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Three rings for the elven-kings under the sky,
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone.
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die.
One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne.
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.
One ring to rule them all,
One ring to find them.
One ring to bring them,
And in the darkness bind them.
In Mordor where the Shadows lie.
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I am not a strong ruler.
It was the first thought that she awoke to every morning and the same thought that echoed through her mind before she drifted into Elven dreams.
If I was a strong ruler, I wouldn't be here. I would have insisted that I stay. But no. I am here and my people are there, being ruled by my second-in-command.
These thoughts always ran through her mind with more than a twinge of regret. She blamed herself for obeying her second in command, a tall, orderly elf named Hethir. He had glanced at her sympathetically with his large brown eyes as she mounted her horse, her entourage surrounding her protectively. "It is for the best my lady. You understand." She had looked at him with her piercing blue eyes and set her mouth firmly. "No I do not Hethir, but I shall do as I am bid." Then she had whispered a command to her horse, who burst into a light trot and carried her away from her people, to Lothlorien, and her sister's house.
She rose and gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Her face did not echo her sister's piercing beauty, her eyes did not stare eerily at those who approached her, her lips were not long and lined, her hair and face were not of the same fair countenance. In traditional elven looks, she was tall and slender, her slightly pointed ears hiding behind her hair. But she had not any of her sister's beauty in her opinion. Her hair was long and curly yes, but it was a ruddy brown, no trace of the beautiful blonde of her sister's hair that entranced visitors. Her face was fair, but not as blanche as her sister's. A bloom of red always rested on her cheeks no matter what the temperature. Her lips were full and red, nothing like her sister's faint pink coloring in her lips. Her cheeks were rounded and full, not like her sister's long and thin face. Her eyes were the only thing slightly similar to her sister's. A bright and bold blue, they shone from the depths of her face in any light.
She looked in the mirror, cocked her head, then held it erect, taking a deep breath. "I am the Lady Aria of the eleven people of Nethrana." She said softly, but firmly. She sighed and shook her head, turning her face from the mirror scornfully. She waved her hand slightly, whispering under her breath. The mirror shuddered, bright green leaves resting on their heavily laden boughs taking it's place. "I am not worthy of the place I occupy. Especially if I cannot hold my own in the least bit of trouble." Then she thought back to the Elven messenger who had come to her court, bringing ill tidings to her people and to her own conscience. The evil one, Sauron, had returned. With his evil powers, he had summoned the Master Ring. If had his way, he would destroy them all.
Aria thought of the ring that her sister wore on her finger, the thing made of mithril, wrapped over and around itself in a dazzling design, curled around a smoky white jewel. Two other rings had been given to the Elves, seven to the Dwarves, and nine to mortal men. Aria scoffed as the end of the rune entered her mind. There were few mortal men she trusted, and that went for dwarves as well. At least she had a reason to mistrust dwarves, as they had been the enemy of the Elves in many years gone by. Mortal men rarely gained her esteem. She found them weak-willed and foolish. They were not like the Elves. They had not the passion that kept the elves alive, living and breathing. Most of the race of mortal men were passionate yes, but passionate in the ways of greed. It was this greed that had caused the creation of the Ring Wraiths that prowled the darkest forests, searching for the Ring of Power.
She walked across her room, her bare feet padding on the lush grass that grew beneath her feet. Her fingers tenderly touched the elaborate bow hanging on a green bough at her bedside. It had been forged and created by the very masters of touch and beauty, the Elven people themselves. The wrought gold was smooth and light, wrapped in and around itself, running along in loops and swirls on the quiver of velvet that held the arrows. She had not used this in quite a long time. She had not had the time. Since her ascension of the throne of Nethrana, she had not had time for many things. Aria had had to abandon many things that she had once loved, in her pursuit of knowledge and magic. She was no sorceress like her sister, but she had long aspired to be. It was another goal she yearned for, but had not yet fully attained.
Aria turned as a messenger walked in the room. "Lady Galadriel wishes your presence." Aria nodded and turned from him. "Tell her I will be there directly." The messenger nodded, his long blonde hair falling into his blue eyes as he bowed slightly before exiting. Aria turned, raised an eyebrow and murmured under her breath. The mirror wove itself out of the branches once more till her reflection stared back at her. She eyed herself, eyed her attire. The dress hung below her bare ankles, its velvety fabric the color of the fairest green of a leaf in spring. She eyed it, then nodded slightly, running a hand through her curls before she felt herself suitable. She closed her eyes slightly, feeling for her sister's presence.
