"The leaves were long, the grass was green,
The hemlock-umbels tall and fair,
And in the glade a light was seen
Of stars in shadow shimmering.
Tinúviel was dancing there
To music of a pipe unseen,
And light of stars was in her hair,
And in her raiment glimmering.

There Beren came from mountains cold,
And lost he wandered under leaves,
And where the Elven-river rolled
He walked alone and sorrowing.
He peered between the hemlock-leaves
And saw in wonder flowers of gold
Upon her mantle and her sleeves,
And her hair like shadow following.

Enchantment healed his weary feet
That over hills were doomed to roam;
And forth he hastened, strong and fleet,
And grasped at moonbeams glistening.
Through woven woods in Elvenhome
She lightly fled on dancing feet,
And left him lonely still to roam
In the silent forest listening.

He heard there oft the flying sound
Of feet as light as linden-leaves,
Or music welling underground,
In hidden hollows quavering.
Now withered lay the hemlock-sheaves,
And one by one with sighing sound
Whispering fell the beachen leaves
In the wintry woodland wavering."

The song of her forefather and mother was in Elindomiels head as she walked lightly over the crisp snow of the mountain pass. She wore a very light hose, over which were some rather full socks and then some boots, that were sturdy and close fitting yet provided little warmth. As an elf, she didnt need any. Dark they were, almost black, quite wide at mid foot, tight at the heel, and opening up again as the went up to about the middle of her calf. They were fastened with silver buttons carved as stars.

The snow on the ground was frozen hard, so that it crunched even under Elindomiels light feet. it did not, of course, fall at all, simply made it a noise like sand paper moving quickly and surely over a peice of wood, making it smooth and beautifull.

:Light feet you have: she thought to herself. :But not youre fault that is. Were you not an elf you may fall straight through. Youre not in shape for a journey like this: She thought to herself. :Its hardly my fault Ive been cooped up in Rivendell...: She argued. :That place has a spell on it, I swear. A sleepy sense in the green boughs of pine, a sense of security you dont want to leave until its too late, and youre smothered by it, rendered defenseless..:

That was all fine and good for those fat old men that called themself elves, resorting to the title of scholar to hide theire white beards.

:I am sure elves grow old for lack of reason to live: she thought. :You can learn without becoming a cow.: No offense meant, of course, to the herds of Yavanna. Much fitter they were then Figwit... fat old man. She didnt know how Elrond did it, sitting around on his chair all day without growing so large as to not fit there...

:At least: she thought. :He was a warrior once...:

Elves may not get cold, but they do get hungry. Elindomiels stomach growled softly, telling her it was time to go hunting . Out here in the wild there was no schedual save natures own, no meal time save that the stomach called for.

She drew her bow and wondered south for a ways, where she saw some fat rabbits hopping around happily. THeire white fur disguised them from most predators, but few creatures could hide from an elf. Quickly she brought the dark bow to her face, and slid her thumb over the other fingers, slowly for the first two and then quick, and with a muffled twang an arrow appeared.

She placed it onto the bow, aimed carefully, and let fly. Red blood spurted onto the snow and over the snowy rabbits pure white fur. The other rabbits fled. Elindomiel walked over to it, bow replaced onto her back and knife drawn. She began to prepare it as she walked to a rocky ledge.

Here she would build a fire, and roast her prize. Than she would continue again. She could make many more miles ere the night was old.

She placed the skinned rabbit onto the stone ledge. Crossing her right pinky quickly with her ring finger on the left hand, she wove a very light protection spell. It would be enough to ward off any normal predator or scavanger smaller than a warg. And if one of them, or something greater, wanted her rabbit, it could have it. It wasnt hard to get another.

Besides, she didnt think anything at all would bother it. She wouldnt be gone long. Just getting some wood for her fire, that was all. She gathered about four logs worth of wood, she didnt need much, it was a cooking fire after all. She got back to find the rabbit undisturbed, just slightly frosted over. It was bitter cold out here, she decided. She couldnt tell by her own senses.

She squated down and lay her logs into a bundle. She slid off her packs and reached into a pocket of the white one. A small tin container, similar to her spice jars but slightly larger, was what she had been looking for. It had a picture of a red hibiscus engraved into it. She wondered why she had made it red. All her other designs were in blue. It didnt match very well.

