The Court of Ardor by AliceNWonder000137  

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Dreams of Forever

Lyaan, head of The Three, travels with the Alliance and the visitors from the north to show them the wonders of Ardor.  But all things must come to an end.  

I'm getting back to writing this story.  I want to look in on the inner workings and conflicts of Lyaan and The Three, who are part of the Luingon Alliance in the south.

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45)  New Friendships - Year of the Sun 494 Girithron (December)

Lyaan

It was such a relief to know that the north still supported them.  After the Nirnaeth there was doubt that any support would ever come south again. Even the survival of the north was questionable for years.  This now was welcome news.  Círdan offered to help the Alliance build a fleet and gave the captured vessel to them as a start.  He would give them his plans for the great swan ships along with armed cargo craft and swift, stealthy caravels.  He had eons of sailing knowledge and centuries of experience in naval warfare and ship building.  Ferui would help to train sailors as the south did not have the same maritime traditions.  Coastal fishing fleets were the extent of their vessels.  A navy wasn’t needed until now.

“You’ll catch them up in no time,” Círdan said confidently.

“The design of his ships are the best in the world,” Ferui added with a tip of his yellow sea cap.  “And I will make sure that they’re properly crewed with experienced sailors.”

Chrys was ecstatic but Lyaan had little use for ships, Ty-Ar-Rana being so far inland.  Still, it was a huge boon for the Alliance.  He noticed that Lysa, Aelrie and Miriani had made friends with Hîgwen and Hilvien, trading recipes and cooking tips.  The lobster bisque sounded particularly good. He saw Chrys’ ears perk up at the mention of a roast chicken with herbs and potatoes.

And it was good to see Morelen again.  She had truly grown from a curious girl with an aptitude for music to a renowned warrior. He knew, that with Morgoth’s blood in her, her speed, strength and stamina were phenomenal as was her intelligence and ability to learn.  It was like nothing that he had ever seen and that actually had him worried.  Would she outgrow the need for lesser beings such as they?  Like Morgoth, would she come to see her friend as mere tools?  Would Morgoth’s rage and ego manifest itself in her? With Notaldo, she seemed grounded. Valar help them if anything should happen to him.  Then, there was a pang of regret.  He knew that his son, Lyrin, pined for her.  He spoke of a woman that he met in Kirnak, but he always came back to Morelen.  He couldn’t deny that her personality was pleasant and that she was likely the most beautiful women that he knew.  Aside from Lysa that is.  Much like the fabled Lúthien of Doriath, Morelen’s Ainur blood had blessed her.

He sighed.  “It is what it is,” he whispered.  She would have been good for Lyrin as immature as he was, but it was water under the bridge now.  He kept thinking that he should do something about those friends of his but there was always something more important to do.  And Lysa…for Lysa, their son was her one blind spot.  He could do no wrong in her eyes.  

Notaldo guided everyone to the vast yard of Tumlindë, which also served as a training ground for their troops.  It was a broad plain of well-tended grass, bordered on one side with a rippling stream and ringed by gardens of colorful flowers, perfect for what he planned. “We would like to show you the skill of the Riders of Fingon!” he called out proudly.  Teldin already had their horses saddled and ready.  They had been carefully groomed and fed, their coats shiny and heads held high.  The riders’ silver plate armor had been buffed and shined, glittering in the sunlight. He, Líreno and Morelen marched out in precision steps, carrying the banners of Fingon and Orodreth.  Lyaan couldn’t help but admire the training and dedication that they showed.  His Silvan light infantry could not compare.

In unison, the three riders mounted, feet locked into the stirrups.  As one, they drew their bows, Morelen’s made of clear blue laen.  “Riders!” Notaldo called out, “Eyes right!”  They snapped their helmeted heads right, chins held high, to look at the audience, eyes fixed, daring any enemy to come at them. They raised their free hands in a salute, palms open above their eyes.  Targets had been set up along the field and Notaldo made a cutting motion with his hand.  “At the trot!”  The three pushed heels into horses and their mounts began an easy trot towards the targets. “At the canter!” he called, getting them to accelerate.  “Charge!” The riders surged ahead, hooves pounding the grass.  Arrows were pulled from quivers and nocked.  They rose up in the stirrups and, in rapid succession, Notaldo, then Líreno, then Morelen fired, arrows hitting dead center at a full gallop.  In less than another three seconds, another volley struck home.  As they passed the targets, each rider swung their legs around in the saddle, now facing behind them.  Another volley shot backwards, arrows landing amidst the others.

