ALERT: Anarmacil's story has been posted. Chapter three is up. Look under Lornarion: Lithuin Tindu.
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Luineyende
Chapter Five
Rangers' Camp
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Elluine blinked dazedly, and stared up at the sky. Everything seemed so incredibly fuzzy... and the voices around her were fading in and out. Her back was one giant throbbing slab of pain- she was lying belly up on the ground, and the delicate bones of the part of her she kept hidden were in little pieces. They practically blazed with agony. Anar was saying something; she could hear his irritated voice, strained with the effort of keeping his panic under control, and then she heard one of the Men, the Rangers that had waylaid them, saying something that made her head hurt, that made no sense to her...
The tall, dark haired Ranger said, "I think we should capture you, boy, and rescue the young lady."
Rescue her? What did she need rescuing from? She'd already been on the run from the Village and its tyrannical mistress, the mob of young women and youths whose faces were twisted with revulsion and loathing, what else was there that she could possibly need rescuing from? But thinking about it - trying to focus on anything beyond the throbbing agony of her back and the way the bones in her skull ground against each other, shooting her brain full of lightning bolts of pain - was beyond her capabilities at this point.
For a few seconds, pregnant with menace, Anarmacil could only stare blankly at the two men looming over him. He surely could not have heard those Rangers correctly. Did they say… rescue? They were surely jesting. But when the Men didn't crack a smile, he realized they were absolutely serious. It was then that he exploded vehemently.
"Lle lakwenien?!" He demanded to know if they were joking. "I saved her life!"
The Ranger's sword point pressed deeper into Anar's neck, drawing another rush of trickling blood. The blood drained from his face. He could feel his chest beginning to constrict. The iron scorched his skin. His throat was beginning to itch and burn, and he struggled to keep his breathing even.
"Joking? Indeed?" Halbarad demanded. The blade pressed deeper. "I think not."
"I have done nothing wrong. We are simple travelers. How dare you waylay us this way? We have done you no ill, so why do you insist on-"
"I sincerely doubt the girl is with you willingly," the Ranger began.
Elluine sat up slowly, propping herself up on her hands, her arms spread for balance. The moist earth enveloped the tips of her fingers as her weight pushed her hands into the ground. She blew a lock of tangled hair out of her face, muttering, "Could you all please stop speaking about me as if... as if I were an object and not a person?" She tried to get to her feet at this point, but the world tilted alarmingly, and she sank back down to the ground, panting for breath. She struggled even to speak as the forest and the violet-blue, star studded sky blurred in and out of focus. She blinked rapidly, but her gaze didn't clear. Her head continued to pound violently.
Gasping for breath, she managed to mumble, "He saved me... please... let us go..."
Annoyed with her own weakness, Elluine hauled on Anar's shoulder, pulling herself up to her knees. She felt Anarmacil stiffen and he sank down a few inches, stifling a groan of what sounded like pain. She looked into his face, and saw sweat standing out on his forehead. He was terribly grey for a moment before she redistributed her weight to both shoulders. He blew out a pent-up breath and closed his eyes, relieved at the lessening of the pain, and reached up with a free hand to grasp one of hers. The bandages around her hands were wet with the moisture of the earth and the dewdrops from the ground plants, creepers, and lush grass. She saw Halbarad's eyes flick to the bandages wrapped around her damaged hands so that only the long, tapered fingertips poked out, and then to the dark bruising around her eye that was already beginning to swell badly.
The Liemuina maiden ignored the way the stern looking Man was staring at her and drew a breath to speak.
"He's... a friend. Can we... go now?"
Both Men glanced at each other, then down at the two young ones they had found in the Old Forest. The maiden's eyes glimmered in the pale light of the moon as it filtered through the tree tops. Aragorn thought for a moment that she might have been close to weeping. She had obviously been ill used, but Aragorn saw Halbarad wondering if it was truly friendship, or fear, that made her rush to defend the youth. There was something quick and sly in the boy that made the other Ranger distrust him, but Aragorn sensed only pride, pride and a pain so deep that it was like a black shadow threatening to consume him.
"I sense only truth in their words, Halbarad," Aragorn said. "But," this he said to the youth. "Your companion there is surely in need of rest, and treatment, and after traveling all day?" He made it a question.
Anarmacil nodded reluctantly. He didn't want to trust this Man, but he seemed like he meant them no harm. Still, many of the men in Anar's life that he'd trusted had turned against him in the past. What was so different about this man? A sharp pain spiked through his head as he tried to think. His eyes felt gritty and raw. He needed to sleep, they both did, but they could not, not yet. Dawn must come first. They had to keep going until the sun rose above the tops of the tallest trees. Erynmir might have been Mistress Nimrohwen's pet, but everyone in the Village pulled their weight. The future Wood Witch of Buckland had her chores to do, come dawn. They would be safe then, when she was occupied with her tasks.
Aragorn continued, "Were you intending to ride all night?"
"Aye," the youth replied. "We need to be away from the Village and out of the Old Forest as soon as we can, or we're going to be caught."
"Ah-ha! So you are runaways!" Halbarad cried. "Perhaps we should then take you into custody and return you straight to your parents-"
"If you knew anything about the Village, Halbarad," Aragorn interjected. "Then you would know that the children there are all fostered by the Village Master and his wife. Their parents are probably somewhere else entirely, and no place that we could reach them. If they are runaways, they're probably running back home-"
"I will never go back!" Anar cried suddenly, his voice full of cold rage. "I will not! Not back to the Village, and not back to my family. I have no use for those who hold me in contempt. Now, for the last time, get out of our way!"
"Anar, be calm," Ellie murmured, squeezing his hand. Her vision was plagued by dancing red and black spots. Her head pounded abominably. "It's all right."
"I will not let these Men force us to go back to the Village, Ellie. I refuse. We will go to Hobbiton and that's final! Get out of our way! I am so tired of people standing in my way. Move!"
"Boy!" Halbarad snarled. "We are not dogs that you may order us about-"
Elluine gave a gasping cry and fell against Anar. Her weight collided with his shoulder and arm, and his world went grey for a moment, pain radiating from his arm. He bit his lip, tasted blood. The Nenmarta maiden slid down his body and fell to the ground on her side. Anar sank to his knees, white hot shards of pain stabbing into his arm. He took several deep breaths, trying to clear the haze from his vision. The Ranger stepped forward.
"Boy, you must-"
"Enough!" The lad cried, glaring hatefully at both Aragorn and Halbarad. He bit his lip, trying to think of what to do. Hating the fact that he had to do so, he transferred his knife to his other hand, grasping the hilt in an awkward grip as he scooped Elluine up with his good arm. Then he took the knife back into his good grip, careful not to cut his precious burden.
"Ellie. Ellie? Ellie, wake up!"