The entry hall. So we have visitors. Very well. I shall present myself, but shall not say a word. Not even to please Galadriel. I am tired of being projected to all like a prized statuette. Let them think me aloof and cold. I care not for their opinion. The only thing I care for now is the fate of my kingdom and that of Middle Earth.
Her mind whispered this as she softly padded from the room.
She walked smoothly in and out of the common folk of Lothlorien. The Elven folk saw her and smiled, nodding slightly at the young sister of Galadriel. Aria turned her face towards them, giving them a grateful smile for every nod of respect. They in turn would turn to their neighbor and comment what a lovely girl she was, so kind, so good. Aria looked before her with satisfaction.
At least these people do not think me cold, like the race of mortal men.
She thought, raising her chin slightly higher.
When she reached the entry hall, her sister was standing with her husband Celeborn, speaking with him quietly. Galadriel's eyes drifted towards her sister's waiting form amidst shadows of the boughs of heavily laden leaves. She whispered a final word to Celeborn before walking slowly towards Aria. Aria watched her as she walked, slowly with dignity. Since she was young, Aria had always thought that her sister didn't merely walk, but floated. She had envied her sister that trait, but it still made her all the more proud of her.
"There are strangers here from Rivendell and many other places." Galadriel said quietly, her eyes piercing her sister's. Aria raised her eyebrow. "Who? Are they Elves?" She asked in the same low whisper. Galadriel shook her head. "Only one of our kinsmen is among them. The rest are of different races. A dwarf from the caves below, two mortal men, one from Rivendell, the other of the city of Gondor, and four hobbits from the Shire." Both of Aria's eyebrows raised high. "Hobbits? A dwarf, mortal men, Galadriel, what are they doing here?" She asked, her voice gaining a tone of disbelief. Galadriel cocked her head slightly before answering softly, reverently. "They carry the Ring." Galadriel brushed away from her sister, leaving the sense of disbelief and awe with her sister, that was felt by most all who looked upon her. Aria lowered her eyes, thinking rapidly as she moved towards her sister to await their announcement.
They carry the Ring. They would bring evil into this place?
Her mind whispered harshly.
They desire protection. We will give it to them.
Galadriel's voice pierced through Aria's thoughts like lighting. Aria glanced at her sister out of the corner of her eye. Galadriel looked back at her, her eyes staring at her sister knowingly before she turned to take her husband's arm.
Aria shook her head slightly and pressed her lips together as she stepped out into the bright light of the entry way. She stood aside from her sister and her husband, not wishing to take the travelers gaze from her sister's face. She knew that some would be entranced by her, some horrified, some ashamed for some unknown reason. She ran her gaze along them swiftly in the manner Galadriel had taught her, taking in the details speedily. Four hobbits, none of whom she knew, but this was not surprising. She had seen but one hobbit in her whole lifetime and though he was very old, he was filled with fun and interesting stories of his travels to tell. These ones were quite young, each standing close by the other as if seeking protection. She almost smiled at them, at their awe and astonishment. They were so small, such little creatures. But one's face moved her to such pity that she frowned. His burden was great, his mind terribly troubled, and his heart weary. He stared at Galadriel, his bright blue eyes wide open, his sorrow openly flowing out of him like a tender stream. Aria's eyes softened as she took in the hobbit's slight form, his utter helplessness. She would see to him later, after the hearing was over.
The dwarf quickly caught her fancy as she eyed him. His large beard practically overshadowed his entire small figure, giving him a comical appearance. Had his look of utter fearlessness not been there, she would have had to chuckle. But she dared not. Though he was an enemy, he was certainly noble about his race and his abilities. She looked over the two mortal men. One she knew by sight. Aragorn, also known in the countryside as Strider, fixed his bright blue gaze on Galadriel and Celeborn. She had met him on many occasions when she had resided in Rivendell and he was one of the few mortal men she trusted with her life. The mortal man beside him however, did not echo Aragorn's strong spirit. His was weak, unsure, and indecisive. She scrutinized him harshly. It was his kind that had forged the evil of the Ring in their hearts, it was his kinds' hearts who had brought the Ring Wraiths into existence. He was one of the group whose glance shyed away from Galadriel's all-seeing gaze.
