I would appreciate any feedback on my story! Please read and review, and
elven translations are offered at the end of the story. This chapter is
somewhat slow, but important as it offers the background of the story.
Thanks,
Devonny
The late morning sun filtered through the high forest canopies and speckled the forest floor with a golden light. The lush plant life stirred softly as the breeze drifted lazily through. All was peaceful, all was quiet.
But not for long.
A scream pierced the quiet. Birds and beasts scattered, startled by the sudden sound. Two warriors locked in a deadly hand-to-hand battle crashed through the foliage. One warrior was one of the dreaded Uruk-hai, the other was a golden-haired elven prince. They showed no sign of fatigue, no sign of surrender. Both understood wholly that this battle would claim one of their lives, and both battled fiercely to avoid this fate.
Sweat glistened on the fair face of the elven prince, one of the sons of Thranduil, the king of Northern Mirkwood. His hair was in his face, which was contorted in a look of pure concentration. In his eyes burned a fire of one that will not lose without a fight. His name, Feanor, was greatly respected in his land and beyond, for bravery in many fights of the past. He was the eldest of Thranduil's sons, and a fine example for his younger brothers.
Long abandoned was the graceful and deadly bow that is the preferred weapon of the elves. Feanor held in his hand a long knife, the blade of the finest silver and engraved quite beautifully. The blade sported the same designs, and the elegant script of old describing victories.
As for the Uruk-hai, the eyes held nothing but blank hatred, the face nothing but black anger. He was quite important, and had massacred scores of elves since the bloody battles began. He held in his hand a rough dagger stained with elven blood. It was dirty, blunt, and splintered. Upon entering its victim the metal splinters broke off, and if the poor victim were to live, they would remain within the body and poison it, painfully leading him to a slow death.
"Lanta, erebor........." Feanor hissed as he locked blades with his enemy.
"Never shall I fall to you." The Uruk-hai replied, the common tongue foul on his lips. Twisted on his face was a strange smile, which Feanor feared more than anything.
A sudden movement behind the elven prince caught him off guard, and from behind another Uruk-hai slashed the back of Feanor's knees. He cried out, half in surprise, and half in pain. A swift slash of his blade finished off the surprise attacker. The cuts were deep, and the pain excruciating as Feanor struggled to at least fend off his foe.
"Oh Valar!" Feanor cried as he fell to his knees. The Uruk-hai felt no sympathy, and seized the opportunity of the weakened warrior. The blade entered the elf, and for a moment all was silent. The Uruk-hai took his dagger, and stabbed again, then again as the prince gasped from the pain. In disbelief Feanor watched his blood spill onto the forest floor.
"N'uma........." Feanor whispered, "Ta ilue'n don' sina........." The blade entered his chest once more, and he fell forward. Peace replaced anger on his fair face, and his pain was ended.
The Uruk-hai kicked the now lifeless body in a vulgar act of contempt. The elven blade had landed a few feet away, under a thick brush, out of the sight of the killer. He left swiftly, hoping to rejoin his troops and claim more of the immortal blood.
All was again quiet. The now late afternoon sun threw long shadows on all it touched. Night birds began their songs early. All was green and golden in the light of late summer.
Except for the flowers. They were red, dripping with the blood of the innocent, and a chilling foreshadowing of what was yet to come.
Elven Translations
Lanta, erebor - Fall, foe
N'uma - no
Ta ilue'n don' sina - It cannot end like this.
Thanks,
Devonny
The late morning sun filtered through the high forest canopies and speckled the forest floor with a golden light. The lush plant life stirred softly as the breeze drifted lazily through. All was peaceful, all was quiet.
But not for long.
A scream pierced the quiet. Birds and beasts scattered, startled by the sudden sound. Two warriors locked in a deadly hand-to-hand battle crashed through the foliage. One warrior was one of the dreaded Uruk-hai, the other was a golden-haired elven prince. They showed no sign of fatigue, no sign of surrender. Both understood wholly that this battle would claim one of their lives, and both battled fiercely to avoid this fate.
Sweat glistened on the fair face of the elven prince, one of the sons of Thranduil, the king of Northern Mirkwood. His hair was in his face, which was contorted in a look of pure concentration. In his eyes burned a fire of one that will not lose without a fight. His name, Feanor, was greatly respected in his land and beyond, for bravery in many fights of the past. He was the eldest of Thranduil's sons, and a fine example for his younger brothers.
Long abandoned was the graceful and deadly bow that is the preferred weapon of the elves. Feanor held in his hand a long knife, the blade of the finest silver and engraved quite beautifully. The blade sported the same designs, and the elegant script of old describing victories.
As for the Uruk-hai, the eyes held nothing but blank hatred, the face nothing but black anger. He was quite important, and had massacred scores of elves since the bloody battles began. He held in his hand a rough dagger stained with elven blood. It was dirty, blunt, and splintered. Upon entering its victim the metal splinters broke off, and if the poor victim were to live, they would remain within the body and poison it, painfully leading him to a slow death.
"Lanta, erebor........." Feanor hissed as he locked blades with his enemy.
"Never shall I fall to you." The Uruk-hai replied, the common tongue foul on his lips. Twisted on his face was a strange smile, which Feanor feared more than anything.
A sudden movement behind the elven prince caught him off guard, and from behind another Uruk-hai slashed the back of Feanor's knees. He cried out, half in surprise, and half in pain. A swift slash of his blade finished off the surprise attacker. The cuts were deep, and the pain excruciating as Feanor struggled to at least fend off his foe.
"Oh Valar!" Feanor cried as he fell to his knees. The Uruk-hai felt no sympathy, and seized the opportunity of the weakened warrior. The blade entered the elf, and for a moment all was silent. The Uruk-hai took his dagger, and stabbed again, then again as the prince gasped from the pain. In disbelief Feanor watched his blood spill onto the forest floor.
"N'uma........." Feanor whispered, "Ta ilue'n don' sina........." The blade entered his chest once more, and he fell forward. Peace replaced anger on his fair face, and his pain was ended.
The Uruk-hai kicked the now lifeless body in a vulgar act of contempt. The elven blade had landed a few feet away, under a thick brush, out of the sight of the killer. He left swiftly, hoping to rejoin his troops and claim more of the immortal blood.
All was again quiet. The now late afternoon sun threw long shadows on all it touched. Night birds began their songs early. All was green and golden in the light of late summer.
Except for the flowers. They were red, dripping with the blood of the innocent, and a chilling foreshadowing of what was yet to come.
Elven Translations
Lanta, erebor - Fall, foe
N'uma - no
Ta ilue'n don' sina - It cannot end like this.