If one were to look down upon middle earth, one might see what looks as though a great wall, splitting those lands in half. A wall of mountains, tall and ever beautiful.
You might notice, while looking down upon these mountains, that in the near distance, the sky is gradually becoming darker and darker and the air about you begins to sting as the temperature drops. Snowfall is surely upon you, perhaps you would be warmer if you were to approach the lands below.
Moving closer and closer toward the great wall of mountains, you can see the sprawled lands about you, forests into the distance, rivers, and even small settlements.
You are approaching a mountain now, getting closer and closer as you descend toward the ground. You do not see much, a sheet of white snow perhaps.
Though, looking directly below you, you can see a small black spot, the closer you get to this spot, the more you see of it. It is a two legged creature; it has dark hair and almost white skin. You also note that this creature is wrapped warmly, his cape is wrapped partially around his face and his clothes are the colour of the very snow beneath him.
He turns, lowering his cape, and uncovering his mouth he makes a sound, almost like a call. Looking closer now, you can see that the creature is very handsome indeed, his cheekbones are high and angular and his eyes seem as though stars set within those breath-taking and perfect features.
From behind you, another odd noise issues in answer to his call.
Then, it is not long before you can hear soft murmuring and light footsteps, but not the footsteps of one elf, you can hear the footsteps of many.
‘The path is blocked’ The creature, the elf sentinel states, as the group of elves move toward him. Fervain looks up to him- the elf sentinel’s dark hair glistens as snowflakes from the darkening skies fall upon the travelling party.
‘Very well then.’ Gilolon moves away from the group and steps toward the elf. For a brief moment his eyes betray his concern, though quickly masked as he composes himself, his features set as though stone.
‘We will need to work our way around this mountain and then across the ice ledges.’Gilolon states.
The other elves seem as though to gasp, including the elf maiden, Fervain. Though Fervain knows not the implication of crossing these ledges, she is merely alarmed by the reaction of those sentinels around her.
‘That is too dangerous, we should turn back, we can cross when the weather is less treacherous.’ The raven haired sentinel states, his voice is commanding and he levels his gaze with that of the elf, Gilolon, almost sternly. ‘We will not risk our lives in the pursuit of your cause, our reasons for crossing these mountains can be resolved another time.’ He shrugs and then turns to the other elves.
Some of the party seem to shake their heads in agreement; they had obviously been reluctant to travel away from the wood. Though others seem to be surprised that he would choose to turn back, they are perhaps eager to continue their journey.
Gilolon’s stare wavers for a moment, his jaw tenses as he considers the implications of traveling with a smaller party, his gaze flits toward Fervain; his features softening.
Then looking back to the elf sentinel. ‘Perhaps you are correct. Though there are other ways to cross these mountains.’ He looks to ponder for a moment, then shaking his head, he seems to wave away those thoughts, shrugging, though not casually. ‘We will attempt the journey early next year, when the weather is better.’
Eagerly some of the elves nod, though others seem to be disappointed.
‘Oh Gilolon, I do not wish to turn back.. .’ Fervain speaks out above the now murmuring party of travellers. Her voice chimes like bells, her features are expressive; the elf maiden wants nothing more than to continue their journey.
‘Fervain…’ He sighs, looking to the maiden wearily. She is always so impatient, a symptom of her youth, it is the wont of young ones to be so.
‘We are turning back, even with your healing skills, you would not be able to mend a broken neck should one of us take a fall or be crushed during an avalanche.’ He says this calmly, his voice is stern, though his eyes are loving.
Fervain, frowns and turns away from Gilolon, looking to the distance, she almost eagerly wishes to see what is beyond the sheet of ever increasing snow fall.
‘You are correct of course.’ Shesays, reluctantly, still frowning.
‘Then we shall turn back.’ The Elf sentinel nods, smiling reassuringly. The other elves all look toward the him, though some also look to Gilolon.
The wind picks up and large snowflakes are thrown into the faces of the travellers, the coldness bites into their skin as though hungry for their flesh.
Ignoring the stares, Gilolon simply turns to the sentinel, awaiting some form of instruction.