The Elf, one of her own kind, did not however catch her interest. He was just another one of her kind, but a noble-looking one. His eyes were perfectly intense, awed and gladdened to be in Galadriel's appearence. His heart was good and pure, she could sense, he was true to his mission. He would not be overtaken by the powers that the ring possessed. But as his eyes quickly darted back and forth between Celeborn and Galadriel, something in the way they moved, or perhaps the color, the absolute fluid way they stared, one or the other, they caught Aria's attention. She had seen this action before, in one she had long since put in the back of her mind. Inwardly, she shook her head. It could not be who her mind insisted it was. That had been long ago, and he was only a boy then.
But he would be a man now.
Her mind whispered.
She would not give in to her mind's thoughts. It was almost impossible. His hunting routes did not ever take him through Lothlorien. But this was no hunting party. For an instant, his falcon-like eyes darted to her face, then quickly moved away. In that instant, Aria's mind began to whisper,
It is him! He has come! You must know this to be true!
But she refused to answer her mind's call to truth.
She heard faintly, Celeborn inquiring after Gandalf the Grey. Aria was slightly startled and at the same time joyful. She loved the old necromancer, who was known to the Elves as Mithrandir, "The Pilgrim Grey". He had been a great comfort to her on many occasions and the idea of seeing him again brought a light into her face. But the light soon faded as she saw practically all the heads of the group drop dismally. Aragorn leaned back and forth, trying to find a easy way to speak. But Aria turned to her sister as she answered the question herself. "He has fallen into shadow." She said softly, a sad light growing in her blue eyes. Aria slowly turned her face away from her sister's, shock growing over her. So, Gandalf was dead.
Oh Mithrandir.
Her heart began to sob.
Her heart begged her to cry, to let out the sorrow that was building in her heart. But she would not let it. The time for mourning would be later. But even as she thought this and her sister continued to speak to the group comfortingly, her eyes met those of the Elf standing below her. A confused look was still echoing in his eyes and it was this confusion that met with her sorrowful gaze.
You have never known death. Like many of us immortal beings, we do not experience death often. I know how you feel friend.
Her mind whispered to him.
The Elf straightened and nodded in her direction before bowing to Galadriel and Celeborn. Aria quickly looked up at her sister and saw her exiting. She quickly moved to follow them, but her eyes insisted on one more look at the group. Her eyes traveled over them all quickly before she stepped back into the shadow of the trees. The Elf beneath her met her glance and walked away, sorrow and confusion still in his heart.
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Three rings for the elven-kings under the sky,
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone.
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die.
One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne.
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.
One ring to rule them all,
One ring to find them.
One ring to bring them,
And in the darkness bind them.
In Mordor where the Shadows lie.
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I am not a strong ruler.
It was the first thought that she awoke to every morning and the same thought that echoed through her mind before she drifted into Elven dreams.
If I was a strong ruler, I wouldn't be here. I would have insisted that I stay. But no. I am here and my people are there, being ruled by my second-in-command.
These thoughts always ran through her mind with more than a twinge of regret. She blamed herself for obeying her second in command, a tall, orderly elf named Hethir. He had glanced at her sympathetically with his large brown eyes as she mounted her horse, her entourage surrounding her protectively. "It is for the best my lady. You understand." She had looked at him with her piercing blue eyes and set her mouth firmly. "No I do not Hethir, but I shall do as I am bid." Then she had whispered a command to her horse, who burst into a light trot and carried her away from her people, to Lothlorien, and her sister's house.
She rose and gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Her face did not echo her sister's piercing beauty, her eyes did not stare eerily at those who approached her, her lips were not long and lined, her hair and face were not of the same fair countenance. In traditional elven looks, she was tall and slender, her slightly pointed ears hiding behind her hair. But she had not any of her sister's beauty in her opinion. Her hair was long and curly yes, but it was a ruddy brown, no trace of the beautiful blonde of her sister's hair that entranced visitors. Her face was fair, but not as blanche as her sister's. A bloom of red always rested on her cheeks no matter what the temperature. Her lips were full and red, nothing like her sister's faint pink coloring in her lips. Her cheeks were rounded and full, not like her sister's long and thin face. Her eyes were the only thing slightly similar to her sister's. A bright and bold blue, they shone from the depths of her face in any light.
She looked in the mirror, cocked her head, then held it erect, taking a deep breath. "I am the Lady Aria of the eleven people of Nethrana." She said softly, but firmly. She sighed and shook her head, turning her face from the mirror scornfully. She waved her hand slightly, whispering under her breath. The mirror shuddered, bright green leaves resting on their heavily laden boughs taking it's place. "I am not worthy of the place I occupy. Especially if I cannot hold my own in the least bit of trouble." Then she thought back to the Elven messenger who had come to her court, bringing ill tidings to her people and to her own conscience. The evil one, Sauron, had returned. With his evil powers, he had summoned the Master Ring. If had his way, he would destroy them all.
