AN: Tra la la la la la. Okay, what to say? Um, this is definitely more
movie-based, with some stuff from the books, but then again, I wouldn't
really know what was in the books since I never read them. Not that I
became a fan after the movies came out, I just never cared for the
linguistics of the book. I mean, I have the second and third printings of
the books, plus the Silmarllion and whatever else my sister had. Anyways,
please R&R as this is my first LOTR fic, but please don't flame. ::grabs
fire extinguisher and points at readers:: Just in case..Enjoy! Also, I got
my translations from grey-company.org/Language/Files/elven.pdf so if
anything is wrong, yell at them, not me.
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Nin Melethril an Uir
A soft breeze blew through the woods of the Lorien, the golden leaves rustling as early fall began to approach. The Elven maidens raven black hair fluttered about her face as she looked down off the ivory balcony at the Elves below, preparing themselves to depart for a battle in which they need not participate. Her hand unconsciously strayed to her swollen belly, nine months with child. She closed her eyes as tears trailed down her alabaster cheeks.
She could feel him drawing closer, his thick arms wrapping around her, his hands resting on her stomach. The Elven maiden let her head lean back to rest against his chest, her fingers intertwining with his. "A'maelamin, do not despair. I will return to you within the turning of the moon, for I will be greeted not only by my wife, but a son as well," the Elf said, his voice soft and low. His soft lips brushed against the crape of her neck, as he pulled her closer to him.
The maiden turned to face him, her sapphire eyes meeting with the darkness of his. She reached up and took his face in her hands, his golden hair finding their way around her slender fingers as she brought his lips to meet her own. The kiss was soft, but pleading. He did not want to leave, especially with his lover so close to giving birth, but his duty was to his lord and lady. "Yet I still fear that you will not, melamin. I fear that our son will not know his father and I wish you to stay with me. Let the others go, for they are strong without you. Surely the Lord Celeborn and Lady Galandril will understand your request."
With a painful smile, he wiped away a tear with his thumb as he gently kissed her forehead. "Amin mela lle, Aearyn. Cormamin niuve tenna' ta elea lle au'. I have no choice but to go, for it is my duty to the Lord and Lady of the Wood. I will go to fight for your safety, as that of my son and all of Middle Earth. But for now, let us rest, for I must rise with the sun if I wish to join my kin in battle." The Elf turned, taking his lover by the hand and leading her back inside the flet. The light of the full moon had cast a silver hue across the bedroom, the ivory sheets of the bed appeared as though they were translucent.
The Elf striped himself of the gray cloak he wore, placing his brooch on the bureau across from the bed. He watched as his beloved slid under the sheets, her protruding stomach causing a slight discomfort as she settled into the bed. A smile crept across his broad face as he pulled off his tunic and joined her in the warmth of their bed. He moved his body closer to her own, as he wrapped his strong arms around her, his fingers intertwining around her ebony hair. It would be difficult to leave her, to leave the comforts of his home and the warmth and passion of his wife and lover, yet he had no choice.
He watched as Aearyn slowly drifted into a sleep, but he would not sleep that night for he wished to savor her beauty as the moon's light danced across the ivory of her skin. The night passed quickly and soon he was drawn from the intoxication of her elegance by the low bellowing of the battle horns. The Elf forced himself to rise, leaving the complacency of his lover's bed. As March Warden, he was to lead his kin to Helm's Deep to aid the Men and honor an alliance that was forged long ago.
Slowly, he gathered his armor, the early morning rays glistening off of the golden breastplate, the mark of the Lorien emblazoned in the lightweight metal. The Elf smiled and quietly sat next to her, pulling the covers over her shoulder. He gently kissed her lips, before moving to the womb of their child. "Fear not, my son. For soon, we will meet and I will pass my skill onto you, for you are a warrior, Cahir. Amin mela lle, and take care of your mother while I am gone, as she distresses so."
With a last kiss to Aearyn, the March Warden gathered his sword, bow and quiver, leaving a letter to his beloved as he secured his burgundy cloak around his broad shoulders. He looked around the white room once more, relishing in it's tranquility for soon he would be facing the darkness of battle, and as quick as the wind, he was gone. Nothing disturbed the room, save for the breeze as it flowed gently through the room, the sheer curtains billowing with every breath.