Lyaan’s mouth fell open. He had never seen a display of horse archery that was this skillful.  Lysa nodded proudly and Chrys held his hand over his mouth, awed. Lyaan needed them to come to Ty-Ar-Rana. His armies needed their training.

“Caracal!” Notaldo ordered and the riders guided their mounts, single file, in a circle around the targets now, peppering them with shots.

Chrys slapped his thigh. “This allows one archer to always be able to shoot at the rear of an enemy.  A shield would be useless.”

Gil-Galad smiled.  “They were the elite of my father’s forces. They were his pride,” he said.  “I am envious of their service to Orodreth, but I am glad that they serve all free peoples.”

“Reform!” Notaldo called and the riders rejoined him in a line.  As one, they placed bows back in sheaths on the saddles and trotted back to the audience, raising their open hand to their brows again.  “Riders…dismount!”  They swung out of their saddles, feet hitting the ground as one.  They knelt and removed their silver bascinet helmets.

Círdan began clapping, followed by the rest.  “I knew that you were formidable on horseback, but seeing it…magnificent.”

Lyaan stood, applauding. He looked at Lysa, a big grin on his face.  “It’s settled!  Morelen, we need you all to come to Ty-Ar-Rana.  We need you to train our people.  And we would love to have you home where you grew up.  So much has been improved and your room is just as it was.”

Morelen smiled, ear to ear. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Lyaan loved to visit Tumlindë, but he truly wanted to head home.  Ty-Ar-Rana was not just a series of structures, but it was a refuge…a sanctuary. The Vanyar Elves who constructed it had magic that was incomprehensible to any now in Middle Earth save one of the Ainur who remained…and no one was about to ask Morgoth or Sauron.  He found that, as time wore on, he liked traveling less and less and was content to live his life with Lysa and their son.  Even thinking about addressing the issue of Lyrin’s friends was burdensome.  Seeing the ocean gave him a longing for the sea and he began to think more about the white shores of Valinor.  He shook his head.  Such a thing was not possible.  The Valar had decreed it.

By the next day, Teldin had their horses groomed, fed and saddled and they started out on the road to Taaliraan for a short stop.  The stable master came along to ensure that the horses would remain healthy for the journey.  As they entered the rolling plains to the castle at Kirnak, a loud trumpeting sound echoed over the grassy land.

“Look!” Fëatur yelled to Ferui.  “I told you! It’s the Mûmakil!”  Sure enough, massive gray creatures could be seen, lumbering along the plains, long noses in prehensile trunks, ivory tusks coming down from their mouths.  “I promised you, didn’t I?”

Ferui’s mouth fell open. “I…they…they are like land whales. Incredible!”  They watched in awe as the family of Mûmakil, also known as Oliphants, pulled reeds and grasses out of the river with their trunks and brought them to their mouths.  Some sprayed water on their backs and a group cared for a few of the young.  Ferui nodded with a smile.  “I waited centuries for this, and just seeing this now... Thank you, Fëatur.”

The ride to Kirnak was a swift three days and they were greeted warmly by King Eldanar and his family, Queen Tathriel and their young son, Tarador.  The introduction of Gil-Galad was auspicious.  Meeting with a relative of the House of Fingon was a joyous occasion and the travelers were treated with great honor, guests in the Royal Suite.  The prince gazed upon the white walls of the palace that were fused with gold and black veins.  “I am reminded of Minas Tirith on Tol Sirion,” he said, admiring the architecture.  “And the grand avenues and bazaars…it is what I imagine Gondolin to be.”

“You are very observant, cousin,” the King said, gesturing around the grand rotunda that was ringed with elegant tapestries along the marble walls as fountains sprayed a fine mist of water, cooling the room.  “I served your grandfather in Hithlum ere the Bragollach as one of his captains of infantry. We fought together in every campaign until he fell,” Eldanar said in a voice tinged in both sadness and pride.  “I then led your father’s infantry.  After the Nirnaeth, we fled to the Falas where,” he said, pointing to Círdan and Ferui, “these fine men loaned us ships to sail south during the evacuation.”