Aria thought of the ring that her sister wore on her finger, the thing made of mithril, wrapped over and around itself in a dazzling design, curled around a smoky white jewel. Two other rings had been given to the Elves, seven to the Dwarves, and nine to mortal men. Aria scoffed as the end of the rune entered her mind. There were few mortal men she trusted, and that went for dwarves as well. At least she had a reason to mistrust dwarves, as they had been the enemy of the Elves in many years gone by. Mortal men rarely gained her esteem. She found them weak-willed and foolish. They were not like the Elves. They had not the passion that kept the elves alive, living and breathing. Most of the race of mortal men were passionate yes, but passionate in the ways of greed. It was this greed that had caused the creation of the Ring Wraiths that prowled the darkest forests, searching for the Ring of Power.
She walked across her room, her bare feet padding on the lush grass that grew beneath her feet. Her fingers tenderly touched the elaborate bow hanging on a green bough at her bedside. It had been forged and created by the very masters of touch and beauty, the Elven people themselves. The wrought gold was smooth and light, wrapped in and around itself, running along in loops and swirls on the quiver of velvet that held the arrows. She had not used this in quite a long time. She had not had the time. Since her ascension of the throne of Nethrana, she had not had time for many things. Aria had had to abandon many things that she had once loved, in her pursuit of knowledge and magic. She was no sorceress like her sister, but she had long aspired to be. It was another goal she yearned for, but had not yet fully attained.
Aria turned as a messenger walked in the room. "Lady Galadriel wishes your presence." Aria nodded and turned from him. "Tell her I will be there directly." The messenger nodded, his long blonde hair falling into his blue eyes as he bowed slightly before exiting. Aria turned, raised an eyebrow and murmured under her breath. The mirror wove itself out of the branches once more till her reflection stared back at her. She eyed herself, eyed her attire. The dress hung below her bare ankles, its velvety fabric the color of the fairest green of a leaf in spring. She eyed it, then nodded slightly, running a hand through her curls before she felt herself suitable. She closed her eyes slightly, feeling for her sister's presence.
The entry hall. So we have visitors. Very well. I shall present myself, but shall not say a word. Not even to please Galadriel. I am tired of being projected to all like a prized statuette. Let them think me aloof and cold. I care not for their opinion. The only thing I care for now is the fate of my kingdom and that of Middle Earth.
Her mind whispered this as she softly padded from the room.
She walked smoothly in and out of the common folk of Lothlorien. The Elven folk saw her and smiled, nodding slightly at the young sister of Galadriel. Aria turned her face towards them, giving them a grateful smile for every nod of respect. They in turn would turn to their neighbor and comment what a lovely girl she was, so kind, so good. Aria looked before her with satisfaction.
At least these people do not think me cold, like the race of mortal men.
She thought, raising her chin slightly higher.
When she reached the entry hall, her sister was standing with her husband Celeborn, speaking with him quietly. Galadriel's eyes drifted towards her sister's waiting form amidst shadows of the boughs of heavily laden leaves. She whispered a final word to Celeborn before walking slowly towards Aria. Aria watched her as she walked, slowly with dignity. Since she was young, Aria had always thought that her sister didn't merely walk, but floated. She had envied her sister that trait, but it still made her all the more proud of her.
"There are strangers here from Rivendell and many other places." Galadriel said quietly, her eyes piercing her sister's. Aria raised her eyebrow. "Who? Are they Elves?" She asked in the same low whisper. Galadriel shook her head. "Only one of our kinsmen is among them. The rest are of different races. A dwarf from the caves below, two mortal men, one from Rivendell, the other of the city of Gondor, and four hobbits from the Shire." Both of Aria's eyebrows raised high. "Hobbits? A dwarf, mortal men, Galadriel, what are they doing here?" She asked, her voice gaining a tone of disbelief. Galadriel cocked her head slightly before answering softly, reverently. "They carry the Ring." Galadriel brushed away from her sister, leaving the sense of disbelief and awe with her sister, that was felt by most all who looked upon her. Aria lowered her eyes, thinking rapidly as she moved towards her sister to await their announcement.
They carry the Ring. They would bring evil into this place?
Her mind whispered harshly.
They desire protection. We will give it to them.
