Level Two
W/Rope & Rusty Dagger
With the elven rope safely secured around her body Durien carefully exited the small chamber on the far side, where yet another set of dark dimly stairs led downwards. She followed where they led, albeit cautiously, uncertain of what lay in store for her at the bottom. Finding the floor of the second dungeon with a small booted foot, she paused, waiting in silence for her to eyes to work out the shape of the room in the darkness. When her emerald eyes finally fell upon the form of a wolf lying the midst of the room, chewing on something. No, not a wolf, she realized as she hesitatingly stepped forward to see better. Although currently the size of a normal wolf, she could see by the occasional flash of white teeth that the creature was barely more than a pup. It was a warg, one of the great wolves of the north, also known as direwolves in the legends of the people of the very far north, of the lands covered in the great ice. Although they maintained their own free wills, they tended to side almost exclusively with orcs and goblins, even permitting them to ride them. Malevolent in nature and in possession of some wits, they often plotted and planned on their own. In all her long years, Durien had never tried to reason with one, or befriend one, but she felt so much pity for the beautiful gray creature who's great head bent in her direction now that she wondered if it was possible.
Swallowing hard, the elleth tried to think hard of something to say to the warg. The elves easily made and retained friendships with many living creatures - they rode horses without bit or bridle, and knew the languages of many birds. Suddenly, she wondered why none of the elves she knew had ever tried to communicate with a warg? As she thought about it, it occurred to her that perhaps Wargs had little choice in which side they fought on. She reasoned it like this: Draugluin, the great were-wolf who had sired the were-wolves of Sauron, and his son Carcharoth had terrorized Morgoth's foes for centuries, until the hound Huan had slain them both in turn. Even Sauron himself had taken wolf form when he walked abroad, and his hounds were descended from those same were-wolves. Although wargs were not were-wolves, with imprisoned spirits residing in wolf forms, it was difficult to tell them apart. Therefore both were hunted by men and elves alike, unfortunately resulting in the creation of a great animosity. Small wonder, then, that the wargs sided with the orcs on many occasions.
Still, the pup was too young to have learned so deep a hatred for either elder or edain, and could perhaps be reasonable. "You are a beautiful one." Durien said at last, truth ringing from her words. "The silver in your fur reminds me of the streams of mithril running through the mines of Moria." She sighed, ignoring the slightest baring of teeth at the mention of Moria. Wargs had no love for dwarves either, particularly after they, and Gandalf, had insulted one of the great pack leaders half a century ago . "Have you ever seen Mithril? It gleams like your fur in the moonlight and is one of the rarest, most valuable and most beautiful metals of Middle Earth. I wonder how your fur would shimmer in the moonlight as you ran free? How I wish I could see you then, nose in the fresh wind as you sniff out a stag in the moonlight, rather than here, in the dim light of this dungeon, this prison." She kept her voice wistful, which wasn't hard at all since she did greatly desire to see such a sight, as she spoke the warg. The pup cocked her head sideways and snuffed once at her words. Durien took that as a sign to continue.
"I could take you there you know. Or even to the great ice in the north, where you could live in freedom. There would be on orcs wanting to ride you, nor great numbers of elves and men to hunt you. Great stags now live there, and game is plenty along the edges of the ice." The pup still gazed at her. "There are smaller wolves there who build cozy dens of snow and raise their pups in peace. They are not as intelligent as you are and would eagerly follow your lead. You could have a pack of your own." A soft whuffling noise distracted her. The pup lay the object she had been chewing on to the side and lay her head on her paws, her golden eyes blinking at her as if to go on. "Would you like to hear a song about the White Fang, the great white wolf of the north and his kin?" Durien asked as she moved along the wall until she was opposite, and just out of range of, the warg. She slid her back down against the wall until she was seated, resting across from those golden eyes. There was no response, other than the brief twitch of an ear. Taking that as a sign to continue on, she started to sing in her native tongue, Sindarin.
Although she seldom sang as often as many of her kin did, her voice was hauntingly beautiful. She had not the range of her peers, but instead sang in the low mournful yet somehow comforting tone that rendered slow sad songs hauntingly, mesmerically so. When she ended in silence, the warg whined at her. "I think you need a name and since you cannot tell me yours, I shall have to create one for you." Another cocked head and wolfy grin. "Alright, how do you like Mithien?" Teeth bared and a growl ensued. Durien chuckled. "No then. How about Grayfang?" The growl turned into a howl of displeasure. The elleth covered her ears as she laughed. "Alright, alright, I get your point! Not Grayfang." She mused, thinking harder. "Celcharian?" The wolf immediately bounded over and gave the side of her face a good lick. Durien initally froze in response, the wolf faster than her reflexes since at some point during her song she had relaxed more than she thought and let down her guard. A second later, she had put a good twelve paces between them, grateful she was still in one piece. The warg whined and her tail tucked between her legs, but she stayed where she was.
Durien felt bad and approached the warg. "I'm sorry, you startled me is all." She held out her hand for the warg to sniff. Celcharian did so, then pushed the top of her head underneath the hand, begging for a scratch behind the ears. Durien obligingly complied, the thrill of touch a wild creature, of some intelligence, whose kindred were natural enemies of her own overwhelmed her. The thick silver and ebony fur was even softer and more luxurious than she had imagined, and she almost wanted to bury her face in it. She scratched the ears, then eventually the neck and tummy when the warg rolled over and begged for it, for some time before she laughed and back up once more. "I could stay here and pet you all day, but I need to move on." Durien paused, remembering her promise to take the Warg north to the ice. "Would you like to come with me?" Celcharian immediately rose to her paws, following Durien as she prepared to leave.
"Oh, you forgot your chew toy!" Durien pointed toward the thing left laying in the middle of the floor. Celcharian bounded over to it, picked up between her teeth and brought it back, dropping it on her boots before sitting back on her haunches. The raven haired elleth bent down to retrieve her present, gingerly lifting it between her forefinger and thumb as warg drool slid off of what appeared to be a rusty dagger. "Thank you." She commented only a bit dryly. Although she didn't need the warg drool, she was without a weapon and it might come in handy later. She turned to go once more, and Celcharian moved with her, but a sudden thought stopped her and made her turn to the warg once more. "Perhaps I should put this rope around your neck. That way if we get caught by orcs or goblins and something happens to me, they will think I am stealing you and not take it out on you." The warg growled at the mention of something happening to her, but pushed her nose against the rope as if to say it was a great idea. Loosely knotting one end of the elven rope, she formed a loop, which she slid over the warg's head. She held onto the free end. "Ready?" Although it was she who asked the question, the half-grown warg stepped forward as if to lead the way.