Yet an uncanny poured over the room while the Elven woman slept on. The ivory floor became earthen and damp as the rich soils of the battlefields. The white cascading walls lost their luster and were as the cold stone of a fortress. The placid morning wind turned to the melancholy night rain, harsh and bitter. Where once there was beauty and life, death and despair blanketed the room. Hundreds of Men stood watch as the armies of the Isengard marched forth, thousands of Elven warriors awaited for their signal, arrows notched and ready to kill. Yet the maiden slept still, unaware of the battle about to ensue.
The March Warden looked to his companion to his right, the Prince of Mirkwood. With a forced smile, he turned back to the approaching armies, his thoughts wandering to the wife he had awaiting his return. He understood what she had meant now, watching the Uruk-Hai draw closer to their safeguard. This was a war that they would not win, even with the aid of the Elves. "Are you ready to die for you love, Legolas, son of Thranduil?"
The Prince glanced to him, his ocean blue eyes looked over his senior, concern growing in the depths. "Nay, we will not die here, my brother. You will return to your beloved, as I will eventually find mine once more. I shall see you when the sun rises, Haldir, guard of the Lorien." The flaxen- haired Prince nodded to the March Warden and disappeared in the mass of Men who were preparing to face those on ground.
The Elf nodded to his kin and notched his own arrow, drawing the string parallel to his ear. "Archers, draw your strings! Release!" Thousands of finely crafted arrows pierced through the hearts and bodies of the charging Uruk-Hai, black blood splattering against their comrades. The battle began, arrows flying one after another, crooked sword ending lives of young boys barely sixteen. Fierce, deformed faces gnawed at the bodies of the fallen, crimson blood running down their blackened flesh, the White Hand turning pink.
Screams echoed throughout the night as blood painted the ground. The smell of burning flesh filled the fortress as the Uruk-Hai set the Elves and Men ablaze. Elves fell to foreign weapons as they ripped through their chests and arms. Poisoned arrows found their way to the Men's mortal hearts. It was not long before the Uruk-Hai broke the gates of the fortress.
Although his ears were sharp, Haldir could not hear the warning over the screams of the Men falling beside him. He felt a pain growing in his stomach as his dark eyes traveled down to the Uruk-Hai sword piercing his chest. His body was growing weaker as his legs gave way to the weight of his body. His lips moved, although no sound escaped them as he whispered broken promises to his beloved.
He did not feel the second sword as it came down across his back, nor did he see the King of Gondor, fighting his way through the Isengard to be by his side in death. The world was spinning before him and the night was taking over. Voices became distant as his body separated from the world of the living. His last breath was painful, but his only thought was of his wife.
Yet, throughout the night, over the death and the clink of metal against metal, a scream echoed throughout the valley as the Elven woman awoke. "Haldir!"
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Nin Melethril an Uir
A soft breeze blew through the woods of the Lorien, the golden leaves rustling as early fall began to approach. The Elven maidens raven black hair fluttered about her face as she looked down off the ivory balcony at the Elves below, preparing themselves to depart for a battle in which they need not participate. Her hand unconsciously strayed to her swollen belly, nine months with child. She closed her eyes as tears trailed down her alabaster cheeks.
She could feel him drawing closer, his thick arms wrapping around her, his hands resting on her stomach. The Elven maiden let her head lean back to rest against his chest, her fingers intertwining with his. "A'maelamin, do not despair. I will return to you within the turning of the moon, for I will be greeted not only by my wife, but a son as well," the Elf said, his voice soft and low. His soft lips brushed against the crape of her neck, as he pulled her closer to him.
The maiden turned to face him, her sapphire eyes meeting with the darkness of his. She reached up and took his face in her hands, his golden hair finding their way around her slender fingers as she brought his lips to meet her own. The kiss was soft, but pleading. He did not want to leave, especially with his lover so close to giving birth, but his duty was to his lord and lady. "Yet I still fear that you will not, melamin. I fear that our son will not know his father and I wish you to stay with me. Let the others go, for they are strong without you. Surely the Lord Celeborn and Lady Galandril will understand your request."
With a painful smile, he wiped away a tear with his thumb as he gently kissed her forehead. "Amin mela lle, Aearyn. Cormamin niuve tenna' ta elea lle au'. I have no choice but to go, for it is my duty to the Lord and Lady of the Wood. I will go to fight for your safety, as that of my son and all of Middle Earth. But for now, let us rest, for I must rise with the sun if I wish to join my kin in battle." The Elf turned, taking his lover by the hand and leading her back inside the flet. The light of the full moon had cast a silver hue across the bedroom, the ivory sheets of the bed appeared as though they were translucent.