Not that it mattered. She snapped open the container with nimble fingers and removed a peice of its contents. Charcloth. She had enough for several days. She would make more when there was enough wood to keep a fire going for a while.

She laid the thin sheet of highly flmamable cloth onto a few twigs she had place in the center of the logs, and snapped her fingers briskly. Her elemental magic was nothing to boast about, she knew it needed work. But even she could produce a spark. It caught onto the Charcloth and in minutes there was a roaring fire on the ledge.

Elindomiel took out her highly compact cooking equipment out now and began to cook the rabbit. She would season and eat it on the curved plate that doubled as a bowl when there was need. As the rabbit roasted, she took out the above mentioned spice and thought about which ones she would use.

As soon as she finished with anything she put it away. This wasnt a sign that she was organized, it was purely practical. If she was attacked and had to run, she wanted to have as much put away as possible, as not to leave behind anything either for good or to get damaged.

The rabbit was starting to smell good. Now she had to wait.

It was the heavy shadow of midnight that covered her temporary camp when Elindomiel finally finished eating her rabbit. She then got up, packed whatever else she had not already put away, and started on her way without so much as a backward glance at the ledge. She had made many such temporary camps so far this trip and would make many more.

She was going south. She could tell. The snow was becoming less hard and permanent and was growing mushy in places. her boot poked through one area a few inches. This worried her. The snow was soft here... too soft. There was danger of avalanche. She decided to head downhill. It wasnt as if anything would happen, but this mountain made her uncomfertable.

:at least Im going the right direction this time: she thought, with an awkward look back at the time she wandered around in Rohan for days....

(OOC: Is ok if I join- no one else had posted you look lonely... :( If you dont want my charry in your story just tell me.)

Langeart was busy sleeping in his large but dark and dreary cave in the Misty Mountains. His large black body sleept atop his hoard that he murdered his own mother for. Langeart always wore his patchwork of mail coats aroud his breast for protection as if his scales weren't enough. He sighed a firey sigh, and some water began dripping from the cracks in the ceiling. Better not flood the place with melted snow... He was just about to get his fourth day of quality sleeping time when he felt a presence on the mountains. On his mountain. He woke up groggily and began to listen. Langeart happened to have great hearing, even for a dragon, and could hear someone singing and talking to themselves in elvish. "An elf!" he grunted, and decided to listen harder. He began to think to himself. I really haven't gotten out of this dank cave lately. Maybe I should come out and see what this elf is doing on MY mountain, and why he thinks that he can just come barging in at any moment and wake me up!! He let out a large snort of digust and became silent again to sleep a while longer, hoping the cursed elf would leave soon...

Sirevende shivered slightly. She had had no idea it would be this cold in the mountains. She had been travelling for five days now; she was going with as much haste as possible so that she would be able to get to old Eregion and back to Mirkwood within five weeks of meeting Liritariel, as she had said it would only be that long. How stupid she had been to say that. She had no idea where she was at the moment, and it was now much too dark to see the map she had brought with her without stopping to build a fire. She had been really stupid and hadn't looked at the map all day; she had just been blundering around, trying to find an easier pass than the ones she had already seen. She saw a cave up ahead and was too excited at the thought of shelter to notice another Elf travelling nearby. She began to run; she was cold and tired and possibly lost, and she was now heedless of danger. She just wanted to get to that cave.

Sirevende stopped abruptly in front of the cave and gasped: there was a huge creature already in it. It was hard to tell in the dark, but she thought it might be a dragon... but surely that was a crazy idea- no one had seen a dragon in years, least of all in this part of the Misty Mountains which were much farther south than the Iron Mountains and the Lonely Mountain, where Smaug had lived. She stepped backwards slowly, keeping her eyes on the huge thing and tripped over something, twisting her ankle and landing hard on the snow-covered ground. She let out a quick whimper, stifled as quickly as possible so as not to wake the sleeping thing in the cave. Sirevende curled up in a little ball and tried to figure out how to fix her ankle.

