"Any man not eager to share his tales must be very wounded within."
Those were the words that Nelnardis had shared with Faorie some time ago in the Hall of Fire. It had been nearly a week since Thendryt's departure from Rivendell and she could still see the unsettling shadow in his gaze.
After the private conversation with Nelnardis, it had become clear to Faorie that Thendryt did indeed hold great wounds in his heart that had likely developed into something sinister. The days had come and gone as Faorie continued her duties all while waiting for him to return, but no signs of his intention to walk the paths of the vale again had presented themselves.
Watching the day fade into night.
Deep within the Southern Trollshaws hid a tranquil area where Faorie would once often visit in times of meditation or, on occasion, disquietude. Across a rising hill laid a large fallen tree taking the role of a bridge over a slowly streaming river. Before the bridge was a thin waterfall, surrounding the lower ground with a refreshing mist.
Much time had passed since Faorie had last come to this place, for the days of recent months had been filled with interesting developments regarding her companions, including the loss of a comrade's critical limb and the disperse of a number of Warband members to other regions, leaving Faorie to patrol nearby areas more frequently with fewer company.
She stood with her arms crossed, staring forward at the waterfall. Her thoughts were scattered but all tended to stem from a single subject: Thendryt. Shifting her stare southwards, Faorie's once stoic expression relaxed into one conveying concern and frustration.
Had any of the others witnessed what she had the day Thendryt rushed from her sight, what would have become of him? Surely if they knew of his strange tendencies, his suspiciously private nature, and even the impression the coldness of his eyes had indirectly given to Faorie, he would have been gone from the company of warriors long ago – for trust and loyalty are held to their highest standards, which with Thendryt was reasonably in question.
However, if it turned out that he was truly struggling with a burden far greater than Faorie's understanding, then what would become of her? Her trust in him had been gradually diminishing and although she could confidently explain her reasons for it, there would be no excuse good enough to justify the actions she had taken thus far.
Faorie and Ebrail
There is more that Faorie has yet to see – that is clear enough. She adjusted the weapons that hung from her sides and made her way off the bridge, down the marshy hill. Near the bottom sat an enormous tree, no doubt several hundreds of years old where her steed stood patiently. Faorie brushed her fingers against his face appreciatively and mounted Ebrail. U iston, she thought to herself, I don't know. The situation was all a bit overwhelming, but it was a minor inconvenience compared to all that has already occurred.
Off Faorie rode towards the Gates of Imladris, rushing past heavy woodscapes, crossing rivers of various sizes, and eventually reaching the sentinels just before the light of day had completely faded away. She halted her steed and hailed the two warriors in greeting, “Suil.”
One remained vigilant while the other nodded once in return.
“Has Lord Thendryt returned from his journey?”
“He has not,” the acknowledging sentinel responded. “Should he return, your company will know.”
Faorie was not satisfied with his response. “If he is to return, please send word to me personally if you may.”
“Hiril Faorie, rest assured that if anyone is to pass through these gates the Council will know. If you seek to be informed of his immediate return, perhaps you should request it from them, for we are not to leave our post unless it falls under our orders.”
It took a moment for Faorie to express understanding of his words. “Le hannon.” She gestured farewell to the guards and motioned Ebrail forward. Though she did not move far past the sentinels when a thought crossed her mind. Halting her steed, Faorie sat motionless in thought.
Faorie sits in brief thought.
The responsive sentinel turned his head back at Faorie. “Hiril vein?”
A short silence filled the air. Darkness had already shadowed most of the skies and although she was aware that her next action was influenced critically by curiosity, she turned Ebrail back towards the road to High Moor and motioned him forward again. “I need to see to something left unattended. I will return shortly.” With a sudden slap of the reigns, Faorie and her steed galloped away into the Trollshaws.
The entrance into Delossad
Night had fallen and the path towards the forsaken prison of Delossad was undisturbed since last she came. She had slowed Ebrail to a walk and together they made their way towards the archway framing the stairway, leading into the ruins. It was here that Faorie had last seen Thendryt. It was here she lost him some time ago.
Faorie dismounted her steed, brushing his neck but never moving her gaze away from the entrance. She had considered returning to Rivendell and patrolling this area with company, but what evil would there be to find in these ruins long since abandoned? It was not the ideal place to remain but it held the memories of gatherings long passed, including the short camp members of the warband made within its halls while planning for the extensive journey to Mirkwood, and even the more recent meeting with her dear friend Ebbephant shortly before his return to the vale. No, there was nothing lurking within the prison ruins that would require support. And with that in mind, Faorie entered.
Standing amid a field of flowers.
The hallways were dimly lit with braziers as they usually were and the moss that grew from the stoned walls had spread significantly over time. With every step the sound of cracked ground echoed faintly near the stairway until it led to the center of Delossad where a circle crowded with variously coloured flowers laid beneath an atmosphere of decay. Faorie stepped over the garden, shifting her eyes around the upper level that overlooked the center and the broken walls that encircled her.
