Meanwhile, back at the ranch...
The old man stared in disbelief at the empty space on the floor. He stood there motionless for some time, his jaw hanging slack, his eyes wide, his entire body numb. "Gone..." his voice sounded as another's to him. He took a few tottering steps towards the void. Gone. He was...gone. The old man blinked. He should probably be angry, he knew, or at the very least upset. Instead, he felt...nothing. Nothing at all. It was finished. He had tried and he had failed and there was nothing, nothing to be done about it. He felt warm muted sunlight play across his skin, and shivered.
"Excuse me?"
And there she was. Of course he hadn't heard her enter. Why would he? She was far too graceful to go clomping about making a racket. Her eyes glowed at him, emeralds in an alabaster setting, framed with endless dark lashes. Sculpted face, pale, with damasked rose dusted gently across the defined cheekbones. Full, ruby lips. Noble forehead. Thick, lustrous dark hair like a river of molten ebony spilling across her slim shoulders. The beauty of the queens, virgins, saints and lovers of a thousand ages had a single face, and it smiled at him now in the dusty sunshine.
"Um, Sir?"
A voice at once sweet and deep, melodious like a cello concerto. Gentle smile. Straight, white teeth. Excellent posture. The old man suddenly realised his mouth was hanging open. He swallowed and tried to smile at the Vision, while a nasty brain-maggot screamed into his cerebral cortex that all was not well. In fact, all was very much in, as they say, the poo.
"Yes, miss? Can I...um, help you?"
The beautiful brow wrinkled slightly. The perfect lips puckered charmingly. "We-e-ell, I'm really not sure. You see, it was the strangest thing." She smiled shyly, and the angels wept. "I was just walking along the road on my way to archery practice, my nose in a book, as usual," -little self-deprecating laugh like the tinkle of bells- "When I suddenly thought, 'Say, I haven't seen that little shop before,' and I had the strangest feeling that I ought to go inside. Isn't that funny?" She seemed gentle, yet strong. Feminine, yet tough and capable. Intelligent, but only in the attractive, mildly threatening sense. Rather taller than he, but then, who wasn't?
The brain-maggot of doubt and impending doom looked smug. Colour drained from the old man's face. "Yes, yes, most peculiar. Um, do forgive me for prying, but did you say...archery practice?"
"Oh, yes." Green eyes glowed. "Yes, I've been doing it for years. My dad insisted. He taught it to me for a while. Same with fencing. Though I hardly have any time for either of them now." The Goddess sighed, and all young boys within a 500-foot radius entered puberty.
"Right." The old man licked his lips nervously. "May I...may I ask, um, what book it was you were reading, my dear?"
"Oh, The Return of the King, of course. It's my favourite of the series. Have you read them?" Her smiling face grew dim, and the old man felt his legs trembling beneath him. "I'm...familiar...with the story, yes. You know it well?"
"Oh, yeah. My friends and I are all huge fans of it. We even taught ourselves to speak Elvish," she added with a conspiratorial grin. "We're practically fluent."
"Really." His voice sounded heavy even to him. "How very useful." He stuck his hands nervously into his pockets. "Well, I'm afraid I'm just about to cl-" Silence, as his fingers closed over something hard and cold. A shiver ran up his arm, and he drew his hand fearfully out. The little thing gleamed in the light, burning with a dark fire. He tore his eyes from it to meet the girl's; for an instant, he thought he saw a...a hunger there. A deep, aching hunger he had not seen for a long, long time. It burned itself out as quickly as it had come, leaving nothing but the polite interest of a young girl who, for one shining, terrible moment, had been the vessel of Fate itself.
"*That's* a pretty ring."
"Yes," he answered with some difficulty. "Yes, it is, isn't it?" He fought the urge to hold the little golden death out to her.
"That's funny; we were just talking about Lord of the Rings, and you happened to have that on you. Bit of a coincidence, isn't it?" Her laughter sounded sharp and brittle. "Did you say you were-?"