Langeart had been sleeping for another day or so. It didn't matter to him, time and days just melted into one. He slept, semi-subconciously aware that someone, or thing, was sobbing on his 'doorstep'. If he was hungry, he would have charreed it within seconds, but he had just eaten a whole company of horses a few weeks ago, and was still bloated. Light snow started outside, and soon erupted into a massive snowstorm. He could care less. As long as he wasn't disturbed he was fine. Sleeping was one of his favorite pasttimes and did it often, so the cold rarely bothered him. Plus, he was a dragon, and could keep his whole lair warm with just a breath, not to mention that he could just melt any snow that had blocked him in. The blizzard continued through the night.

Sirevende shivered in the snow-filled wind of a blizzard, still crouched on the ground. Her ankle was throbbing in pain, the wind was howling, and she was tired of feeling the wind of the mountains. Being an Elf, she did not get cold, but she could still feel the bite of the wind and the watery coldness of the snowflakes. If only she knew what was in the cave she would risk venturing in. One of her hands reached slowly up to the bow slung over her shoulder, just to make sure it was still there. She looked up and saw another figure walking down the mountainside. Usually, her Elven eyesight would have served her well in seeing the other person, but she was so tired and it was dark out. She was making up excuses for herself, she knew that, but there was no reason to do that anyway. She decided not to bother the other person; she didn't know if they would prove to be dangerous.

As the minutes passed slowly by, Sirevende's ankle throbbed harder in pain. She knew something was wrong, and she now had no choice but to get closer to the cave. She hobbled up, and, making a good deal of noise she couldn't help, walked over to the mouth of the cave. She wasn't going in, she was just going to rest against the stone of the mountainside. She sat down heavily and pulled her back onto her lap, rifling through it, looking for something to splint her ankle with. She saw the rose Liritariel had asked her to deliver and made sure it wasn't harmed. Then she pulled out some old clothes she hadn't worn in a while and wrapped them tightly around the ankle: it was all she could do. She pulled out the rest of her clothes and wrapped them around herself in an attempt to keep out the wind.

Langeart cantinued to sleep. and sleep. A little while later, he finally woke up. It was dark, but he couldn't tell from his cave. Ugh.. that stupid elf is still here! He tried to go to sleep again, but he couldn't. the stupid elf was ruining his sleep, and he wasn't abaout to let it get away with that! He sloly crawled out and stuck his head out of the nice, cozy, warm cave, and sure enough, there was an elf... he wondered what to do with it, and finally decided to just take it into his cave and keep it there until it died. He would have fun with it, sharing riddles and talking about strange lands. Of course, eventually he would get tired or hungry, whichever came first, and eat her. but not now. now she was his. he waited through the night for her to wake up. finally, she began to twitch and open her eyes.

Sirevende's eyes snapped open: she felt someone watching her. She could always tell when she was being watched or stared at, even in her sleep; if not, she would have died at the hands of the Orcs long ago. The sight that greeted her eyes was a terrifying one: a huge head. Even in the darkness and blowing of snow, Sirevende recognized what it was: a dragon. Her limbs froze up for a second, but then the courage of the Noldor grew strong within her. Yes, she was wounded, and no, it hadn't attacked her (yet), but she did not know what it was going to do to her. She stood up, her ankle suddenly hurting her again, but she did not falter. She drew her sword and faced the dragon, leaning slightly against the rock so that there would not be so much weight on her ankle.

"What do you want?" Sirevende asked the dragon, almost without fear. She was brave, but she wasn't stupid: she knew it could kill her in two seconds if she got it angry. She hadn't seen dragons breathe fire, but she'd heard the stories of the Lonely Mountain and Smaug's attack. She kept her sword in her hands, but it was lowered in what she hoped was a non-aggressive position.

(OOC: you do know that even though I am an dragon that you can't kill me!!! Bwahaha!)

It's up.... Langeart stared at her, just to have some fun and terrify her. He could see her trembling, as if he was going to charr her any second. SHe had apparently hurt her ankle. The elf finally spoke and asked him what he wanted with her.
"Just some company... No one bothers to visit me anymore... no, they're all undore about Smaug.. oh, Smaug did this and Smaug did that... Hmph! You do know that I could just kill you now, if I wanted to. I see in your eyes that you fear me, and that fear alone will keep you from running away." He looked at her ankle. "Also, that ankle might give you some trouble, would it not? Yes, I see the fear in your eyes. Your sword trembles in your hands. You shouldn't fool yourself, you know... you have as much chance getting out of here as an Orc living in the Forest! Lay down your weapons, as you are in no condition to fight." The sword slid out of her hands and landed with a clang on the cold stone floor. "Come, sit by the fire. We shall talk." Langeart motioned toward the blazing flame behind her and started approaching it, making sure the elf followed.

