Flames are dancing around the branches with a soft, sweet whispering as my thoughts wandering in the well of words…
Soft breeze is sweeping over the long green grasses, shaking the leaves of old oaks which surround us…
And I am listening…
I am watching…
I am hearing the gentle steps of Lady Rainiths’ bare feet, so soft… even timid
I am watching Themodir taking his watch from Naergon…
I am feeling the presence of my beloveds’ watchful eyes over me… The rest were asleep Rinaeglir, Ledhalion, Ethalindir… Daegond…
Daegond… I am letting my thoughts linger over him for a while before closing my eyes.
Long ago, in the breaking of the world.... there was a son and a father in the form of elves...
The world was not young, for it had seen much woe but the elves still were and conquer were flowing in their veins
And many gallant deeds, and the taming of the lands untamed
And making of things which Feanor could not dreamed of
They... father and son did not sail west, but instead.. they went east
Like we are now doing...
Father... was a charming... handsome but grief stricken one
Failed to save all that he had, instead he was trying to save what was left of him
And his son was not his real son, were never be able to save anything.
Together they traveled for long, and wore what I am now wearing...
Black were their garments and not very bright their souls...
And in one night, father forged a sword to his son...
I can see him forging the sword.. Under the bright fire of the forge his face shadowed. Two drops of blood falling… mixing into the melted steel, flowing in its’ veins…
Protection was in his mind, but even in that gallant thought, he too was deceived...
For in the land of Eregion, elf Darnur, Father of Daelith... could not possibly know that the forge he used to make a mighty sword was used before him, by the nameless one.
The sword have served to the hand that it wielded itself
And in the end, it killed its maker.
Darnur, died by the sword he forged for Daelith
I am opening my eyes recalling the story which has been told by Daegond and meeting his eyes. Not sleeping… nor dreaming…
And reading his lips forming the words “The curse of the maker follows us hither. It should be unmade!”
And I am opening my eyes again this time to the reality… Watching Daegond still sleeping, snarling in his dream. The knowledge coming with a strange feeling of relief, the knowledge of what must be done to find Turuviel and sword is to release Daegond after them…
OCC Note: The tale has been told by Daegond