The Elf striped himself of the gray cloak he wore, placing his brooch on the bureau across from the bed. He watched as his beloved slid under the sheets, her protruding stomach causing a slight discomfort as she settled into the bed. A smile crept across his broad face as he pulled off his tunic and joined her in the warmth of their bed. He moved his body closer to her own, as he wrapped his strong arms around her, his fingers intertwining around her ebony hair. It would be difficult to leave her, to leave the comforts of his home and the warmth and passion of his wife and lover, yet he had no choice.
He watched as Aearyn slowly drifted into a sleep, but he would not sleep that night for he wished to savor her beauty as the moon's light danced across the ivory of her skin. The night passed quickly and soon he was drawn from the intoxication of her elegance by the low bellowing of the battle horns. The Elf forced himself to rise, leaving the complacency of his lover's bed. As March Warden, he was to lead his kin to Helm's Deep to aid the Men and honor an alliance that was forged long ago.
Slowly, he gathered his armor, the early morning rays glistening off of the golden breastplate, the mark of the Lorien emblazoned in the lightweight metal. The Elf smiled and quietly sat next to her, pulling the covers over her shoulder. He gently kissed her lips, before moving to the womb of their child. "Fear not, my son. For soon, we will meet and I will pass my skill onto you, for you are a warrior, Cahir. Amin mela lle, and take care of your mother while I am gone, as she distresses so."
With a last kiss to Aearyn, the March Warden gathered his sword, bow and quiver, leaving a letter to his beloved as he secured his burgundy cloak around his broad shoulders. He looked around the white room once more, relishing in it's tranquility for soon he would be facing the darkness of battle, and as quick as the wind, he was gone. Nothing disturbed the room, save for the breeze as it flowed gently through the room, the sheer curtains billowing with every breath.
Yet an uncanny poured over the room while the Elven woman slept on. The ivory floor became earthen and damp as the rich soils of the battlefields. The white cascading walls lost their luster and were as the cold stone of a fortress. The placid morning wind turned to the melancholy night rain, harsh and bitter. Where once there was beauty and life, death and despair blanketed the room. Hundreds of Men stood watch as the armies of the Isengard marched forth, thousands of Elven warriors awaited for their signal, arrows notched and ready to kill. Yet the maiden slept still, unaware of the battle about to ensue.
The March Warden looked to his companion to his right, the Prince of Mirkwood. With a forced smile, he turned back to the approaching armies, his thoughts wandering to the wife he had awaiting his return. He understood what she had meant now, watching the Uruk-Hai draw closer to their safeguard. This was a war that they would not win, even with the aid of the Elves. "Are you ready to die for you love, Legolas, son of Thranduil?"
The Prince glanced to him, his ocean blue eyes looked over his senior, concern growing in the depths. "Nay, we will not die here, my brother. You will return to your beloved, as I will eventually find mine once more. I shall see you when the sun rises, Haldir, guard of the Lorien." The flaxen- haired Prince nodded to the March Warden and disappeared in the mass of Men who were preparing to face those on ground.
The Elf nodded to his kin and notched his own arrow, drawing the string parallel to his ear. "Archers, draw your strings! Release!" Thousands of finely crafted arrows pierced through the hearts and bodies of the charging Uruk-Hai, black blood splattering against their comrades. The battle began, arrows flying one after another, crooked sword ending lives of young boys barely sixteen. Fierce, deformed faces gnawed at the bodies of the fallen, crimson blood running down their blackened flesh, the White Hand turning pink.
Screams echoed throughout the night as blood painted the ground. The smell of burning flesh filled the fortress as the Uruk-Hai set the Elves and Men ablaze. Elves fell to foreign weapons as they ripped through their chests and arms. Poisoned arrows found their way to the Men's mortal hearts. It was not long before the Uruk-Hai broke the gates of the fortress.
Although his ears were sharp, Haldir could not hear the warning over the screams of the Men falling beside him. He felt a pain growing in his stomach as his dark eyes traveled down to the Uruk-Hai sword piercing his chest. His body was growing weaker as his legs gave way to the weight of his body. His lips moved, although no sound escaped them as he whispered broken promises to his beloved.
He did not feel the second sword as it came down across his back, nor did he see the King of Gondor, fighting his way through the Isengard to be by his side in death. The world was spinning before him and the night was taking over. Voices became distant as his body separated from the world of the living. His last breath was painful, but his only thought was of his wife.
Yet, throughout the night, over the death and the clink of metal against metal, a scream echoed throughout the valley as the Elven woman awoke. "Haldir!"
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