Out of Character:
Somewhere near Anebrilith, Raiaera
Early night
Lord Arminas was as good as his word, as he always was. Despite the fact that Ingwe looked anything but sane when he burst into the tent, and despite the fact that the young man had no hard evidence whatsoever for his suspicions, the elflord captain of the Rangers of the Eclipse agreed immediately to bolster the number of sentries on duty and prepare for the worst. Perhaps it was simple common sense, or perhaps Nogeres’s silent but unequivocal support for the Nipponese warrior-mage did something to sway him. No doubt, however, that Ingwe’s surprise showed, and after Eru was dispatched to rouse some of the Rangers and send them to the perimeter, the nominal leader of the Legion of Light turned back to the young man and smiled.
“Your face betrays you, mellonamin,” he spoke, indicating that Ingwe should take a seat upon the cushioned ground. This the Nipponese did, carefully settling himself next to the wizened mage and opposite the elf. “You wonder why I listen to you without a shadow of doubt.”
The words were a statement, not a question, and as such Ingwe did not acknowledge them verbally. Instead he nodded, politely, but keen to know the answer. Beside him Nogeres coughed harshly, momentarily disturbing the serenity of the peaceful night.
“Other men would not be so surprised,” Arminas continued, smiling again benignly. “Ever since you saved our ships before we had even reached Anebrilith, ever since you mustered the survivors of your shipwreck and guided them to the city under greatly arduous circumstances, I have ever hearkened to your valuable counsel. Though you are but a boy even in human years, your words hold maturity and intelligence that I have rarely seen in one of the edain.”
At this point, Arminas glanced pointedly at Nogeres; Ingwe could have sworn that the mage was hiding a discreet smile behind his flowing grey beard. The elflord swept to his feet gracefully, trailing olive green robe and long dark brown hair as he walked to the tent flap.
“Not only are you wise, Ingwe, but you are also a diligent student and a quick learner. Do not think that I have missed the bruises you bear from sparring with Glorfindel and Selinde, or that your daily attempts at developing your magic go unnoticed. Nogeres here tells me that rarely indeed has he had such a talented pupil. From the mouth of the archmage himself, this is praise indeed.”
Not for the first time, Ingwe wondered whom exactly Nogeres was, that Lord Arminas himself would hold him in such high regard. Only the elflord seemed to know for sure, however, and so far he wasn’t telling anyone.
The young man’s attention was soon diverted as Arminas lifted the tent flap and the faint sound of leather on the run reached his ear. For the first time since he had awoken in terror, alone in the midst of shifting shadows and sweat glistening his brow despite the frigid night, Ingwe allowed himself to relax slightly. Nothing could sneak up on them with the Rangers of the Eclipse on guard. If the alarm was sounded, the entire camp would be up in arms in a matter of moments.
Despite the chill, Arminas stepped outside into the cloud-shrouded moors, smiling briefly at the sight of elf, man, and dwarf draped together in full-bellied slumber. The fires burnt low but secure, the wind bypassing their sheltered camp mournfully. Only when Ingwe and Nogeres both had joined him did the elflord continue.
“You fought bravely and well during the siege, and when we dared to strike at the foe where it would hurt them most, you were stout of heart, sharp of mind, and skilled of swordarm. To this day, I think back to that moment when I hired a pale, haggard boy in Scara Brae to be my translator upon this journey, and I congratulate myself on a shrewd piece of business.”
For Ingwe, this was going way too far. The flush that had been creeping across his face at Lord Arminas’s praise now extended down his neck, a deep and conspicuous purple that stood out even in the dim starlight. The elflord saw this and laughed. The sound was gentle and clear, a thousand tinkling bells giving voice.
“And yet, even so, you are extremely modest… perhaps even too humble. It is no sin to have confidence in your abilities, Ingwe. It is in no small part thanks to you that Anebrilith still holds, Xem’zund’s siege lines weakened. It is in no small part your contribution to our cause that means that refugees from our lands still make their way across the great ocean to safety.”
An astute glance that the young man did well to avoid. The elflord sighed; Nogeres remained impassive.
“You are also so silent, mellonamin, so reserved. As if you build up great walls around your heart and lock it away, never to let anybody see it. Something deep and desperate drives you onwards, but at times I fear it leads you to destruction…”
Ingwe could feel both sets of eyes bore into his head now, seeking answers to questions even he had trouble asking. Mortified, he cast his gaze to the ground; it was not that he did not want to say anything, more that he couldn’t. A thousand conflicting emotions stormed through his mind, rendering it helpless to control his voice and set them free.
“Very well…” Arminas sighed at length, after drawing out the silence as long as he dared. “You are, after all, still young… perhaps time and experience will give you the strength to let go.”
Nogeres nodded wisely, resting a hand on Ingwe’s slumped shoulders. The single friendly gesture did much to restore the young man’s fractured spirits; he glanced up again, timidly, but surely. He saw Arminas also looking to the sky, to where a break in the clouds had exposed a particularly bright star to their eyes.
“And now…” he whispered, as the cry of a great eagle echoed about the barren moor. “And now… it begins…”
The sudden voice in their minds, powerful, irresistible, clarion and proud. Every soul in the camp shot upright as if struck by lightning, elf, man, and dwarf alike. Bright flame burned within their heads for the briefest of moments, drowning out their surroundings in a singular flash of brilliance. But it was the words that grabbed their attention, the words that harmonised in their hearts and were etched into their spirits.
When at last the song faded into nothingness, not a single soul could speak. Ingwe could easily guess what they were all experiencing, for he too was living through the events of the past two months as if they were a sequence of snapshots in his mind. From their gathering at Scara Brae to the perilous sea journey to Raiaera, from their tumultuous arrival at Anebrilith to their grim duty as sentinels of the outer city, from their desperate defence of the city against the massed undead assault to their daring raid at the heart of the necromantic legions. Each and every moment that they had spent fighting for a reason so near and yet so far away, the only threads binding them together being their united belief that what they were doing was right. The wounds they had suffered and the friends they had lost, all in the name of a cause not yet their own.
All was vindicated now.
Ingwe realised that he was crying again, hot tears trickling slowly down his upturned cheeks. Nogeres had slumped upon his gnarled and knotted staff, murmuring something to himself in an archaic tongue that Ingwe did not recognise. Arminas, on the other hand, looked to the sky with arms widespread, beckoning the fates to bless him on this auspicious day.
Before he could address the Legionnaires, however, the silence was broken. By nothing less, of course, than the guttural grumbling of a grumpy dwarf.
“Ah must be gonnae mad! Ah hear voices of elf maidens in mah head!”
As Prince Derthark of Gunnbad rolled groggily out of his sleeping mat, the entire assembled Legion burst out into laughter. Ingwe joined in, momentarily pushing aside his worries for the morrow in favour of his hopes for the now. This moment, of all moments, he would rejoice.
“Cannae ah e’en sleep withit bein’ hoonded sae?” the poor dwarf moaned, but not even the ancient rock beneath his feet could hear his cry.
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