Second Chapter up! Thank you to my reviewers, I love you all! Mwah!
kaneen : Thank you, here's the second chapter. I hope you like it! Dragonlet: Thanks! Is it really that funny? I was aiming for angst, but what the hey! Hilarity's good too! I like your pen-name, by the way. Showndra Ridge: Consider my pot bunny patted. Thank you, and I hope you like.
Dedicated to Rupi. She knows why.
A Christmas Carol Chapter 2: Shadow
+_+_+_+_
'Twas in the moon of winter time,
When all the birds had fled,
That Mighty Gitchi Manitou sent angel choirs instead;
Before their light the stars grew dim and wondering hunters heard the hymn:
Jesus your King is born, Jesus is born,
In excelsis gloria.
Jean de Brébeuf (1593-1649) +_+_+_+_
As soon as the Elf had swiftly exited the room, Elessar had extinguished the blaze in the hearth, though it served no true purpose. No heat went any way to melting the impenetrable ice fortress that had built up around his once kindly heart and soul. Keeping the roaring, if redundant, heat blazing was nothing but a waste of valuable fuel- an expense he could spare gladly. Barely noticing the room had been suddenly plunged into darkness he slimed his way out the room and down the bleakly and sparsely decorated corridor to his bedchambers, a hunch in his shoulders and a sneer on his face.
It was now that he paused of the doors and made to push them open, lifting one scarred and war-roughened hand to apply pressure to the large knocker in the centre of the door, when he perceived a change. Peering closer at the knocker he witnessed a change occurring- once the White Tree of Gondor was proud in the strong in the middle but now it shifted, morphed, into another visage.
Denethor's face.
He was just as Aragorn recalled- his cheeks gaunt and grey, his eyes wide and staring out (even they held no movement of any type) at Aragorn who stumbled back in sudden horror. The face gave off a dull glow of its own for barely a moment before Aragorn looked again numbly.
And once again it was but a simple door knocker- no differences of any kind.
To say that Elessar did not feel any fear at this point would be untrue, for his blood flowed with a momentary chill, but that passed and he scowled at the knocker.
"Humbug," he hissed before shouldering his way in and lighting a small candle. Now, you must understand that usually the King cared not a button for the darkness. Dark was cheep and he liked it, but on this night he felt the urge to sweep the rooms that made up his bedchambers and for that, light was required.
Everything was as it should be- think blankets spread across his bed, desk with accountancy notes in one corner, heavy curtains blocking all light during daylight hours drawn severely. Nothing was amiss. Frustrated at his own mind for playing such a trick on him he sat himself down heavily in a chair and began to brood miserably. It was after several minutes he let his eyes wander around his room, his gaze finally falling on the mantle piece across the room, over a disused fireplace.
There was very little on that mantle piece. Scrolls of writing were scattered across the narrow surface, collecting dust like a brightly colored flower collects bees in summer (a time of year the King despised). A quill and a dried well of ink also sat as did a small blue leather bound book, on which stood a small metal bell. The bell had once belonged to Arwen as a gift from a very young dwarf friend of Legolas' (and how the King despised that damned fair Elf!) and the King simply had not removed it, despite the passage of years and now a thick film of grime marred the smooth, shiny surface. As he watched, the bell lifted a few bare mllimetres and began to tremble. These vibrations grew and grew until the small bell was ringing clearly, a sound created by an unseen hand. Joining it, every other bell in the King's bedchambers also lifted and began its own relentless tolling.
This cacophony lasted but a half minute, but to Elessar, who was stuck in the middle, it seemed much longer. Then, with a sudden halt every bell stopped, leaving the room in silence. Then, another sound.
Dragging, heavy and pained. Dragging, dragging, dragging. The steady scrape and thud grew louder and louder until it was discernable that it came from behind Elessar, who spun to meet this evil.
"It's Humbug still," he murmured to himself. "I will not believe it." Gradually, Denethor's image pulled itself in, hands still wrapped around the Palantir he had clutched in death. His image remained the same- his translucency was the only point that indicated any difference. That and the way every limb on Denethor's body looked to be made out of lead making the man stoop even more than he had done in life.
