Dragon Witch
By Nezumi
Chapter Thirteen: Mirth
Love is a splendid thing. It is the very idea that sets so many of elves, hobbits, and men alike free from pain. But love must always come at a price. For many who leave those who raised them with goodness, they fear the outside world. And sometimes love can be one's own destruction as well. It can be the very thing that makes one evil, if it is denied, but can evil love?
Amaryllis scowled at the dead king. She had hated him, and loved him at the same time. If he had not been so gullible after the loss of his wife to the orcs. Sometimes she wondered if she herself should become an Orc, but that fear had been taken from her as she raised her only son—Legolas Greenleaf. She hated to defeat him, but he should never know his real power if he didn't.
The elf swept out of the mausoleum.
"Go lagaí do chuid naimhde do chroí…Go lagaí do chuid naimhde do chroí… Go lagaí do chuid naimhde do chroí…"
"I need to borrow a sword, Master Istan. Please, just for one night," Grian pleaded. "Legolas asked me to bring one."
Suddenly, the master of this forge stopped the grindstone, "You are on those terms with the king?"
She looked at the fire, and took a deep breath, replying, "He is not a king yet, nor did he wish the duty upon himself. As far as I can see, since his father had fallen sick he's not had any sort of company, and furthermore, asked me to call him Legolas."
"I've not heard such a strong statement from you yet, my lassie," he chuckled. "It should be good for the master. Yes it should!" The dwarf went searching through his room of weapons. "I've this." He offered a sword with an eccentric taste to it she did not like—it was not large enough to do any harm in one blow. Not thick enough. "Well, then, I've only daggers. I thought you had a sword."
"Yes, but, it would look suspicious Master Istan," she told the dark-haired dwarf. "I mean, most of Mirkwood is not as used to Easterners as this castle."
"I may offer you daggers then," he replied throwing her two, followed by two more. Then leather binding to tie around her legs. "That's a fair spot for a lady an' I suppose you'll look just as pretty for the lord."
She smiled. "And I suppose that should be a good thing. I best be going, Master Istan. I thank you! I shall return them upon dawn." And the dwarf smiled, she was destined to be a good companion for Master Legolas, hopefully more…
Grian rushed through the castle and out the gates—into the stables. The stable-master cracked a grin, it wasn't quite dusk yet but she was an elf intent on being on time. "He's already here," he nodded at her. "In there."
Biting the bottom of her lip she entered, as Legolas slid a bridle over a white horse's head. "Oh hullo!" he smiled down at her. "Should you have… daggers? No sword?"
A little paranoid aren't we Mr. Greenleaf? The voice smirked in his head. You should be. I will destroy you and the thing called Grian. Completely destroy you both. Because you are one are you not? If you do not exist, neither shall Grian, and should she not exist where would you be? Dying of broken heart like your father…
"No, Master Istan only had such a strange thing. Very thin and flimsy, I prefer something of a battle sword. Those things… I've never mastered them," she put her foot on a box, strapping the leather on her leg. "This should do, if need be."
He nodded and handed her a set of reins, "Have you been to the Festivities before?"
"Nay, I've only heard of them," she said and mounted up, before he could even offer her assistance. "And remember I came here from east, Legolas, I'm no amateur in equestrian related matters…"
They rode on over the main Old Forest Road at a gallop, and arrived in the first village with the train of Grian's great dress swirling to catch up. A few kegs lined the edge of the clearing, a bonfire in the center roared, and the maypole was colorfully wound. "So are we party hopping Legolas?"
"Do you like to dance? You mentioned it on our previous meeting," he asked, not exactly an answer to her question, but close enough.
His out-stretched, offering hand was inviting, and she took grasp of it, "I love to dance and I should figure out your Western dances soon enough."
As soon as whispers should begin in one party, they'd hop upon the steeds and gallop to the next, as the Festivities of Mirth were celebrated in small villages mostly. The dying farmer elves, with generally was left to hobbits. "That's the Prince of Mirkwood," mothers should whisper to their children. "He is soon to be king."
