No one noticed.
" They were three." She had said. But it was not those words that held all present in a seemingly transxified state. No. It was the vision put forth by the Lyoness' mind that held them thus. Especially the oldest among the eldar...and Mithrandir.
" They were three." She repeated. "And as they drew closer, we could not help the collective gasp that arose from us, as evidence of our surprise. Yet any further reaction we might have had was quelled, for at that moment the figure in the middle suddently stumbled, then fell with a pitious cry.
It was the cry of a female voice. And it carried the sound of untold suffering to our ears. It was a cry the Be-D'uin had come to know only too well over the course of the last bitter year. And so, even though we dared not relax our cautiousness, we still went forth to meet these strangers, in order to offer what aid we could. We reached them just as one of the other figures -the tallest male any of us had ever seen- bent down to gently scoop the now-quietly sobbing female in his arms. Thus, it was the remaining male who turned to face our party.
" Alert your elders and Shieks." He said " For it is time to hold the D'uin-Al-Lajim."
Again, we were astounded. Not only had this stranger just spoken to us in our own tongue, but he had called for a gathering of our highest council. The name of which, was not known to anyone, outside of our tribes. He then looked at us, waiting. And suddently, we found ourselves bereft of the will to do anything but obediently comply. And so we dispatched a runner ahead of us, before we made our way back, with the strangers in tow.
Upon our arrival, a chorus of murmurs followed in our wake, even as we now found ourselves following the strangers, who were confidently walking right towards the huge, open-sided tent at the very center of the camp. Once there, the tall one gently lowered the female upon a pile of resting cushions, where she seemed to curl into herself with a sigh. Then, the two males went to stand before the hastily-gathered council and respectfully inclined their heads, before the one who had previously spoken to our group once again stepped to the fore.
" You are a long way from the heart of the desert, children of the sand. Though well we know the reason." He said. and in his voice, we heard the sound of the ages.
" The darkness that has driven you from your home comes from an evil that threatens all the lands." He continued " Thus, in this time of doom, we come to you with counsel. And though by the manner of our arrival it appears not, we also come with aid."
As he finished speaking those words, his hand undid the ornate clasp that hel his dust-covered cloak in place. Then, with a flourish, he drew it away from his body, letting it flutter to the ground and exposing a robe of the same color as the sea that crashed ashore behind us.
" I am Pallando." He announced.
As one, our widened eyes then turned towards the tall male, whose own gaze was stern, but kind, as he nodded, almost imperceptively. " And I am Alatar." was all he said, as he removed his own cloak to reveal a robe identical to that of his companion.
There was no lie in their words, for as they uttered them, a radiance seemed to exude from their bodies. A radiance that gave us a momentary sense of their immense power. But a glimpse it was, yet enough to drive those of us still standing, down to our knees.
Pallando...Alatar...
The Blue Istary.
In the shocked silence that followed, we all recalled the lore passed down from our ancestors. For these to beings were legend in the land of Harad. It was said that they hailed from a mythical place, far beyond the Western shores of Arda. Sons of the gods, they were to us and thus, gods themselves. Though they had walked in our lands under the guise of elder wizards, always clad in robes of the same color as the deep, blue sea...exactly as they now appeared.
They had first come when Harad was but a budding civilization. It was from them that our ancestors learned the arts of writing, of governance, of numbers, of medicine. Priceless, were the gifts they bestowed upon the Haradrim. And after they were given, these two gods took their leave, never to be seen again. Yet they had not been forgotten. Their names ever spoken with utmost reverence by each succeeding generation...
And it was reverence we now showed them as all of us, led by our Shieks and elders, bent forward to touch our foreheads to the ground. But the one called Pallando bid us cease, calling for us to hearken to him instead, for there was no time to waste. A horde of orcs and wargs were amassing beyond the dunes, he said, and would attack our camp, in but two days time.
This news wrought from us fearful cries. Cries that were, nevertheless, underlined with resignation. For in truth, we had already known that an attack would most likely come before the barges we needed to take to the sea were readied. Yet we had tried to cling to a sliver of hope, feverishly continuing with our labors, because there had been nothing else we could do. But now even that remnant deserted us, crushed by the force of our worse fears, confirmed. For one horrible moment we teetered at the edge of a monstrous dark maw that promised to devour us. But then Pallando and Alatar were there, pulling us back, telling us that survival was still possible, reminding us that we no longer stood alone against the forces of evil.
Aye. Our ancient gods had returned, with their own promise. A promise of deliverance, of salvation. But, as we learned that day, it was a salvation that would demand a horrible sacrifice. Not only from the Be-D'uin, but also from...
Her.
TBC...