Bog's World

Altogether elsewhere

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Taurost, Gwaithor city of the north

"When will I feel it, mother?
When will feel Corellion’s touch?
Will it be in the warmth of the sun?
Or in the deep blue starlight?
Will it come when the air is still?
Or when gales blow through the glades ?"

"All of these times and none, my child;
When he awakens you, you will know."

Sympathetic translation of a traditional Sindalië nursery rhyme.

Thranduil remained in vigil at Corellion’s1 temple in Taurost2. Hours passed. Used to such things, acolytes brought him fruits and water. For two days and nights he stayed there. He brooded. He unconsciously scowled as he prayed. He chafed against the way things appeared to be unfolding around him. Forgileill eschewed the temples. Sometimes, her actions seemed to be a deliberate scheme to antagonise him. And whilst he would never let it show, it did bother him. She seemed to live a charmed life where things just fell into place. And here was he still waiting for his epi...

"Your search for meaning draws closer to its next unfolding." The sudden voice made him jump. He must have been miles away. An elderly woman stood at his shoulder, brandishing a wooden platter of bread, olives and oils. When he did not move, she placed the platter down on the limestone bench next to him. She saw the question on Thranduil’s face and smiled.
"It must do. He does not leave the faithful to wander forever. Your life to that point will be preparation." The Gwaithor woman bowed her head slightly and noiselessly turned away.

There was something about the time and the place that meant something to him. For her to have said what she did, at this time and for him to have heard it in this place suddenly made sense. It was not the communion with his God that he had hoped for, but that no longer mattered now. He cheered up. And ate the meal provided.

Forgileill found him still sat in the jasmine garden of the temple. "You’re grinning like an idiot."
"And you look like a recalcitrant child forced into church when she’d rather be playing amongst the rushes."
"Don’t push your luck. Not only am I a real Princess but I’m related to Corellion’s instrument on Oerth." Thranduil saw her surreptitious nod of acknowledgement towards the high altar but chose to not let on that he had witnessed her minute act of piety.
"Well then, least scion of the tool of my God, let me restore the smile to your face as well by accompanying you to wherever it is you’ve come to fetch me to."

They joined the others in the city’s famed armouries. During the PWOC 3, these had covered eight times the area that they did today. All had been dismantled and returned to the forest when they were no longer needed. Those that remained were famed throughout the civilised world for the quality of their armour and weaponry. A great proportion of the city’s wealth came from the passing trade, through the pass in the Klatspuralpen between Perrenland and the Flanaess. But still a significant amount came from specially commissioned yicduroh and taiken for ilin from Alvorn to Eagle’s Reach. The recovered yicduroh had been refurbished - pieces cleaned and re-lacquered, new backing/lining, new lacings. The taiken had been remade. The Gwaithor mage smiths had finished their work.

Klogoh and Gwedhion, who had been riding with clear and urgent purpose for three days, reached Taurost and found their way to the Primarch. Yes, Forgileill was still within the city. They delivered their sad news to the cities ruling clerical tribunal and then they were directed to the armouries.

Tûd brandished his new sword in the afternoon sunshine. All their re-worked equipment had been laid out on a long table in a sun trapping courtyard. There is always something exciting about new swords and armour that reduces one to the level of a small child. The ilin were very restrained, they hadn’t yet put it all on, content for now to run their fingers across the lacquered scales. The newly re-forged and oiled smell would be enjoyed for a few days yet.

They were distracted by the sound of hooves approaching from the street outside. Not many persons rode within the city. Most of the rocca4 belonging to residents and guests were pastured outside whilst their owners enjoyed the comforts of the city. So now they were turned expectantly to see who was approaching.

Whoever it was, was coming with urgency. Which implied that it was they who were sought, rather than the smiths. An ilin and grey clad Sindalië5 ducked along side their rocca’s necks to enter the courtyard. The grey figure jumped down and walked purposefully up to Forgiliell. She watched him approach – he looked to be about the same age as Jadhrim. And he wasn’t smiling. She was in trouble again, what was it this time, she wondered?

"Cousin." He bowed his head to her, altogether too formally, she thought. She racked her brains. He was surely one of her cousins from Veluna or Udas, but which one? "Cousin," She replied, bobbing her head in return. The ilin approached. His black and orange yicduroh lacing marking him as Adfel Nhi. He bowed his head solemnly to Forgileill and offered over two handfuls of yellow silken laces. The others fell silent and sombre as they watched an ashen faced Forgileill gingerly take the offered laces, as if they might somehow come alive and bite her.

Suddenly concerned she turned to her cousin "Who?"
"Celegorm."
"Oh." She felt sort of vacant. No pain – she hadn’t known the Prince of Hisra at all, really. He was just another ageing face from the family gatherings of her childhood. Celegorm had never married and had no children that she knew of. This had meant that he had festooned the younger members of the clan with small kindness’. She remembered her consciousness being shepherded along with the others to connect with the flows and ride the currents of essence from the polar ice caps to the boiling centre of the planet. Now she was a more accomplished spell weaver herself, she knew what power he’d expended to keep his juvenile charges entertained and educated. Thinking on that, she was impressed by the extent of his care.

He was the third of the Gwathlo Lords to pass in the last three years. The last of the Gwathlo to ride with Laru in the PWOC. They were the last of the lords of the Empire to have truly been members of the Celebrinoth. Instantly she regretted not having known him a little better.

Being a part of the ilin classes, the nobility of the Empire, there are set protocols and so forth which tell individuals what to do in such times. It provides structure and meaning to a time that might otherwise descend into a malignant lassitude. Thranduil took the yellow laces and handed them to Kamilata, nodding his head to Forgileill's new armour. With slow nod and pursed lips, he took the laces and began to slowly disassemble the new yicduroh.

It took two days to re-thread all the yicduroh with yellow thread. Gwedhion returned from the temple district with a stiff collared yellow silken coat. It was skilfully embroidered with Seldaranic panels and lined with royal blue silk. They had heard that the Emperor was already on his way, as were many other of the Lords of the Empire, all converging on Westil.

[1] Corellion Larethain is the main god of the elven pantheon. This collection of divine beings is known as the Seldarine. Corellion is the father of a lot of them and the creator of all the elven races.
[2] Known commonly as "Highfolk", this a self governing Gwaithor (high elf) city state within the Wiyla of Sharifika in Southern Hisra.
[3]The Perranic wars of conquest. A period of time from the final conflict between the Young kingdoms and the Perranlanders to the Dagor Tarsil; about six hundred years. The catalyst for the formation of the empire.
[4]The breed and type of horse used by ilin.
[5]Grey elf


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