Sunday May 13th, Visiting Mirobel, Eregion
In the fey hours before dawn, Ealendil caresses her harp gently by the fire. She is alone, save from Nienorë sitting by herself a little behind her, writing or drawing, and Elvealin sleeping nearby.
Ealendil closes her eyes and opens her fëa to the music within, letting it speak songs of sorrow... She had been studying the copy of the book on the Ainulindalë, that she brought with her from the library of the Pillar, and found annotation of scores she now clothes in harmony as she lets herself become the vessel of their expression.
A tingling sensation, a small warmth spreading outwards from her womb, growing and gradually reaching out to her limbs… new energy fills her as harmonies more ancient than herself course through her hröa. Senses becoming heightened, she perceives the night-sounds around her, the rustles of wild animals, the stirring of those present at the outpost… and suddenly a presence.
Ealendil lets the music ebb out, opens her eyes, and there before her a stranger she hasn’t seen before, an ellon dressed in the garbs of a hunter seeking stealth stands before her, eyes fixed upon her.
Lowering her harp, tilting her head to the side, she greets him in a soft voice. The stranger, kindred, introduces himself as Coruhuron of Lórien, coming out of Imladris recently, accompanied by three more companions, seeking purchase across the Hithaeglir.
Pleasantries are exchanged, and Ealendil reveals a little about her own company, but not enough to jeopardize the integrity of their mission.
Rilaeril returns from making her round around the perimeter of the outpost, one of the Fountain assigned to maintain safety and safe-guard the company. She joins them at the fire, seeking the relative warmth to drive away the night-chill of early hours.
Elvealin wakens too and joins them. The group stays close to the fire and watch the approaching dawn. Rilaeril soon returns to her patrolling, and Elvealin prepares a morning meal as the suns rises above the mountain ridges. Soup of Telpenaro’s expert making works wonder towards lifting their spirits and renewing their strength. Even Coruhuron is offered some, and though first declining, he can’t resist the invigorating smell and accepts.
As the meal is consumed, and merriment spreads, Ealendil suggests, that while they wait for Lord Tindir and captain Himwen to return from their scouting, they make an excursion to Mirobel, being so close. A historical pilgrimage if you like, and Coruhuron is invited to follow. According to the scouts stationed at the outpost the road is fairly clear, but they should be cautious. As Coruhuron is waiting for his companions to rejoin him, he gladly accepts.
Cleaning up after the morning meal, and readying their horses, the groups sets forth along the western road.
The morning slowly turns into bright midday hours and the suns warms the group as they travel west along the dried-out riverbed, no wildlife visible but boars and ravens.
A little further west, another scout is encountered, and when asked about news of the road, he warns them to be cautious, something that is not needed to be repeated twice as signs of men can be found here and there… Dunlendings coming north. However, the group feels safe in the company of Couhuron, an experienced hunter, proved by his laying down one in hiding in the undergrowth by the road. It is also here, that one of Coruhuron’s company rejoins him, an elleth out of Imladris, Eluineth.
As they approach ancient Mirobel, further signs of activity are encountered, and this time worrying signs of men of the north are recognized, men of Angmar. As they approach the old bridge across the Sirannon, two of them are dispatched by arrows of the seemingly ever vigilant hunter Coruhuron.
Crossing the bridge as the day approaches late afternoon, the group finally arrives at Mirobel, and there a most astonishing sight greets them. The ruins are a wonder to behold, true, yet it is the presence of their own kind here that provides the greatest surprise. Elvealin approaches one of the sentinels, greetings exchanged, it is soon revealed the more sobering reason why they are present. It appears men of the north, Angmarins, have established themselves in the ruins, and the scouts out of Imladris have come to assess the situation.
Finding old Mirobel being safely guarded by their own kind, the group continues to the top, seeking to behold the wonders of an age lost. At the summit Nienorë expresses her wish to greet the dawn and capture the beauty of the place in drawing. Looking up at the stars forming a most magical backdrop to the dark mountain ridge on the other side of the river, where the old forges are, they agree to stay.
Ealendil accompanies Elvealin to one of the bird-keepers at the top, there to relay a message to Echad Dúnann of their whereabouts.
Returning to the others, they gather closer to observe the wonders of the night-sky, and in silent contemplation, together reminiscence the glories of past. Ealendil, having borrowed a harp from one of the bards at Mirobel, let’s her heart sing into the night.
As dawn is approaching Elvealin and Ealendil bid the other a good rest and returns to the confines of the ruins at the summit, beneath the almost intact dome, to spread their bedrolls and rest in relative safety.