He squeezed her once, shifting her around to try and wake her. shook her very gently, and she made a small sound, though she didn't open her eyes. Aragorn dropped to the ground beside them on his knees and check the girl's pulse. It was shallow and fluttering. The Ranger's mouth tightened into a grim line as he tried to take Elluine out of the youth's arms. Anar's one-armed grip tightened and he tried to maneuver his knife into a defensive position. He cursed the fact that he had the use of only one arm. It made him vulnerable.
It made him furious.
"Boy-" Aragorn snapped, impatience tingeing his voice for the first time.
"Do not dare think you can lay your hands on her, Ranger of the North. She's badly hurt as it is. I will not surrender her to you."
"Indeed. What happened to her?" Aragorn demanded as he forcibly yanked the maiden from the youth's arms and got to his feet. He turned to the other Man and added, "Halbarad, sheathe your sword." With a muffled oath, the other Ranger did so, though he still kept his eyes on the boy. Aragorn continued, "These children are merely that - children - and they need our aid."
"We do not need your aid! Give her back, Aule curse you to Hell!"
"You should show more appreciation," the Ranger replied. To Halbarad, he said, "Now, my friend, go and find me some athelas. We shall need much of it to help this girl. I will take her and the boy to our camp. Boy," he added, this time to the youth. "You will follow me, and you will keep a civil tongue in your head, or you will regret it."
"I'm not a-"
Halbarad shoved the boy forward, cutting off his protests, but Aragorn didn't take the time to do anything but note the lad's attitude before he was off striding through the undergrowth, Halbarad going in the opposite direction in search of the healing herb. Aragorn looked down at the girl's pain-pinched, death white face as he walked briskly through the woods, and felt his brow wrinkling. Where had he seen this girl before? She looked so familiar... someone of the Rangers looked like this... but whom? He couldn't remember. Someone... an Elf, maybe... one of the Grey Company?
"Where are you taking us?" The youth demanded, then saw the way the Ranger was carrying his friend. Every time he brushed against her back, she unconsciously bit her lip and winced in pain. A tear would trickled from the corner of her eye. Sudden panic and the driving need to protect Elluine made Anarmacil sound almost childish when he demanded angrily, "Give her back to me!"
He had a theory, a wild theory that would prove wrong all the rumors and crimes leveled against Elluine and her family, but he needed to get both of them away from these Men so he could find out if he was right! They needed to get out of here and then he needed to get Ellie conscious. He didn't know what he would do if he couldn't wake her up, however.
Would she die?
No, no she couldn't die. He wouldn't let her. Not after what happened to Mirilhun and Nenimir. Not after his little sisters. He would not let history repeat itself.
"Are all the young men of the Village so foolhardy and stupid?" Aragorn snapped back over his shoulder. He could feel the lad casting sullen looks at his back, but did not care in the slightest. Something in him urged haste. The Ranger knew that he had to get the girl back to their camp to be treated as quickly as possible. She wasn't dying, not yet. But he sensed that there was something in the forest that posed a danger to the girl. He had to protect her from it.
They practically ran through the woods, ducking beneath branches, leaves brushing their cheeks. Anarmacil stared at Aragorn, following the Ranger quickly and quietly through the forest. He let all of his hatred shine in his eyes. He hated this Man, hated the way the Ranger spoke down to him, as if he were a mewling infant. Anar hated how easily Aragorn had ripped Ellie out of his arms. Hated that he was now at the mercy of this Man who assumed so much and yet knew so little about him. Mixed in with that black hate was concern. Where was Ambarone, his horse? The stallion was his loyal companion. Like Anar's twin sister Linde, Ambarone had always been by his side. When he'd been left in the Village, alone and forgotten, he had at least, by his mother's order, been allowed to keep his stallion. Now even that companion was gone, vanished in the wilderness of the Old Forest. It made his heart sink with the weight of a strange loneliness.
Worse even than the hate, the anger, and the feeling of being so alone, cut off from friends and loved ones, was the fear.
He would never admit this to anyone, not even on pain of death, but he was afraid. What if these Men tried to hurt him? He would be powerless to stop them. He had no idea what was wrong with his left arm, though he thought it might be broken. He certainly couldn't use it. With Elluine to take care of, he was practically defenseless. These Men could, if they so chose, kill him in an instant, and no one would know until they found his cold, lifeless body in the middle of the forest, probably half-devoured by wild beasts. And who said danger lay only with the Men?
All around him, he could feel the trees. They watched, they listened. They were all potential spies for Erynmir. The idea set his heart to pounding. He had no great magic, and even if he did, the magic he was fated to eventually wield was of flame. Erynmir was a Cenmarta who's power ran towards the blood of the forests. He could not fight her without possibly causing a forest fire. A fire did not have to be big to do great harm. Fire was his friend, as much as it was anyone's friend, and the enemy of the forests.
But he would never forgive himself if the verdant woods that his dear Nairaloth had toiled so hard and so desperately to preserve all those years ago were to be destroyed now, just because of him.
But the two Rangers, and Erynmir… they were three very deadly enemies. He would soon enter into the midst of more of the Men of the North, and then he and Elluine would be in a lot of trouble. No mortal creatures could be trusted, especially not when he was so helpless.
And Elluine… he feared for her as well. What if she didn't get better? He knew nothing of how to treat most of those injuries. And if his theory was correct, if she had the marks of one of mixed breeding, then he was most certainly out of his depth. He knew not how to heal such wounds as she might have received to such delicate limbs. He was terrified for the women of his heart. For Elluine, who was like a sister to him. And for Linde… and Naira. What was happening to them? Were they safe? Were they all right? Was Naira being treated well? Was his father abusing her? Or was she all right, merely lonely, trapped there in her tower of white stone?
For a moment, he had to bite his lip to stifle a small sound. Tears pricked his eyes, but he forced them back. He would not, could not weep. Not now, not ever again.
Aragorn sensed a monumental struggle taking place inside the boy who strode behind him, tense and silent and so very angry. He wondered at it, but decided to focus on the question of the girl instead of the wounds of the boy. The maiden needed his aid more than the boy at this moment. She was so light in his arms. Her bones felt like the tiny, hollow bones of a bird, fragile as glass. He heard her labored breathing, saw the tears gleaming on her cheeks. His heart ached with pity for her. What had happened to her, this poor, battered maiden?
Then the Ranger heard it - the guttural, hissing, jagged sounds of the Black Speech. Orcs... Orcs were sneaking into the Old Forest again.
"Yrch!" The boy hissed, and the sound of metal sliding against leather told Aragorn that the lad had drawn a blade. But did he know how to use it? He would almost be willing to bet against it. He had tried to wield his blade while still holding the girl to him - an unwise choice. And in the Ranger's experience, most country boys couldn't wield a sword or dagger to save their own lives, much less use it well enough to defend someone barely conscious. He would have to lend his sword to the defense of both the children, then.
