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The MeetingEXT. THE OLD INN
Rain pours down, and thunder rumbles in the distance as lightning flickers across the low clouds. By the soggy appearance of the thick forest and puddles on the rough path, it's clearly been raining for quite some time. The path itself is more of a thick mud then a path. Thick, forboding fir trees line the path, their branches reaching across it, but not enough to shelter the road and any unlucky travelers along it.
NUMENYA, hooded and wrapped in a ground-length cloak, slowly makes her way down the slightly drier edge of the path, limping heavily. Her head is bowed, whether due to emotions, the pouring rain or to watch her feet is unclear. When NUMENYA glances up, charting her distance, the sky seems to lighten, despite the rain increasing. The seemingly forsaken INN is now visible, light pouring from one of the lower windows.
NUMENYA hesitates for an uncomfortably long period of time before entering, nervous and afraid.
INT. THE OLD INN
NUMENYA enters, hesitating once
A Matter of Choice"Estel, you are not trying!"
Swords clashed in the courtyard.
"You are distracting me, Elladan!"
"Do you think that there will be no distractions in an attack?" his brother called, intentionally forcing Estel's attention away from the flashing weapons.
"There is no such thing as try!" Estel shot back, seemingly randomly, surprising both himself and the twins. "Either one does, or one does not." A sword thrust accentuated each word as he attacked. "In this case, I am."
"Elrohir! Be wary... our little brother has gained some wit at long last it seems...." Elladan called to Elrohir with a teasing smirk.
Friends and MemoriesAs was his habit, Frodo shut himself in his study, fulfilling his promise to Bilbo. It was the 6th of October, the anniversary of the Weathertop attack. It was not until evening that anyone realized the significance of the date, but Frodo had known early on. Bitter pain flooded his arm radiating from the morgul wound. With his opposite hand, he groped for the pendant that Arwen had given him. When at last his fingers found what they had searched for he found strength to block the whispers from his mind, finding peace in the memories of his friends.
Twice MetI came, not to bandy words with your servant, as you hoped, but in my haste I had forgotten the power that your words held. Even with the renewing of the Valar, I feel the strength of Melkor's discord through you as it coiled around me with it's dirty, lingering, touch. But, behold! Thru death I have been strengthened and renewed. I find vigor and cleansing where once I found old age and heavy burdens of an Age with little hope. Your commands have no hold over me, Saruman of mangled colors. Find now that your authority is no more.
Memories and FestivalsThe return journey from the Havens was perhaps easier then the journey, though their number had been reduced with many tears. An empty gap remained in Frodo's place, where one missing suddenly felt like five. There had been a feast planned for supper that night in continued celebration after the overhauling of the Ruffian's rule, but with an unspoken agreement, the three excused themselves from the festivities, their grief all too near despite the truth they knew in their hearts. There would be time enough for celebrations, but this night was for the memories of those that had gone on.
Of Roles and NamesMinas Ithil-Tower of the Moon- once the sister to the Tower of the Sun Minas Anor- changed the face of Arda Marred forever, and not for the better. With great, rusting plates of black iron, Sauron stained her stones with blood, and made his name known in challenge to the surrounding lands. Minas Ithil was no more. In the place of her death, Minas Morgul stood victorious. In defiance, Minas Anor took on armor and rose as Minas Tirith-Tower of the Guards. The twin-sister cities were gone, and in their place rose a new Age, a new history.
Moving ForwardExtracts from Erestor's journal upon the continuing distressing events:
In the week that has passed since Elrond bid the Lady Celebrían farewell before she sailed, and his silent return from the Havens, I have seen him but once. It disturbs me, and yet I would not willingly intrude on his privacy, to disrespect the grief that he wears. A week though... I wonder, if it is too long, too long for him to remain in his study, blocked from the rest of the world. Tomorrow, if I hear nothing otherwise, I feel it is my duty on his behalf to intervene. This cannot continue, no matter how hard her sailing is to accept.
It was with great hesitancy that I dared to disturb the Lord Elrond, but I see now that it was a good thing that I had. It is not the Call, as I had feared, that keeps Elrond locked in his study, but a condition much worse, if such a state could exist. When he did not respond to my knock as he used to, I forced the lock and entered to find him half laying against the wall
SilenceHe was helpless, and more then frustrated because of it. They had taken Estel from his side, and bound him here against the cold stone. The the crushing weight of the walls pressed in on him, the stone never ceasing to remind him of how much earth there was between him and the open skies above. The darkness of the cell was absolute, and the silence twofold of that. Somewhere, somewhere they had taken Estel, no doubt with ill intent in order to gain the information he himself would not give. It had been easier before, when they had each others' shoulders to lean on, something to focus their attention on other then the promise of impending pain; but now, it was nearly more then he could bear. This feeling of hopelessness, of needing to do something, yet unable to, it was a foreign emotion to him. Only now, was he fully beginning to understand the depth of it. Somewhere out there, Estel was suffering, and he could do nothing, not even whisper words of comfort to ease the pain.
Water's CorruptionExtracts from Erestor's journal upon the most recent-and distressing- events.
These past few weeks have truly begun to take their toll on everyone here. There was once a time when would mention the good news first, but I no longer know what to consider good news anymore. The search parties found the orcs' lair, nestled deep in the misty mountains between here and Lorien, and the Lady Celebrían whom we had not heard from for altogether too long. That joy lasted all of a few short seconds as we realized the extent of her treatment at their hands. For six days now, Elrond has barely left her chamber, leaving only to request more supplies, and finally for sleep and nourishment with my utmost insistence.
As a healer, he's done all he can, and it's not enough. Though not one myself, it is more than evident in his listless tone, the dull look in his eyes on the rare times he does make eye contact with anyone. As a husband, he refuses to admit it. He would not leave her
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