"Then who is the lady?" Often the children's question should be.
"Why, I'd say that should be the Prince of Mirkwood's beloved, if I should not know better," the mothers would then go into a flourish of gossip, and it would be the signal for the two to swing off the dance floor.
The elves merry. Some bought their merriment at the kegs, having a bit more to drink than was actually necessary. Some bought it in the glorious and jubilant arts. And some simply inhaled it with the night, from being with their dear ones, and their loves. Many a elven eternities were ruined and many were made into many days to come of happiness.
And at one moment, Grian sang:
"Ride on, through the night, ride on
Ride on, through the night, ride on…"
Drums beat fast in Legolas' ears and he grabbed Grian amidst the dances of spring. His heart was wretched from his body and twisted by the dark forces until his tight grip nearly crushed her. "Grian…" he choked. "They're here."
Should you have me let him go Grian? Would you like me to? Go lagaí do chuid naimhde do chroí…Go lagaí do chuid naimhde do chroí… Go lagaí do chuid naimhde do chroí…
STOP!!! Grian yelled, and Legolas sighed in relief. It was gone. The drums. The drums! They weren't leaving his mind, now they closed in upon his ear. "Orcs," he gulped. "I hate orcs." Taking her arm, he dragged her towards their horses.
"But you can't leave these people here to die!" Grian cried.
Legolas looked at her queerly, "I was going to get my bow, my lady, and I've no intention of losing you along the way."
A sudden rip sounded through the canvas of a tent, and the orcs appeared. Elves screamed, mothers hid their children, and Legolas Greenleaf, King of Mirkwood, took his aim. But these were not just orcs! Saruman's Uruk-hai also rose from them, their great shoulders over-reaching the tallest of elves. And he let his arrow loose.
.-*-.
A.N. Our heroes in peril! *faints* Leggie likes Grian *dances around* Wait! I should know I wrote the durn thing. Humph. Oh well. R & R!
E-Mail messy@usa.com
By Nezumi
Chapter Thirteen: Mirth
Love is a splendid thing. It is the very idea that sets so many of elves, hobbits, and men alike free from pain. But love must always come at a price. For many who leave those who raised them with goodness, they fear the outside world. And sometimes love can be one's own destruction as well. It can be the very thing that makes one evil, if it is denied, but can evil love?
Amaryllis scowled at the dead king. She had hated him, and loved him at the same time. If he had not been so gullible after the loss of his wife to the orcs. Sometimes she wondered if she herself should become an Orc, but that fear had been taken from her as she raised her only son—Legolas Greenleaf. She hated to defeat him, but he should never know his real power if he didn't.
The elf swept out of the mausoleum.
"Go lagaí do chuid naimhde do chroí…Go lagaí do chuid naimhde do chroí… Go lagaí do chuid naimhde do chroí…"
"I need to borrow a sword, Master Istan. Please, just for one night," Grian pleaded. "Legolas asked me to bring one."
Suddenly, the master of this forge stopped the grindstone, "You are on those terms with the king?"
She looked at the fire, and took a deep breath, replying, "He is not a king yet, nor did he wish the duty upon himself. As far as I can see, since his father had fallen sick he's not had any sort of company, and furthermore, asked me to call him Legolas."
"I've not heard such a strong statement from you yet, my lassie," he chuckled. "It should be good for the master. Yes it should!" The dwarf went searching through his room of weapons. "I've this." He offered a sword with an eccentric taste to it she did not like—it was not large enough to do any harm in one blow. Not thick enough. "Well, then, I've only daggers. I thought you had a sword."
"Yes, but, it would look suspicious Master Istan," she told the dark-haired dwarf. "I mean, most of Mirkwood is not as used to Easterners as this castle."
"I may offer you daggers then," he replied throwing her two, followed by two more. Then leather binding to tie around her legs. "That's a fair spot for a lady an' I suppose you'll look just as pretty for the lord."
