A Moment
Jaya Mitai
Disclaimer: Characters in this story are the property of J Tolkien and are used without permission. I would never have written about his work but for the movie the Two Towers, in which something happened I do not believe he intended. (Well, about ten things happened he did not intend, but that's a story for another day.) Spoilers from the movie are present. You were warned, if you ignore, I don't want to hear about it. =) No profit is being made from this.
Any comments can be left here or sent to jaya_gm@hotmail.com
* * * * * * *
It is strange, but I expected to hear silence. The roar of everything around me was so deafening I barely had picked the call out of the sodden air. I expected to hear nothing more than perhaps the faltering beat of my heart beneath my breast, perhaps the last drops of water as they splashed forth from the angry sky. I had heard it said that the physical touch faded first, then taste, then sight. The sense of smell halted with the last breath, but long after the lingering scent of it had left the lungs the ears remained tuned, listening intently to the last.
Hearing has always been the most faithful sense to my people. We were the first upon this earth to hear the song of the earth, of the trees, and the first creatures to imitate, crudely at first, that which we heard. Long have the songs of elves rang as magical, and when coaxed from the sweetest throats even the most simple, familiar song has the power to arrest the motion of Galadriel herself, frozen in the act of listening. It is fitting that it should be the last sense to fade, so that the song of the world is the last part of Middle Earth to pass our awareness before we too pass from its awareness to the halls of our ancestors.
It is treachery that I should have doubted and despaired in that sense, for even as the blade passes from my back I feel not the pain of my pierced flesh. I gasp with the shock of losing awareness of this place that has been my home for all the ages, I gasp with the futility of one who realizes his body has betrayed him, as he has betrayed his senses. There are forces at work, unbalancing me, and I know not how to react, for it is all so very new, so very unexpected. Perhaps that arrogance, the countless battles have been my undoing? What else could have resulted in this?
I have no choice but to look forward; my eyes deceive me as I try to calculate my position. Things are not as clear as they once were. I see before me a ground suffered with the bodies of my people. How many have given their blood and lives this day for a stretch of rock. Willingly we set forth at the urging of Galadriel, wisest and fairest of all Elves, willingly we set forth within this rock only hours before a great army came towards us. Willing was I to begin the slaughter of this evil, even willing was I to stand beside man, not soldier, nearly but boy, until the last of this army would be finished, and the people of Rohan could come forth from their caves and take up their plowshares once more.
These men, who shall inherit the earth from the elves. I hear them as clearly as one can hear the trees speak. I hear the shouting to my right, I hear the scuffle of leather behind me. I can hear my undoing breathing raggedly through a mouth malformed, I can hear the screech of his blade on stone. I can smell the stench of him, the oddly green scent of my own life as it leaves me.
But I do not taste the liquid that is building up within my throat, I do not feel pain, nor dampness, nor the ground that I am certain must now be beneath my knees. I have but three senses, and already sight is leaving me.
I take a new breath, counting them as never have I had reason to do before. My men, my people, dead before my eyes, and I so soon to join them. I can usher them towards the Halls of the West; perhaps no. They might usher me, for Haldir may I be here, but there . . . there are other elves that have led far greater than I. May my brothers be safe, for I should not like to find myself in their debt beyond this life. The sheer irony would require them to speak of it ceaselessly and should the next world be more permanent than this it is something I think I could only bear a moment.
I do not wish to spend my last moments in despair, but it is a soggy cloak that wraps around me as chokingly as the one I now bear to the ground. All around is darkness, the sky weeps for those that have fallen. It bathes the bodies that shall be burned, the elves with the men. It provides tears to those that no longer have the ability to shed them, perhaps never had even in life. My sight fails me further, and I find myself staring at the sky.
For a moment I can see a face, and I try to take another breath. The air wants nothing more to do with me, though the earth is welcoming. I can hear them both. One sings in a whisper, I cannot yet cock my ear to it but the sound is growing. The other sings with the battle, the arrows sharp and triumphant as they pass between the raindrops on their single duty towards their foe, be it elf, man, or the monstrosity between.
It is ironic, in a strange way, that I listen to the earth. There are no trees to speak to me, the air has quit me. Perhaps it is singing to the dwarf, as they often claim the rocks can. Perhaps Legolas, who seems to understand the gruff ways of the small creature, shall be the one to discover it. If one could hear the two songs, what a wonderful harmony would be perceived. But I do not believe one can. There is one song for one kind, and one song for another. Would one hear both, they would be passing from either, as I pass now.
The face I see is despairing, and I wonder at my own countenance. The songs of both still whisper in my ears, but my sight fails me utterly, it seems I can see naught but the ebony sky. Darkness has fallen upon these men. They have fallen into shadow, I have fallen into shadow, and while I can hear the song of my people it is all I can hear, and taste, and touch. I hear not a sound from the face that was above me, I feel nothing of the stone below me.
My time on Middle Earth has come to an end. Did Galadriel know? I hear a great song, but her voice is not among them, and as it is all there is left, I must go. I move towards it, far from the sound of the air and those I leave behind. Galadriel was wise to send me here. I did not see it. Things are clearer than they once were.
