Title: "Those Who Speak With Voices"
Author: A Rivendell Commoner
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I do not own "The Lord of the Rings," and I am making no money off this.
Summary: The Elves are renknowned throughout Arda for their amazing voices. But what of an Elf who has none? She learns to express herself in a different way. R/R
A/N: Thanks to my muse, and also to Kaiti for being my beta ^_^
~ * ~ * ~* ~ * ~
I am of a race who call themselves the "Quendi"... "Those who speak with voices."
But I am different. Iluvatar did not see fit to give me a voice with which to speak. I watch with envy as my sisters sing the old tales and recite ancient poems at the festivals. The boy Elves only seem to like girl Elves with pretty voices.
Often I hear my eldest sister talking to Amme* as they pick flowers for our table. I sigh, wishing I could speak my wishes and fears aloud. Writing them in my very secret diary is comforting, but somehow it is not enough. So I draw. If I can't tell what I see and feel, I'll show them.
I draw and paint many things; visiting and resident Elf lords, the weary travelers who seek refuge in the Last Homely House, the gardens, my family.
Today, I listen as the other Elflings laugh and tell each other jokes, playing together in the magnificent gardens of Imladris. I sit apart, around the trail bend from the others. No one would want to play with me, the youngest of my elder sisters, Galawen, says. Alone, I draw a picture with the colors I bought. 'I used my own money that I earned grooming ponies to get them,' I think proudly to myself.
Suddenly, Lord Elladan or Lord Elrohir (truth be told I have a hard time telling them apart) rounds the bend in the trail. He stops before me, "Good afternoon, young miss," says he.
I hurriedly bow to the Elf lord, then hastily scribble an apology on my writing-board for not addressing him properly. "I'm sorry, Milord, but I cannot speak."
He nods as if he already knew this. "'Tis a lovely day." I nod. "Why aren't you off playing?" he asks.
I look down at the ground.
As though he can read my mind, he comments, "You seem like such a nice young lady. I'm sure they'll let you play."
"That's not what my sister says," I write.
Elladan smiles. "Mayhap your sister is wrong."
I smile back. I like that idea.
He turns his eyes to my artist's tools. "What are you drawing?" he asks pleasently.
I panic and slam shut my drawing book, writing "'Tis nothing, Milord."
"Nothing?" He raises an eyebrow incredulously. "You were working very hard on *something,* else I would not have surprised you so. Please, may I see?"
I shake my head.
"Silly little Elf-child, let me take a look."
What can I do? I give the book to him.
As he flips through the pages, his eyes widen in surprise. I stand there, wringing my hands, fearful of his anger. "Silly little Elf-child," he repeats, astonishment in his voice, "these are wonderful!"
I blink, startled. I do not know what to think.
"'Tis nothing'?" he laughs. "The young lady must be mad." He is looking at the one I just finished. The arrival a month ago of King Thranduil and Prince Legolas from Greenwood. "If you keep practicing, your paintings could be hung in our halls ... May I keep this? I would very much like to show it to Prince Legolas."
I still know not how to respond, but I am greatly honored. "Thank you, Milord."
"Elladan! ELLADAN!! You stupid nift!! There you are!" his twin brother calls as he storms into the clearing. "Excuse me, miss," he says quickly to me. "Elladan! You were supposed to be at the meeting an hour ago!"
"What!? That is today?!"
Lord Elrohir nods incredulously. "Farewell!" Lord Elladan yells over his shoulder as he runs off towards the house. Lord Elrohir just shakes his head.
"Farewell, miss," he bids me and goes off after his brother.
Suddenly, it doesn't matter that I can't sing or tell the ancient tales. Lord Elladan has given me something to be proud of and work for. I promise myself I would paint the stories for the lord of Imladris one day.
I scoop up my belongings and race home. Setting my things up on our porch, I begin a new drawing, this one of the twin sons of Lord Elrond.
~ * ~
My sisters and Amme come home a few hours later. The picture is almost done.
Galawen comes to fetch me to dinner. She sees the portraits and laughs. "Why do you waste your time? Your pictures are terrible!"
On my board, I scrawl, "That is not what Lord Elladan said!"
"Lord Elladan?" she scoffs. "When did he ever talk to *you*?"
"This morning. He said that I draw well. He even kept one of them!"
Her eyes narrow as she reads it. She leaves without saying another word. Galawen refuses to speak or even look at me for the rest of the evening.
I grin, knowing she is simply jealous Lord Elladan never spoke to her in such a friendly manner.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
*A/N: Elvish for "Mother." Sorry for the lack of accents, my comp turns them into really weird symbols.
