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“Poppy?” asked the wraith, tilting his head toward Edeneth. “Hm… yes, I do think that her ways have somewhat rubbed off onto me.”
“She has that effect on people doesn’t she?”
Nazgul #7 nodded, and replied, “Indeed; Poppy has even made friends with Ar-Murazor, which can be a daunting task for those who cannot tolerate his bluntness and neurotic nature. ‘Tis quite an accomplishment; I had four thousand years to know him, yet Poppy had befriended him in much less time.”
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“Her,” the wraith corrected gently. “‘Tis the same mare that you gave to me when we met. Her name is Zikal.”
“Oh my…I forgot about…
Edeneth gently ran her hand over the mare’s nose. “Poor thing,” she whispered. “You’re still pretty though,”
Nazgul #7 nodded, then ran his hand over the buckles on the saddle, ensuring that it sat in place on Zikal’s back. “‘Tis ready,” he said, “you may mount.”
“Thank you Seven,” she said softly and stepped on the saddle step and on to the mare’s back ignoring the pain in her arm leg.
“Let us be off, then,” the wraith said, his hand touching the hilt of his sword. “We shall make our way northwest, where game typically gathers in greater numbers.”
With that, Nazgul #7 took off at a brisk walk, with Seldarine slinking along behind him.
Edeneth looked down at Seldarine. She smiled. “She’s so quiet…”
“Well, how else did Seldarine manage to sneak up seven flights of stairs and almost reach us ere I knew of her presence?” the Nazgul asked in a rhetorical fashion.
Edeneth laughed quietly. ” you remind me a certain hobbit when you talk like that Seven,”
“Poppy?” asked the wraith, tilting his head toward Edeneth. “Hm… yes, I do think that her ways have somewhat rubbed off onto me.”
“Nay, you kept cautious,” insisted the Nazgul, shaking his head - his eyes appeared to move back and forth in front of Firie - as he grasped her hand. “You were, I presume, alone in your house, and I appeared to be a malevolent stranger. Rather than risk your life, you waited until you knew my true intentions to act. If I were in your place, I would have done the same; I might even have been even more cautious.”Extending his other arm in the direction of the road, Nazgul #7 asked, “Shall we be off, or do you need more time?”
Firie stared, still slightly unsure but not worried anymore, and yet when she sw those red irises move so frantically she could not hel but grin and then laugh. Then, leaning in and stepping on her tiptoes, she placed a kiss where she hoped was the wraith’s cheek before moving back and squeezing his hand.
“It is fine, sir Ar-Dinenfaer… you are, after all, yourself, very kind and sweet. Let my grab a shawl so we can go.”To the benefit of both, Firie did, indeed, kiss Nazgul #7 on the cheek. Nevertheless, the wraith did flinch and squeak at the contact. “I-I-I-Thank you, Firie,” he said bashfully. Then, as Firie went inside, he said, “A shawl will be useful where we will go; it might be slightly cold.”
The girl arched a brow, perplexed at the shy reaction that had the other squeaking and stammering. With a last glance and smile she did get inside, picking her shawl, but soon went back to the door, worried.
“What do you mean that it might be ‘very useful’? Where are we going? Is it a weird place?” she asked a bit worried, now unsure about her whole attire - not worried about what Ar-Dinenfaer could do, no, not that.
The Nazgul - too afraid to offer his arm - fell into step next to Firie as he said, “Nay, ‘tis not strange… for you, at least. For me, ‘twas quite unique. ‘Tis but ten minutes from here.”
Dear Eru, he thought, what if the place I chose is, indeed, normal for Firie, and she thinks it too mundane? Worries such as this occupied his mind as he walked, leading Firie along until the pair reached a cliff side that jutted out from the land and over the sea. A waterfall spilled its water into the sea not three feet from the cliff, casting a strange aura of light over the weathered stone of the cliff.
Balking slightly at what he perceived to be a rebuke, he murmured, “Nay, I have no problem. Now, let us see what this tome tells us…”
With that, the wraith bent over the tome, and spent many minutes studying the text. His finger traced over the text, and much inarticulate mumbling came from his mouth as he read. Then, he said with a cry, “Ah! ‘Tis the tale of the Fall of Gondolin! I cannot reach each word, but I can make out enough. Here -” he pointed to a certain passage “- it reads, or so far as I know, ‘Many are the songs that have been sung of the - the word here I do not know - of Glorfindel with the Balrog upon a… pinnacle of rock in that high place… and both fell to… ruin in the abyss.’ Only one tale mentions such a battle between such foes, and ‘tis that of the fall of Gondolin.”