"Who are you?" Elessar whispered, refusing to believe his eyes. He reached for the sword at his hip, only to be stopped by a horse, dry cackle ripped from a dead throat.
"It may be more imprudent to ask who I was," the ghostly image croaked painfully, shifting and revealing a heavy chain that lay about his neck and round his waist, shackling his wrists and ankles.
"So, who were you?" Elessar demanded angrily, hand resting against the hilt of the blade but not retracting it any further.
"In life I was Denethor, Steward of Gondor."
"Humbug, I say! Humbug!" Aragorn cried in return. In anger, the spirit lifted its chains and shook them at the man, a soul-shattering wail ripping from his throat. The dismal clanking reverberated in the King's ears.
"I speak the truth- I wear chains I forged in life by my actions to this land and I come to warn you," the spirit cried at the wary man. "You must change your ways!"
"I do not believe you."
"You must!" Denethor's spirit cried frantically. "I walk forever with these chains for my actions, but you can still change. You must change!" Wariness evaporating, Elessar released his sword and eyes the spirit who clutched at the Palantir in his hands with desperation. "You will be haunted by three ghosts tonight, Aragorn," the spirit informed with a mournful wail. "The first will arrive at one, the second at three and the last at five." The pale translucency became thinner as Denethor began to fade.
"Couldn't I just have them all at the same time and get it all over and done with?" the King cried frantically, reaching out a hand to grasp at Denethor. The spirit moved away.
"The first will arrive at one, the second at three and the last at five," the ghost repeated, the clank of chains sounding as he shifted, his visage barely discernable now.
With that, the ghost was gone.
Shocked and a little disorientated, the King backed up, the back of his knees coming into contact with the edge of his bed. Still clothed, a wave of fatigue washed over him and he collapsed back, sleep claiming him instantly.
And the clocked ticked slowly on . . .
++++++++++++++++++++++
To be continued.
kaneen : Thank you, here's the second chapter. I hope you like it! Dragonlet: Thanks! Is it really that funny? I was aiming for angst, but what the hey! Hilarity's good too! I like your pen-name, by the way. Showndra Ridge: Consider my pot bunny patted. Thank you, and I hope you like.
Dedicated to Rupi. She knows why.
A Christmas Carol Chapter 2: Shadow
+_+_+_+_
'Twas in the moon of winter time,
When all the birds had fled,
That Mighty Gitchi Manitou sent angel choirs instead;
Before their light the stars grew dim and wondering hunters heard the hymn:
Jesus your King is born, Jesus is born,
In excelsis gloria.
Jean de Brébeuf (1593-1649) +_+_+_+_
As soon as the Elf had swiftly exited the room, Elessar had extinguished the blaze in the hearth, though it served no true purpose. No heat went any way to melting the impenetrable ice fortress that had built up around his once kindly heart and soul. Keeping the roaring, if redundant, heat blazing was nothing but a waste of valuable fuel- an expense he could spare gladly. Barely noticing the room had been suddenly plunged into darkness he slimed his way out the room and down the bleakly and sparsely decorated corridor to his bedchambers, a hunch in his shoulders and a sneer on his face.
It was now that he paused of the doors and made to push them open, lifting one scarred and war-roughened hand to apply pressure to the large knocker in the centre of the door, when he perceived a change. Peering closer at the knocker he witnessed a change occurring- once the White Tree of Gondor was proud in the strong in the middle but now it shifted, morphed, into another visage.
Denethor's face.
He was just as Aragorn recalled- his cheeks gaunt and grey, his eyes wide and staring out (even they held no movement of any type) at Aragorn who stumbled back in sudden horror. The face gave off a dull glow of its own for barely a moment before Aragorn looked again numbly.
And once again it was but a simple door knocker- no differences of any kind.
To say that Elessar did not feel any fear at this point would be untrue, for his blood flowed with a momentary chill, but that passed and he scowled at the knocker.
