Okay, so I decided I'm not going to delve too deep into the storyline of the entire verse, because I'd go bonkers otherwise, trying to figure out some sort of timeline from that crazy mess.
I DID hit upon a pretty awesome idea for Khuzdul that I discussed with one of my readers though, and it was fun enough to spawn something of a chapter and a half. (The other half's in the works right now) So the idea is that Khuzdul is not just a spoken language-it also incorporates sign language, meaning that in truth 'khuzdul' that's spoken and iglishmek are two halves of the true secret language. Furthermore, the spoken one has several differing bits between different clans due to where they live and whatnot, so there's dialects on top of that, kind of like Mandarin and Cantonese and Hokkien. XD In that 'Mandarin' is the Standard Khuzdul, whilst 'Cantonese and Hokkien' are regional versions. Because dwarrow love layers. Ahahahahaha. Of course, there's different iglishmek, though that's more separated between formal and informal types. (Court and Miner versions)
Phew, and...that's about it I guess.
Time…kind of trickles off Ratha. It doesn't touch her, not really. She's The First Wind, The First Whisper, and even though nobody mentions it, she's the Breath of Life. Of course Manwe is her Lord. Technically that means she serves him on top of Namo and Melkor, but when she made Namo laugh, Manwe had relented.
When Melkor had claimed her he'd kind of thrown a fit, but they don't talk about that.
Anyway, time passes her by, just like a sad song, and nobody mentions it. Nobody mentions how Ratha—lively, exuberant Ratha—has gone quiet.
The wind doesn't whistle anymore.
She still tends to her duties, because Arda cannot survive without her, but there's nary a sound from her now. She's all silent breezes and puffs now. An elf fan of hers developed wind chimes to track her.
She's just…bored.
If she were still human, with a human's spirit, she'd be at the end of her rope of endurance. She'd have been worn down by time.
But she's not. Time…can't touch her at all. Not her physical form, nor her emotions. Her spirit is its own flow, and it never ends, never tires, never ceases. She's not tired. She's not weary. She's just.
Bored.
There's nothing new happening, well there were some things but they weren't interesting in the way Beorn had been, elvish as they were.
She still visits him, but she's conscious enough that she can tell that it's not weekly anymore. It takes conscious effort to keep track of time. Of course, it take conscious effort to keep track of something that doesn't really touch you.
He hangs chimes on all his eaves now, so that he will know when she passes by. It comforts him to hear her, even when he can hardly remember the true sound of rushing wind anymore. His days are quieter than they have ever been, and somewhere deep inside he regrets ever wishing for quiet days.
But what are the sorrows of Children to the whims of the likes of her?
Ratha drifts pass a familiar house covered in chimes and continues on, listening to the gentle knocks of hollowed wood. She wonders how Melkor is doing.
xXXx
Gandalf, for he is truly settled into his second name now, finds her sitting idly on a hill one day, scattering seeds absentmindedly. They're even all perfectly within their regions—something that has not happened since Eru had delegated her the job. He takes out an old pipe and rubs it clean against his filthy grey robe, a far cry from the brilliant, elfin, heroic figure he had been as Olorin. He stuffs weed into it and lights it up with matches.
She watches him fiddle with all these mortal instruments, wondering when he'd become so fully integrated into this world.
Three puffs—perfectly ordinary, non-smoke Maiar-inducing puffs—later and he sighs contentedly, sitting side-by-side with an old friend. An elf has just died a perfectly heroic death, an elf has just created a wondrous gem. He remembers the names when he sees them, but as Ratha once said: Out of sight, out of mind.
Curumo, now Saruman the White, has created his tower of greatness and awe. It stands tall, defiantly against the backdrop of flat plains. Even the Forests beside it look like dwarrow around Men.
Ah…Men. Gandalf puffs some more as he ponders Eru's plans for this last Children. Secondborn? Hoho, more like Lastborn. So many different Children have come before them, and yet, it is to Men that Eru has decreed Arda be given to.
Gandalf puffs some more, the soft sound the only thing to be heard on this great plain. Ratha is silent as she flows about, not even swishing the blades of grass at their feet.
She misses Melkor.
Gandalf realized a long time ago. Loneliness, sadness, regret, Ratha has been through it all. She acts so immature few realize how wise she truly is. While nobody can fathom why she is able to support the Dark Lord without truly Turning, or why, nobody can refute that her loyalty is real and deep. Melkor, when he had been just Melkor, had had a charisma that shined brilliantly. Now few can remember those days when he had laughed and played and basked under the blessing of Eru.
