Hello! Welcome, dear Readers, to my first Fanfiction! I hope you like it.
Please review-but be kind unless, well, you really don't want to be. I
guess that's all, so enjoy!
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am not Tolkien (wish I was), and all characters belong to him. If I did, however, own anything, I wouldn't be here now, writing this fanfiction, would I? Didn't think so either. So don't sue.
"Come with me," the child demands.
The elder of the two reaches out her hands to the younger, who brushes them away with impatience. She squirms and struggles when strong arms wrap around her, binding her, pulling her into a lap. She gives up, defeated.
"Why do you refuse to come with me?"
A deeper, more mature voice responds softly.
"I wish to hold you. You never stay still long enough to be lovable," the voice teases gently. The small elf scowls, and goes limp, attempting to slide out from under the arms that encircle her. The elder of the two elves gives up, laughing. The child climbs down, squishing toes with small feet and jabbing with elbows with child-like innocence, blissfully unaware of the damage she causes on her journey to the floor.
"Now may we go?" the golden haired child asks, feeling her impatience mounting as she looks into a pair of gray eyes above her. They twinkle with mirth; this irritates her.
"As you wish," the owner of the gray eyes says. She brushes a kiss onto the child's forehead, her own dark hair contrasting sharply with the golden river framing her sister's face.
The child's face lights up eagerly. She takes her sister by the hand, who is forced to bend at the waist nearly double as the eager child runs along. She knows where she is going; at corners and turns she does not falter. Her feet pad softly on the marble, barely echoing in the halls lit with the soft glow of candles. She clings tight to her elder sister's hand, urging her on, occasionally looking back at her, a smile flashing across her face.
Suddenly, it fades. The dreamer's peace has been broken; she has been jolted into wakefulness. Her heart has quickened, as her breathing has. She wishes to cling to the dream, to sleep, to sleep, blissfully unaware. Yet she is glad to be rid of it. It plagues her, eats away at her like fire to kindling. It is always the same: a memory haunting her, mocking her in her sleep, in her mind, where she cannot escape it. It brings back fresh waves of pain, ones she has fought against. The hurt drowns her, she needs to struggle against it to break the surface and breathe. Finally, she controls it. It is gone-for now. All she can to is pray that the recurring dream will leave her. But it never does.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am not Tolkien (wish I was), and all characters belong to him. If I did, however, own anything, I wouldn't be here now, writing this fanfiction, would I? Didn't think so either. So don't sue.
"Come with me," the child demands.
The elder of the two reaches out her hands to the younger, who brushes them away with impatience. She squirms and struggles when strong arms wrap around her, binding her, pulling her into a lap. She gives up, defeated.
"Why do you refuse to come with me?"
A deeper, more mature voice responds softly.
"I wish to hold you. You never stay still long enough to be lovable," the voice teases gently. The small elf scowls, and goes limp, attempting to slide out from under the arms that encircle her. The elder of the two elves gives up, laughing. The child climbs down, squishing toes with small feet and jabbing with elbows with child-like innocence, blissfully unaware of the damage she causes on her journey to the floor.
"Now may we go?" the golden haired child asks, feeling her impatience mounting as she looks into a pair of gray eyes above her. They twinkle with mirth; this irritates her.
"As you wish," the owner of the gray eyes says. She brushes a kiss onto the child's forehead, her own dark hair contrasting sharply with the golden river framing her sister's face.
The child's face lights up eagerly. She takes her sister by the hand, who is forced to bend at the waist nearly double as the eager child runs along. She knows where she is going; at corners and turns she does not falter. Her feet pad softly on the marble, barely echoing in the halls lit with the soft glow of candles. She clings tight to her elder sister's hand, urging her on, occasionally looking back at her, a smile flashing across her face.
Suddenly, it fades. The dreamer's peace has been broken; she has been jolted into wakefulness. Her heart has quickened, as her breathing has. She wishes to cling to the dream, to sleep, to sleep, blissfully unaware. Yet she is glad to be rid of it. It plagues her, eats away at her like fire to kindling. It is always the same: a memory haunting her, mocking her in her sleep, in her mind, where she cannot escape it. It brings back fresh waves of pain, ones she has fought against. The hurt drowns her, she needs to struggle against it to break the surface and breathe. Finally, she controls it. It is gone-for now. All she can to is pray that the recurring dream will leave her. But it never does.