This was a warm reunion and Círdan smiled.  “I regret that we were unable to accompany you personally, good King.  But we are happy to see that you have settled comfortably and prosperously.”

Queen Tathriel gave him a sad smile.  “My good Círdan, you were a little busy and we all thought that Beleriand would fall. We are so pleased to hear that the fight continues and more successfully so.”

Eldanar nodded.  “We came with little more than the clothes and armor on our backs and the skill of our people.  I am proud of what we have done here.  We have strong alliances now with The Guild and The Three,” he said, gesturing towards Fëatur and Lyaan.  “We consider ourselves to be part of the Luingon Alliance.”

Gil-Galad gestured to the riders.  “I would also like to introduce Notaldo, Líreno and Morelen, who were the elite riders of my father’s.  They were with him since Valinor and have fought with him since Lammoth when the sun rose.”

Eldanar’s eyes widened. “Well met, my friends.  This is an auspicious day.  My royal cousin and warriors of his father’s all in one day!  This requires a feast!”

The banquet that evening was one to remember.  In the great rotunda, musicians and bards played for the audience, singing, dancing and juggling fire.  Great platters of finely cut meats, fruits and vegetables were brought out as the guests and citizens of Kirnak dined and drank.  Tathriel motioned to a carafe of wine on the table, full of a light and airy white.  “This comes from our vineyards near Kirnak.  The dryer, more temperate clime here is perfect for this vintage.  You will find hints of rose petals and strawberries with a tartness of spice.”

Lyaan took a sip and swirled it in his mouth, letting the wine cover all of his tongue.  He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, just enjoying the flavor.  He thought back on his time in Valinor and then the journey back to Middle Earth.  A sense of shame came over him, matching the hints of bitterness in the wine that balanced the sweetness.  He was of the House of Fëanor and he and Lysa joined their kin in Alqualondë, slaying the Teleri for their ships.  They didn’t know the full story.  Curufin told them that the Teleri had attacked first and that they were defending themselves.  Still, that was no excuse and they, like Fëatur, would have to earn forgiveness.  Why had they never told Fëatur that?  They buried the shame deep.  They could never return to Valinor but through death.

Lysa could tell what he was thinking.  She always could.  She held his hand tightly and they both bowed their heads, saying a prayer of repentance to Mandos.  May he one day forgive them.  Nienna would find pity for them and their story would be woven into the tapestries that adorned the Halls of Mandos by Vairë, the Weaver.

He noticed Lyrin and the boys looking around, searching.  “Is there someone out there?” he asked, getting their attention.

Lyrin nodded.  “We were hoping to find Celestë, Karya and Allisa,” he said.  “We thought that they would be here.”

Ah, this had to be the women that they had mentioned earlier.  “Are they…are you…?”

Anuven smirked. “They were a nice distraction,” he said lewdly.  “I would love to find them again though,” he added.

“I see,” Lysa said with a hint of disapproval.  That was about the most that she would ever rebuke her son and his friends.  “I hope that they are something more.”

Lyrin gave an awkward smile.  “Celestë is something…full of fire and life.  She has flaming red hair and her beauty…No one compares to Morelen, but Celestë…,” he said, trailing off.

Lyaan could see that his son was still torn by Morelen, and it was easy to understand.  But maybe this Celestë could set him right.  He could never find the right way to steer Lyrin, and Lysa was no help in this matter.  Her awesome vision and wisdom failed here.

“Good,” he told his son. “I hope you find her.  I would like to meet her some time.”

Lyrin nodded with a grin and then wandered off with Anuven and Edenor, leaving poor Caladiel behind. She did not fit in with the boys and Lyaan felt sorry for her.  She was always trying to live up to her cousin, Thalindra.  She looked down at her plate, pushing her food around, her blonde hair in her face.  He reached towards her.  “Caladiel, you’re doing well.  You were instrumental in helping us find the entry into the Citadel.  I want you to know that we see that.”

She gave him a wan smile and then looked back down.  “I appreciate that, master Lyaan.  I just…I just don’t know if I am worthy of this.  I was so afraid when we were in the Citadel, I thought I would wet myself. And your son…I…no, nevermind.”

“You kept your composure and yes, I know about my son,” he said with a pang of regret.   “Fëatur did right by him to brace him, but Lyrin still has a long way to go.  Perhaps a temporary change might do you well.  You have trained with us for some time now and your skills have grown.  I’ve seen it, trust me.  If you could do something else for a time, what would it be?”

