Dark Council- *added Epilogue*
folder
-Multi-Age › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
12
Views:
2,565
Reviews:
21
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Multi-Age › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
12
Views:
2,565
Reviews:
21
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 4: Witness
Chapter 4 finally added! Still don't own Legolas or Thranduil; am currently in negotiations *g*. I'd like to apologize for omitting translations of any Elvish I've used so far. I had a 'blonde moment'. I hope you enjoy chapter 4.
Chapter 4
As Garand led the group of Elven silversmiths and Council members homeward, he was keenlyre ore of the solemn silence in which they walked. They were escorted by Isil-Gar, Garand’s combat instructor and the captain of the King’s guard, along with his second-in-command, Vilmaril. All of them had stared, stunned, at the extensive damage done to the irrigation pipe, and all had agreed it had been intentional. When Garand called the master silversmith, Fadriel, to his side, he asked him quietly if he knew what implement might have been used to wreak such havoc on the pipe.
“There are several tools used by silverworkers that would be capable of this damage,” he answered thoughtfully. “But Garand,” he added quickly, “I know of no one in the Guild who would do such a thing. ‘Twould be a disloyalty to the craft.”
Garand laid a consoling hand on Fadriel’s shoulder. “Of course, my friend,” he reassured him. “The innocence of the silversmiths was never in question. Can repairs be made?”
“They can,” the silversmith replied, “but it would be both faster and easier to fashion a new section of pipe.”
“I leave it in your capable hands then,” Garand said gratefully. Several of the silversmiths gathered up the section of pipe that had been neatly cloven in two, and began the walk back to the city and the forge where a new pipe would be fabricated.
Isil-Gar and Vilmaril approached Garand and took him aside. “We will do a thorough search of the area,” the captain said. “There may be something left behind by the ones who did this.”
Garand was glad to have two such seasoned warriors with them in the wide opening of the glade through which the irrigation pipe stretched overhead. Isil-Gar and Vilmaril were well known for their bravery and their devotion to the realm of Mirkwood and the royal fam Tho Though they had no blood relation to each other, a strong physical resemblance between them often gave others the erroneous impression that they were brothers. Of the same height, both Elves were as lightly tanned by the sun as Garand, a sure sign of military life. Their medium-hued, smoky blonde hair fell to their waists, and eyes that were almost never still, that noted every detail of their surroundings, eyes as black as onyx, graced the somesome faces of both warriors.
“Thank you, Isil-Gar. If anything has been left, I know you and Vilmaril are the ones to find it.”
The captain nodded to Garand, and the two guardsmen began their investigation of the site. They separated, and searched every inch of the ground and the bushes, walking in an ever-widening circle. Garand turned his attention to the Council members, who had remained behind. Thank the gods Rymir was absent from this excursion. The auburn haired Elf was in no mood to put up with his lecherous staring again today.
Garand was speaking with the Council, answering as many of their questions as he could, when Isil-Gar called out to him from atop the hill on the western side of the glade. Garand excused himself and easily climbed the slope to where the two guards waited.
“What is it, Isil-Gar?” he asked, as he ascended.
“Our search of the area turned up no clues, but you will want to hear this,” the captain replied.
As Garand reached the crest of the hill, he saw Vilmaril squatting next to a small girl, an Elven child. She spoke to the warrior animatedly, gesturing with her small hands occasionally to emphasize a point here and there. She turned toward Garanen sen she saw him approaching, and smiled, her large amber eyes friendly and unafraid. He returned the smile warmly. Garand dearly loved children.
“Who might this lovely young lady be?” he asked the captain of the guard.
“This is Anania, and she has a very interesting story to tell,” Isil-Gar replied, looking pointedly at Garand.
“Indeed?” Garand replied, nodding once to show that he understood he was about to learn something of great importance. He knelt before Anania and smiled again. “Anania, I am a friend of Isil-Gar and Vilmaril, and of the King.” Her eyes grew wide at the mention of Thranduil. “My name is Garand. Would you please tell me your story, also?”
The Elf child nodded and began the retelling of how she had been awakened several nights ago, by odd sounds emanating from over the hill. Anania had arisen and looked in on her parents, who were in deep repose, exhausted from a long day tending to the crops. Convincing herself that she wasn’t afraid, she’d slipped quietly out of her home and crept through the forest to see what was causing those sounds. When she reached the crest of the hill, she knew to lie down to avoid being detected. What she saw when she peeked down into the glade, made her young eyes grow wide and her mouth fall open.
Two Elves sawed at the irrigation pipe, one sitting astride it, working from the top, while the other sawed from beneath as he hung downward, his legs wrapped powerfully around the pipe. They used tools such as Anania had never seen before, and they were dressed the same as Isil-Gar and Vilmaril in the uniform of the King’s guard, the crest of Mirkwood emblazoned on the chest of theirics.ics. The third Elf stood on the ground below, alternately watching their progress and looking around furtively to be sure they were not observed. Several times he gazed in Anania’s direction, and she was certain he looked directly at her. She readied herself for flight, but each time the Elf looked away, and she softly sighed her relief. When the pipe at last began to buckle, the two guardsmen leapt nimbly to the ground, and the three watched as the pipe bent, groaning, and the weight of the severed ends pulled them down to the forest floor. Quickly, the Elves gathered up their tools and looking around one last time, fled into the woods, over the hill on the opposite side of the glade.
