Flight South



Golden-green ivy twined madly around the intricate leaves and berries carved into the balustrade of the airy balcony. Falling leaves of mallyrn danced slowly with one another as they made their stately decent to the pathways of Caras Galathon.

Limirel stepped out from the gloom of her residence and into the waning sunlight, followed by brother and two other elves – one dark and small enough to be mistaken for a man, the other shrouded in a hooded cloak. She raised her glass to them, and knocked back its amber contents. The dark elf set down his glass on a blue soapstone table, black eyes twinkling as his hands motioned.

That you would have us here of your own accord is an honour, Lady Limiriel.

“Ever the tongue on you, eh, Liscë?” She winked, taking his discarded drink and sipping on it.

Sereon rolled his eyes, and came to stand next to his sister. “What are we really here for? Will you not be missed in Rivendell by House Vanimar?”

“Indeed. It is not often I receive an invitation from you. Much less from other…” The hooded figure sighed wistfully, leaning on the railing.

“Vanimar does not need me. There are many warriors to defend it and many diplomats to speak for it. My uses are few, and with no campaigns… Moreover, Rivendell grows stifling – I never liked red wine and poetry.”

Limiriel absently swirled her glass around, gazing out over the golden expanse. Winter always made her unnecessarily nostalgic for a time beyond the idling smallness that trapped her in this age. Although, perhaps soon, it would be lessened…

“Rumours of darkness spread like wildfire. The dwarves are preoccupied with the threat that lies to the South – as are the halls of King Thranduil. There is something stirring.” She paused; her eyes alight for a moment. “Our borders are well guarded and the light of the Lady does not permit foul things, but… I feel that we would be well served to understand what evil gnaws on the edged of the free world.”

“You’ve had one too many ales during story time at the forges, Limiriel.” Sereon crossed his arms, laughing. “If this was our concern, we would have been deployed to investigate.”

“There is little concern for what transpires beyond the shade of the mallyrn.” The hooded one replied. “Why is this our business?”

Liscë stepped forward, his soft grey robes rustling as his hands moved.

While she has been away, I have been… investigating on her behalf. I feel that it would be in our best interests to… pursue precaution. The Necromancer has been dealt with some time back, but… there is new evil that creeps forth.

Limiriel gave the others a triumphant smirk. “Thank you for your sensible assessment on the situation, sir.” Liscë merely nodded and seemed to shrink from sight.

Sereon ran a hand through his hair, studying Limiriel. “Why must you promote warmongering, little sister?”

“I am promoting nothing! I-“

“Our time is over, Lady Limiriel.” The hooded figure turned toward them. “We will not involve ourselves in the affairs of men. Or dwarves.” It added.

“Bu-“

“Enough.” Sereon raised a hand. “You can order Liscë to poke around in the South all you like – we will not entertain you as such. We do not have the resources or the manpower to involve ourselves in the future of Middle Earth; much less the whims of one captain.”

Limiriel turned to her brother, meeting the sadness in his eyes with cold defiance. “Then I thank you for your time. Both of you. I cannot say I expected such cowardice… Nevetheless. It has been… a pleasure getting together. Liscë will see you out.”

Perhaps it had been too much to hope. Trusting to hope had never led her but to disappointment and ruin; why should this be any different? She ought to have moved South herself, seen what she could glean… Kill whatever got in her way. There would surely be mercenaries and perhaps an orc or two escaped from the bounds of Mordor…

The soft rustle of the curtain told her Liscë was back.

“Ready my armour. I leave at nightfall.”