"Closing? Ah, yes, well...perhaps I can keep it open a little longer. If you see something you like, that is." The words ran directly from his brain stem to his mouth. "Did you have anything particular in mind?" He blinked; suddenly he was having trouble focusing.
"Oh, I don't know. I really don't know what sort of things you have...Oh, wow!" She picked up a beautiful dark-wood bow that had not been there a moment ago. "This is just lovely. Is it expensive? What am I saying, of course it's expensive, I mean look at it..."
Her words ran across him like dust in the wind. "I suppose...I suppose it is, yes. But I Have Something You Might Like Just As Much." His hand felt dead as he extended it to her. There was triumph in her eyes as they lit once more upon the ring, and a leaden finality settled in his chest. He could feel his heartbeat slowing. He wished he'd had just a little more time...
"Oh, I couldn't take that." She could. "I mean, it's...it's just too lovely."
"You can, you know- what did you say your name was, my dear?"
"Uduniel." She blushed a little. "My parents thought it was pretty. They're big fans of Lord of the Rings, too."
"Uduniel..." He turned the word over in his mind, and smiled bitterly. "I imagine you'll suit it very well, my dear." I suppose she doesn't speak Elvish as well as all that, then, he thought with petty satisfaction. "But really, my dear, you must take it. I insist." He swallowed; it was getting harder to breathe now.
"Oh, well...if you insist. Thank you." Her eyes shone with anticipation as her soft, elegant hands lifted it gently from his. She let out a breath he hadn't been aware she was holding, and held the ring reverently. Nothing happened. He smiled, clutching the edge of the counter as the world began to dim.
"I think my dear," he gasped with difficulty. "It might help if you were to put it on."
"Oh, right." She slid it onto a long, fine finger and was gone without a sound, save for a soft puff of air rushing to fill the vacuum.
The old man laughed softly and sadly to himself as he slid to the floor, the room fading fast. "Let's see them sort out that bloody mess," thought Frodo as the blessed night closed over him.
AN: Ooooooooh! Sorry this one is so short. Oh, and if you get time, *do* look up Uduniel's name.
The old man stared in disbelief at the empty space on the floor. He stood there motionless for some time, his jaw hanging slack, his eyes wide, his entire body numb. "Gone..." his voice sounded as another's to him. He took a few tottering steps towards the void. Gone. He was...gone. The old man blinked. He should probably be angry, he knew, or at the very least upset. Instead, he felt...nothing. Nothing at all. It was finished. He had tried and he had failed and there was nothing, nothing to be done about it. He felt warm muted sunlight play across his skin, and shivered.
"Excuse me?"
And there she was. Of course he hadn't heard her enter. Why would he? She was far too graceful to go clomping about making a racket. Her eyes glowed at him, emeralds in an alabaster setting, framed with endless dark lashes. Sculpted face, pale, with damasked rose dusted gently across the defined cheekbones. Full, ruby lips. Noble forehead. Thick, lustrous dark hair like a river of molten ebony spilling across her slim shoulders. The beauty of the queens, virgins, saints and lovers of a thousand ages had a single face, and it smiled at him now in the dusty sunshine.
"Um, Sir?"
A voice at once sweet and deep, melodious like a cello concerto. Gentle smile. Straight, white teeth. Excellent posture. The old man suddenly realised his mouth was hanging open. He swallowed and tried to smile at the Vision, while a nasty brain-maggot screamed into his cerebral cortex that all was not well. In fact, all was very much in, as they say, the poo.
"Yes, miss? Can I...um, help you?"
The beautiful brow wrinkled slightly. The perfect lips puckered charmingly. "We-e-ell, I'm really not sure. You see, it was the strangest thing." She smiled shyly, and the angels wept. "I was just walking along the road on my way to archery practice, my nose in a book, as usual," -little self-deprecating laugh like the tinkle of bells- "When I suddenly thought, 'Say, I haven't seen that little shop before,' and I had the strangest feeling that I ought to go inside. Isn't that funny?" She seemed gentle, yet strong. Feminine, yet tough and capable. Intelligent, but only in the attractive, mildly threatening sense. Rather taller than he, but then, who wasn't?
