The Most Excellent and Lamentable Tale of A Mortal and and Elf
or
Fortune's Fool
Chapter 1
Stony limits cannot hold love out,
And what love can do that dares love attempt.
-Romeo and Juliet act 2, sc. 2.
It was a beautiful starlit night in Paris. A dark haired girl of about twenty or twenty-one sat on the banks of the Seine and let her feet trail off the bridge, shoes dangling from one hand, dress painfully inadequate at keeping out the chill breeze blowing down the river. She watched a young couple walk towards her and past her across the old stone bridge, hands entwined, laughing together at some joke they both shared. She shivered and once again cursed herself for not having enough sense to pick up her jacket as she stormed out of the restaurant. The warm yellow light of the street lamps highlighted her face as she pulled the pin out of her hair, letting it fall in dark waves across her shoulders and she stood up slowly. Pleasant as it was, Paris in April was not hot by her standards and she knew she had to get out of the cold soon or she would freeze.
As she strolled along the pavement, she gazed with almost unseeing eyes at the softly lit restaurants that lined the streets. Couples stared into each others' eyes and fed each other bits of creme brulee across candlelit tables, laughing to themselves contentedly. She didn't feel jealous in the slightest, if anything she felt relieved. After three years in a dead end relationship she was free, but the one thing she did regret was the means by which she had gained her freedom. Oliver had finally taken the opportunity to propose, not that it was much of a surprise, having found a jeweller's receipt in his pocket three weeks ago and having overheard a conversation with his best mate concerning 'so how did you pop the question to Laura?'. Oliver was awfully sweet when it suited him, but he could never be accused of being spontaneous, or even vaguely original.
She grinned to herself suddenly and looked out over the black water of the river with the street lights glittering enticingly in the reflections. Now she could start living her life again. After, of course, packing her things and getting the first Eurostar back home to London. All she had with her was her small bag which held only the possessions that she felt she couldn't live without; her purse, her diary, and her favourite book. She'd better get back to the hotel before Oliver, she didn't think she could face him again for at least another three months.
She turned to go back to the hotel. Suddenly, her head began to swim. Her vision blurred and the street lamp in front of her became four dancing street lamps. She put a hand to her head and lurched backwards, feeling the world spin. She reached out for the railing between the river and the street, but not being able to see it, she missed. She felt herself fall and tried to cry out, but her scream wouldn't come out from her throat. Momentarily unaware of the cliche, she saw her life flash before her eyes. In one heart stopping moment she had hit the water and was under the surface. If the air outside was cold, this was freezing, cramping her muscles immediately. Her head cleared instantly and she reached out above her head, grasping for the surface, fighting upwards. But it was no use, the water dragged her down and held her in a vice-like grip, pulling her deeper and deeper. She gave a final scream, the bubbles rising from her nose and mouth, and the world got hazy again. She tried to fight it, but it was too strong. She closed her eyes and gave in to the water.
Pain, so much pain. She saw nothing but black, but at the corners of the darkness she felt light was present. Is this what dying's like? Is this what dead people see? Why can I think? Am I dead?
Then she heard something. Singing, faint and beautiful, tickling the edge of her senses and growing slightly in volume as she focused on it. The darkness grew lighter, like a sunrise inside her eyes. Words were discernable and the sweet voice in her thoughts seemed to be calling her nearer, but also accompanying the singing was another voice, lower and softer, whispering into her conciousness, or rather, her unconciousness. This voice was even more enticing to her than the singing voice. Although both voices spoke or sang the same words, they were unfamiliar to her, although familiar enough for them to produce a spark of recognition in her mind, as if they were a memory from her childhood.
A caraniel pethi,
thoniel apalos.
elentil dirien ni lithi
galadrin amien.
The words called her and she felt the light growing stronger, filling the blackness and chasing the dark away. She became aware of the fact that she could move her fingers slightly and that there was someone gently bathing her forehead with a cool liquid.
A caraniel pethi,
Her eyes began to flicker behind their lids.
thoniel apalos.
She wanted to open them put something was holding her back.
elentil dirien ni lithi
The voice was more insistent. Her eyes fluttered open and light flooded her senses. Wonderful sunlight.
galadrin amien.
A face with concerned features appeared in her line of vision.
"You are safe. Do not be afraid."
And grey eyes. The most beautiful eyes.
To be continued.....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Disclaimer: Umm... Okaaay... I don't own Elrond, or anything written-by- J.R.R.Tolkien related. Neither do I own Paris, or any part of France. In fact, I do not own any part of any country. To my knowledge, that is. 'Romeo and Juliet' is, sadly, not mine. It is actually William Shakespeare's. I do, however, own the plot.
Ooh! Extra Disclaimer: The elvish is completely made up and is not real Quenya. I am trying to learn, but it's like squeezing porridge through muslin (to coin a phrase. Although off who, I'm not quite sure). Apologies for my sheer patheticness.
Author's Note: I'm really sorry that this chapter isn't really that exciting, but don't leave! Read the later chapters, they'll be much better; there's gonna be fights, danger, evilness, Saruman, Glorfindel, Elrond *melts and drools*, and maybe even.... Legolas *screams from fan-girls*.
Please review with comments and suggestions and more, if not most importantly, read on.