((OOC(you can't make my sword fall out of my hands cause that is basically god-moding, which we don't allow on this board. it's like i can't kill you because that would be god-moding too. also, Sirevende's not supposed to be trembling- she's very brave, you know. can you change your post before i reply?)))

(OOC: sorry! I forgot to log in! if you cant guess that was me... :D )

((OOC(thanks)))

Sirevende eyed the dragon suspiciously as it went back into its cave. She glanced down at her ankle, weighing her chances. The dragon had spoken true: the ankle would be a hindrance if she tried to run, especially in the snow. She could try to fight it, but that would just be stupid- it would set her aflame in less than a second if she tried using her sword. If she went into the cave, there was a chance she wouldn't come back out. Death was eyeing her from every direction. But if the dragon really wanted to kill her, it would have done it now, she thought. And if it falls asleep, I can get away.

Sirevende sheathed her sword slowly and followed the dragon into the cave. She sat down by the fire and undid the clothes around her ankle to examine it better. It was red and swollen, and it really did hurt. She searched her bag again, looking for something stronger than cloth to splint it with. Then she did something that was totally against her character: she asked the enemy for help. "Do you have anything I could splint my ankle with?" she asked the dragon, looking into the fire. She had learned from the story of Turin Turambar that the last thing you wanted to do was look a dragon in the eye- it made it easier for him to put a spell on you. Her voice was strong, though, and she would just deal with it if there was no wood or anything around. She was a Noldo, she was strong. She waited for the dragon's reply a bit apprehensively, but her relaxed body showed no signs of her small fear. She had a plan.

Langeart pulled a flaming piece of wood out of the fire. He held it in his claws saying, " For a splint? Nothing, save this." He stuck out the flaming wood at her. It was almost disintegrated. It cam a little too close to her and singed a clump of hair. "Sorry about that." Langeart half-heartedly replied. He could care less about her hair, he just didn't wan't the elf to think he was going to kill or hurt her. He went back to the fire and motioned for the elf to come and sit down across from him. " Come and talk. You should have at least one interesting story..." he looked in her direction and she immedeatly turned her head away. " You don't have to look in my eyes, but at least you could look at me." He turned back to the fire. "So, what is your name?" he questioned. " I cannot keep calling you "hey you" or "elf" all of the time."

((OOC(you kinda did that god-moding thing again: ...she immedeatly turned her head away... but i'm too tired to worry about it for now- you don't have to change your post or anything, i don't really care this time (cause that's what i would have posted anyway). just try not to do it again, ok?)))

Sirevende beat out the embers in her long black hair and moved to where the dragon wanted her to. There was no point in making it angry, and sliding across the floor wouldn't hurt her ankle any more than it was hurting now. Though she was a bit irritated by the dragon's- sense of humor, as it seemed. Offering her a flaming log as a splint was not something that endeared it to her. She didn't really care about the hair because it got so dirty and messed up on a normal basis, but she still didn't like how the dragon had used that- sarcasm, she would call it on a normal basis. Because of this, and because she wanted to make sure it wouldn't be able to catch her gaze in its, she stared at one of the dragon's claws. She was looking at it now, after all.

Not entirely trusting the dragon and wondering if using her name it could do something to her with its magic, she translated it into Sindarin before speaking. "My name is Duinwen," Sirevende said calmly. When translated into the Common Tongue, Duinwen and Sirevende had the same meaning anyway, so it wasn't truly a lie. She said nothing else and rubbed her ankle. She stretched her leg out and turned it so that her ankle would lie flat on the floor. Ooh, that felt good, she thought as she stretched the ankle. At least it wasn't broken. Twisted or sprained, maybe, but not broken. It would heal soon enough. It would not get in the way of her plan as long as it wasn't broken.

Suddenly her rashness was awakened, and having little fear (or prudence, at the moment), she said, "What is your name? I have given you mine, and as you pointed out, it would be rude to call you 'hey you' or 'dragon." She spoke the words before thinking their potential impact through carefully, but as she had decided before, if the dragon really wanted to harm her, it would have done so long ago.

