruction swept past him, Erinhue turned to the west and began to run. He knew that here in the mural he could not run fast enough or far enough but here in the mural he was not the Bard, he was the Berserker and strength and speed were not in short supply.

Running. Running towards the west with the bands of Mordor at his heels, Erinhue ignored the sounds of pursuit, ignored the enraged protests of his sword, ignored everything around him but some vague and distant point straight ahead. In an eternity or seconds the land dropped off in a sharp cliff. Erinhue ran towards it and leapt off into nothing.

Diving into the room from the East Wall mural, Erinhue tucked into a forward roll and came to a stop in the middle of the Initiation Chamber. He sat up, grasping at the shoulder that first hit the stone floor, and looked at the Initiates with obvious concern.

“Meneldor? Brondgast? Telta? Are you all right? Is D’jazi all right?”

[Cock-Robin]

In that strange wood, Brondgast was watching the events on the mural as he and the other eleven Dragon Warriors kept chanting. Finally, Djazi was rescued, Meneldor left and now it was Erinhue's turn. While the Eagles were running interference from above, he saw Erinhue take off running, the hordes of Morgoth on his heels. It was time. But what was he doing? Only the Berserker would do something as crazy as that! He swiped with his paw just as Erinhue leaped off of a precipice, and he was gone. All twelve sat down. "It is done." said Bar.

Brondgast nodded and the forest faded around him. He was back in the initiation chamber just in time to hear Erinhue say:

“Meneldor? Brondgast? Telta? Are you all right? Is D’jazi all right?”

"I am fine." said Brondgast.

"As am I." said Meneldor. "Telta is tending to Djazi. It seems he took a flesh wound. Are there any healers about?"

[Teltasarewen]

Telta felt movement beneath her hand and gently but firmly stopped Djazi when he stirred He peered up at her.

"Do not move. The bleeding has stopped but a healer should tend to your wound properly."

Before she could say anything else Erinhue suddenly appeared rolling across the floor coming to a stop near the centre of the room inquiring after their well being. Hue held his shoulder and the motion did not go unnoticed by Telta.

Brondgast replied first with his assurance that he was alright. Meneldor too was unharmed and inquired about a healer to come to tend Djazi the small pile of blood soaked linen leaving no doubt of the severity of his injury.

"Hue are you alright? What happened?" she asked as a hundred other questions gnawed at the worried and confused elf.

[erinhue]

“Lord Erinhue, is all well with the Initiation?”

Before Erinhue could get up off the floor, several senior ranked Knights including the Master of Healer’s Hall had rushed into the room. It was Tarlan, the healer who spoke.

“The KiT assigned to attend you went into the Great Hall and did not find you beneath your shield. He Immediately came to me and we all hurried here as quickly as we could. I assume you were called to perform the duties of guardian?”

“Yes, Tarlan.” Erinhue responded still rubbing at his shoulder. “Something that was not supposed to happen, happened but I took care of it and all is now well. I would appreciate it if you would take a look at D’jazi, he was wounded while in the mural.”

This last brought sounds of surprise from the other Knights. This was a most unusual Initiation.

Tarlan went over and knelt down beside the unsteady and still seated D’jazi. A nod towards the door sent one of his own apprentices bolting off down the hallway. The other went to Erinhue’s side and began to examine his shoulder. The first apprentice healer quickly returned with a large satchel like bag. Breathing hard from his haste, the young man set the bag on the floor and opened it wide.

Looking over the contents, Tarlan soon chose a bottle half full of a murky liquid and a long glass vial. He uncorked the bottle and poured its contents into the vial until it was three quarters full. Handing it to the young man he said

Take this over to Lord Erinhue. Tell him I apologize for it not being ale but that he should drink it down all the same.”

The Master Healer then turned his attention to the injured D’jazi. The wound was not serious and bled more than the damage done. For this, Tarlan breathed a deeply relieved sigh

[Cock-Robin]

Brondgast was sitting in a corner, resting and recovering from the experience. His time with the Twelve had drained him somewhat, and he needed rest until the time of the Oath. He was in human form, and he was watching the healers enter and tend to D'jazi and Erinhue.

Meneldor was scanning the mural again, that he had entered once for his vision quest and the next time when D'jazi was in trouble. Erinhue had finished drinking that stuff Tarlan had given him, and came up beside the Eagle. "A copper for your thoughts."