She smiled. "And I suppose that should be a good thing. I best be going, Master Istan. I thank you! I shall return them upon dawn." And the dwarf smiled, she was destined to be a good companion for Master Legolas, hopefully more…
Grian rushed through the castle and out the gates—into the stables. The stable-master cracked a grin, it wasn't quite dusk yet but she was an elf intent on being on time. "He's already here," he nodded at her. "In there."
Biting the bottom of her lip she entered, as Legolas slid a bridle over a white horse's head. "Oh hullo!" he smiled down at her. "Should you have… daggers? No sword?"
A little paranoid aren't we Mr. Greenleaf? The voice smirked in his head. You should be. I will destroy you and the thing called Grian. Completely destroy you both. Because you are one are you not? If you do not exist, neither shall Grian, and should she not exist where would you be? Dying of broken heart like your father…
"No, Master Istan only had such a strange thing. Very thin and flimsy, I prefer something of a battle sword. Those things… I've never mastered them," she put her foot on a box, strapping the leather on her leg. "This should do, if need be."
He nodded and handed her a set of reins, "Have you been to the Festivities before?"
"Nay, I've only heard of them," she said and mounted up, before he could even offer her assistance. "And remember I came here from east, Legolas, I'm no amateur in equestrian related matters…"
They rode on over the main Old Forest Road at a gallop, and arrived in the first village with the train of Grian's great dress swirling to catch up. A few kegs lined the edge of the clearing, a bonfire in the center roared, and the maypole was colorfully wound. "So are we party hopping Legolas?"
"Do you like to dance? You mentioned it on our previous meeting," he asked, not exactly an answer to her question, but close enough.
His out-stretched, offering hand was inviting, and she took grasp of it, "I love to dance and I should figure out your Western dances soon enough."
As soon as whispers should begin in one party, they'd hop upon the steeds and gallop to the next, as the Festivities of Mirth were celebrated in small villages mostly. The dying farmer elves, with generally was left to hobbits. "That's the Prince of Mirkwood," mothers should whisper to their children. "He is soon to be king."
"Then who is the lady?" Often the children's question should be.
"Why, I'd say that should be the Prince of Mirkwood's beloved, if I should not know better," the mothers would then go into a flourish of gossip, and it would be the signal for the two to swing off the dance floor.
The elves merry. Some bought their merriment at the kegs, having a bit more to drink than was actually necessary. Some bought it in the glorious and jubilant arts. And some simply inhaled it with the night, from being with their dear ones, and their loves. Many a elven eternities were ruined and many were made into many days to come of happiness.
And at one moment, Grian sang:
"Ride on, through the night, ride on
Ride on, through the night, ride on…"
Drums beat fast in Legolas' ears and he grabbed Grian amidst the dances of spring. His heart was wretched from his body and twisted by the dark forces until his tight grip nearly crushed her. "Grian…" he choked. "They're here."
Should you have me let him go Grian? Would you like me to? Go lagaí do chuid naimhde do chroí…Go lagaí do chuid naimhde do chroí… Go lagaí do chuid naimhde do chroí…
STOP!!! Grian yelled, and Legolas sighed in relief. It was gone. The drums. The drums! They weren't leaving his mind, now they closed in upon his ear. "Orcs," he gulped. "I hate orcs." Taking her arm, he dragged her towards their horses.
"But you can't leave these people here to die!" Grian cried.
Legolas looked at her queerly, "I was going to get my bow, my lady, and I've no intention of losing you along the way."
A sudden rip sounded through the canvas of a tent, and the orcs appeared. Elves screamed, mothers hid their children, and Legolas Greenleaf, King of Mirkwood, took his aim. But these were not just orcs! Saruman's Uruk-hai also rose from them, their great shoulders over-reaching the tallest of elves. And he let his arrow loose.
.-*-.
A.N. Our heroes in peril! *faints* Leggie likes Grian *dances around* Wait! I should know I wrote the durn thing. Humph. Oh well. R & R!
E-Mail messy@usa.com