(OOC: Jeez i keep doing that- oh well)

"Duinwen... hmm. that is... uncommon." He turned around in circles to find the right place to sleep, then layed down and sighed. "Hmph.. I am tired. But i supose that I will stay awake for the time being. Oh, yes, my name! Its Langeart." He sighed again.

(OOC: sorry! i left that completley un-open to post here is my addition)

He stared Duinwen in the eyes for a second, as if analyzing her. Finally he asked, " So where does such an interesting name come from?"

Sirevende kept staring at Langeart's claw; the flames of the fire sort of blocked her view, and soon she found herself staring into the fire. Flames had always fascinated her- the way the bottoms of them were bluish and so transparent, and then they became orange, then yellow... they were beautiful.

She wondered how often dragons slept, though. Her plan should work, but not this soon. Her ankle was still bothering her a lot. She flexed it and a sharp pain ran up her leg. She winced slightly and almost let out a small whimper, but her pride wouldn't let her: never show your enemy fear or your weakness. That was one way she had managed to survive. If the enemy knew your fears or weakness, he could use them to his advantage. She strectched the swollen ankle again and the pain diminished- there was no way she would be able to enact her plan properly with her ankle demanding this stretched out position, as she wouldn't be able to put any weight on it. She would be walking on the very tip of her toes if she tried.

She began to grow a little alarmed: how often did dragons go to sleep anyway? From what she had heard about Glaurung from the story of Turin Turambar, not often. Glaurung had always seemed to be around and awake. She didn't let the fear show on her face. She didn't let herself ask a question about it either, or Langeart might guess her plan. She looked at the dragon's shoulder now, breifly, and then back at his claw.

"What do you really want with me?" she asked impudently. She knew it was rash, but she was really annoyed now- if the dragon hadn't been there, she wouldn't have sprained her ankle. Even if she had, she wouldn't be forced to wait indefinitely to escape because there would be no need to escape. She had to get to Eregion soon or she wouldn't be able to get back to Mirkwood by the time she had told Liritariel she would. Her face remained expressionless, though; showing no emotion in the face of an enemy had often proved the best course in her experience.

Again, Langeart let out a firey sigh. "What do I want with you? I told you! And that is exactly what I intend to do..... more or less..." He looked down the short, wide tunnel that was is entranceway and saw that it was quickly being blocked up with snow. Oh well.... he thought. I can always just melt it down again... But wait! Do I? That tunnel is the only way out of this cave, and by the time I finally get to sleep that should be well blocked up if the snow contines.... Oh Whatever! I really should stop thinking so much! Just let things happen! What I really He stopped thinking as he had forgotten about Duinwen, and that she might be getting bored with him just sitting there mumbling and thinking to himself. So, he decided to try and talk to her and get her to tell him some good stories. "Duinwen is an interesting name... I am sure there is a meaning and a story behind such a name."

Sirevende also noticed that the tunnel out of the cave was being blocked up... this would be a problem harder to solve than her ankle. But perhaps it would work to her advantage... if the tunnel was blocked up, he might just think she had gone farther back into the cave... it might still work, if only her ankle would mend itself quickly.

She could tell the dragon was thinking, and she was trying to study his face without looking into his eyes; but reading others' moods had never been a strong point of hers. She was a bit surprised when Langeart spoke again, as he hadn't seemed to her the talking sort. But maybe he really did want company... a little sympathy grew in her heart for him. She had gotten really lonely at times on her expeditions through Mirkwood. But she hardened her heart against that feeling. She would still be on her way to her old home if it hadn't been for him.

"Duinwen means river-maiden. No story behind it at all." Sirevende spoke shortly as she was tired, but then she continued. "I suppose it's not the most common of names, but it suits me fine." She had never really lived near rivers, but she did like them. She supposed her parents had liked them too, but they had left her in Eregion when she was young- tired of Middle-Earth, they had sailed away. That was when she really grew close to Celebrimbor. Her small home had been right next to his... maybe once she got to Eregion she could find the old site of Ost-in-Edhil, and maybe she could find remains of their houses...