Galadriel's voice pierced through Aria's thoughts like lighting. Aria glanced at her sister out of the corner of her eye. Galadriel looked back at her, her eyes staring at her sister knowingly before she turned to take her husband's arm.
Aria shook her head slightly and pressed her lips together as she stepped out into the bright light of the entry way. She stood aside from her sister and her husband, not wishing to take the travelers gaze from her sister's face. She knew that some would be entranced by her, some horrified, some ashamed for some unknown reason. She ran her gaze along them swiftly in the manner Galadriel had taught her, taking in the details speedily. Four hobbits, none of whom she knew, but this was not surprising. She had seen but one hobbit in her whole lifetime and though he was very old, he was filled with fun and interesting stories of his travels to tell. These ones were quite young, each standing close by the other as if seeking protection. She almost smiled at them, at their awe and astonishment. They were so small, such little creatures. But one's face moved her to such pity that she frowned. His burden was great, his mind terribly troubled, and his heart weary. He stared at Galadriel, his bright blue eyes wide open, his sorrow openly flowing out of him like a tender stream. Aria's eyes softened as she took in the hobbit's slight form, his utter helplessness. She would see to him later, after the hearing was over.
The dwarf quickly caught her fancy as she eyed him. His large beard practically overshadowed his entire small figure, giving him a comical appearance. Had his look of utter fearlessness not been there, she would have had to chuckle. But she dared not. Though he was an enemy, he was certainly noble about his race and his abilities. She looked over the two mortal men. One she knew by sight. Aragorn, also known in the countryside as Strider, fixed his bright blue gaze on Galadriel and Celeborn. She had met him on many occasions when she had resided in Rivendell and he was one of the few mortal men she trusted with her life. The mortal man beside him however, did not echo Aragorn's strong spirit. His was weak, unsure, and indecisive. She scrutinized him harshly. It was his kind that had forged the evil of the Ring in their hearts, it was his kinds' hearts who had brought the Ring Wraiths into existence. He was one of the group whose glance shyed away from Galadriel's all-seeing gaze.
The Elf, one of her own kind, did not however catch her interest. He was just another one of her kind, but a noble-looking one. His eyes were perfectly intense, awed and gladdened to be in Galadriel's appearence. His heart was good and pure, she could sense, he was true to his mission. He would not be overtaken by the powers that the ring possessed. But as his eyes quickly darted back and forth between Celeborn and Galadriel, something in the way they moved, or perhaps the color, the absolute fluid way they stared, one or the other, they caught Aria's attention. She had seen this action before, in one she had long since put in the back of her mind. Inwardly, she shook her head. It could not be who her mind insisted it was. That had been long ago, and he was only a boy then.
But he would be a man now.
Her mind whispered.
She would not give in to her mind's thoughts. It was almost impossible. His hunting routes did not ever take him through Lothlorien. But this was no hunting party. For an instant, his falcon-like eyes darted to her face, then quickly moved away. In that instant, Aria's mind began to whisper,
It is him! He has come! You must know this to be true!
But she refused to answer her mind's call to truth.
She heard faintly, Celeborn inquiring after Gandalf the Grey. Aria was slightly startled and at the same time joyful. She loved the old necromancer, who was known to the Elves as Mithrandir, "The Pilgrim Grey". He had been a great comfort to her on many occasions and the idea of seeing him again brought a light into her face. But the light soon faded as she saw practically all the heads of the group drop dismally. Aragorn leaned back and forth, trying to find a easy way to speak. But Aria turned to her sister as she answered the question herself. "He has fallen into shadow." She said softly, a sad light growing in her blue eyes. Aria slowly turned her face away from her sister's, shock growing over her. So, Gandalf was dead.
Oh Mithrandir.
Her heart began to sob.
Her heart begged her to cry, to let out the sorrow that was building in her heart. But she would not let it. The time for mourning would be later. But even as she thought this and her sister continued to speak to the group comfortingly, her eyes met those of the Elf standing below her. A confused look was still echoing in his eyes and it was this confusion that met with her sorrowful gaze.
You have never known death. Like many of us immortal beings, we do not experience death often. I know how you feel friend.
Her mind whispered to him.
The Elf straightened and nodded in her direction before bowing to Galadriel and Celeborn. Aria quickly looked up at her sister and saw her exiting. She quickly moved to follow them, but her eyes insisted on one more look at the group. Her eyes traveled over them all quickly before she stepped back into the shadow of the trees. The Elf beneath her met her glance and walked away, sorrow and confusion still in his heart.
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