The brain-maggot of doubt and impending doom looked smug. Colour drained from the old man's face. "Yes, yes, most peculiar. Um, do forgive me for prying, but did you say...archery practice?"
"Oh, yes." Green eyes glowed. "Yes, I've been doing it for years. My dad insisted. He taught it to me for a while. Same with fencing. Though I hardly have any time for either of them now." The Goddess sighed, and all young boys within a 500-foot radius entered puberty.
"Right." The old man licked his lips nervously. "May I...may I ask, um, what book it was you were reading, my dear?"
"Oh, The Return of the King, of course. It's my favourite of the series. Have you read them?" Her smiling face grew dim, and the old man felt his legs trembling beneath him. "I'm...familiar...with the story, yes. You know it well?"
"Oh, yeah. My friends and I are all huge fans of it. We even taught ourselves to speak Elvish," she added with a conspiratorial grin. "We're practically fluent."
"Really." His voice sounded heavy even to him. "How very useful." He stuck his hands nervously into his pockets. "Well, I'm afraid I'm just about to cl-" Silence, as his fingers closed over something hard and cold. A shiver ran up his arm, and he drew his hand fearfully out. The little thing gleamed in the light, burning with a dark fire. He tore his eyes from it to meet the girl's; for an instant, he thought he saw a...a hunger there. A deep, aching hunger he had not seen for a long, long time. It burned itself out as quickly as it had come, leaving nothing but the polite interest of a young girl who, for one shining, terrible moment, had been the vessel of Fate itself.
"*That's* a pretty ring."
"Yes," he answered with some difficulty. "Yes, it is, isn't it?" He fought the urge to hold the little golden death out to her.
"That's funny; we were just talking about Lord of the Rings, and you happened to have that on you. Bit of a coincidence, isn't it?" Her laughter sounded sharp and brittle. "Did you say you were-?"
"Closing? Ah, yes, well...perhaps I can keep it open a little longer. If you see something you like, that is." The words ran directly from his brain stem to his mouth. "Did you have anything particular in mind?" He blinked; suddenly he was having trouble focusing.
"Oh, I don't know. I really don't know what sort of things you have...Oh, wow!" She picked up a beautiful dark-wood bow that had not been there a moment ago. "This is just lovely. Is it expensive? What am I saying, of course it's expensive, I mean look at it..."
Her words ran across him like dust in the wind. "I suppose...I suppose it is, yes. But I Have Something You Might Like Just As Much." His hand felt dead as he extended it to her. There was triumph in her eyes as they lit once more upon the ring, and a leaden finality settled in his chest. He could feel his heartbeat slowing. He wished he'd had just a little more time...
"Oh, I couldn't take that." She could. "I mean, it's...it's just too lovely."
"You can, you know- what did you say your name was, my dear?"
"Uduniel." She blushed a little. "My parents thought it was pretty. They're big fans of Lord of the Rings, too."
"Uduniel..." He turned the word over in his mind, and smiled bitterly. "I imagine you'll suit it very well, my dear." I suppose she doesn't speak Elvish as well as all that, then, he thought with petty satisfaction. "But really, my dear, you must take it. I insist." He swallowed; it was getting harder to breathe now.
"Oh, well...if you insist. Thank you." Her eyes shone with anticipation as her soft, elegant hands lifted it gently from his. She let out a breath he hadn't been aware she was holding, and held the ring reverently. Nothing happened. He smiled, clutching the edge of the counter as the world began to dim.
"I think my dear," he gasped with difficulty. "It might help if you were to put it on."
"Oh, right." She slid it onto a long, fine finger and was gone without a sound, save for a soft puff of air rushing to fill the vacuum.
The old man laughed softly and sadly to himself as he slid to the floor, the room fading fast. "Let's see them sort out that bloody mess," thought Frodo as the blessed night closed over him.
AN: Ooooooooh! Sorry this one is so short. Oh, and if you get time, *do* look up Uduniel's name.