“I ran home as fast as I could, and I never told anyone” Anania finished quietly.
“You were very brave, little elen,” Garand assured her, “but why did you not tell anyone of what you saw?”
“I was afraid.”
“Of the two guards?”
“No,” Anania replied. “Of the other one. He was not dressed the same as them; he was dressed like them,” and she pointed down to the glade at the group of Council members in their ornate, flowing robes.
Garand and Isil-Gar exchanged meaningful glances. A flash of certainty came over the auburn-haired warrior then. “Do you think you could describe him to me?” he asked casually.
Anania nodded. “Yes, I saw him very clearly,” she asserted truthfully, as a full moon hanging low in the sky that night had flooded the glade with bright silver-blue light. “He had hair as black as ink, and his eyes were,” she hesitated, “strange.”
“Were they of a very pale color?” Garand asked tentatively.
“Yes,” the child nodded, “and … cruel.”
Garand reached into the satchel he carried slung over his shoulder and withdrew a sheet of parchment paper and a charcoal pencil. He sketched quickly and surely for a few moments before showing the drawing to the Elven child. “Did he look like this?” he asked. An exact likeness of Rymir stared back at her from the paper and she gasped, taking a step back. Vilmaril, still besher,her, placed a steadying hand gently on her back.
“’Tis him,” she whispered.
Garand put the paper away, out of her sight, and said soothingly, “Do not be afraid, Anania. I know who he is, and he will not harm you, I promise you.” He took her hand and placed it over his heart, covering it with his own. “I give you my word as a warrior and a friend of the King, that this Elf will never learn who ‘twas that saw him that night, and Isil-Gar and Vilmaril will give you their oaths as warriors, as well, will you not?” he asked, looking at each of the guards in turn. They both placed a hand over their hearts and inclined their heads toward the Elf child. “You have our word, my lady,” Isil-Gar vowed solemnly.
Anania smiled then, relieved. After thanking her and exacting a promise from her, that she would never again wander the woods alone, especially after nightfall, Garand asked Vilmaril to escort her back to her home.
Now, as the group of remaining silversmiths and members of the Council returned to the palace, Garand’s anger burned against Rymir. He didn’t yet know how he was going to handle this situation, but one thing he did know: he couldn’t get back to the palace quickly enough.
**********
elen: star
Chapter 4
As Garand led the group of Elven silversmiths and Council members homeward, he was keenlyre ore of the solemn silence in which they walked. They were escorted by Isil-Gar, Garand’s combat instructor and the captain of the King’s guard, along with his second-in-command, Vilmaril. All of them had stared, stunned, at the extensive damage done to the irrigation pipe, and all had agreed it had been intentional. When Garand called the master silversmith, Fadriel, to his side, he asked him quietly if he knew what implement might have been used to wreak such havoc on the pipe.
“There are several tools used by silverworkers that would be capable of this damage,” he answered thoughtfully. “But Garand,” he added quickly, “I know of no one in the Guild who would do such a thing. ‘Twould be a disloyalty to the craft.”
Garand laid a consoling hand on Fadriel’s shoulder. “Of course, my friend,” he reassured him. “The innocence of the silversmiths was never in question. Can repairs be made?”
“They can,” the silversmith replied, “but it would be both faster and easier to fashion a new section of pipe.”
“I leave it in your capable hands then,” Garand said gratefully. Several of the silversmiths gathered up the section of pipe that had been neatly cloven in two, and began the walk back to the city and the forge where a new pipe would be fabricated.
Isil-Gar and Vilmaril approached Garand and took him aside. “We will do a thorough search of the area,” the captain said. “There may be something left behind by the ones who did this.”
Garand was glad to have two such seasoned warriors with them in the wide opening of the glade through which the irrigation pipe stretched overhead. Isil-Gar and Vilmaril were well known for their bravery and their devotion to the realm of Mirkwood and the royal fam Tho Though they had no blood relation to each other, a strong physical resemblance between them often gave others the erroneous impression that they were brothers. Of the same height, both Elves were as lightly tanned by the sun as Garand, a sure sign of military life. Their medium-hued, smoky blonde hair fell to their waists, and eyes that were almost never still, that noted every detail of their surroundings, eyes as black as onyx, graced the somesome faces of both warriors.
“Thank you, Isil-Gar. If anything has been left, I know you and Vilmaril are the ones to find it.”
The captain nodded to Garand, and the two guardsmen began their investigation of the site. They separated, and searched every inch of the ground and the bushes, walking in an ever-widening circle. Garand turned his attention to the Council members, who had remained behind. Thank the gods Rymir was absent from this excursion. The auburn haired Elf was in no mood to put up with his lecherous staring again today.