With that, the lesser Nazgul straightened, and he continued with, “This tome is either the complete tale or has many tales in it, including this one. Perhaps I did not translate some parts correctly, yet I cannot mistake ‘Glordindel’. Do you need me to continue?”
(OOC) Quoted part credited to J.R.R. Tolkien.
The wraith let his head fall a little. “‘Tis all I can say. None know where the Anons come from, none know how their magic works. All anyone knows is that they wear cloaks of gray and that they have an impish nature.”
He nodded slightly, sighing softly. “Well, I suppose that will have to do for now. I thought it was one of my students, but apparently not. Where were we, before we were rudely interrupted by the curse?”
“We were discussing a possible alliance between your forces and the Nazgul,” the wraith replied with a nod.
I shall have to speak with Ar-Murazor ere I proceed any further, he said to himself. I do not know this Mortal, nor do I know the limits of his power and hunger for such.
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“Her,” the wraith corrected gently. “‘Tis the same mare that you gave to me when we met. Her name is Zikal.”
“Oh my…I forgot about…
Edeneth gently ran her hand over the mare’s nose. “Poor thing,” she whispered. “You’re still pretty though,”
Nazgul #7 nodded, then ran his hand over the buckles on the saddle, ensuring that it sat in place on Zikal’s back. “‘Tis ready,” he said, “you may mount.”
“Thank you Seven,” she said softly and stepped on the saddle step and on to the mare’s back ignoring the pain in her arm leg.
“Let us be off, then,” the wraith said, his hand touching the hilt of his sword. “We shall make our way northwest, where game typically gathers in greater numbers.”
With that, Nazgul #7 took off at a brisk walk, with Seldarine slinking along behind him.
Edeneth looked down at Seldarine. She smiled. “She’s so quiet…”
“Well, how else did Seldarine manage to sneak up seven flights of stairs and almost reach us ere I knew of her presence?” the Nazgul asked in a rhetorical fashion.
Nazgul #7 bent forward and rested his head in his hand, so that his eyes rested upon the superior wraith; his other hand buried itself in his cloak. He said, “I sincerely beg for your forgiveness, Ar-Murazor. ‘Twas wrong of me to react as I did, yet I did not fathom that any of the Nine, least of all us Numenoreans, could not read Sindarin.”
With his free hand, he grasped a corner of the tome and tilted the book toward him so that he might see the words. “I also apologize,” he said, “for my Sindarin vocabulary had greatly diminished since my Living days, but I shall read what I can.”
“Draug was afraid of himself. He begged his parents for death, because he knew that no one will love him now. So they builded a fortess, a labyrynth for him and he hid there. And Pretty, in other hand, found in the forest a house of three good wise women, named Lily, Rose and Orchidea. Pretty stayed in their house, and they were happy together. Ravenlock and King were ruling their kingdom in peace, but they were sad, because they lost both their children. And the years were passing.”
“Hm… it seems as if things might have remained that way, if Fate allowed for such,” the wraith mused aloud. “However, stories never end like this. Pray tell, what happened to change the scenario you just described?”
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“Her,” the wraith corrected gently. “‘Tis the same mare that you gave to me when we met. Her name is Zikal.”
“Oh my…I forgot about…
Edeneth gently ran her hand over the mare’s nose. “Poor thing,” she whispered. “You’re still pretty though,”
Nazgul #7 nodded, then ran his hand over the buckles on the saddle, ensuring that it sat in place on Zikal’s back. “‘Tis ready,” he said, “you may mount.”
“Thank you Seven,” she said softly and stepped on the saddle step and on to the mare’s back ignoring the pain in her arm leg.
“Let us be off, then,” the wraith said, his hand touching the hilt of his sword. “We shall make our way northwest, where game typically gathers in greater numbers.”
With that, Nazgul #7 took off at a brisk walk, with Seldarine slinking along behind him.
Nazgul #7 stared at Ar-Murazor in shock; his hands hung limply by his side, and his head stretched forward from the base of his neck. “You cannot read?” he inquired in an incredulous tone.
A memory came to him then; his father and tutor arguing, the former insisting that the latter teach his son how to read Elvish text, the latter arguing that the heir of a king need not learn how to read at all, let alone the Elvish language, lest he put all the scribes out of work.
Then, as he rapidly shook his head, it occurred to him that his father might have been an exception to the rule: that other kings did not learn how to read the other languages of Arda. Granted, he mused, my Sindarin has become more limited due to lack of practice, and I know no Dwarvish at all.
Taking a seat beside Ar-Murazor, he pointed to the book and asked, “Do you want to know what it says? I may not be of much help, but I know basic Elvish…”
Nazgul #7 slowly approached Ar-Murazor, knelt down next to him, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Ar-Murazor?” he asked. “What brings you here?”
