Pressing Onward, by Kaylee Arafinwiel
Mar. 20th, 2018 11:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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b2memB2MeM Prompt and Category: By hard fate was she born into such days, for she was gentle of heart and loved neither hunting nor war. Her love was given to trees and to the flowers of the wild, and she was a singer and a maker of songs. (Unfinished Tales, “Narn i Hîn Húrin”)
https://unsplash.com/photos/dh8ONmfQyQQ (sunrise waterfall)
Format:
Genre: adventure
Rating: PG-13
Warnings:
Characters: Penthronnil (OC), LOTRO characters
Pairings:
Creator’s Notes (optional): I wrote an interlude connecting the last chapter to this one: archiveofourown.org/works/13953198/chapters/32142792
Summary: Penthronnil, charged with slaying the goblins of Ered Luin, first goes forth to Limael’s Vineyard to see what damage the goblins have wrought there.
Penthronnil made her way to Limael’s Vineyard, following the directions Master Bregedúr had given – north and west, through the hills of Falathlorn, and across the river to the wine-house. The way was treacherous, for there were wolves and wild boars to fight off, but they were not as much trouble for Penthronnil as they might once have been – especially with Saerui at her side. The vineyard beyond had, as she had been warned, been overrun by goblins; she would have to fight her way through. Saerui stayed nearby as Penthronnil sought Brethilwen in the wine-house.
“Greetings, Mistress Brethilwen,” Penthronnil said, sighing in relief when she found the other elleth safe. “I am Penthronnil. Master Bregedúr sent me with this cask for you.”
“My thanks, Penthronnil,” came Brethilwen’s reply. “By this time of the year, most of the grapes have been picked and the wine already bottled. This was a very generous season, however, and many of the vines are still laden with grapes. I would welcome your assistance. Wine-making is not easy work, but performing this task will certainly add to your appreciation of the wine you drink.”
“It does sound like hard work,” Penthronnil agreed. “I will do what I can.”
“Harder still when nasty goblins find their way into the fields and drive you off. I think though you might be sturdy enough to aid me. If you would, gather the grapes from the vines still hale and hearty enough and I will see that this cask is filled with the finest this vale has to offer. The vineyard is below us and further to the west along the stone path,” Brethilwen directed. Nodding, Penthronnil exhaled slowly and headed down the stone path. She and Saerui would be ready.
It wasn’t long before they came within sight of the grapevine frames, situated around a large lake. Goblins were prowling around them, and on both sides of the path; quickly, elleth and bear set to work rushing goblins. Penthronnil took care to fight with staff-strikes only; using the powers of fire, ice and lightning could do damage to the grapevines if she was not careful.
Eventually, she reached Pampraush, the goblin leader. After the Gwetherain, this should be an easy fight… But that had been long ago, she reminded herself, much longer than the mere few months it seemed. The goblin leader was larger than his minions, but not so tall as Penthronnil herself; he was skilled, however, and it was a long fight as Saerui kept other goblins away from them.
Finally, it was over. With his dying gasps, Pampraush spoke to Penthronnil, however, and his words chilled her. "If you're looking for the Elf-prince, you're too late! The Dwarves have him now!"
The elf-prince! Avorthal – taken by the Dwarves? Memories of Thranduil and Amroth stirred, and she forced them down, turning sharply away from Pampraush’s corpse. “Come, Saerui, we must go.” They walked back toward the grapevines, Penthronnil collecting fallen wine-flasks to take her mind off the words. Penthronnil gathered the grapes Brethilwen required, and then returned to the other elleth, winded from the task.
“Thank you, my friend.” Brethilwen smiled. “Years from now, your efforts today will bring great joy to many. Hard work brings satisfaction, not just in wine-making but in all things.” Penthronnil’s hands and legs had become scratched in the battle – Brethilwen offered her a healing salve, as well as new gloves and leggings to replace her torn clothing. “Here you are. Take them in thanks for your work – and this.” She drew a flask of wine out. “The last vintage of Ossiriand. Keep it, if you will, and I would ask you one last favour. I have filled the cask that Bregedúr sent me. Of your courtesy, return it to him.”
Penthronnil thanked Brethilwen for her gifts and packed them away. She accepted the cask, balancing it on Saerui’s back for the moment. Then they returned to Celondim.