"Can you fight?" The youth demanded, breaking into Aragorn's thoughts. "I can't defend both of you."
"I beg your pardon?"
The Ranger turned and saw the boy, his long knife and short sword both gleaming bare, cold naked metal in the moonlight, and the boy himself stood in a ready fighting stance. He wondered who had taught the boy swordsmanship, for what he saw was the best stance for the situation, the weapons, the enemy, and the boy's physical build. The keen edge of his blades gleamed strangely, as if made from something other than steel, but of no metal that he, nor, he would wager, any other Man had ever seen. It had a strange, cold light to the blade that even mithril did not have, colder than the light of the stars in the depths of winter.
The sight of it made Aragorn's blood run ice cold.
"What is that?" Aragorn whispered as he set the maiden down, out of the way against a tree trunk, and drew his own long sword.
"Silver-edged vilyekemen, made by the white Beornings. Why?"
Anar reached for the pair of small throwing knives at his opposite hip. He just wanted to be sure they were there, just in case. If he were ever unarmed, they would be sure to strike at least two enemies dead before he fell to opposing weapons. These blades, which were themselves made of the strong, silvery metal called mithril, or true silver, were themselves called Iul and Tinu. They had been a parting gift from his brother Tuacso, and the blades were etched with the symbol of the House of Carlothel - a flower on a rayed field. His long knife, a gift from his father when the two were not divided by the young man's hurt, guilt, and hatred, was called Calthilivern. And the short sword in his hand, its edge a burning slice of pain in the dark when unsheathed, was called Silfatanyu.
A twig snapped a ways off.
Anar shifted uneasily, feeling the hair on the nape of his neck stand up as if electrified. He glanced at Elluine, then at Aragorn, before turning his head this way and that to take in the surrounding forest. Not for the first time, he wished he had his twin sister's superior night vision. His eyes were fairly good - as good as any Dwarf or Man of Numenorean's. But they nothing compared to his sister's, who had trained herself to see in the dark almost as well as she did during the day with her one good eye. It had taken centuries, but now Anar wished he'd had the patience to do the same thing. It would've served him in good stead right at this moment.
Another snapping twig, this time closer. Something rustled in the trees. Anar thought he heard the sound of a bow being drawn taut. He tightened his grip on his knife and tried to keep calm. He hated being unable to see well. He made a soft sound of annoyance at his helplessness, wishing Linde was by his side at this moment. He'd never been in a real battle without her at his side before.
It didn't feel right.
"Linde, I need you now. Where are you?" He whispered, picturing the jewel-like eye, the ravaged face, the tight black braid and the gleaming longsword.
"Keep silent," the Man ordered him. Anar's eyes slashed in his direction. The look on the lad's face could've cut like a razor. Behind the fury, pain bubbled and festered. Aragorn continued, "They come."
"No they don't..." Elluine whispered. Both standing males glanced down at her in sharp surprise. "The trees... safe... protect us... we go now... Bag End..."
"Bag End?" The Ranger said sharply. "What business do you have with the dwellers at Bag End? Perhaps you are an enemy."
"Bilbo and Frodo Baggins owe us a debt, and we need their help. That is all," Anar replied, sheathing his sword. Kneeling down to haul Elluine up to lean on his good shoulder, he added, "It matters little. As for Ellie, she cannot walk far, and we need to get away from here. Are you carrying her, or am I?" He shifted his grip on the hilt of his knife, looking down at Elluine's pale, pinched face.
Aragorn saw a strange look cross over the lad's face, a mixture of regret, tenderness, and humiliation. Then the boy looked over at Aragorn and said, "I do not think..." His face burned red as he admitted, "I do not think I have the stamina to run, carry her, and possibly fight any of those monsters, should they happen to find us and attack us."
A fiery blush shot up into the tips of his ears, and he found a new level of loathing for the Ranger. He tried to ignore the throbbing of his shoulder and arm as he met Aragorn's clear, gray eyes that saw far too much for the youth's liking.
"It is my charge to protect this forest and all the regions of the Shire. If there are Orcs here, they need to be dealt with now," the Man hissed softly. "I will leave you both here and return for you when the Orcs have been dispatched. I cannot let these monsters roam freely in these woods."
Anar sighed. Humans never listened, and they always underestimated those which they assumed were powerless. Elluine had clearly said that the trees would deal with the monsters in the woods. He, Anarmacil, trusted that it was so. Why, then, did no one else realize the power contained in this forest? These were Men of Numenor. How could they not see what lay hidden here in the depths of the Shire's woods? Especially when such beings as Erynmir and Tauriel lived within the palace of emerald boughs.
Part of him wondered why the trees, over which the vicious Erynmir held such sway, would come to their aid. Another part of him wondered if his own wood woman, the Tavari called Tauriel - one of his few allies and he was sure one of the few people in the Village who guessed his identity, along with Cirince and Carvilion, as well as Breeyid, who knew - was in the forest, doing her best to counteract Erynmir's influence. Then he shrugged off the questions revolving in his brain and turned to Aragorn.
"Did you not hear what Ellie said?" Anar snapped. "The trees will deal with them. Ellie is hurt and needs help!"
"The trees?" Aragorn demanded incredulously. The Ranger was unsure as to whether or not he should believe his ears. "The trees will kill those Orcs? Is that what you're telling me? I think you're a coward, boy. That is what I think. I will deal with them alone-"
"I will go with you, mortal," Anar murmured, his face flushed, his anger obvious even to the most unperceptive observer. How dare that insolent Human wretch accuse him of cowardice? Him, Anarmacil Carlothel, the Golden Prince! He could ignore even the pain of his arm, cracked cheekbone, and his ripped ear as rage coursed through his body. After all he had done for this place, the Shire and the people in it, after the blood and the pain and the grief that had come from everything he had tried to do for the Halflings, and now this ragged Ranger out of the North dared to call him a coward! "I will go with you, long shanks. No need to be afraid of a few Orcs." He gently helped Ellie to sit down. To her he whispered, "Will the trees protect you as well as kill Orcs?"
"I need... no... Orcs dead... trees... don't go, Anar..."
"I'll return shortly, if you're right about those Orcs. Stay hidden."
And he came to stand beside the Ranger. Those keen grey eyes bored into his, but he held them with his summer-night gaze flecked with gold. For a moment, Aragorn felt the weight of summers and the fires of the earth scorching behind that boy's eyes. The Ranger had no idea what was running through the young man's mind, but there was deadly seriousness in his eyes and on his face. Behind his gaze, there was such grief. Aragorn had only seen such deep sorrow in the eyes of the Eldar before.