Meneldor stirred. "I thought that elfstone I picked up from the armory was just something pretty, a "shiny" as birds call it." he said. "I chose it because it brought back memories of the Elder Days, which I participated in. Now, I'm not so sure. I still don't know if it has any power that could aid me in the service of the Mithril Knights, but when D'jazi was in trouble, I found myself joining with my former self in there. Thorondor and my brethren had just arrived to watch over Angband. You would not have recognized me back then. I was quite timid and inexperienced. My lord Thorondor kept me out of most of the heaviest battles, as I was not yet ready. He seemed to know my time was much later.

Then, I was there, and he noticed I was different, or was...it's hard to explain. That's never happened to me before. But he helped me drive off the Balrogs and other things, or it would have been much worse for the both of you, Berserker or no Berserker. I was able to tell Thorondor to be patient with my younger self,but he already knew. He is much wiser than me.

But anyway, I need to know more about this elfstone. Idril Celebrindal wore it ages ago in Gondolin. What it can do, if anything. Maybe you or Agarak could help me find out eventually."

[Teltasarewen]

Telta moved aside to let the healer tend to Djazi. She stood and watched as he sorted through an assortment of containers and finally settled upon one.

A none to pleasant aroma wafted up from the vial he had directed to be given to Erinhue. Remembering the administrations from the Healers here the last time she was at the guild, she could well imagine the unpleasant taste of the concotion meant for Hue.

Telta shuddered at the memory. To be honest whatever she had been given at that time had been utterly vile. She did not envy him at the moment and did feel a little sorry for him as he eyed the contents warily and downed it in one quick swallow.

The healer Tarlan, Hue had called him continued with his administrations on Djazi and the elf rose and moved out of the way.

Telta leaned back against the wall and slid down until she sat upon the floor, head back against the wall. Sky blue eyes followed those in the room aware of all that was going on as she sat motionless hands draped over her knees.

She could use some water and a cloth right about now to clean her hands of Djazi's blood. But she had not the energy at the moment to seek some out which was unusual for her. She could only think that the journey here, the armory, the visionquest was taking it's toll on her. Much had happened and some rest would put things to right.

Telta found herself staring at Djazi as Tarlan worked on him. What exactly happened? How did he get hurt? In her visionquest she had been nothing more than a shadow. Was it possible for some to experience the visionquest as something more?

[erinhue]

Standing beside the Great Eagle, Erinhue listened as Meneldor spoke. He thought for a moment before answering this request for assistance. Meneldor was his friend. Erinhue could hear how much the question was troubling his friend and he would tell what he could.

“I understand what happened better than you might think, my friend. When I become the Berserker, I, me, I am not there, but I am. It might not have been the same with you, but I can well understand.

I knew that jewel the moment you brought it out of the Armory. It did indeed once belong to Idril. She wore it sometimes still when she was my mentor Knight. I was here the day she put it in the Armory vowing never to claim it again. She said the memories it carried had become too much to bare and it was time to lay the burden down. It has been there ever since.

She told me once that jewel was all that remained of her father’s kingdom, the once hidden and now lost realm of Gondolin. This came from the Fourth Gate of Gondolin, the Gate of Writhen Iron.”

Here Erinhue paused and chuckled. “It is more than fitting that you chose that stone, my friend. The fourth gate was guarded by four towers, and between them stood a great iron statue of Thorondor the Lord of Eagles.

Idril told me it was one of the few things she was able to save and the only thing that had not gone by with time. Although she did not ever say so, I have always liked to think that stone was one of the great iron eagle’s eyes. “

[erinhue]

Erinhue left Meneldor's side and walked over to the place where Telta sat upon the floor. He let his body slide down the wall to sit beside her and then gently poked her with his elbow. Beaming a lower wattage version of his star bright grin he leaned in close and whispered,
"Well now, Telta, darlin', how goes it with you."

[erinhue]

As he sat on the floor of the Great Hall, Erinhue kept rubbing at his shoulder. Nothing was broken but he had slammed into the floor pretty hard and he would have one grand and ugly bruise in a matter of minutes. Whatever vile concoction Tarlan had him drink was doing its work to lessen the pain.

Erinhue looked at the worn looking elf maid beside him, his old friend, and smiled. To himself he thought, "I just might be getting too old for this."