Now, with his head threatening to fall off his shoulders from the sheer angle at which it tilted, Nazgul #7 tried to decipher the paradox. He claims not to be saying that he means to marry me, he mused, purposefully ignoring the implications of the sentence, and yet I distinctly heard and saw him speak. Unless he means to say that another being controls his lips…
For a while more he thought, trying to conjure the moments ere Raistlin began acting strangely in his mind, searching for clues to the other’s behavior. One particular affliction quickly came to him…
“Had you recently encountered a man wearing a gray cloak and calling himself an ‘Anon’ or ‘Magic Anon’?” he asked, trying to find explanations or eliminate possibilities.
“Yes!” he said eagerly, almost pouncing on the answer. “He thought it was disrespectful that I scoffed him, and he put a curse on me, but I didn’t think much of it.” He began to pace, continuing after a few seconds, “I suppose I’ve learned my lesson.” He sighed slightly, shaking his head in utter disgust.
Upon hearing the answer, the wraith finally straightened his head, only to shake it wearily, as if he were a parent scoffing at the mischief of a child. “One becomes powerless when facing an Anon; if you do nothing to attract their attention, one shall curse you, and if you offend him, he shall make the curse only worse. No magic can abate the Magic Anon’s curse, save another Anon’s curse, which may be very inconvenient to you if this continues.”
“When I find him, I swear, I will tear him apart and feed him to Cyan,” he vowed, almost spitting it out. He hated having people have power over him. He calmed himself down, sitting back down in his chair. “What do you know of these demonic beings?”
The wraith let his head fall a little. “‘Tis all I can say. None know where the Anons come from, none know how their magic works. All anyone knows is that they wear cloaks of gray and that they have an impish nature.”
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“Her,” the wraith corrected gently. “‘Tis the same mare that you gave to me when we met. Her name is Zikal.”
“Oh my…I forgot about…
Edeneth gently ran her hand over the mare’s nose. “Poor thing,” she whispered. “You’re still pretty though,”
Nazgul #7 nodded, then ran his hand over the buckles on the saddle, ensuring that it sat in place on Zikal’s back. “‘Tis ready,” he said, “you may mount.”
Alana stood up just after him and took his hand trustfully.
“I am happy simply being near to you, Ar-Din, but I can do many things. I can make clear this stormhold for you, or sing for you whole day, or tell you many stories, I can help with writing or read for you…”
I know you don’t love me, she thought. I accept it. But, please, allow me to be near to you…The wraith tilted his head in a curious manner. “Logically,” he said, “the first does not make any sense, for it will take many years, not one day, to to clean Minas Morgul. However, ‘tis been a while since I heard a story for you.” With his free hand, he motioned for Alannada to sit down once more, and he asked, “Why not begin the day with one?”
Alannada’s eyes turned golden-green and she smiled brightly.
“There was a lady named Ravenlock. She married the King and became a Queen. The King has a daughter, Princess Pretty, who was daughter of his first wife, who died years ago. The King loved Ravenlock, because she was fair, and good and wise - in fact she was a sorceress with great knowledge about healing people…”
Nyarna looked at him, not sure that she should continue or not.Silently, the Nazgul waved his hand in a motion for Alannada to continue.
Alana nodded.
“But Princess doesn’t love Ravenlock, she was silent when Ravenlock was near to her. The Queen was sure that it was because the King married her after Pretty’s mother deadh…
But soon her mind was busy with something elese, year after their marriage Ravenlock born a child, a son, fair and strong. And she named him Draug. There was joy in the kingdom, and peace. But Pretty was no happy, and she was watching her brother with dark eyes…”“Aye” murmured, the wraith, “I fear that ill will befall the babe. Never mind my theories; carry on with the tale.”
“So Princess cast a spell on her brother,” Alana said nodding. “A strange spell. When the boy was fourteen he hurt himself with a needle and everyone could see the curse on him: there was before him only eight years of his life. The spell told that the curse can be broken, but only with a kiss of true love. But there was the second part - Darug changed from the handsome boy into a beast with bull horns and hooves, with wolfs tail and jaws, with dragon eyes. Ravenlock tried to break the spell, but she failed. And King, overwhelmed with sadness, seing Prettys evil act, send her to the forest with a huntsman and ordered him to take her life and heart. He changed his mind when he thought about it again, but it was too late - Pretty was in the forest. But she was alive and free, because she begged the huntsman for mercy and her was a good man and let her go..”
The Nazgul shook his head in pity for the characters. True, some of the elements of the story he had heard from other stories, such as the jealous family member casting a spell upon their victim, yet he enjoyed the story, nonetheless.
“What then happened?” asked the wraith, as a cue for Alannada to continue.