Anarmacil wondered if Aragorn could see his true age in his eyes, could see who he was. He was not a coward. He simply could have cared less about the Hobbits. It was the Hobbits, Bilbo and Frodo, who had incurred the Mistress's wrath against Elluine and landed her in this awful state of half-unconsciousness. It was Hobbits that whispered horrible rumors and vicious untruths about Anar and his kind, the Liemuina, although the Shire-folk had never been exposed to those of the Liemuina whom they ought to truly be afraid of. The pain of those rumors cut at him. He hated the way the Halflings spoke about the people who had done so much to help them. And it was in the service of Hobbits that he had met the Princess Nairaloth, the bane of his existence, the thorn in his side, the plague of his life, half of the reason for his exile.
He had no reason to care if the Hobbits were slaughtered in their sleep by Orcs. Death to them all. His task had been a thankless one, and he was tired of it. He did not care about them any longer.
"I care if they die, Anarmacil Sunblade," Elluine whispered. It was the first full, coherent, unbroken sentence she'd spoken since falling off his horse. "Please, my friend? Please?"
He glanced at her pale, sunken face briefly before turning his gaze back to the frowning Aragorn. The exchange between the youth and the maiden had taken perhaps twenty seconds. The Ranger said, "If you care not for the Little Folk, at least-"
The great, ancient trees of the Old Forest seemed to moan and crack and creak, as if bent and harried and pushed by a great, storming wind, though there was none. For a moment, the air was full of the protests of the forest, and then Orc corpses were flung to the ground in front of the three travelers. Thirteen inhumed Orc carcasses, all laid out cold and dead with rigid, pale green fletched arrows in their hearts and imbedded in their throats. The trees continued to creak and groan for a few minutes, shifting as though in a gale wind, though nothing stirred against Aragorn or the two young ones. For a long moment, there was silence, and then a rustling of leaves, as if the forest were speaking to them. Then nothing again after that.
"I told you the trees would handle it," Anar snapped, sheathing his knife again. He knelt down again and began to help his injured friend to her feet when Aragorn demanded, "What just happened?"
"The trees handled it," the young man answered. "Just as I said they would. If you had trusted someone with obviously superior experience, you would not have been so concerned for our safety and the rats that live in their holes in the hills."
"Trees don't shoot Orcs full of arrows."
"They do where I come from," Anar replied, and hauled Elluine up, supporting the exhausted, injured maiden. "Now answer my question: are you going to carry her, or shall I?"
.
Tauriel rubbed her aching wrist and sank back against a tree. She breathed a soft sigh of relief and release as her fury dissipated. Her blood, and the rage boiling in her veins, eased back into sweet coolness, like the amber blood of trees in spring. The Tavari let out another breath, desperately trying to relax. She needed to remain calm. She was a dryad, bred like the forest. Trees were slow to anger, and slow to calm, but she couldn't afford to take her leisure. Angry warriors made foolish mistakes. The Liemuina girl let out a last, calming breath, and let her body fall against the trunk of the tree.
She despised Orcs, loathed Orcs! She hated them with a passion for what they had done to the forests of the world. She remembered long ago, how close she'd come to death at the hands of the Orcs when they'd made for the great redwood tree in the forest where she was born, tried to hack it down and murder it. Her tree, her beautiful tree…. She remembered why she survived - an Elf had shot the Orc down. But she would never forget how many of the Tavaro people had fallen in that attack against her home forest.
The dryad sighed as tears pricked her eyes, but did not allow the tears to fall. Instead, Tauriel pushed back her hair from her face and then absently traced a rip in her dress that had caught on a bramble as she'd scaled the tree.
She scanned the forest floor for her allies. Breeyid immediately looked up from where she blended in to the humus upon the ground and waved her fingers. Tauriel nodded in acknowledgement.
Breeyid had been right- there had been Orcs in the Old Forest. She'd heard their footsteps setting the Earth to screaming, and known they were near where a man of true Numenorean descent had roamed, as well as Anar and the injured Liemuina maiden he escorted. The Cenmarta maiden and the Tavari had darted through the woods, and Tauriel had found her vantage point to take her revenge.
Part of her was concerned about how much she enjoyed killing the Orcs. She wondered if her soul was beginning to become tainted, poisoned, like the sickness that could rot the heartwood in a tree. She didn't know, and, she thought to herself ruthlessly, she didn't have time to think about it or care.
Now her wrist ached from shooting her longbow. She didn't shoot it often, not the one of solid, strong rowan wood that her Mother had given to her before she'd been sent to the Village. It and the sky-earth tipped arrows with their pale green fletching were difficult on her arm. It took a lot of strength to control it, a lot of strength to aim and shoot. And she was still so sensitive to the rough twine of the bowstring that she'd managed to rip open a blister on her thumb. It stung irritatingly, but didn't bleed, so she ignored it.
Shooting the bow was difficult on her ear, as well, she amended, as a trickle of wetness flowed down from the middle of the curve of her ear and down her neck. She'd cut herself on the fletching. It happened sometimes with her Mother's arrows when she wasn't being careful. The speed and immense force could turn rigid silken feathers into a soft, stinging blade.
Belatedly, Tauriel wondered if Anar would remember to collect those arrows and return them to her when they met up again. The green fletching were special feathers her Mother had given her. They were ravisoron feathers, from the lion-eagles that nested in the greater forests and made their eyries in the sequoia trees. It was hard to find the plants that dyed them green and made them so strong and stiff. She even had a hunch that her Mother did something to them, something to make them fly truer by just a bit, but she couldn't be sure. She'd never shot so well before at night, but that could have been because the Orcs had kept on tripping over tree roots that had inexplicably kept putting themselves in the monsters' paths.
The earth did not like creatures of Darkness such as Orcs, not at all. The woods would not bear their presence quietly or demurely.
Stupid Yrch, she thought.
Shrugging it off and blotting the bleeding on her ear with a shirt sleeve, she climbed down from the tree. She touched her bleeding ear, wetting her finger tips, and smeared the crimson on the bark of the oak tree she had climbed. Silently, she thought, Thank you. I give the sap of my body to quicken yours until the time of the cold sleep comes. It was an empty gift, really - there was nothing wrong with this oak, and if there had been, she could have done nothing to fix that. But it was a demand of courtesy, and the Liemuina were supposed to always be courteous.
She held out her hand to Breeyid, who took it hesitantly. The Cenmarta maiden could tell that the Tavari was in a not-quite happy mood. But the hazel-eyed girl gave the earth maiden a kind smile and helped her up to her feet.
"Let's go home," Tauriel murmured.
"For how long?" Breeyid asked.