Sirevende's eyes softened as she remembered the old city, before Sauron had come and taught Celebrimbor and the other of the Mirdain. It had been a wonderful place, and she missed it. She could still see Celebrimbor's smiling face. Aren't you over it? she asked herself. You just had that talk with Galadriel; you should be able to think of him without that pain. But would she ever be able to? He had been the only one who had always been there for her. And she had always been there for him, until the end. Yes, she would have died as well if she'd gone back and not heeded his words, but better to die with him than live alone without him. He was her brother, and her heart ached now... she tried to shut out her thoughts and memories. She would start crying in the face of the enemy if she didn't.

"No story?? I am sorry to hear that! Even my name has story... but more importantly meaning. I could spend hours telling you stories about my life but what would be the point, as I already know them?! No, I want to listen to your stories. Not personal if you don't want to tell them, but maybe elven folk tales - if there is such a thing. I really don't get out much." He chuckled at himself for being overly-conversational and non-threatening-like.

Sirevende really had been wrong when she'd thought Langeart would be the quiet type. She would oblige him, and at least pretend to enjoy telling the story so he would think she didn't mind being stuck in a cave. The irony was that she'd been trying to get into the cave earlier- before spraining her ankle- and now that she was inside, all she wanted was to get out!

She certainly would not be telling any personal stories, though. If she did, it would mean at least a cracked voice at the end; it might even result in tears, though they wouldn't be as hard as they had been with Luinye... what had happened to Luinye anyway? She'd just kind of- disappeared when Liritariel showed up. She hoped she was okay. Somehow she must have known Celebrimbor... maybe she was one of his distant kin or something. She hadn't really looked like Celebrimbor at all, but she was a Noldo. Not that that meant much, though.

Stories... what story do I want to tell this dragon? she asked herself. She knew she was taking a long time to reply, but this took consideration. She stared into the flames again and thought about the lore she knew. Did the flames in Gondolin look like the ones in this fire? Probably, but a lot bigger... perhaps she could tell the story of the Fall of Gondolin... yes, that one. She could start with a little background on Aredhel, Eol and Maeglin, then Turgon and Idril, and Tuor... this would be fun. But how much detail did Langeart want?

"I'm going to tell of the Fall of Gondolin in the First Age. How much detail do you want me to include?" she asked politely. If Langeart liked her, he might let her go without having to employ her plan after she satisfied his need for company... so she was trying to be nice. It would be hard, as he was the enemy, and dragons were typically not trustworthy, but she had to try.

"Gondolin... never heard that one, but then, I haven't really heard any interesting stories... Detail? As much as you feel like as long as the story is good and long."

"Okay," Sirevende replied. Then she started the story:

"Long ago there was an Elven king named Turgon. He was son of Fingolfin, who was son of Finwe, who was high king of the Noldor. Turgon's brother was Fingon and their sister was Aredhel. These three, with their father, left Valinor in Feanor's revolt. Turgon came to be king of a country called Nevrast, at first. But seeking a safe, strong place for his people, he searched for many years. He then found the vale of Tumladen in the Encircling Mountains and there built the hidden city of Gondolin. He moved his people there in secret, and Aredhel went with him. Fingon stayed in Hithlum with their father, though.

Many years passed, and Aredhel grew restless in Gondolin. She finally asked her brother if she could leave to visit Fingon, and he reluctantly gave her permission. But she did not go to Hithlum but instead to visit Celegorm and Curufin, sons of Feanor and her cousins. But they were on a hunting trip, and so she waited for them to return. One day she went far into the woods and became lost, but an Elf, Eol, found her and treated her hospitably, and he took her for his wife.

They had one son, Maeglin, and one day when Eol was visiting the Dwarves- for he very much liked smithcraft and shared many interests with that people- Maeglin persuaded Aredhel to take him to her old home, Gondolin. She agreed and they made their way there, but Eol followed them.

Maeglin was astounded by the granduer of Gondolin, but most by Turgon's daughter and his cousin, Idril. She was beautiful and he loved her, but kept it secret.

Meanwhile, Eol came into Gondolin and was brought before Turgon. The king gave him two choices: to stay and live in Gondolin or to die, for Turgon would not risk Eol giving away his kingdom's location. Eol took up his spear, saying he would take the second choice, as would his son, and he flung the spear at Maeglin, but Aredhel jumped in its way and it hit her in the shoulder. But the point was poisoned, and she died that night. The next day Eol was thrown from a high cliff as an execution, but before that happened he laid a curse on his son: "May all that you do here come to naught, and may you yet die the same death as I."