Her face brightened a little.  “I…I would like to see the north.  Perhaps I might go with the riders.  They are so brave and noble.  No, I could never live up to that.”

Lyaan would hate to see her leave.  She was also good for Lyrin, but he wanted her to thrive more.  “I’ll ask.  I think it would do you good.  Perhaps you could even learn to sail with Círdan and Ferui.”

A real smile came over her face.  “Thank you, master Lyaan.  I would like that very much.”

Their attention was grasped when King Eldanar clapped and the herald, Celumener, called out, “Your attention please!  Our guests from the north bring us the gift of music!  The riders of King Orodreth will treat us to the ethereal song, Nairë mi Lómë, the Blessed Night, followed by Elenya!”  The audience gave a round of applause as Notaldo, Líreno, Morelen and Silmani took the stage in the center of the rotunda.

Líreno began to tap on a small lap drum, covered in goat skin and Notaldo plucked on a harp as the two woman began to vocalize, swaying to the beat.  They wore deep cobalt blue robes that were trimmed in silver with images of stars woven into the fabric, a sign of respect to Fingon.  A mithril circlet sat on each brow with a blue diamond mounted in the center.  Together, their voices were ethereal, high notes floating in the air like butterflies, Morelen’s strong alto and Silmani’s lilting soprano, blending as one.  Lyaan felt his heart tighten as if their voices surrounded it.  The women’s arms flowed in waves, Morelen moving opposite, but in sync with Silmani, creating a juxtaposition of style; feminine, flowing and bold.  The dance was like a dream, tendrils of magic wafting between them.

We live in this blessed night,

The air that we breathe is pure,

The way is shone by Varda’s light,

Our steps are swift and sure,

Nairë mi Lómë, Auta i Lómë, the night is blessed, the night is passing

Aurë entaluva! The day shall come again!

It was a song about the peaceful and blissful night, but that all nights must perish, replaced by the day. Joy, loss and longing were part of the soul of the elves.  Lysa held Lyaan’s hand tightly.  “Her voice and movement were so stunning when she was with us at Ty-Ar-Rana.  This…this is heavenly.”

The women then went right into Elenya, The Nights of Eternal Stars.  Notaldo and Líreno tapped on drums, a deep, sonorous thrum, a repeating triple beat.  Silmani began to dance, swift pirouettes with arms raised to the stars as Morelen let her voice ring out, her vocal range from a low contralto to a lilting soprano that reverberated in the rotunda.  Her high notes hung in the air, drifting through the audience like water flows through a stream.  She sang of the years that pass all too soon but how the star, Elenya, never fades, always shining its face upon the elves.  The beat of the drums, the movements of the girl and melancholic melody of the woman reached down to the spirit of everyone in the room.

Yéni ve lintë yuldar avánier, the years have passed like swift draughts,

Elenya, come to us, star of the dawn,

You guide us in our long journey,

Your light is everlasting, eternal,

We are forever bathed in your mercy,

As the music came to a close, the drum beats slowed to a single, soft tapping rhythm.  Morelen’s voice faded away and Silmani went to both knees, lowering her face to the floor, spreading her arms wide, supplicant before the light and mercy of Varda.  The room was silent for a few seconds before thunderous applause filled the rotunda.  Yavëkamba stood and cheered loudest for her daughter.

Lyaan could not be prouder. While Fëatur was away on missions for The Guild, he and Lysa raised Morelen, somewhat reluctantly at first but they soon loved her like a member of their family.  Lysa taught her to sing and dance, and he taught her to fight and shoot a bow.  She grew up with Lyrin for many years before she went north and joined Fingon.  Ty-Ar-Rana seemed emptier without her, and it would be so nice to have her back once more.  He secretly wanted her to stay in the south and for life to return to the quiet times before the horrors of the north changed things.

King Eldanar stood and cheered.  Lyaan could see the resemblance that he bore to Gil-Galad and what he remembered of Fingon and Turgon.  The King seemed to embody the spirit of both brothers, some warrior and some scholar.