The wood sprite gave her a long, considering look. Her eyes were dark in the pale light of the moon, but Breeyid's eyes were bright and shining. Tauriel was surprised that such a naïve girl could ask such a wise question. For how long were they going to be home? How long would it truly be home? For a moment, the Tavari felt a fierce, bitter longing for the Linderyn, the forest where she was born, where she grew up. She thought longingly of the cargaladhon in her forest, and the Vorlhunaelin, where she had learned to swim. It made her chest ache.
What finally brought her attention back to the real world was a strange tickling sensation against her cheek. She touched her face, and her fingers came away wet.
She was crying.
Immediately, she sucked in a deep breath and sighed, wiping surreptitiously at her eyes. Why was she weeping? She hadn't wept in such a long time. It made no sense. Ignoring the strange twisting in her chest, she blinked back the tears and turned to Breeyid, forgetting for the moment how much she wanted to leave this awful, lonely forest and go home. Instead, she thought about the Cenmarta maiden's question.
How long would they be in the Village?
"You and I…." She began, and paused. She thought for a moment, thinking about how she felt about the Village. She had never liked it, but some of the people in it, she had cared for. Anarmacil reminded her of herself, centuries ago - lonely, distant, wondering where they stood in the world, now that they were ripped from the one place they'd ever known. Breeyid, young and so naïve, with powers that didn't want to cooperate. Carlas, who loved to make things grow. The girl who had come once, sixty years ago and stayed until three decades ago, what was her name? Ah, yes, Linde, with her one good eye the color of the twilight nestled in bone-white scars, and her long, jet black hair. All the people Tauriel cared for.
What was she going to do about all this?
Breeyid tugged on her sleeve.
"Tauriel?"
"You and I have much to do. Our people owe their allegiance to the monarchy of our respective courts. But we are both part of the Glittering Throng, and our King is mad. His Consort stands without any true power. The Queen of the Shining Court is twisted and hateful, her Consort long dead. Who then do we give our loyalty to? We know of only one who is fit to rule - the Heir of Shadows. Princess Mornie is our Queen, whether she wears the crown or not. We owe her our allegiance.
"Therefore, we will go to the Village, to ready ourselves for the journey after Anarmacil and Elluine. Then we follow them, and protect them. We do as she bids, Breeyid, the Heir of Shadows. She is our Queen in truth. Never forget that."
"Excellent speech," a soft, feathery voice murmured.
Tauriel jumped in surprise and hastily shoved young Breeyid behind her as the Tavari whirled around to face the source of this new voice. The hazel-eyed young woman had reacted before she had had time to actually form a proper thought. She found herself looking straight into the glittering, violet eyes of Cirince Fletcherson, who ruffled the feathers of her coppery wings casually. Her eyes burned with violet fire, sparking like lightning. There was something akin to anger in her gaze.
"Why do you keep doing that?" Tauriel demanded angrily. "Appearing behind us like smoke!"
"I liked your speech! Don't have a conniption. If you'd been paying better attention, perhaps I wouldn't have been able to sneak up on you, would I have? But the reason I'm here is because dawn is scarce an hour away and if Erynmir discovers you were in the woods - not to mention the Mistress - you both will be in much trouble."
"What about you?" Breeyid asked.
"I care not about their histrionics," Cirince murmured, pulling her wings in tight to her body with an audible snap. "But I do still think that we should make our way back to the Village now. As for you, wood woman of Linderyn, Forests of Song, I would watch your tongue before it leads you to trouble. Erynmir is mistress of this forest, stronger than you will ever be. The trees could be on her side. Beware what you speak in these woods, or it might get back to the wrong ears. Have a care."
Tauriel glanced at the woods, at all the surrounding trees, and sighed.
"We ought to get back to the Village. It'll be dawn soon," the violet-eyed half-ravisoron suggested, glancing uncertainly at the sky. The strange, gray light of false dawn made her nervous, raised the feathers on her wings, back, and the nape of her neck, made the soft fur on her arms stand on end. She sniffed the air, and rubbed her eyes with a fist. She hated this time of night. It made her shiver in the cold, early morning air.
"Aye," the Cenmarta maiden murmured. "We ought to."
"Yes," Tauriel replied. "Let's go."
And they walked back to the Village, anxious in the chill and dark pre-dawn morning.
.
"Now," Aragorn snapped as he hauled the youth down to sit on a log by the circle of stones surrounding the camp's fire pit. Much more gently, he laid the maiden-child on the ground on a bed of rushes that Halbarad had laid out, her head pillowed on Halbarad's coat. Her hair pillowed around her head in a silvery nimbus, and her eyelashes glinted like golden crescents in the firelight against her gaunt cheeks.
Anarmacil sat, rigid and furious, upon the ground, the fire half-illuminating his face. For the first time, Aragorn got a decent look at the boy's injuries.
His right ear was ripped and ragged, caked with black, congealing blood. His cheek was swollen, bruised, bleeding. Around the gash was a spot of bright white, centered in the middle of that large, black bruise on his cheek. That indicated a possible fracture. The left eyebrow was split down the middle, just barely scabbed over. His bottom lip was swollen, and he had a black eye. A thick, rigid scar the color of old blood ran beneath the new injuries from the left corner of his forehead to the opposite side of his chin. The lad's right arm was bound tightly to his chest, but the Ranger could see that despite the sling, the boy's arm was tied at a strange angle. His knuckles on both hands were scraped and bleeding. One finger was swollen and bluish, either sprained or broken. He held his foot out away from his body, also in a strange way. A twisted ankle?
"Now," Aragorn said again, this time far more gently. The boy looked badly used, as well. What had happened to these children? Orcs would've done far more damage, and animals would not have dealt this kind of injury. These children… had they been beaten? For a moment, his heart stirred with pity for the lad. "Now, boy…."
Then the youth opened his mouth.
All traces of pity vanished.
"Now what, vagabond?"
"Anar, shut up," Elluine whispered. Aragorn and Anarmacil both jumped and turned to see the fair-haired maiden lying on her side, gasping softly for breath. "Get down off your high horse. Just because you're nobility doesn't give you the right to be a butt."
"Did you just call me a butt?"
"Would you prefer 'Sir Butt?' Or 'Lord Butt,' perhaps? If you truly want to face off against me, I can certainly do even better."
The boy, Anar, glanced at her sharply and bit his lip, as if forcing back a smile, before he said, "I would wager you very well could, Ellie. But aren't you supposed to be unconscious, mud girl?" He poked her gently in the side, and she giggled tiredly.
"All right, children," Aragorn interrupted firmly. He was fighting, suddenly, to keep his mouth from quirking into a small smile. It was obvious that these two were good friends. Were they sweethearts, perhaps? "Now that you're done squabbling, perhaps you could answer some of my questions?"
"Certainly," Elluine replied in a breathy voice, sighing. "Y-yes…." She added softly... before passing out from exhaustion, her eyes fluttering closed.
"Elluine!"