Author: A Rivendell Commoner
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I do not own "The Lord of the Rings," and I am making no money off this.
Summary: The Elves are renknowned throughout Arda for their amazing voices. But what of an Elf who has none? She learns to express herself in a different way. R/R
A/N: Thanks to my muse, and also to Kaiti for being my beta ^_^
~ * ~ * ~* ~ * ~
I am of a race who call themselves the "Quendi"... "Those who speak with voices."
But I am different. Iluvatar did not see fit to give me a voice with which to speak. I watch with envy as my sisters sing the old tales and recite ancient poems at the festivals. The boy Elves only seem to like girl Elves with pretty voices.
Often I hear my eldest sister talking to Amme* as they pick flowers for our table. I sigh, wishing I could speak my wishes and fears aloud. Writing them in my very secret diary is comforting, but somehow it is not enough. So I draw. If I can't tell what I see and feel, I'll show them.
I draw and paint many things; visiting and resident Elf lords, the weary travelers who seek refuge in the Last Homely House, the gardens, my family.
Today, I listen as the other Elflings laugh and tell each other jokes, playing together in the magnificent gardens of Imladris. I sit apart, around the trail bend from the others. No one would want to play with me, the youngest of my elder sisters, Galawen, says. Alone, I draw a picture with the colors I bought. 'I used my own money that I earned grooming ponies to get them,' I think proudly to myself.
Suddenly, Lord Elladan or Lord Elrohir (truth be told I have a hard time telling them apart) rounds the bend in the trail. He stops before me, "Good afternoon, young miss," says he.
I hurriedly bow to the Elf lord, then hastily scribble an apology on my writing-board for not addressing him properly. "I'm sorry, Milord, but I cannot speak."
He nods as if he already knew this. "'Tis a lovely day." I nod. "Why aren't you off playing?" he asks.
I look down at the ground.
As though he can read my mind, he comments, "You seem like such a nice young lady. I'm sure they'll let you play."
"That's not what my sister says," I write.
Elladan smiles. "Mayhap your sister is wrong."
I smile back. I like that idea.
He turns his eyes to my artist's tools. "What are you drawing?" he asks pleasently.
I panic and slam shut my drawing book, writing "'Tis nothing, Milord."
"Nothing?" He raises an eyebrow incredulously. "You were working very hard on *something,* else I would not have surprised you so. Please, may I see?"
I shake my head.
"Silly little Elf-child, let me take a look."
What can I do? I give the book to him.
As he flips through the pages, his eyes widen in surprise. I stand there, wringing my hands, fearful of his anger. "Silly little Elf-child," he repeats, astonishment in his voice, "these are wonderful!"
I blink, startled. I do not know what to think.
"'Tis nothing'?" he laughs. "The young lady must be mad." He is looking at the one I just finished. The arrival a month ago of King Thranduil and Prince Legolas from Greenwood. "If you keep practicing, your paintings could be hung in our halls ... May I keep this? I would very much like to show it to Prince Legolas."
I still know not how to respond, but I am greatly honored. "Thank you, Milord."
"Elladan! ELLADAN!! You stupid nift!! There you are!" his twin brother calls as he storms into the clearing. "Excuse me, miss," he says quickly to me. "Elladan! You were supposed to be at the meeting an hour ago!"
"What!? That is today?!"
Lord Elrohir nods incredulously. "Farewell!" Lord Elladan yells over his shoulder as he runs off towards the house. Lord Elrohir just shakes his head.
"Farewell, miss," he bids me and goes off after his brother.
Suddenly, it doesn't matter that I can't sing or tell the ancient tales. Lord Elladan has given me something to be proud of and work for. I promise myself I would paint the stories for the lord of Imladris one day.
I scoop up my belongings and race home. Setting my things up on our porch, I begin a new drawing, this one of the twin sons of Lord Elrond.
~ * ~
My sisters and Amme come home a few hours later. The picture is almost done.
Galawen comes to fetch me to dinner. She sees the portraits and laughs. "Why do you waste your time? Your pictures are terrible!"
On my board, I scrawl, "That is not what Lord Elladan said!"
"Lord Elladan?" she scoffs. "When did he ever talk to *you*?"
"This morning. He said that I draw well. He even kept one of them!"
Her eyes narrow as she reads it. She leaves without saying another word. Galawen refuses to speak or even look at me for the rest of the evening.
I grin, knowing she is simply jealous Lord Elladan never spoke to her in such a friendly manner.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
*A/N: Elvish for "Mother." Sorry for the lack of accents, my comp turns them into really weird symbols.