And so it came to pass that Maeglin stayed and lived in Gondolin, and he was industrious and brave in battle and won the repsect of all, but there was one thing he desired most and could not have: Idril. And so Maeglin lived for many many years.

Now a few hundred years after Maeglin came to Gondolin, and certain Tuor, son of Huor, came to the city as well. He was human, but had been sent by the Lord Ulmo himself. He brought messages to Turgon, and then stayed in the city. He and Idril fell in love, and Turgon let them be married. This made Maeglin jealous, of course, but he could say nothing. But one day he was working in his mines, for he had similar interests to his father's, and he strayed beyond the leaguer of the Encircling Mountians and was taken by the enemy. To save his life, he told where Gondolin was located, and was also promised that he could have Idril for his wife; this proposal made his treachery easier.

And so it came to pass that when all the city was waiting for the sun to rise on the Gates of Summer, I believe, that Morgoth's forces came into the valley and destroyed the city. Balrogs, Orcs, other fell beasts came and fought and killed many Elves of that city. Turgon fell in defense of the wall, and Ecthelion slew Gothmog Lord of Balrogs but was slain in the process, and many other brave Noldor.

Idril had feared something like this, and so had prepared a secret path through the mountains, and she and Tuor led their son Earendil and as many others as they could find through the mountains. Maeglin came after them and tried to capture Idril and Earendil, but Tuor fought him and Maeglin was cast from the mountain, indeed dying as his father had. Also in the mountains Glorfindel slew a Balrog and fell as well. But the rest escaped and made their way down to Tasarinan and eventually the mouths of Sirion.

That is how it came to pass that the last safe city of the Noldor fell at the hands of Morgoth. More years passed, and Earendil made it to Valinor asking for the help of the Valar. They granted it, and Morgoth was overthrown."

Sirevende sighed; "Had Maeglin not betrayed the city to Morgoth, things might have gone differently," she said heavily. She realized her ankle was feeling much better by now, but the entrance of the cave was still blocked up by snow.

((OOC: i an so0o0o0o sorry that i haven't posted in umm, a month ^^;; i just kindof didn't know what to write. So here it is. hope its okay.))

While listening to the elf tell her wonderful story, Langeart was consumed in thought, almost not listening to the story.

"Hmm... great story...." he mumbled thoughtlessly.

Was it sheer concidence that Duinwen told a story that kind of paralled his own? Or did she know something about him? He doubted it... After all, probably nine out of ten people probably didn't know that he existed, much less his history.... But she seemed well versed in stories an lore..... not like he was in any of them But is though.

What was happening to him? His eyes began to feel large and watery. What was this new feeling? Was it *gasp* compassion? Or perhaps regret for murdering his mother? He shook his head and blinked alot.

Oh, great. he thought. Now look what you have gotten yourself into! Langeart often liked to talk and think to himself in the second person. I guess he had lived by himself for such a long time that he just needed someone to talk to. He is not a schitzo though. I think.

Anyways.....

Now she probably thinks your some fat dragon that can't kill anyhting to save his life! Not that anything is probably worth saving your life at this point, you fat, old, sorry excuse for a dragon! You might as well kill her just to get rid of her. And the the yummy crunch......

He smiled a sly smile. One that you knew when you looked at that the smiler was up to no good. He was still ebating to keep her here and have her tell more stories, eat her just for the heck of it, or let her go. She would probably die either way, most certainly the second. He was ruling that out though. Slowly, but he began to narrow his choices.

He thought he heard Duinwen start to speak.

"Hmmmmph?" he replied questioningly, as if to ask what she was saying.

Sirevende watched mournfully as Langeart seemed to be thinking hard about something. Mournfully because of the story, not because she felt sorry for him. He certainly didn't seem to notice anything she was doing. She edged around the fire a bit, towards the front of the cave.

Then Langeart made a humphing noise and she relaxed into a natural position, and it looked real; it looked like she'd been there the whole time. She was good at making everything she did look perfectly ordinary and natural no matter who or what saw or caught her. Her ankle twinged and she reached down her leg to rub it.

Raising her eyebrows at the dragon, she asked, "What?" in an almost contemptuous voice in reply to the sound he made. "I didn't say anything after I finished the story."