"Humbug," he hissed before shouldering his way in and lighting a small candle. Now, you must understand that usually the King cared not a button for the darkness. Dark was cheep and he liked it, but on this night he felt the urge to sweep the rooms that made up his bedchambers and for that, light was required.
Everything was as it should be- think blankets spread across his bed, desk with accountancy notes in one corner, heavy curtains blocking all light during daylight hours drawn severely. Nothing was amiss. Frustrated at his own mind for playing such a trick on him he sat himself down heavily in a chair and began to brood miserably. It was after several minutes he let his eyes wander around his room, his gaze finally falling on the mantle piece across the room, over a disused fireplace.
There was very little on that mantle piece. Scrolls of writing were scattered across the narrow surface, collecting dust like a brightly colored flower collects bees in summer (a time of year the King despised). A quill and a dried well of ink also sat as did a small blue leather bound book, on which stood a small metal bell. The bell had once belonged to Arwen as a gift from a very young dwarf friend of Legolas' (and how the King despised that damned fair Elf!) and the King simply had not removed it, despite the passage of years and now a thick film of grime marred the smooth, shiny surface. As he watched, the bell lifted a few bare mllimetres and began to tremble. These vibrations grew and grew until the small bell was ringing clearly, a sound created by an unseen hand. Joining it, every other bell in the King's bedchambers also lifted and began its own relentless tolling.
This cacophony lasted but a half minute, but to Elessar, who was stuck in the middle, it seemed much longer. Then, with a sudden halt every bell stopped, leaving the room in silence. Then, another sound.
Dragging, heavy and pained. Dragging, dragging, dragging. The steady scrape and thud grew louder and louder until it was discernable that it came from behind Elessar, who spun to meet this evil.
"It's Humbug still," he murmured to himself. "I will not believe it." Gradually, Denethor's image pulled itself in, hands still wrapped around the Palantir he had clutched in death. His image remained the same- his translucency was the only point that indicated any difference. That and the way every limb on Denethor's body looked to be made out of lead making the man stoop even more than he had done in life.
"Who are you?" Elessar whispered, refusing to believe his eyes. He reached for the sword at his hip, only to be stopped by a horse, dry cackle ripped from a dead throat.
"It may be more imprudent to ask who I was," the ghostly image croaked painfully, shifting and revealing a heavy chain that lay about his neck and round his waist, shackling his wrists and ankles.
"So, who were you?" Elessar demanded angrily, hand resting against the hilt of the blade but not retracting it any further.
"In life I was Denethor, Steward of Gondor."
"Humbug, I say! Humbug!" Aragorn cried in return. In anger, the spirit lifted its chains and shook them at the man, a soul-shattering wail ripping from his throat. The dismal clanking reverberated in the King's ears.
"I speak the truth- I wear chains I forged in life by my actions to this land and I come to warn you," the spirit cried at the wary man. "You must change your ways!"
"I do not believe you."
"You must!" Denethor's spirit cried frantically. "I walk forever with these chains for my actions, but you can still change. You must change!" Wariness evaporating, Elessar released his sword and eyes the spirit who clutched at the Palantir in his hands with desperation. "You will be haunted by three ghosts tonight, Aragorn," the spirit informed with a mournful wail. "The first will arrive at one, the second at three and the last at five." The pale translucency became thinner as Denethor began to fade.
"Couldn't I just have them all at the same time and get it all over and done with?" the King cried frantically, reaching out a hand to grasp at Denethor. The spirit moved away.
"The first will arrive at one, the second at three and the last at five," the ghost repeated, the clank of chains sounding as he shifted, his visage barely discernable now.
With that, the ghost was gone.
Shocked and a little disorientated, the King backed up, the back of his knees coming into contact with the edge of his bed. Still clothed, a wave of fatigue washed over him and he collapsed back, sleep claiming him instantly.
And the clocked ticked slowly on . . .
++++++++++++++++++++++
To be continued.