Garand was speaking with the Council, answering as many of their questions as he could, when Isil-Gar called out to him from atop the hill on the western side of the glade. Garand excused himself and easily climbed the slope to where the two guards waited.
“What is it, Isil-Gar?” he asked, as he ascended.
“Our search of the area turned up no clues, but you will want to hear this,” the captain replied.
As Garand reached the crest of the hill, he saw Vilmaril squatting next to a small girl, an Elven child. She spoke to the warrior animatedly, gesturing with her small hands occasionally to emphasize a point here and there. She turned toward Garanen sen she saw him approaching, and smiled, her large amber eyes friendly and unafraid. He returned the smile warmly. Garand dearly loved children.
“Who might this lovely young lady be?” he asked the captain of the guard.
“This is Anania, and she has a very interesting story to tell,” Isil-Gar replied, looking pointedly at Garand.
“Indeed?” Garand replied, nodding once to show that he understood he was about to learn something of great importance. He knelt before Anania and smiled again. “Anania, I am a friend of Isil-Gar and Vilmaril, and of the King.” Her eyes grew wide at the mention of Thranduil. “My name is Garand. Would you please tell me your story, also?”
The Elf child nodded and began the retelling of how she had been awakened several nights ago, by odd sounds emanating from over the hill. Anania had arisen and looked in on her parents, who were in deep repose, exhausted from a long day tending to the crops. Convincing herself that she wasn’t afraid, she’d slipped quietly out of her home and crept through the forest to see what was causing those sounds. When she reached the crest of the hill, she knew to lie down to avoid being detected. What she saw when she peeked down into the glade, made her young eyes grow wide and her mouth fall open.
Two Elves sawed at the irrigation pipe, one sitting astride it, working from the top, while the other sawed from beneath as he hung downward, his legs wrapped powerfully around the pipe. They used tools such as Anania had never seen before, and they were dressed the same as Isil-Gar and Vilmaril in the uniform of the King’s guard, the crest of Mirkwood emblazoned on the chest of theirics.ics. The third Elf stood on the ground below, alternately watching their progress and looking around furtively to be sure they were not observed. Several times he gazed in Anania’s direction, and she was certain he looked directly at her. She readied herself for flight, but each time the Elf looked away, and she softly sighed her relief. When the pipe at last began to buckle, the two guardsmen leapt nimbly to the ground, and the three watched as the pipe bent, groaning, and the weight of the severed ends pulled them down to the forest floor. Quickly, the Elves gathered up their tools and looking around one last time, fled into the woods, over the hill on the opposite side of the glade.
“I ran home as fast as I could, and I never told anyone” Anania finished quietly.
“You were very brave, little elen,” Garand assured her, “but why did you not tell anyone of what you saw?”
“I was afraid.”
“Of the two guards?”
“No,” Anania replied. “Of the other one. He was not dressed the same as them; he was dressed like them,” and she pointed down to the glade at the group of Council members in their ornate, flowing robes.
Garand and Isil-Gar exchanged meaningful glances. A flash of certainty came over the auburn-haired warrior then. “Do you think you could describe him to me?” he asked casually.
Anania nodded. “Yes, I saw him very clearly,” she asserted truthfully, as a full moon hanging low in the sky that night had flooded the glade with bright silver-blue light. “He had hair as black as ink, and his eyes were,” she hesitated, “strange.”
“Were they of a very pale color?” Garand asked tentatively.
“Yes,” the child nodded, “and … cruel.”
Garand reached into the satchel he carried slung over his shoulder and withdrew a sheet of parchment paper and a charcoal pencil. He sketched quickly and surely for a few moments before showing the drawing to the Elven child. “Did he look like this?” he asked. An exact likeness of Rymir stared back at her from the paper and she gasped, taking a step back. Vilmaril, still besher,her, placed a steadying hand gently on her back.
“’Tis him,” she whispered.
Garand put the paper away, out of her sight, and said soothingly, “Do not be afraid, Anania. I know who he is, and he will not harm you, I promise you.” He took her hand and placed it over his heart, covering it with his own. “I give you my word as a warrior and a friend of the King, that this Elf will never learn who ‘twas that saw him that night, and Isil-Gar and Vilmaril will give you their oaths as warriors, as well, will you not?” he asked, looking at each of the guards in turn. They both placed a hand over their hearts and inclined their heads toward the Elf child. “You have our word, my lady,” Isil-Gar vowed solemnly.
Anania smiled then, relieved. After thanking her and exacting a promise from her, that she would never again wander the woods alone, especially after nightfall, Garand asked Vilmaril to escort her back to her home.
Now, as the group of remaining silversmiths and members of the Council returned to the palace, Garand’s anger burned against Rymir. He didn’t yet know how he was going to handle this situation, but one thing he did know: he couldn’t get back to the palace quickly enough.
**********
elen: star