“I had heard of and seen the valor of Fingon’s riders.  I knew the names, but never had the honor of knowing them,” the King said.  “To see that you embody the spirit of the elven soul brings me great joy.  We are musicians, singers, dancers and bards, only called to arms by the enemy.  To hear such music in my halls fills my heart with hope and pride!”  He raised his golden chalice.  “May this rotunda, the work of our great people, be ever filled with such light and magic!”

People stood and cheered, raising open hands to the sky.  Lyaan could not help but be impressed by this new kingdom.  The halls and the palace were truly for the people. Anyone could come and go, and the King seemed to have time for both noble and commoner alike.  All races of elves in Middle Earth were present and welcome, from High Elves to the rustic Silvans.  It was a model that he believed in, and Ty-Ar-Rana was no different.  He took a deep breath, enjoying the moment, knowing that every blissful moment must perish.

It was another week’s ride to Ty-Ar-Rana and Lyaan realized that he was homesick.  He longed to see the great pyramids again, to be in his own room, in their own bed.  Lysa felt the same way, but Lyrin was always infected by wanderlust.  Their son was disappointed that he could not find the red-haired woman.  She must have been away on a journey.  She, too, came from the north after the Nirnaeth, according to Lyrin.

It would soon be a new year and the weather in the south was the opposite of what was in the north. It would be snowing in Nargothrond by now, but the jungles of the south were hot and humid.  In the winter of mid-year, it would cool down to a comfortable but sticky temperature, never getting anywhere near freezing.

Along the trail, he could just make out the largest pyramid, surrounded by three lesser ones.  He could see the homes of the town of Gavan where the Silvan elves of their people resided.  They rode onto paved streets now.  Since they refounded Ty-Ar-Rana, the population had grown and prospered. The aged ruins of the Vanyarin settlement were rebuilt into a thriving community with a new purpose and character.  The Vanyar were powerful, devout, almost angelic beings compared to the ambitious Noldor and the rustic Sindar and Silvan elves. But the Silvan people made this place their own, with gaily colored decorations and open bazaars where people met, laughed and shopped.

People in the streets greeted them with waves and warm words.  There was no royalty here.  Everyone agreed to the common good with Lyaan being the first among equals.  They rode by the training grounds where Silvan archers practiced with their light hunting bows and short, but sharp kynacs.  With the previous shipments from the north and the smiths of The Guild providing armor, their light infantry now had enchanted leather armors, reinforced with steel rings to provide protection.  Lyaan knew that this was perfect for the hit and run, ambush tactics that had worked so well for them, defending their lands, but the time would come for open combat on the offense to prevent the ritual.  In his battle against Castolder of the Suit of Swords, his kynac and ikasha weapons were almost useless against the warrior in full plate with a two-handed sword.  The arrival of the riders could not have come at a better time.

“Greetings, Lyaan, Lysa! Welcome home,” the Silvan people said very informally.  He was one of them and titles were only used among the initiates, who required greater discipline.  They dismounted outside of the great pyramid and Teldin gathered the horses as Lyrin pointed him to the nearby stables.

Lyrin bolted up the steps, laughing out loud with his buddies as they threw mock kicks at each other. “This way, people, this way.  The lodgings and quarters are below ground. Amazing isn’t it?  You remember, Morelen!”  He clapped his hands.  “Taran! Come out and help these people with their bags,” he called to the golem that the Vanyar had left at the compound. It wasn’t the proper use of the guardian, but the golem did not seem to mind.  The automaton walked out of the pyramid, dressed in elven armor of the Vanyar, golden and practically glowing.  Taran stood taller than any in the group, his platinum blond hair almost silver, flowing down his back. 

Without expression, Taran nodded.  “Yes, Lyrin,” he said and then hoisted up more baggage than any of the children of Illuvatar could lift.

First Initiate Thalindra came out next and bowed to The Three and then hugged her cousin, Caladiel. Thalindra was half Sindarin, half Silvan and had strawberry blonde hair, smaller and slighter than her younger cousin. She was dressed in the white robes of a Ty-Ar-Rana initiate, their monastic order.  “Welcome back, masters…mistress and Fëatur.  Taran came back to make a second trip, carrying all of the remaining bags.

Morelen inhaled deeply, drinking in the sights of the first home that she remembered.  She turned to Yavë.  “Mother, this is where I grew up.  My first memories are here. These Three showed me love and raised me.  I know that you had a mission to do, but now I wish to make up for all of the lost years.  You gave me life, and I wish to know you,” she said, putting her hand on her mother’s arm.

