Nírnaeth Arnoediad (Doriath, June 472 F.A.) {Saeros}
Apr 7, 2018 16:42:55 GMT -5
Post by AMARIË on Apr 7, 2018 16:42:55 GMT -5
Nírnaeth Arnoediad, Unnumbered Tears
Doriath, beside Menegroth
Doriath, beside Menegroth
Perching crouched on the lower limb of the tree, she waited, hovering on the balls of her feet in silken slippers, and her arms wrapped about her. Nightingales were singing in the dark before dawn, and the forest would soon wake from it's dream sleep.
When news had come that the Alliance of Maehdros was summoning all people; all races; to fight in the army against Morgoth and regain the Lands of the Noldor in the north, Amariël had feared. To summon all; her kin from the caves of Nargothrond, from the realm of Dor-lomin, and of Doriath, and all those who had crossed from the distant shores of Aman. Most she had not seen in those seven years since her departure from Nargothrond, though still they were within her heart. Her uncles. Her cousins.
Now Thingol would send none of his guard to assist the Feanorians in their plans, whatever intent they had, Elu Thingol had lost his trust for them, but there were two who had purpose and will to not be left behind, and those two had been granted their leave by the King to do as they would.
Today only, the pair would depart alone; yet Amariël knew it would not be just the pair, for she had already been given the news that the Captain's son would go along with them, and three figures came from the great gates of Menegroth to leave for the North Lands. Though more had departed the thousand caves to say their farewell partings, it was only three who were clad for war. Beleg Strongbow, the Chief of the Marchwardens, Taethedir Mablung, the Chief Captain of Thingol. And with them, Saeros, the son of the Captain.
The news had shaken her to her very core, the fear dousing all response and reaction so deep within her that Amariël had not been able to acknowledge the announcement of his departure; only bidding him farewell on their last parting the same as always. Though she had taken no sleep since the word had been given, she had lain in the night while Ninien slumbered beside her, staring upwards onto the vaulted ceilings, carven stone, listening to the gentle drip of waters as they ran down the walls into the carven streams of the rocky floor. A nightingale had been perched above her on branch of golden stem; singing through the starlit hours; dipping to drink from the thin stream and then landing again on the traceries of green and gold wrought boughs. Ever as happy in Melian's enchanted halls as the birds which lived outside them.
Her sister had still been given away to dreams while Amariël rose again having not been able to rest her thoughts nor eyes in the troubling night. She had passed the great halls; the golden lanterns in the corridors, and silver fountains of Thingol's realm, to pass her time by the gates, beneath the night sky.
Now she waited, under waning starlight in the boughs of the eldest beech tree. Wide was it's girth and spread reaching to what seemed like the stars above. The branches cast wide shadows beneath, and Amariël could climb this tree even in darkness with no starlight above or before. Her finger's knew it's bark and branches as a friend, and in her seven years she had climbed many times above to watch the comings and goings below, to watch the blue skies above or the passing of the constellations, and to sit on the broad and sweeping branches with the arms of Saeros entwined about her as the greeneries knitted together the forest lifting all the way to Manwë's firmament. His words were more beautiful and enchanting than the flowers of Melian and all the birdsong that had been ringing through the forest since creation, and all the song that would ring until the ends of the earth.
The green leaves of late spring rustled in the breezes, and Amariël could see the great gates of Menegroth in line of vision, and the bridge leading over the shaded stream Esgalduin. Loud was the voice of the river as it flowed in it's curving way, departing the lands of Doriath, toward the Mouths of Sirion, and loud was the voice in Amariël's mind despairing for another departure.
Here it was she had first met him, and here was where they would say their farewells when Saeros departed with the guard of Doriath. Those days there were always many to leave at once, for Elu Thingol's army measured forty thousand; many of which dwelled here in Menegroth, and others throughout the forest of Doriath. The Girdle of Melian had stood strong against the test of time; never breached save once for the wolves of Angmar, which had been destroyed ere the days of Saeros' training had come. Today only the three would depart.
Saeros, her Saeros, who was only six years a guard of Thingol's realm, a blink of an eye in elfdom, given to no feats of greatness that would earn him titles as the other two warriors, but having earned his own titles by the lips of Amariël. She was quick to leap down from the bough, landing noiseless on the earth below. She strayed near the trunk of the tree, away from the great gates as she watched the glinting helm of Taethedir. He was there; as always, though there were far fewer warriors to distract him this day. Even though Amariël had fear mingled with her respect for Saeros' Adar, and she wished not to be in his presence, often seeking to avoid the elf Captain, it was on the departures of the guard from the caves that she would not withhold her presence. For six years she had seen Saeros off on his every patrol, and now that they were once more on the brink of war, she would see him off again, though her heart was heavy. Never, not since she had first lain eyes upon him, had he gone so far, nor into such peril.
If it were her uncles, or her cousins alone, to diminish in what lay ahead; Amariël would bear such news with grief and sadness, yet Saeros, her young Saeros she could not lose. He was her golden sunlight in a world which was growing darker and darker day by day beneath the advancing shadow of Morgoth.
Clinging to the trunk of one of the great beeches, Amariël peered between the twigs and leaves of it's lesser offshoot, blue eyes seeking in the dim light for the green which could pierce her very soul. “Glaurig, glassen, iesten!” My Sunlight, my joy, my wish! She had called to him lightly, quietly, as he approached, holding back, for at least these moments, what anxieties were plaguing her thoughts, as she looked beyond the bounds of her glade to the others, though stilled herself near the edge of the forest, reaching out with a single hand.