((Wasn't sure where to post this so let me know if it should be moved. Drafted on a sleepless night, revised on another; may it be passably better now. RP narration is followed by lyrics which are meant to be read to Qntal's "Winter" http://youtu.be/AFmczgxSA54 ))
Music fills the Hall of Fire. Bright eyes are filled with curiosity as elvish ears focus on the sad, obscure song being sung by an elvish lady, her voice rising and falling amidst the company. Flickering shadows cast from the hearth's flames create wondrous and sometimes uneasy shapes. It is little wonder that few if any notice the slender, silver-haired figure near the doors who stands as one turned to stone. When the music draws to a close the figure stirs, almost with drunken grace, as he exits to find solace in the company of those-who-stay, summoned by a vague letter and by oaths of kinship...
"Once sound of Laughter, Flute-song light
Was joined with Harp-song in soaring flight.
None in Lothlorien could Shadow see,
Save Lady White's gaze, in Golden Spring.
Wise Elder, youths Spring and Winter
Gold Elf host bright and wild dusken Daughter
Never to call, at Thranduil's Hall
For doom descends, fate swallows all.
So cruel and swift fell Shadow's might,
Cries rang and silenced within the night.
Red-streams running, to Mandos flee
Leaving Lost Spring 'neath eaves darkening.
A hopeless march to South-watch dreary
To Tower looming high o'er forest eerie
There torment falls, Spring's haunted calls
Unheard by Laughter lying cold and still.
Long years to pass in nightmare deep.
Then wandering Light came to evil's Keep.
The Spirit softly speaks of freedom's plea
The Wintery Spring, wounded, walks free.
Now stalks Sorrow where sweet Laughter danced,
Young Harp-song stilled and Flute-song mourns in silence,
Left Woods of Gold, Spring's innocence cold
To Winter's spear fell, forever lanced."
UPDATED: 2/12/2014 from 2010 original... (see end of post) Losluin Naerring = [Snowblue Chill Lament or Mourningfrost] Male/Sindarin_Elf/Minstrel/Woodworker, 233 years approx.
((IG excerpt from an obscure recent account, compiled by an elven scholar))
...it is now considered that the tale of the Lost elves of Lorien is that of an ill-fated initiation of the young into the wider world. Despite the elders present who were masters of various skills and the path chosen to best avoid known dangers, we can only speculate on what fate befell such a convoy as it made its way from Lothlorien to Thranduil's Halls. Whether by ill-luck or fell design, we know for certain that something went terribly amiss, leaving almost the entire group of old and young, wise and innocent, master and novice lost to us, beyond news or recall.
One of these novices, an aspiring bard named Losluin, who was under the wing of a minstrel elder in the convoy, returned alone in the year TA 2850-- long years after hope was abandoned for the group. It is rumored that Rysgilion, an elusive Nandorin sage (or Mithrandir, depending on the tale-teller), was sighted speaking to the Wardens of the March concerning him; this may be no more than an embellished part of the tale, despite their known penchant for showing up in the strangest of places and times to lend aid and then vanish again. Whatever the words spoken or counsel given, the Wardens (under sway of one in particular) decided to bar the youth from entry into the inner sanctums of the Golden Wood, at least for awhile.
The close kin of Losluin had sailed into the West during his absence, grief-stricken when the sweet-tempered young elf initially did not return. It was not their first loss and they were weary with the sorrows of Middle Earth, the price they had paid for lingering overlong. The next closest of kin came to look at him and decided they could do nothing for him. His look and manner were disturbing. He was not aged as was the lord Gwindor of Nargothrond in the histories, whose own people did not recognize him after his torments; nevertheless the boy had lost most color to both skin and hair, the former white as snow, the latter like silvered ice. Some said he looked not himself, even when considering the passage of time; familiar yet strange. But it was his eyes that disturbed them the most; no longer sparkling with mysterious laughter like a newly thawed spring brook. Nae, they had become like to blue hoarfrost, devoid of any emotion in them except for a shadowy haunting or worse at times, an icy wrath.
Neither did he laugh as he used, it once not being overly difficult to coax him from introspection to soft, delighted mirth and harmless mischief. His manner had held a carefree innocence mingled with quiet insight. Now, his springlike warmth and kindness for others had chilled over; far more lacking was any seeming care for himself. While polite, his manner remained distant and strange, an edge or bite entering the few words spoken if there was an inflection at all. He also developed a habit of going barefoot, not odd in and of itself, except that he now preferred walking in water to roads, on snow instead of warm grass. He was never seen clad in less than garments covering from upper neck to ankle. His reaction to a friendly touch was feral and frightening.
And thus being so changed, he was often shunned with not even his dearest kin left on this side of the western sea. They had gone, thinking him lost and now returned, he was forsaken. Whispers began that perhaps he was not Losluin at all, but some fell creation, a doppleganger from the heart of southern Mirkwood.
Despite this, the young bard eventually took up his craft again, dwelling in the edge of the Golden Wood. Before his ill-fated journey, his harp could be heard falling like rain, his flute a mysterious calling, beckoning in the breeze, and a clear young voice soaring to the skies over the Wood. But now his songs were dark and his poetry filled with shadowy things. His voice became haunting, the innocence wounded. He still found a way to inspire, it is said and yet he did so with a desolate determination. Others saw in his cold passion only vengeance, one so deep that they sensed corruption in him. Shunned as he was, it naturally followed for the unnatural young edhel to seek solace in exile... an exile begun already by the Lorien Wardens and his own remaining kin. An exile perhaps instigated by the disturbing fate of a healer who had tried to help him upon his return…
Rumors of his passage drift back to Caras Galadhon now and again, speaking of his icy wrath unleashed whilst slaying foes. The last word of the Exile of the Lost elves was that he journeyed north to Dale and Erebor then took the now more dangerous route to the west into Eriador, perhaps as far as the Blue Mountains, soon acquiring the name Naerring or Naergonring [Mourningfrost] for the chill and grief felt by those who came too near him. Further study has been made into the events that led to this young edhel's fall into coldest winter but until he or any other is able or willing to provide details on where the youth was found and what befell him, little else can be confirmed...
...May the Valar be with him and all those who remain the Lost.
Scholars Note: "Upon further study into this matter, I have found routine inconsistencies between accounts. Details I thought straightforward seem to vary strangely and I find I must revisit my own penning of this history. To do so, I fear I will have to make more effort to speak with those involved instead of pouring over my beloved tomes. The inaccuracy is most troublesome. Why is there disagreement concerning the nature or demeanor of those discussed? Even portraits have come to my attention that instill in me further confusion and disarray. As uneasy as this tangled tale makes me, I nevertheless cannot resist the riddle. Should I uncover answers I shall add them to this notated version..."
Last edited by Eluthurin on 2017/04/24 12:04; edited 13 times in total
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