Yavë put a hand over her heart, patting her chest.  Her face scrunched as she fought to control her emotions while her eyes misted up.  “I…I would like that…very much,” she said, her voice cracking.

Lyaan introduced them all to Thalindra, who bowed to the new guests.  “Master Lyaan, Mistress Lysa, I found another golem in one of the lesser pyramids while you were away.  This one is female, also appearing as a Vanyar elf.  Her name appears to be Vanyissë.  I did not awake her as I thought it would be prudent to await your return.”

“You did well, Thalindra. Come, let’s take a look.”  They walked to the smaller pyramid and took the lift down, deep into the earth.  When the doors opened, the golem was standing nearby in the stark white corridor. Magical lanterns flickered on, casting light on the automaton.  She looked absolutely real, pale skin around ruby lips, platinum blonde hair that was nearly silver, clad in a white, gossamer robe that flowed down just above her knees.  She stood taller than any on the lift.  In one hand, she carried a short spear and in the other, a white staff.  She embodied the light of the Vanyar.

Thalindra paused, her eyes narrowed.  “She…was not here when I left.  She was down the hallway, there,” she said, pointing.  Lyaan got a bit of a chill down his spine.

They stepped off of the lift and the golem’s eyes opened and blazed gold.  She held out her staff and raised the spear over her head, aimed at Morelen.  “Come no further, creature of darkness,” she said in an ancient form of Quenya that they barely understood.

Lyaan immediately grasped the golem’s reaction.  It was Morelen’s Vala blood.  He stepped forward, palms held out in peace.  “We mean you no harm, Vanyissë.  We are the new residents of Ty-Ar-Rana.”

The golem crouched, taking a fighting stance.  “Leave this sacred place,” she commanded, expressionless and Lyaan backed up a step.    

Morelen came forward in spite of Notaldo’s protest.  She held her palms out and spoke in the same ancient dialect, golden energy swirling around her hands.  How did she know this speech?  “I mean you no harm, Vanyissë.  I am a friend of The Three.  Your creators, the Vanyar, went west to the Undying Lands.  They left you and Taran as guardians of Ty-Ar-Rana for new peoples who might need your protection.  I have lived in peace here during my childhood.  I am your ally.  I stand against the creatures of darkness.  Please hear me.”

Vanyissë scanned the people on the lift, her head moving back and forth almost mechanically.  She then relaxed, lowering staff and spear back to her side.  “I see that your words and intentions are true,” she said in her odd monotone.  “You are now welcome to Ty-Ar-Rana,” she added and then stepped up to Morelen.  She placed her staff in her other hand with the spear and placed her palm on Morelen’s chest.  The Vanyar golem narrowed her eyes and then looked to her ‘parents.’  “Beware, Morelen, daughter of…Fëatur and Yavëkamba. You are destined for a great doom,” she finished and then stepped back against the wall and closed her eyes.

Lyaan sighed in relief that the situation was resolved peacefully and also that Morelen’s secret was not revealed.  The golem seemed to have the insight of the Vanyar.  Having two powerful golems on their side would be extremely beneficial in the future.  As the group moved to their quarters, Lyaan hung back with Fëatur and Yavëkamba, mouthing, “Are you ever going to tell her?”

They waved him off with shakes of their heads.  It seemed as if everyone had a blind spot when it came to those that they loved.

In the next days, the Riders trained the Silvan elves in horse archery and cavalry tactics.  The people of Gavan learned quickly, soon being able to fire a bow from horseback after a couple of weeks.  Not well, but it was a start.  Notaldo had them switch their grips, using a thumb ring to pull the bowstring, more effective in the saddle.  They also nocked the arrow to the strong side of the bow, faster when mounted.  They also began making recurve bows, a weapon that could nearly equal the power of a longbow in a shorter frame, better for horseback.  Lyaan enjoyed watching this, seeing his people grow, their defense improve. He understood that this was just a start.  It would take years to build an effective cavalry force.  He had hoped that Lyrin and his friends would participate but they seemed intent on figuring out what the female golem could do.  He shook it off, he and Lysa learning to fire the bow from the saddle with their people.  It took serious training, a sense of timing and patience as to when to rise up in the stirrups, when to draw, how to breathe and when to release.  He had to admire Morelen and her friends for their skill. Their archery was a natural as breathing.  He chuckled as he watched Caladiel bouncing in the saddle as her horse trotted, saying, “Ow,” with every bounce.