Anar yelped her name and lunged to her side. He lightly slapped her cheeks over and over, whispering her name. She didn't so much as flutter an eyelash. For a split second, his mind blanked completely, and panic slashed at his senses. This was just like last time. Elluine would die, just like Nenimir and Mirilhun, his sweet little sisters. Everything was happening all over again! His father was right, it was his fault that his sisters had died by his hand. It was his fault, and now it would happen once more. It was fate, he was cursed. Elluine, Elluine….
Biting his lip, trying to maintain some semblance of control, the lad turned his stricken face up to Aragorn's. Asking for help sent shockwaves of self-loathing and bitterness through him, but it was his friend's life or his pride. His eyes were wide and fearful as he cried, "Do something! You said you would help her! Please!"
"I need water," Aragorn replied calmly, kneeling down beside the unconscious young woman.
He felt for her pulse. It was still there, but just as thready as before. Her skin was chilled - she might have been going into shock. The Ranger sought for calm inside himself, found his tranquility, and glanced at the youth, whose wide eyes were bright with obvious fear and a darker emotion turned inward.
"I am going to make her a special tea, and we are going to have to wake her up enough for her to drink it. But first I must wake her. Gil!"
Rovengil, a young Ranger with pale blond hair, approached and sketched a left-handed salute. Anar saw that he was one of the Peredhil, from the slight shadow of a beard on the jaw to the delicate points to his ears, framed by shorn golden hair. Anxiously, the youth glanced at Aragorn again.
"Gil, I'm sending you out for water," the Ranger commanded. "I want it quickly, do you understand?"
The Ranger nodded and disappeared into the trees.
Aragorn then lifted the girl up into his arms, cradling her head in the crook of his elbow. She was turned almost on her side, her hand curled into a loose fist against his breast. He tried to get her to lie upon her back, but when he moved her more than a fraction of an inch, she cried out in pain, so he stopped. He brushed her soft, silvery hair out of her face gently. She looked so young. Who would do this to such a sweet, young girl?
"She's older than me," Anar interrupted Aragorn's thoughts as the Ranger began going over what he would need. It was obvious to the Numenorean that the lad was speaking to fight against the sense of panic the Ranger could see rising in the boy's eyes. "Don't be fooled by her size. She hates that."
"Who is she?"
"Why is he loose, Aragorn?" Halbarad demanded as he approached. Aragorn saw the boy jump in surprise. Apparently, he hadn't heard the other Ranger approach. "Why isn't he bound?" In his hand he held a sprig of athelas. In his free left hand he carried a small pouch, probably full of the same herb.
Anar said loudly, snidely, "Do you fear me? Is that why you wish to tie me up like some bandit? You cannot handle a single youth?"
Halbarad cuffed the youth hard enough that Aragorn frowned at him. Anar only grunted, though Aragorn could see tears of pain swimming in the lad's dark eyes. The offending Ranger then snarled, "Hold your tongue, boy, or you may lose it." Then he handed the pouch he carried to Aragorn and, kneeling down beside the prone figure of the cradled girl, broke the sprig of king's foil right beneath her nose. The sweet, pungent scent wafted up to her nose and she breathed it in. Aragorn counted to ten slowly, and the girl's eyes opened.
"Fetch me a candle, Halbarad, and light it for me."
"But Aragorn," his companion objected, casting a baleful glance at Anar.
The Ranger merely glanced at the other Man, who bowed his head briefly before fetching a candle from one of the supply packs. All the time, Aragorn kept his eyes on the girl's. They were a brilliant gray-blue, reflecting the stars of the sky in their depths. Her pointed, feral face was gaunt, from malnutrition, he knew. This girl had been badly abused, that was plain enough. He glanced at the boy, and saw his eyes were focused on the girl's pale face, golden flecks gleaming in their summer night-sky depths from the light of the flickering flames. He was chewing on his bottom lip, despite the swelling and the split bisecting his mouth. The boy hadn't complained once about his injuries, despite how they must have pained him. He obviously cared for the maiden the Ranger was trying to heal.
"Why do you want a candle?" The girl asked him softly. He shifted her again, trying to get her onto her back again to make her comfortable. But the maiden cried out, "Oh, no! No, don't! It hurts!"
"Stop it! You're hurting her!" Anar snapped.
The fire crackled and flared, distracting him, and the soothing warmth and prettily dancing sparks were enough to help him catch a hold of his tongue and regain control of his incredibly short temper. He just wanted to be home! If he was home, everything would be all right. This would never have happened to Ellie and even if it had, he'd be able to summon Linde, his twin, and the healer she was training under so that someone with experience in these matters, real experience healing the Liemuina, could care for Elluine. Silently, he cursed his father.
Aloud, he said to the Ranger, bitterness and hate lacing his voice like poison, "If you can't hold her properly, maybe I-"
"Boy, be silent," Aragorn commanded, nearly all patience evaporating in the face of the boy's attitude. Maybe Halbarad had had the right idea, biffing him. "I'm trying to help her, not hurt her. It was an accident, I apologize."
He saw the girl reach out a hand to the lad, then draw it back, clenched into a fist against the pain. She squeezed her eyes shut. Aragorn touched a hand to her temple, and her face relaxed. He massaged gently, and then took the sweet smelling, beeswax candle from Halbarad when he brought it.
"We are low on candles. I had a somewhat difficult time finding one," he told Aragorn, who nodded his acknowledgment. Aragorn then managed to get the girl to sit up enough that he could test her eyes. It was just as he had suspected: she was incapable of tracking the flickering candle flame with her gaze, and her pupils were at different dilations. He sighed, but didn't let the news distract him from helping her.
"You have a bruise on your brain, girl," Aragorn said softly. "A concussion, do you understand? It is why you have been passing in and out of consciousness, and why your head aches so badly. Whatever healer saw to you before you set out on your journey should have noticed this and seen to it. You should have waited until you were healed of this before setting out on your path."
"We had no choice," Anar replied in the girl's stead. "They would have harmed her even further. We had her seen to by the best healer who would deign to tend to her, and she wasn't very old or experienced. She did the very best she could, but that was not very much."
"Who was this young, inexperienced healer?"
"She's the daughter of a great healer, but her mother didn't have time to teach her everything she wanted to before she was sent to the Village. That's usually the way it is with the ones sent there – we miss much of what our parents wish to teach us. Or our parents don't care and just want to send us away because we did something they didn't like." This last was said so bitterly that Aragorn turned towards the injured boy, only to catch sight of him scrubbing roughly at his non-bruised cheek, staring into the camp's dancing fire. The boy's eyes were full of hurt and hatred, and such loneliness that the Ranger wondered what could possibly have caused such a deep, bitter pain.