*re-reads above paragraph and sinks head into hands* Why oh why do I always have to sound so cheesy in these damn things?
or
Fortune's Fool
Chapter 1
Stony limits cannot hold love out,
And what love can do that dares love attempt.
-Romeo and Juliet act 2, sc. 2.
It was a beautiful starlit night in Paris. A dark haired girl of about twenty or twenty-one sat on the banks of the Seine and let her feet trail off the bridge, shoes dangling from one hand, dress painfully inadequate at keeping out the chill breeze blowing down the river. She watched a young couple walk towards her and past her across the old stone bridge, hands entwined, laughing together at some joke they both shared. She shivered and once again cursed herself for not having enough sense to pick up her jacket as she stormed out of the restaurant. The warm yellow light of the street lamps highlighted her face as she pulled the pin out of her hair, letting it fall in dark waves across her shoulders and she stood up slowly. Pleasant as it was, Paris in April was not hot by her standards and she knew she had to get out of the cold soon or she would freeze.
As she strolled along the pavement, she gazed with almost unseeing eyes at the softly lit restaurants that lined the streets. Couples stared into each others' eyes and fed each other bits of creme brulee across candlelit tables, laughing to themselves contentedly. She didn't feel jealous in the slightest, if anything she felt relieved. After three years in a dead end relationship she was free, but the one thing she did regret was the means by which she had gained her freedom. Oliver had finally taken the opportunity to propose, not that it was much of a surprise, having found a jeweller's receipt in his pocket three weeks ago and having overheard a conversation with his best mate concerning 'so how did you pop the question to Laura?'. Oliver was awfully sweet when it suited him, but he could never be accused of being spontaneous, or even vaguely original.
She grinned to herself suddenly and looked out over the black water of the river with the street lights glittering enticingly in the reflections. Now she could start living her life again. After, of course, packing her things and getting the first Eurostar back home to London. All she had with her was her small bag which held only the possessions that she felt she couldn't live without; her purse, her diary, and her favourite book. She'd better get back to the hotel before Oliver, she didn't think she could face him again for at least another three months.
She turned to go back to the hotel. Suddenly, her head began to swim. Her vision blurred and the street lamp in front of her became four dancing street lamps. She put a hand to her head and lurched backwards, feeling the world spin. She reached out for the railing between the river and the street, but not being able to see it, she missed. She felt herself fall and tried to cry out, but her scream wouldn't come out from her throat. Momentarily unaware of the cliche, she saw her life flash before her eyes. In one heart stopping moment she had hit the water and was under the surface. If the air outside was cold, this was freezing, cramping her muscles immediately. Her head cleared instantly and she reached out above her head, grasping for the surface, fighting upwards. But it was no use, the water dragged her down and held her in a vice-like grip, pulling her deeper and deeper. She gave a final scream, the bubbles rising from her nose and mouth, and the world got hazy again. She tried to fight it, but it was too strong. She closed her eyes and gave in to the water.
Pain, so much pain. She saw nothing but black, but at the corners of the darkness she felt light was present. Is this what dying's like? Is this what dead people see? Why can I think? Am I dead?
Then she heard something. Singing, faint and beautiful, tickling the edge of her senses and growing slightly in volume as she focused on it. The darkness grew lighter, like a sunrise inside her eyes. Words were discernable and the sweet voice in her thoughts seemed to be calling her nearer, but also accompanying the singing was another voice, lower and softer, whispering into her conciousness, or rather, her unconciousness. This voice was even more enticing to her than the singing voice. Although both voices spoke or sang the same words, they were unfamiliar to her, although familiar enough for them to produce a spark of recognition in her mind, as if they were a memory from her childhood.
A caraniel pethi,
thoniel apalos.
elentil dirien ni lithi
galadrin amien.
The words called her and she felt the light growing stronger, filling the blackness and chasing the dark away. She became aware of the fact that she could move her fingers slightly and that there was someone gently bathing her forehead with a cool liquid.
A caraniel pethi,
Her eyes began to flicker behind their lids.
thoniel apalos.
She wanted to open them put something was holding her back.
elentil dirien ni lithi
The voice was more insistent. Her eyes fluttered open and light flooded her senses. Wonderful sunlight.
galadrin amien.
A face with concerned features appeared in her line of vision.
"You are safe. Do not be afraid."
And grey eyes. The most beautiful eyes.
To be continued.....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Disclaimer: Umm... Okaaay... I don't own Elrond, or anything written-by- J.R.R.Tolkien related. Neither do I own Paris, or any part of France. In fact, I do not own any part of any country. To my knowledge, that is. 'Romeo and Juliet' is, sadly, not mine. It is actually William Shakespeare's. I do, however, own the plot.
Ooh! Extra Disclaimer: The elvish is completely made up and is not real Quenya. I am trying to learn, but it's like squeezing porridge through muslin (to coin a phrase. Although off who, I'm not quite sure). Apologies for my sheer patheticness.
Author's Note: I'm really sorry that this chapter isn't really that exciting, but don't leave! Read the later chapters, they'll be much better; there's gonna be fights, danger, evilness, Saruman, Glorfindel, Elrond *melts and drools*, and maybe even.... Legolas *screams from fan-girls*.
Please review with comments and suggestions and more, if not most importantly, read on.
*re-reads above paragraph and sinks head into hands* Why oh why do I always have to sound so cheesy in these damn things?