“I think I’m getting the hang of this,” she called to him as she shot an arrow into the ground less than ten feet in front of her.  This was not an easy skill.

Morelen rode up to her. “It’s not just your arms, it’s your whole body, your whole being that draws the string.  Now, let’s just remain still and not ride.  Here,” she said, nocking an arrow and then linking her thumb ring to the string.  “Focus. Your mind sees the draw, the release and the arrow striking the target.”  With her shoulders, her torso and her arms, she pulled the string back past her ear. “Don’t aim…feel.”  With barely any motion, she released the arrow and it sped, dead center, into a target over One-Hundred feet away with a loud, THWOP!  The arrow was buried into the straw up to the fletchings, such was the strength of her archery.  “Now, you do it.”

Caladiel pulled an arrow from her quiver and nocked it.  “Inhale,” Morelen said, and the younger elf did so.  “Draw,” Morelen continued and Caladiel used her whole upper body to pull the string past her ear.  “Feel…imagine the flight of the arrow…release!”  Caladiel did so and the arrow flew, striking the target on the outer ring, half of the arrow sunk in.  The young elf gasped and then a big smile spread over her lips.

Morelen grinned back at her, her silver armor gleaming in the sun.  “Well done.  Keep practicing.  We’ll make a rider out of you yet.”

Lyaan gave Lysa a bittersweet smile.  They would lose the young initiate, but she would become so much more.  It was all that they wanted for their son and their people.

The days and weeks went swiftly, too swiftly for Lyaan’s liking.  They were settling into a pleasant routine again.  They would wake at dawn where Thalindra and Caladiel would make breakfast.  They would chat about the day’s events and news from the north.  Silmani would practice singing and dancing, and they would catch up with Morelen’s time in Beleriand and tell of the situation in the south.  Notaldo would lead the budding Silvan riders in horsemanship and archery.  Círdan and Captain Ferui would discuss ship building with Fëatur, drawing intricate diagrams of the vessels.  The sun would set and they would bathe and gather for dinner.  Lyaan could do this forever.  He never tired of being with his family and enjoying a busy day with his people.  He could not fathom the need for war or conflict.  Why did so many desire conquest and power?  He simply could not understand it.  If Ty-Ar-Rana could fade into the jungle with the surety that his friends would be safe, he would do it and never see someone from the outside again. If only he could convince Morelen and Notaldo to stay, they would be complete.  But she was still young and full of energy.  Perhaps his desires were just foolish wishes.

As the time of the visit drew short, Lyaan walked with Lysa, Fëatur and Yavëkamba to his study.  The passed through the foyer, a room with gray granite walls and a perfectly carved gray granite block in the center, smooth and polished.  Written on the block in glowing blue laen runes were the tenets of the Tyar Order, the organization of monks that they created, based upon what they discovered of the previous occupants.  They went through a pair of clear laen doors that opened silently as they approached. Another wonder of Vanyarin craftsmanship.  The Vanyar were devout, spiritual, almost angelic beings and they forever sought to live up to that ideal.

They stopped in Lyaan’s training hall, where comfortable wooden seats were arranged in a classroom setting.  Members of the Order were nearly all practitioners of Mentalism, a magical art that used or manipulated mental powers to affect the outside world.  Fëatur and Morelen, as illusionists, were also users of Mentalism. Thalindra and Caladiel were already here, moving and spinning objects with their minds.  They stopped for a moment and bowed, the objects falling to the floor, and then laughed, returning to their practice.  Lyaan loved the relaxed atmosphere of learning and growth. He trusted that everyone would find their own discipline and path.  He smiled back as they continued on to the study, beyond Lysa’s training room for seers and Lyrin’s practice room for hand-to-hand combat, where his son and friends were sparring.

They entered the study as the laen doors rolled into the walls to see Morelen and Silmani already there, reading one of the tomes on Mentalism next to the large bookcase that housed the nine volumes of work left by the Vanyar.  The room was paneled in dark walnut with tables and other objects made of cypress that gave off a pleasant scent.  

Morelen looked up. “Oh, I’m so sorry.  We were just learning some of the basic powers.  We can leave.”