When they reached Bregedúr, he was speaking with an elf Penthronnil only knew by sight. “Forgive the intrusion, Master Bregedúr,” she said. “Mistress Brethilwen sent this for you.”
“Thank you, Penthronnil. I understand that Brethilwen was beset by goblins and that you fought many off to obtain this spirit. Know that it was for a worthy cause.” He smiled at her. “May I make you known to my friend Thinglaer?”
“Greetings, Master Thinglaer,” Penthronnil said, managing a smile in return.
“Greetings, Penthronnil. This is a beautiful land, is it not?”
Penthronnil nodded. “I think Falathlorn is quite beautiful,” she agreed.
“I wandered it often in my youth -- but places that were once fair have long since fallen into decay. Some of the older ruins have even become habitations for foul creatures that gnaw at the edges of our lands.” Thinglaer grimaced. “My brothers and I have set to ourselves the task of cleansing a few of these places before we leave. To this end, I have in my possession a token given to me by Elrond Halfelven long ago. It is imbued with a light that creatures of evil find painful to bear.”
Penthronnil’s interest was piqued. “Master Elrond saved my life,” she said quietly. “He is very powerful.”
Thinglaer nodded. “More powerful than I, certainly. The ruins of Tham Gelair west of Celondim have become infested with foul creatures. If you could slay any you find within, and then place this token there, its light should keep them from slinking back in the night.”
“I will try, Master Thinglaer,” Penthronnil promised. Tham Gelair lay to the west of Celondim, and it was not far away.
She led Saerui from Celondim and headed for the ruin; once, before the War, Tham Gelair had been a place of feasting and festival. Now there was naught left but a haven for maddened wolves and rats. Penthronnil gazed upon the ruin, remembering better days when she had heard songs and tales of this storied hall.
Saerui charged into the midst of the vermin, needing no urging to attack, and Penthronnil shook herself from her musings. She summoned lightning and ice, driving back the wolves and slaying the rats.
Are you going to eat them? Saerui asked, her link with Penthronnil strengthening as they finished the battle side by side. Penthronnil rolled her eyes, looking at the pile of corpses with distaste. Eat your fill, my friend, but take care. I know not what else we might find.
Saerui tore into the dead rats hungrily. The Stone Table is through there, she gestured with a paw. I thought it was a bush at first, it’s all over ivy.
Penthronnil nodded and went into the ruin, treading carefully. The crumbling stone walls were overgrown with ivy and other plants, and in the midst of the central hall, as she remembered it, stood the old table. Penthronnil removed the smooth stone Thinglaer had given her, carved with Elven runes, and lay it reverently in the centre of the table. It began to emit a soft glow, which grew steadily brighter and clearer.
She felt that now, Tham Gelair would surely be protected – and how not, when Elrond’s power lay behind it?
When she returned to Thinglaer and Master Bregedúr with the news, they received her triumph with pleased smiles.
“Ah, Penthronnil! Your news gladdens my heart. I am eager to walk among the ruins as I once did, with the sky over my head and the sun on my face. The cool shadows cast by the walls will no longer be a reminder of the Shadow in the East, but of respite and restoration,” Thinglaer said. “If only my brother Calengil, in Duillond, knew of it – I am sure he could use your aid in our endeavours!”
“I do not know…” Penthronnil said slowly, casting a glance at Bregedúr. “I pledged myself to the service of Celondim in repayment for my debt.”
“You pledged yourself to Celondim, and Lord Cardavor may release you from that vow – especially as I sense you have something to tell him,” Bregedúr replied pointedly, raising an eyebrow. “But if you do chance to go to Duillond, I would appreciate your taking this bottle to Dolengyl. I did promise this taste of last year’s vintage to him and can think of none better than you to bring it, Penthronnil. Do this in the service of Celondim, and surely none would call you oathbreaker.”
Lord Cardavor – of course! He would have to know the Dwarves had taken his son, Avorthal. Accepting the bottle of wine, Penthronnil bowed her head. “As you command, Master,” she replied. Bregedúr smiled slightly. “Go on and speak to Lord Cardavor. He doesn’t bite, Penthronnil.”
He doesn’t bite, Penthronnil reminded herself as she approached the grieving Lord of Celondim by the docks. “My lord…I have news.”
“News of the vineyard?” Lord Cardavor collected himself. “How fares Mistress Brethilwen?”