Even Gandalf's memory is growing dim. Like a real old man, he realizes, his Vision grows blurred and his Thoughts slow. He can no longer peer into the future the way he used to, and he can no longer fly to the corners of Middle Earth like he used to. All the Wizards have found this to be true.
Except Ratha, but the Breath of Arda cannot be compared. Namo doesn't restrict her the way the other Valar do their followers. The lord of Mandos says that wind cannot be restricted, but everybody knows it is because he favours she who is the wind.
He puffs some more and continues to think, but as evening comes and the newly made Sun and Moon rotate positions, he finds that Ratha has already drifted from the little hill they sat on. He sighs then, because no one can capture the wind.
Just as no one can help it.
xXXx
Ratha wanders around as she is wont to do. She has scoured the corners of newly-fixed Arda and found that the shape of the land is much changed. Changed, but not so different from the places they were shaped after. She wonders a little about who pieced them back, but doesn't really find enough interest to investigate.
She drifts on and on…and entire centuries pass.
She finds herself spiralling gently into a mountain and then…blinks.
The mountain's insides are…kinda scooped out.
The light in her eyes shines and she peers around this new and interesting place. She's forgotten all about Durin and his fellow dwarrow (hah rhyme) after a Time and a half, but now she remembers that, oh yeah, they actually live in the mountain.
She flutters around a pair of bellows, wanders through the burning forges, and finds…the dwarf king. Who is staring at her like he'd very much like to crack her head in with his mallet thing.
She stifles a smile as he glances left and right incredulously, because he's the only one who can see her—only the noble bloodline of Kings can see her these days. She coughs and waves and floats about, grinning as his eyes go wide and fearful.
(The other dwarrow are staring at him. Probably wondering if he's gone bonkers from the heat.)
At last, she materializes a physical body, and the effect is not unlike an anthill being upended. The dwarrow grab whatever's within reach (which are mostly hammers) and crowd around their king protectively. She reaches over and helpfully blows out a burning sleeve.
"Intruder!" someone cries in Khuzdul, waving his hands frantically as he spoke. The desperate tone as well as the spastic gesticulation belie his fear.
Exactly like termites, dwarrow start crawling out of the wood (cough stone cough) work.
Ratha looks around at the surrounding people and laughs.
Then she finds an anvil to sit down.
xXXx
"Who are you?" The dwarf king asks in Westron, having finally emerged from the circle of guards. (There was a lot of swearing and waving of his mallet)
Just to fuck with him, Ratha answers in perfect Khuzdul, hands moving seamlessly with her lips, "Your worst nightmare."
Again, there's the anthill impression, and the king has to out yell several hundred interrogations and calls for execution at once. It's impressive, if not exactly great for Ratha's hearing.
(Mountains echo)
"How do you know Khuzdul!" He asks (demands) furiously, still in Westron. He makes several rather rude gestures in iglishmek to his execution-demanding posse.
"I was there when Mahal made it, you idiots," she decides to skip the mystery drama this time, finding herself surprisingly impatient to interact more with the dwarves.
There's sputtering and then…oh great, 'signs' against evil. Even the king is beginning to look worried—as in he's debating the odds of smashing her with his weapon. "What's your name?" Ratha asks (obviously in Khuzdul), because she's getting pretty interested in all this.
"Why are you here?" he shakes a fist at her instead of replying.
"Where's Durin?" she decides to drop a name that will stop his fist-shaking. It does. His jaw drops. Why does Durin invoke more reaction than Mahal? Weird.
There's choking and he finally manages a strangled, "You knew Durin?" And even though it's without an honorific, there's a definite amount of awe there.
She wonders what she should tell him. I babysat him once? I used to give him flatulence? I blew his beard in his face until he started that ridiculous habit of stuffing it into his pants instead of trimming it into something less fluttery?
"…Duh," she ends up saying, "He was an annoying little shit when he was young."
There's a lot more choking and sputtering, but in the end the hammers have fallen to the side and there are dwarves getting closer, the way grandchildren do for storytime.
(Dwarrow)
"Okay, can someone finally answer my questions? I'm getting impatient."
So some more mumblings about the passing of time and Ratha being what she is. Obviously humans aren't meant to be immortal, hence the going crazy and self-destructive and shit, but Ratha isn't human now, so she was actually built for it. So obviously she won't go the way a human would, but she gets bored. There's Ratha bored, and then there's Gandalf...and then there's Radagast. (。ヘ°) (｡ ౪ ⊙｡) ＼(´◓Д◔`)／
...welp. And then there's Curumo and Sauron. (‡▼益▼) ( ╬◣ 益◢）y━･~
Memory25 out!