Disclaimer: I am not Tolkien. He was he greatest writer who ever lived, I am merely an awed reader of his works. None of the characters or places in this - unless I invent any - are mine.
Elvish: I know, my Sindarin and Quenya are atrocious! Please don't murder me! *Hides behind shield* ahem. Anyway, Linda is Quenya for beautiful, and Man eneth is meant to mean who are you/what is your name? Literally it means what name?
Please Read and Review!
It was always dark. Elf shivered in the cold occasionally, but he was so used to it that it hardly bothered him anymore. It was the darkness that frightened him. It was filled with invisible, intangible horrors. Once he had almost seen the big bat woman, and had been terrified for a long time, certain that she had come to hurt him.
No one had actually hurt Elf in a long time. Seriously hurt him, at least. Dim memories of darker times shifted in the back of his head like massive beasts, waiting to pounce. Elf clutched his knees, watching the darkness suspiciously. He had to keep an eye on it, otherwise it might sneak up on him while he wasn't looking.
No one had come to feed him in a long time. At least, he thought that it was a long time. Elf didn't have any objective way of measuring time. The very idea was foreign to him. He did know that his stomach was telling him to feed it, but it usually was anyway.
Feeling behind him, Elf shifted back into a corner of the dark room, suddenly overcome by a terrifying thought. There was dark behind him too! It could be plotting anything!
He felt much more secure with his back firmly planted against the damp stone. He stared fixedly at the dark, hardly blinking. Someone needed to watch it.
A sound caught his attention. There were always sounds. Shrieks, wails, harsh voices, rumbles and groans. This was different. He couldn't place it. There was nothing like it in the store of sounds he had heard. He cocked his head, trying to hear the sound better. It sounded vaguely like a roar. A roar, yes. That was odd. Very, very odd.
He had never heard a roar before, in as long as he could remember. He knew that there was a place outside the dark, he had caught glimpses of it when the door was opened on a light place outside. That must be where the sounds were coming from. He nodded, pleased with this deduction. Now he could go back to watching the dark.
But the sound wouldn't leave him alone. It got louder and louder, and now he could distinguish other things inside the roar. Clashes, and shouts. Shouts in voices like the ones that he sometimes heard from outside, ones like his own. They cried in a beautiful language, one that he couldn't begin to understand, but which filled him with pleasure whenever he heard it. Spurred on by the cries, Elf let out his own exclamation. "Linda!"
His voice, he noticed with displeasure, was not beautiful like the ones he heard. He was still pouting in annoyance when he heard the clashing and shouting grow extremely close, and the door to the light fell open. Elf stared as an Orc fell in with the door, a strange stick protruding from his chest. Blood flowed freely from the area around the stick. Hesitant and afraid, Elf got to his feet and went to the dead Orc. He touched the blood where it pooled on the floor. It stuck to his fingers and glistened red. Elf heard a sound from behind him, a creak, but he ignored it. The dead Orc was far more fascinating. He had never seen a dead Orc before.
"Man eneth?" Said a voice behind Elf. One of the beautiful voices. Elf looked round, curious to see what kind of creature could have such a beautiful voice.
A tall being stood behind him, clad in strange pieces of shining stuff, with dark hair bound up on its head. And with a naked blade in its left hand. Stained with blood.
Elf leapt to his feet and scuttled backwards, into the dark. He knew about blades. They were frightening things. Things Orcs used to hurt you with. Elf shrank back into the dark, pressing himself against a wall. "Don't hurt Elf!" He whimpered.
The creature muttered something in its beautiful voice, and then threw something shining into the room.
Elf heard its footsteps receding, and, after a long wait, finally plucked up courage to examine the thing it had thrown in. He slid away from the wall, cautious still. Light from the outside glinted on the thing. It shone. It was long and thin. And burnished. Elf knelt down beside it, and suddenly recoiled with a hiss. It was a blade. Stained red with blood. The thing must have left it here to hurt him!
Elf scurried back to the darkness where he could hide. He crouched there for a long time, watching the blade. It didn't move.
After a while he cautiously approached it again. When it did not strike him he suddenly leapt forward and clasped his hand around the hilt. Still it did not turn in his hand and rend him. Elf stared at it, slowly noticing everything about it. It was a beautiful silver colour, save where it was spattered with red blood. It glowed faintly blue over the metallic colour, shimmering with chill beauty. The handle was brown, it fit to his hand. Elf turned the blade over in his hand, marvelling at its beauty. It glinted in the light from outside, and suddenly a new thought struck him. He looked out at the corridor. Yes, it was still empty, except for the dead Orc.
Elf looked at the blade again. He clutched it tightly in his hand. Then he stepped over the Orc, and out into the light.