“Well, my lord, if a bit shaken. The vineyard is freed once more – the goblins destroyed or fled, and their leader dead,” Penthronnil replied, shuddering at the memory. “But, my lord – the leader spoke ere he died, giving me a message. I think you should hear it.” She paused, swallowing nervously.
“What is it, Penthronnil?” Cardavor asked bitterly. “More mockery of my son’s death?”
“No, my lord,” Penthronnil whispered. “Avorthal lives. The Dwarves have taken him.”
Cardavor paled. “The Dwarves! We have not had dealings with the dwarves for a very long time, and those are not pleasant memories. Dwarves are scheming and self-serving, not to be trusted!
We must gather our strength to lay siege to the dwarves of Ered Luin and rescue Avorthal from their clutches, but only Dorongúr Whitethorn, the Master of Duillond has the authority to muster such a force. Bring him the news of my son, that he is alive, but a prisoner. We must strike at the Dwarves before it is too late!
Speak with Toronn at the stable before you go. He will hasten you upon your journey.”
“Yes, my lord,” Penthronnil replied meekly, heading for the stables; she had become fond of Toronn, though he intended to Sail sooner rather than later. Saerui padded at her side, growling softly in concern. It seemed they would be going to Duillond after all.
Toronn was indeed at the stables, brushing down a bay mare as Master Roherdir fed the horses. “Penthronnil! Are you leaving Celondim?” he asked.
“Word travels quickly,” Penthronnil replied dryly. “Master Cardavor has sent me to Duillond. He asked me to speak to you first.”
“Well, if you are going to travel, you need a good horse,” Toronn replied, leading the mare forward. “I think Gilithel would suit you.”
“Thank you, Toronn. I will miss you, my friend,” Penthronnil replied. “I hope I return before you Sail.”
“I cannot yet, Penthronnil, for my brother, Bregar is too stubborn. He believes we ought to remain here in Middle-earth. He, too, is at Duillond. If you see him, please tell him he is the cord that binds me to these shores. Until he sees more clearly, I cannot depart, for I will not leave without him. See if he will join me at last, so we may begin our journey.”
“I will do my best for you, my friend,” Penthronnil replied, embracing Toronn. She mounted Gilithel. Saerui sniffed the mare, who stood eyeing the bear with a maternal look, recognizing the bear as a youngling. At last, they were on their way, and as Penthronnil rode north from the settlement, she kept her eyes on the bridge over the Lhun…they would be crossing over the waterfalls by sunrise.
https://unsplash.com/photos/dh8ONmfQyQQ (sunrise waterfall)
Format:
Genre: adventure
Rating: PG-13
Warnings:
Characters: Penthronnil (OC), LOTRO characters
Pairings:
Creator’s Notes (optional): I wrote an interlude connecting the last chapter to this one: archiveofourown.org/works/13953198/chapters/32142792
Summary: Penthronnil, charged with slaying the goblins of Ered Luin, first goes forth to Limael’s Vineyard to see what damage the goblins have wrought there.
Penthronnil made her way to Limael’s Vineyard, following the directions Master Bregedúr had given – north and west, through the hills of Falathlorn, and across the river to the wine-house. The way was treacherous, for there were wolves and wild boars to fight off, but they were not as much trouble for Penthronnil as they might once have been – especially with Saerui at her side. The vineyard beyond had, as she had been warned, been overrun by goblins; she would have to fight her way through. Saerui stayed nearby as Penthronnil sought Brethilwen in the wine-house.
“Greetings, Mistress Brethilwen,” Penthronnil said, sighing in relief when she found the other elleth safe. “I am Penthronnil. Master Bregedúr sent me with this cask for you.”
“My thanks, Penthronnil,” came Brethilwen’s reply. “By this time of the year, most of the grapes have been picked and the wine already bottled. This was a very generous season, however, and many of the vines are still laden with grapes. I would welcome your assistance. Wine-making is not easy work, but performing this task will certainly add to your appreciation of the wine you drink.”
“It does sound like hard work,” Penthronnil agreed. “I will do what I can.”
“Harder still when nasty goblins find their way into the fields and drive you off. I think though you might be sturdy enough to aid me. If you would, gather the grapes from the vines still hale and hearty enough and I will see that this cask is filled with the finest this vale has to offer. The vineyard is below us and further to the west along the stone path,” Brethilwen directed. Nodding, Penthronnil exhaled slowly and headed down the stone path. She and Saerui would be ready.