Aragorn murmured softly, "I know of no parents who love their children so very little, that they would send them away for any reason that was not for their own good. Surely whatever grief you bear, whatever grievance your parents have committed, the love between you cannot have suffered so terribly. Whatever has happened, it must have been to help you. They must have thought it was for your own good."
"Oh, yes, it's always for our own good, isn't it?" Anar snapped.
Halbarad moved as if to cuff him again, but Aragorn shook his head.
"It's always what's best for our sakes. No matter that they're ripping out their own child's heart, destroying every hope they'd ever had. No matter that they're taking away the only people that ever mattered, just because you made a few mistakes. They curse you, spit on you, beat you into the dust like a mangy cur. They abandon you in the middle of nowhere, leave you all alone, for no cursed reason! Simply because… just because… all because they hate you. And all for our own good, Aule curse them. Pox rot them all," the lad snarled hatefully. "Their loathing is for our own good. Explain that, Ranger of the North. Explain that to me."
Aragorn noticed the girl's eyes were fixed on the lad's face as he paled, his face pinched. He had a strange notion that the boy, while older than he looked, was younger than he seemed. There was a very deep emotional wound there, beneath all of that rough, tough exterior, a wound that was not only still bleeding, but festering. It was smoldering, just beneath the surface, waiting to explode. This child had such a wound. Where had he come by it?
"What mistakes can a parent not forgive their child?" Halbarad asked Anarmacil, voice gentle for the first time.
"Saving a forest from burning. Saving a people from unrighteous slaughter. Doing battle against the forces of darkness. Killing your sisters and falling in love," the lad replied, his voice dripping icy rage and disdain. "But especially the last bit."
"What did you-" The Ranger began.
"And then," the boy said forcefully, obviously trying to halt any questions about his bitter words. "We were forced to leave before Erynmir-"
" Anar!" The girl cried. "Don't say that name in the forest! She'll hear you!"
"She's not the Night Princess, Ellie, for the stars' sake! She doesn't have that power."
"Who is the Night Princess?" Halbarad asked softly.
"The only princess I know of who can throw knives, pick locks, clean rooms, slay Orcs, play the harp - though not very well - and beat Morquanar at chess," the boy answered puzzlingly. "She's brilliant, like new stars or fireworks. She can make any man smile. I thank the Valar every morning and every evening for the existence of the Heir of Shadows, the Night Princess."
"You speak as if you know her."
"I-" Anar began, looking sheepish, and Elluine interrupted, "The other girl, you shouldn't say her name, Anarmacil. She's close to the forest. She might even be in the forest. It isn't safe."
Anar scrubbed at his face ineffectually. Aragorn realized the boy looked incredibly tired. He must have been, to let so much of his pain spill forth. "I wouldn't worry about it. Besides, I can handle that girl. She's nothing special."
"Then why haven't you faced her and made her stop being such a snobbish wench yet?" The maiden demanded. "Don't say her name while we're in the forest, all right?"
"Very well," the boy murmured wearily. He laid himself down on his back, staring up at the sky. "If it vexes you so. I don't care."
Perplexed, Aragorn watched the exchange and wondered at it. Who was this Erynmir that the maiden was so frightened of? And who, or what, was a Night Princess? And what had the boy meant? Aragorn knew, he simply knew, that this boy was not a killer. Yet he had admitted to killing his own sister. And what was that about falling in love? These two, this maiden and this youth who was filled with such hatred and pain, what was their tale? Why were they running? Why had they been so badly hurt?
"You two are a puzzle, that is sure and certain," Aragorn murmured softly. "I must ask, boy, where exactly did you get that knife of yours?"
"I told you," the youth replied. He sounded a bit calmer now that the Ranger had changed the subject. "I got all three of my knives from the white Beornings in the Misty Mountains. They're good at making weapons. They make things from vilyekemen. It's the greatest of metals. Only mithril is better. My father... owns a... shirt of mithril rings and a... mithril sword..."
When nothing was forthcoming for a long while after that, the Ranger waited a moment and then looked over at the youth. What he saw was the boy, Anarmacil, having fallen fast asleep from pure exhaustion, was curled up atop his own cloak, his face turned towards the girl in Aragorn's arms. He cradled his left arm tightly against his chest, as if it pained him.
It was at this point that Rovengil came back with the water, and Halbarad made tea while Aragorn held Elluine in his arms, giving her comfort, as he carefully unwrapped the bandages around her hands. He saw the splinted fingers, and the purple and blue flesh, the swelling and bruising around pinpoints of white that indicated broken bones. He touched a gentle finger to the swollen, purple eye socket, and the girl hissed a breath. Rage made his voice soft when he spoke, but his anger was not at the girl.
"Forgive me," Aragorn murmured. "I'm not trying to hurt you."
"I know," she replied. She let her head fall against his chest. "Thank you."
"This will hurt a lot, dear lady."
"I know it," she answered. "I'm used to pain. I don't mind. And I'm not a lady." That was the last thing she said before drinking the athelas tea. He knew from experience it would help the throbbing pain in her head immensely. When she'd finished the first cup, he tried to set her down upon her back again. She clenched her teeth and hissed, "Please! Don't!"
"Very well," he said. "Very well. But what is it? What pains you?"
"My..." She trailed off, and stared resolutely at the fire, pursing her lips together. She would not look at him, or answer his questions about why she could not lie down upon her back. She simply gazed at the crackling flames and said nothing. Her eyes glittered with tears of pain.
"Child, if you will not tell me, I cannot help ease your pain."
"I cannot tell you," she murmured. She shrugged self-consciously. "I swore to my mother that I would never say."
"You swore you would never say why you cannot lie down on your back like a normal person without crying out in pain?" Aragorn asked incredulously.
She refused to look at him.
The other Ranger, Halbarad, sighed and got to his feet. He started to walk away from the fire.
"Where are you going, Sir Ranger?" She asked him.
"Lady, I cannot stand by and watch your pain when you will not accept help from those who would give you aid. So I will take the first watch that would otherwise have belonged to your esteemed healer. I take my leave, Lady."
And he walked away.
The maid looked up at Aragorn.
"Do you intend to leave me as well, Sir Ranger?" She asked him. He shook his head. "Is there anything else you can do for me?"
"Well... I can see to the rest of your injuries, at least. If you will allow me?"
Aragorn set her, seated upright, upon the ground, and gently took her hand. He checked all the bruised fingers- index, middle, and little- to make sure the bones had been set properly. One hadn't- he winced at her small, stifled cry of pain as he set her little finger properly and splinted it again. A solitary tear rolled down her cheek. The broken fingers on the other hand had all been set properly. He bandaged them up.
"There's more, besides your head and your hands. There's your face. I could help with that, if you so choose."
One of her newly splinted hands came up to touch the welts on her face. She would always bear scars, even if he did help her. But if he got salve on them now, while they were healing, it would be nowhere near so bad. She would not be disfigured, at least.
