A/N: Oh, whoa, I forgot the disclaimer. Eeps! Well, obviously, I'm not the Great One, J. R. R. Tolkien and I sadly don't know him. But if I did, I'm sure he'd be nice enough to give me a hobbit or two. Anyway, thanks to my reviewers (Three already... wow, I feel talented! Seriously! Anyway, on with the still nameless story... any ideas for a title would be greatly appreciated. Uhm... if I use it, I'll put you in someplace? ::shrug:: worth a shot...
Time went by, as it always does when you are miserable, at an alarmingly slow rate. I suppose I could have been a bit warmer towards these distant relatives, but why? Months flew by. The seasons changed. Life is horrible when you're an immortal and you're unhappy. It's said that we, the Elves, can die of grief. I must have been very close to death, indeed, with all of my pathetic sulking. My uncle and his three sons did seem somewhat interested in me. Thinkáno, the middle son, was the most sincere in his efforts towards my happiness, I would later learn. The complete opposite of Thinkáno would be the eldest, Iaurgon. Unfortunately, my youth and my bad judgement got the best of me, for it was not Thinkáno that I befriended, but Iaurgon. Many perverse and very un-princely things we did together and I am now quite ashamed of every one of them. Once, I recall that we set the tunic of a stable boy on fire. We found it hilarious. His elder sister, one of the kitchen servants, did
not. The line of curses she gave to us gave her nothing but a sore throat and four days without food. Iaurgon throw hot coals down the girls dress, I later learned. I also learned that it was Thinkáno whom helped her to heal those horrid wounds. We never picked fun at the Elven servants. In Vefalas (as my uncle's kingdom is called) their were very few Elven servants and they held rather high positions under my uncle. Besides, it is much more fun to play with humans. They are such funny little creatures. Back then, I recall comparing them to flies - annoying as orcs, but great fun to pluck the wings from.
One day, when Iaurgon and I were riding through the barren countryside we happened upon a little old man, bent quite a bit and clinging to a staff for support. He was rather hard to see, his gray cloak and hat matching the god-awful mists, and we nearly ran him over. Iaurgon shouted to the man, who was obviously human, to watch where he was going. I remember laughing with Iaurgon as he nudged his horse into the man. We expected him to fall and shout out in pain, like the weakling all humans were, but he didn't. In fact, the horse, for the first time in my memory, did not obey his master. The old man slowly lifted his head toward us. A chill ran down my spine at the power I felt running through him. Our horses apparently felt it as well, for Iaurgon's went wild and ran off as quickly as it possible could. Mine, in an attempt to follow, bucked high on his back legs. The last thing I remember from that day is a swift breath of air flying up at me as a fell from my steed and the
man's eyes digging into my heart.
Time went by, as it always does when you are miserable, at an alarmingly slow rate. I suppose I could have been a bit warmer towards these distant relatives, but why? Months flew by. The seasons changed. Life is horrible when you're an immortal and you're unhappy. It's said that we, the Elves, can die of grief. I must have been very close to death, indeed, with all of my pathetic sulking. My uncle and his three sons did seem somewhat interested in me. Thinkáno, the middle son, was the most sincere in his efforts towards my happiness, I would later learn. The complete opposite of Thinkáno would be the eldest, Iaurgon. Unfortunately, my youth and my bad judgement got the best of me, for it was not Thinkáno that I befriended, but Iaurgon. Many perverse and very un-princely things we did together and I am now quite ashamed of every one of them. Once, I recall that we set the tunic of a stable boy on fire. We found it hilarious. His elder sister, one of the kitchen servants, did
not. The line of curses she gave to us gave her nothing but a sore throat and four days without food. Iaurgon throw hot coals down the girls dress, I later learned. I also learned that it was Thinkáno whom helped her to heal those horrid wounds. We never picked fun at the Elven servants. In Vefalas (as my uncle's kingdom is called) their were very few Elven servants and they held rather high positions under my uncle. Besides, it is much more fun to play with humans. They are such funny little creatures. Back then, I recall comparing them to flies - annoying as orcs, but great fun to pluck the wings from.
One day, when Iaurgon and I were riding through the barren countryside we happened upon a little old man, bent quite a bit and clinging to a staff for support. He was rather hard to see, his gray cloak and hat matching the god-awful mists, and we nearly ran him over. Iaurgon shouted to the man, who was obviously human, to watch where he was going. I remember laughing with Iaurgon as he nudged his horse into the man. We expected him to fall and shout out in pain, like the weakling all humans were, but he didn't. In fact, the horse, for the first time in my memory, did not obey his master. The old man slowly lifted his head toward us. A chill ran down my spine at the power I felt running through him. Our horses apparently felt it as well, for Iaurgon's went wild and ran off as quickly as it possible could. Mine, in an attempt to follow, bucked high on his back legs. The last thing I remember from that day is a swift breath of air flying up at me as a fell from my steed and the
man's eyes digging into my heart.