It wasn’t long before they came within sight of the grapevine frames, situated around a large lake. Goblins were prowling around them, and on both sides of the path; quickly, elleth and bear set to work rushing goblins. Penthronnil took care to fight with staff-strikes only; using the powers of fire, ice and lightning could do damage to the grapevines if she was not careful.
Eventually, she reached Pampraush, the goblin leader. After the Gwetherain, this should be an easy fight… But that had been long ago, she reminded herself, much longer than the mere few months it seemed. The goblin leader was larger than his minions, but not so tall as Penthronnil herself; he was skilled, however, and it was a long fight as Saerui kept other goblins away from them.
Finally, it was over. With his dying gasps, Pampraush spoke to Penthronnil, however, and his words chilled her. "If you're looking for the Elf-prince, you're too late! The Dwarves have him now!"
The elf-prince! Avorthal – taken by the Dwarves? Memories of Thranduil and Amroth stirred, and she forced them down, turning sharply away from Pampraush’s corpse. “Come, Saerui, we must go.” They walked back toward the grapevines, Penthronnil collecting fallen wine-flasks to take her mind off the words. Penthronnil gathered the grapes Brethilwen required, and then returned to the other elleth, winded from the task.
“Thank you, my friend.” Brethilwen smiled. “Years from now, your efforts today will bring great joy to many. Hard work brings satisfaction, not just in wine-making but in all things.” Penthronnil’s hands and legs had become scratched in the battle – Brethilwen offered her a healing salve, as well as new gloves and leggings to replace her torn clothing. “Here you are. Take them in thanks for your work – and this.” She drew a flask of wine out. “The last vintage of Ossiriand. Keep it, if you will, and I would ask you one last favour. I have filled the cask that Bregedúr sent me. Of your courtesy, return it to him.”
Penthronnil thanked Brethilwen for her gifts and packed them away. She accepted the cask, balancing it on Saerui’s back for the moment. Then they returned to Celondim.
When they reached Bregedúr, he was speaking with an elf Penthronnil only knew by sight. “Forgive the intrusion, Master Bregedúr,” she said. “Mistress Brethilwen sent this for you.”
“Thank you, Penthronnil. I understand that Brethilwen was beset by goblins and that you fought many off to obtain this spirit. Know that it was for a worthy cause.” He smiled at her. “May I make you known to my friend Thinglaer?”
“Greetings, Master Thinglaer,” Penthronnil said, managing a smile in return.
“Greetings, Penthronnil. This is a beautiful land, is it not?”
Penthronnil nodded. “I think Falathlorn is quite beautiful,” she agreed.
“I wandered it often in my youth -- but places that were once fair have long since fallen into decay. Some of the older ruins have even become habitations for foul creatures that gnaw at the edges of our lands.” Thinglaer grimaced. “My brothers and I have set to ourselves the task of cleansing a few of these places before we leave. To this end, I have in my possession a token given to me by Elrond Halfelven long ago. It is imbued with a light that creatures of evil find painful to bear.”
Penthronnil’s interest was piqued. “Master Elrond saved my life,” she said quietly. “He is very powerful.”
Thinglaer nodded. “More powerful than I, certainly. The ruins of Tham Gelair west of Celondim have become infested with foul creatures. If you could slay any you find within, and then place this token there, its light should keep them from slinking back in the night.”
“I will try, Master Thinglaer,” Penthronnil promised. Tham Gelair lay to the west of Celondim, and it was not far away.
She led Saerui from Celondim and headed for the ruin; once, before the War, Tham Gelair had been a place of feasting and festival. Now there was naught left but a haven for maddened wolves and rats. Penthronnil gazed upon the ruin, remembering better days when she had heard songs and tales of this storied hall.
Saerui charged into the midst of the vermin, needing no urging to attack, and Penthronnil shook herself from her musings. She summoned lightning and ice, driving back the wolves and slaying the rats.
Are you going to eat them? Saerui asked, her link with Penthronnil strengthening as they finished the battle side by side. Penthronnil rolled her eyes, looking at the pile of corpses with distaste. Eat your fill, my friend, but take care. I know not what else we might find.
Saerui tore into the dead rats hungrily. The Stone Table is through there, she gestured with a paw. I thought it was a bush at first, it’s all over ivy.