"I don't know what you could possibly do, but you're welcome to try." She rubbed with the heel of her palm against one temple, her face furrowing in pain.
"Halbarad!" He called. "Gil!" Both Rangers came to him. "I need salve for the maiden, as well as another cup of tea." Aragorn focused on the girl as Rovengil went to get the tea, and Halbarad brought him the salve. The leader of the Rangers dipped his fingers in the cool, transparent green gel and smoothed it over the crisscrossing lashes on her face. It took a matter of seconds, and then he gave her a second cup of the healing tea, which she drained gratefully.
"Better?" He asked gently.
"Yes, sir."
"Were you whipped as well?" He could barely contain the anger rumbling behind his voice. She nodded once. "Then, may I see to the injuries on your back?"
"No!" She cried, loudly enough that Anar snorted in his sleep and shifted a little. She pulled out of his arms and was only saved from falling into the campfire by Aragorn lunging forward and hauling on her arm. She hissed in pain and fell to her knees, but she glared up at him from the tangle of her silvery hair.
"My lady-"
"Do not touch my back. Don't. I don't care about scars, or pain, or whatever else you might dredge up as an excuse! Don't touch my back."
"I... very well," he said, bewildered. He nodded to Rovengil and Halbarad, who had leapt to their feet at her outburst. Both of them sat back and relaxed just a little. "My men will make up a bed for you beside your escort. One more cup of tea, I think, and then you may sleep safely."
She drank the tea, and laid down on the pallet the Rangers had set up for her beside Anar's sleeping form. However, she didn't sleep until dawn. The throbbing pain of her injuries and Aragorn's ministrations kept her awake until, when he had come back from his turn at watch and noticed she was still awake, he gave her a strong soporific that helped her to sleep.
It was long after the maid had fallen asleep that Aragorn himself fell asleep, drifting off to the accompaniment of a thousand questions revolving around in his brain.
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Disclaimer - I came up with the storyline, the Liemuina, etc. I did not come up with the hobbits, the Elvish language, or anything else copyrighted by someone other than me.
Author's Note:
I was listening to the audio commentary of the Extended Two Towers DVD and I realized I had something (something short) that I wanted to say about the characters of Anarmacil, Breeyid, Cirince, Elluine, and Tauriel.
I noticed as I was rereading some of the chapters that all of the kids (because essentially, though some of them have lived rather a long time, they are still young for their species) are all longing for their homes. Tauriel, Elluine, and Anarmacil especially want to go home because, having lived for so long, they've had a lot of time to become attached to where they were born and raised. A big driver behind their characters - behind almost all the Village young ones, really - is that they were all forced to leave their homes for various reasons.
Anar was exiled. Elluine and Cirince were sent away to keep them safe. Tauriel was sent away because, despite her great age, her powers haven't manifested yet. Breeyid was sent away because her mother died and her father didn't have the time to take care of her and her powers weren't manifesting properly. But all of them want to go home. Everyone wants to be where they feel they belong, and those five don't have that. It's a major driving force behind their characters. It's one of the reasons Cirince's such a snob, why Anar's so angsty, why Breeyid is so timid, and why Tauriel is so cold to people. It's a very powerful character motivator.
So, yeah, I just wanted to say that. Um… thanks for reading.
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Sources:
The Art of Amy Brown - book
The Brothers Grimm - book
Chronicles of Narnia - books
Dark Curse by Christine Feehan - book
Flowers in the Attic by VC Andrews - book
The Golden Compass by Phillip Pullman - book
The Golden Compass - movie
Grimm Criminology: Demons of the Mind by LA Knight - fanfiction
The Lord of the Rings: the Fellowship of the Rings - book
The Lord of the Rings: the Fellowship of the Rings - movie
Lothiriel by Juno Magic - fanfiction
Meredith Gentry Series by Laurell K. Hamilton - books
Nevrast . net - website
Princess Mononoke by Hiyao Miyazaki - movie
Strands of Starlight Quintet by Gael Baudino - book
Tuckborough . net - website
Uib. No/People/hnohf/wordlists . Htm - website
Wikipedia . org - website
Translation of words:
Athelas- king's foil
Caranna - red gift
Cargaladh - redwood; literally "red tree" (1)
Cargaladhon - redwoods; "red trees" (2)
Liemuina- Hidden People, Secret People
Lle lakwenien - Are you joking?
Vilyekemen- sky earth (3)
Yrch - Orcs
1 - as far as I know, a redwood tree is the only tree with red bark. I couldn't find the word for redwood on Nevrast or on that one website that starts with "U" so I just used the words "red tree."
2 - I checked the grammar guides on Nevrast. I couldn't figure out how to turn "galadh" into its plural form. But I remembered that the capital city of Lothlorien is called Caras Galadhon; so I thought (hoped, wished, prayed) that galadhon was the plural form of galadh (which means tree).
3 - copyright belongs to Philip Pullman
Weapon Names:
Calthilivern- Shining white light
Iul- ember
Silfatanyu - Hell Shines White
Tinu- Spark (4)
4 - copyright belongs to Juno Magic
Names of Places:
1. Linderyn - Forests of Song; literally forests-song. This is the forest where Tauriel was born and raised. Humans know it as Fangorn.
2. Vorlhunaelin - Lake of Dark Blue; the lake where the tree called Caranna grows.
References to other literature:
- the concept of vilyekemen was inspired by the "sky iron" mentioned in the Golden Compass. It is what the armor of the panserbeorne is made from.
- one of Anar's throwing knives, Tinu, was inspired by the sword borne by the title character of Juno Magic's LotR fanfic, Lothiriel. It, too, was called Tinu.
- the concept of paired throwing knives was inspired by the character Doyle in the Meredith Gentry series by Laurell K. Hamilton. Doyle, Captain of the royal guard, has two throwing knives called Snick and Snack. I use this concept in another fanfic, Demons of the Mind, for my main character Razielle. She has two knives, Thornography and Nightwish.
- my take on Liemuina bloodlines as well as that phrase about "the cold light of the stars" is loosely inspired by the Strands of Starlight series by Gael Baudino.
- much of Anarmacil's back story was inspired by the Grimm fairytale Rapunzel as well as the book Flowers in the Attic. Some of Anar's character traits - such as his inability to trust - were inspired by the book Dark Curse as well as the character San from the movie Princess Mononoke.
People Names:
Ambarone - sunrise
Anarmacil- sun blade
Aragorn - royal valor
Caranna - red gift
Halbarad - tall tower
Mirilhun - jewels of the blue
Rovengil - I believe it was "wandering star" but I'm not sure
Tauriel - contraction that means "forest maiden" or "wood maiden"
Tuacso - bone and sinew