I am no longer in shadow.
Disclaimer: Characters in this story are the property of J Tolkien and are used without permission. I would never have written about his work but for the movie the Two Towers, in which something happened I do not believe he intended. (Well, about ten things happened he did not intend, but that's a story for another day.) Spoilers from the movie are present. You were warned, if you ignore, I don't want to hear about it. =) No profit is being made from this.
Any comments can be left here or sent to jaya_gm@hotmail.com
* * * * * * *
It is strange, but I expected to hear silence. The roar of everything around me was so deafening I barely had picked the call out of the sodden air. I expected to hear nothing more than perhaps the faltering beat of my heart beneath my breast, perhaps the last drops of water as they splashed forth from the angry sky. I had heard it said that the physical touch faded first, then taste, then sight. The sense of smell halted with the last breath, but long after the lingering scent of it had left the lungs the ears remained tuned, listening intently to the last.
Hearing has always been the most faithful sense to my people. We were the first upon this earth to hear the song of the earth, of the trees, and the first creatures to imitate, crudely at first, that which we heard. Long have the songs of elves rang as magical, and when coaxed from the sweetest throats even the most simple, familiar song has the power to arrest the motion of Galadriel herself, frozen in the act of listening. It is fitting that it should be the last sense to fade, so that the song of the world is the last part of Middle Earth to pass our awareness before we too pass from its awareness to the halls of our ancestors.
It is treachery that I should have doubted and despaired in that sense, for even as the blade passes from my back I feel not the pain of my pierced flesh. I gasp with the shock of losing awareness of this place that has been my home for all the ages, I gasp with the futility of one who realizes his body has betrayed him, as he has betrayed his senses. There are forces at work, unbalancing me, and I know not how to react, for it is all so very new, so very unexpected. Perhaps that arrogance, the countless battles have been my undoing? What else could have resulted in this?
I have no choice but to look forward; my eyes deceive me as I try to calculate my position. Things are not as clear as they once were. I see before me a ground suffered with the bodies of my people. How many have given their blood and lives this day for a stretch of rock. Willingly we set forth at the urging of Galadriel, wisest and fairest of all Elves, willingly we set forth within this rock only hours before a great army came towards us. Willing was I to begin the slaughter of this evil, even willing was I to stand beside man, not soldier, nearly but boy, until the last of this army would be finished, and the people of Rohan could come forth from their caves and take up their plowshares once more.
These men, who shall inherit the earth from the elves. I hear them as clearly as one can hear the trees speak. I hear the shouting to my right, I hear the scuffle of leather behind me. I can hear my undoing breathing raggedly through a mouth malformed, I can hear the screech of his blade on stone. I can smell the stench of him, the oddly green scent of my own life as it leaves me.
But I do not taste the liquid that is building up within my throat, I do not feel pain, nor dampness, nor the ground that I am certain must now be beneath my knees. I have but three senses, and already sight is leaving me.
I take a new breath, counting them as never have I had reason to do before. My men, my people, dead before my eyes, and I so soon to join them. I can usher them towards the Halls of the West; perhaps no. They might usher me, for Haldir may I be here, but there . . . there are other elves that have led far greater than I. May my brothers be safe, for I should not like to find myself in their debt beyond this life. The sheer irony would require them to speak of it ceaselessly and should the next world be more permanent than this it is something I think I could only bear a moment.
I do not wish to spend my last moments in despair, but it is a soggy cloak that wraps around me as chokingly as the one I now bear to the ground. All around is darkness, the sky weeps for those that have fallen. It bathes the bodies that shall be burned, the elves with the men. It provides tears to those that no longer have the ability to shed them, perhaps never had even in life. My sight fails me further, and I find myself staring at the sky.
For a moment I can see a face, and I try to take another breath. The air wants nothing more to do with me, though the earth is welcoming. I can hear them both. One sings in a whisper, I cannot yet cock my ear to it but the sound is growing. The other sings with the battle, the arrows sharp and triumphant as they pass between the raindrops on their single duty towards their foe, be it elf, man, or the monstrosity between.
It is ironic, in a strange way, that I listen to the earth. There are no trees to speak to me, the air has quit me. Perhaps it is singing to the dwarf, as they often claim the rocks can. Perhaps Legolas, who seems to understand the gruff ways of the small creature, shall be the one to discover it. If one could hear the two songs, what a wonderful harmony would be perceived. But I do not believe one can. There is one song for one kind, and one song for another. Would one hear both, they would be passing from either, as I pass now.
The face I see is despairing, and I wonder at my own countenance. The songs of both still whisper in my ears, but my sight fails me utterly, it seems I can see naught but the ebony sky. Darkness has fallen upon these men. They have fallen into shadow, I have fallen into shadow, and while I can hear the song of my people it is all I can hear, and taste, and touch. I hear not a sound from the face that was above me, I feel nothing of the stone below me.
My time on Middle Earth has come to an end. Did Galadriel know? I hear a great song, but her voice is not among them, and as it is all there is left, I must go. I move towards it, far from the sound of the air and those I leave behind. Galadriel was wise to send me here. I did not see it. Things are clearer than they once were.
I am no longer in shadow.