Lyaan didn’t mind at all. In fact, he loved when members of the order came to learn on their own.  “No, no, please, don’t mind us.  Please continue.”

Morelen grinned. “Show them, Silmani.  She’s been learning a lot while we’ve been here.”

The young elf raised her finger up and focused her mind on it.  A shimmer of light appeared at her fingertip and the image of a dove coalesced from the tendrils of her magic.  She then pointed to the carpet, and an orange cat appeared.  The bird landed on the cat’s head and the cat walked around the room, meowing.

Lyaan nodded. “That’s very impressive for a few months of study, young lady.  You have great potential,” he said with pride in his voice.

Silmani giggled, holding her hands over her heart.  “It’s been so wonderful here in the south,” she said.  “I wish we could stay forever.”

Lysa leaned forward, gesturing to the chairs.  “That is possible,” she said with more than a little hope.  Lyaan could see the anticipation in both Fëatur and Yavëkamba’s faces.  It was a question that they all wanted but feared to ask.

Morelen sat and then sighed.  “Alas, my allegiance is given to King Orodreth, and I cannot abandon it, nor can I ask Notaldo to do so.  We have given so much blood and tears defending our people in Beleriand…”  Lyaan already knew her answer, but it still stabbed him like a knife.  “But,” she continued, “if Silmani wishes to remain, I won’t oppose it.  She deserves to see life beyond the caverns of Nargothrond, as beautiful as they may be.”

Silmani’s face lit up, and she bounced for joy.  “Do you think that Idhrendiel could stay too?” she asked of her friend.

Lyaan nodded.  “We have no problem with that, but we will discuss it with her parents.”  He turned back to Morelen, a bittersweet look on his face.  “We had hoped you would, but I understand your position.  Just having you back here was something that we had dreamed of.”

Morelen shrugged with a half-smile.  “That just means that we will have to visit more often.  We will take care of Caladiel, and we trust that you will care for the girls here.”

“Have no doubt that we will.”

On the day of departure, the riders were mounted with Círdan and Ferui.  They stood proud in the saddle, armor polished to silver perfection with cobalt blue surcoats trimmed in silver, while the banners of Fingon and Orodreth fluttering in the wind.  The Silvan riders of Ty-Ar-Rana rode out in a clean formation.  They drew their recurved warbows and nocked thick bodkin arrows designed to penetrate armor.  Notaldo raised his sword.  “Advance!” he commanded and the Silvan troop trotted forward and then into a full gallop.  One by one, they unleashed arrows on the targets, striking them, the shafts digging deep into the straw.  “Caracal!” he ordered and they began to circle the targets, launching volleys from all angles in a coordinated stream.

The troop then reformed in good order and halted in front of the visitors, raising their bows in a salute.  Notaldo, Líreno and Morelen drew their curved swords and held them in front of their faces, returning the salute.  Then, Notaldo raised his weapon, and they charged at the targets, lopping off parts of the straw with precision cuts of their blades.  They reformed and rode in front of The Three, raising swords and then lowering them with a bow from the saddle.  It was a supreme demonstration of riding and swordsmanship from the saddle.

Lyaan knew that this day would come and it pained him to no end.  He had all of his family and loved ones gathered here in this sacred place and he wanted it to never end.  But this was not Valinor where many things were endless.  Here, in Middle Earth, things faded, things died and things that he loved would leave and maybe be forever lost.  But he would show his love here and not face his regrets.  He stood and applauded his new cavalry troop, along with everyone on the field.  “My dear friends,” he told them, I have seen your growth and learned alongside of you. We are now a weapon against the enemy and a shield for our lands and people!”  He turned to the departing guests.  “Prince Gil-Galad, Lord Círdan, Captain Ferui, the Alliance owes you a great debt and you may count on us for support.  Notaldo, Líreno, you have trained us in your skill.  You always have a home here.  We will care for Silmani and Idhrendiel as if they were our own. Please care for Caladiel as she is dear to us.  And Morelen, your home is here for when you are ready to return and may the sun shine upon your journey and may the stars light the way when next we meet. Farewell, my friends.”

CODEX:

Weapons:

Kynac – A single edged bladed weapon, longer than a dagger and shorter than a shortsword.

Ikasha – A large, multi-edged throwing star.