Penthronnil nodded and went into the ruin, treading carefully. The crumbling stone walls were overgrown with ivy and other plants, and in the midst of the central hall, as she remembered it, stood the old table. Penthronnil removed the smooth stone Thinglaer had given her, carved with Elven runes, and lay it reverently in the centre of the table. It began to emit a soft glow, which grew steadily brighter and clearer.
She felt that now, Tham Gelair would surely be protected – and how not, when Elrond’s power lay behind it?
When she returned to Thinglaer and Master Bregedúr with the news, they received her triumph with pleased smiles.
“Ah, Penthronnil! Your news gladdens my heart. I am eager to walk among the ruins as I once did, with the sky over my head and the sun on my face. The cool shadows cast by the walls will no longer be a reminder of the Shadow in the East, but of respite and restoration,” Thinglaer said. “If only my brother Calengil, in Duillond, knew of it – I am sure he could use your aid in our endeavours!”
“I do not know…” Penthronnil said slowly, casting a glance at Bregedúr. “I pledged myself to the service of Celondim in repayment for my debt.”
“You pledged yourself to Celondim, and Lord Cardavor may release you from that vow – especially as I sense you have something to tell him,” Bregedúr replied pointedly, raising an eyebrow. “But if you do chance to go to Duillond, I would appreciate your taking this bottle to Dolengyl. I did promise this taste of last year’s vintage to him and can think of none better than you to bring it, Penthronnil. Do this in the service of Celondim, and surely none would call you oathbreaker.”
Lord Cardavor – of course! He would have to know the Dwarves had taken his son, Avorthal. Accepting the bottle of wine, Penthronnil bowed her head. “As you command, Master,” she replied. Bregedúr smiled slightly. “Go on and speak to Lord Cardavor. He doesn’t bite, Penthronnil.”
He doesn’t bite, Penthronnil reminded herself as she approached the grieving Lord of Celondim by the docks. “My lord…I have news.”
“News of the vineyard?” Lord Cardavor collected himself. “How fares Mistress Brethilwen?”
“Well, my lord, if a bit shaken. The vineyard is freed once more – the goblins destroyed or fled, and their leader dead,” Penthronnil replied, shuddering at the memory. “But, my lord – the leader spoke ere he died, giving me a message. I think you should hear it.” She paused, swallowing nervously.
“What is it, Penthronnil?” Cardavor asked bitterly. “More mockery of my son’s death?”
“No, my lord,” Penthronnil whispered. “Avorthal lives. The Dwarves have taken him.”
Cardavor paled. “The Dwarves! We have not had dealings with the dwarves for a very long time, and those are not pleasant memories. Dwarves are scheming and self-serving, not to be trusted!
We must gather our strength to lay siege to the dwarves of Ered Luin and rescue Avorthal from their clutches, but only Dorongúr Whitethorn, the Master of Duillond has the authority to muster such a force. Bring him the news of my son, that he is alive, but a prisoner. We must strike at the Dwarves before it is too late!
Speak with Toronn at the stable before you go. He will hasten you upon your journey.”
“Yes, my lord,” Penthronnil replied meekly, heading for the stables; she had become fond of Toronn, though he intended to Sail sooner rather than later. Saerui padded at her side, growling softly in concern. It seemed they would be going to Duillond after all.
Toronn was indeed at the stables, brushing down a bay mare as Master Roherdir fed the horses. “Penthronnil! Are you leaving Celondim?” he asked.
“Word travels quickly,” Penthronnil replied dryly. “Master Cardavor has sent me to Duillond. He asked me to speak to you first.”
“Well, if you are going to travel, you need a good horse,” Toronn replied, leading the mare forward. “I think Gilithel would suit you.”
“Thank you, Toronn. I will miss you, my friend,” Penthronnil replied. “I hope I return before you Sail.”
“I cannot yet, Penthronnil, for my brother, Bregar is too stubborn. He believes we ought to remain here in Middle-earth. He, too, is at Duillond. If you see him, please tell him he is the cord that binds me to these shores. Until he sees more clearly, I cannot depart, for I will not leave without him. See if he will join me at last, so we may begin our journey.”
“I will do my best for you, my friend,” Penthronnil replied, embracing Toronn. She mounted Gilithel. Saerui sniffed the mare, who stood eyeing the bear with a maternal look, recognizing the bear as a youngling. At last, they were on their way, and as Penthronnil rode north from the settlement, she kept her eyes on the bridge over the Lhun…they would be crossing over the waterfalls by sunrise.