Thendryt had walked into Delossad and remained within for some time last he was seen. He had departed with a bag of what seemed like grains for Bovad but surely it would have been a quicker walk in and out for such a small location.
Determined, Faorie walked up another long set of stairs that stretched before the garden to the upper level. It was there that surrounding the cylindrical ruin were rows of prison cells, all emptied with iron bars rusted to fragility. Some cell doors hung from their hinges where they seemed likely to crash down within a year or so while others had either already long fallen onto the stone floors or were framed into a permanent barrier.
One by one, Faorie glanced into the rooms. Most held withered beds and rotted buckets, some with tables having been exposed to all the effects of the natural elements. Faorie's steps were the only audible sound to be heard around these cells, echoing notably louder when passing a room. It was when she reached the cell opposite from the staircase that she stopped to stare into darkness. Farthest from the stairs, away from all light sources stood a cold cell with more cracked walls and rocky floorings than that others. There was more rubble as well, clumped into piles all along the walls – from the withering ceiling no doubt. A weak crumble was heard from within, followed by a misty powder that fell from above. If any room was to collapse, it would begin with this one.
Just before Faorie was to move on, something caught her eye. She took one step forward, then one back to gaze back into the cell. There was a rubble pile, somewhat larger than the rest, where from one end could be seen the dull shine of something unknown sticking out.
Faorie furrowed her brow, hesitating to walk in. There was an atmosphere to the cell that left her uncomfortable – but she didn't spend too much time pondering this before she found herself past the rusted bars looking down upon the pile of crumbled rocks and stone. She leaned down, staring intently at the odd object, uncertain if touching it would be wise. It was not a living creature, and whatever it was had already sparked her curiosity.
She reached for the dusted object and realised there was more to it than she had expected. She tugged harder and pulled out a dagger smothered in dust. It was after she blew on the blade that the origin of the hilt and steel became clear. The dagger was Angmarim.
At first it was clear to Faorie that Angmarim had once been held prisoners in these ruins, but there was something different. The design was not that of those that wandered the Trollshaws... it was aged and was from lands distant from the surrounding regions.
Placing the dagger aside, Faorie reached into the rubble and moved aside all that had once covered the many items that were now visible to her. The rubble was not simply a pile, but it was meant to cover a deeper hole undoubtedly dug out by someone determined to hide Faorie's unnerving findings.
Faorie discovers unnerving items while searching through rubble.
There were a few other daggers, as well as damaged swords, crossbows, broken spears with ripped cloths tied below their peaks. There were folded banners with the scent of rot emanating from its mysteriously dark stains, Angmarim clasps, nearly illegible maps, and...
Faorie dug her hands to the bottom and felt something thick and similar to leather. She took a firm hold of it and pulled her arms back out to find a leather bound book, critically uncared for to the point of nearly falling apart were it not for a few strings wrapping around the spine. The book was different from all the other items, for it did not immediately prove to be Angmarim, but simply a journal of a sort.
Wiping the dust carefully from its cover, Faorie leaned on her knee and carefully opened the delicate book to a random page. There was writing detailing thoughts and plans... Faorie had found Thendryt's journal. Without reading on, she moved on to the next page, then the page after that, and continued on until she noticed his writing gradually became more scribbled and perhaps impossible to translate to all besides Thendryt himself.
She crossed pages, one after the other until she reached near the back where his writings ceased.
Uncertain if it was truly the end of his entries, she turned a few more pages before reaching two that seemed stuck together. Gently, Faorie stuck her fingers between the sheets from the bottom and moved upwards to separate them. What she saw she had not expected and had she not been so determined to find the truth behind Thendryt she would have left her discoveries right as it was before she found them... she would likely return with the appropriate company. But she did not.
There was nothing but blood on the page. And on the next one as well. Several sheets had stains on them. Enough had been seen. She was tempted to close the journal right there, but before doing so, she felt the need to check one more thing.
Faorie turned the journal to view its backside. She brushed off the dust that covered that end as she had done with the front and gently lifted the hard exterior to the last page.
There was a rough sketch of a body with lines drawn in several areas. Some were simple straight lines, others were crosses. Faorie leaned in closer to view the faded details of the drawing. The shoulders held the most lines, a large cross was thoroughly drawn and visibly redrawn over the stomach region, and there were a significant number of strokes sketched over the legs. She studied the image carefully before viewing the head. There was only one line and it reached from the cheek, over the eye, nearing the forehead.
Instinctively, Faorie traced what she saw onto her own face. Slowly she raised her head and widened her eyes. An image of Thendryt appeared clearly into her mind. She knows his face. There exists a scar that visibly crosses over his eye.
This journal was of great importance, and with that, she closed the book, placed it beneath her arm, and made her way out of Delossad.
The time had come to meet with the Council.
With the journal, Faorie hastily departs Delossad for Imladris.
