Sacred Smoke and a Ring Bearer
Echo the Nymph
Disclaimer: The characters that were in LotR are Tolkien's.
Many years had passed,
But One of Three alive.
Into the Third Age did
Tinuviel live.
Yet she and another
Of the Ancient creed
Fell to the swords of darkness
Defending their home.
Chapter 1
A week had passed since that fateful battle. The Ancient Huntresses, Prairie Song Tinuviel and Sierra had fallen protecting their village from the darkness. All were still mourning, yet the elves had to be told. High Chief Forest Fire lightly touched his daughter's shoulder as she quietly lay in the sunshine of that bright day. "Sala Aria, sho elafas sherae bi calare. Thea ria feylas."
Gracefully, the gray filly rose to her hooves. "Siya, Farata. E kia di." Sacred Smoke took the rolled and tied parchment from her father's hand and placed in the pouch that was fastened around her waist. The huntress quickly packed what she would need; as time was of the essence. After shouldering her pack, she turned to her father. "Cornawa." She cantered away, into the shadows of Harlindon that were around the village.
Sacred Smoke emerged from the shadows and moved across the grasslands that separated her from the elven home. Not a single blade was stirred by her passage, a characteristic of huntresses.
After her first day's journey, she settled in for the night under the stars. As she was near the lands those who would become hobbits lived in, she erred on the side of caution and stayed away from where they were known to be. Sorrow was nearly overwhelming her with its black tide. A song came to her heart, sweet and sad.
"Red Vixen, mother of the line;
Take into your company Prairie Song and Sierra.
Keep them safe, keep them sound sweet ancestress.
By the powers of Fire I implore you, burn
This grief from my heart to leave the joy
Of their memory.
Mothers they were to me as mine left all too soon.
Please burn the grief away."
The last note died away as she pulled her traveling blanket closer about her. Maybe I should tell the people by the rivers. They were friends as well. She shook her head. No, not now. The grief is still too near and would they believe one they feel is a child? Sacred Smoke Tinuviel retreated into the world of dreams, where grief and pain could not touch her.
Golden light of the morning woke her from her slumber. Sacred Smoke rose to her hooves and folded her blanket. After a quick breakfast and a grooming she set out once again. Something told her to stay in the shadows; the seeds of men's mistrust had grown greater and enemies could come from any side. Her loping strides carried her far that day as she rarely stopped and her instincts brought her to the quickest path.
The huntress pulled up for a bit of a breather. The evening light grew dimmer as the colors faded from the sky above her. Imladris isn't much farther now. She uneasily shuffled about. Danger! But who and where... Her sharp gaze caught a small party of orcs. They had seen her as she had them. She burst into a gallop, covering the ground with large, graceful strides. Obstacles in her path were no more than mere annoyances as her agility served her well.
Her hooves splashed into a river as she continued to run. Unknown to her pursuers, she knew how to call upon the power of the elves. The orcs followed her into the river and only then did they hear her speaking in Sindaran. Not one of them understood a word. The level of the water in the river rose rapidly and washed them all away. As the surge died away she continued on her way to the elven home.
~
"Father!" Arwen called. He turned, not knowing why she was so worked up. "One of the guards saw orcs in the river!"
Lord Elrond walked over to the edge of a balcony. The startled cry of one of his sons reached his ears. Only three people could startle them in such a way. He shifted his gaze to the direction of the yelp. A satiny gray filly with snowflakes dancing across her stood there... Sacred Smoke! "I see why they were in the river. Apparently they were chasing Sacred Smoke." The elf-lord left his house to meet her.
"Corta anyo, Lord Elrond." Her tone was even, breathing steady. Her long run hadn't winded her at all, showing the classic stamina of huntresses.
"Sina dosena. What brings you to Imladris?" He blinked when she handed him the rolled up parchment. Elrond carefully broke the seal and untied the cord. The runes inscribed told a tale of great sorrow. After 2,518 years of life, 2,000 of them known to him, Prairie Song Tinuviel had passed on due to swords of darkness. And with her had gone Sierra. He blinked back tears, managing to keep himself under control. "Sacred Smoke Tinuviel, you have my sympathy."
Only when he had said those words did the elves that had gathered know what had happened. They had lost two of the greatest elf-friends in all of the peoples of centaurs.
Sacred Smoke was barely seventeen and she had lost those who had been as mothers to her. They lifted their voices in lamentation, not surprised in the least when she joined them. The name Tinuviel suited her as it did Prairie Song. Both sang with the great beauty of voice.
Echo the Nymph
Disclaimer: The characters that were in LotR are Tolkien's.
Many years had passed,
But One of Three alive.
Into the Third Age did
Tinuviel live.
Yet she and another
Of the Ancient creed
Fell to the swords of darkness
Defending their home.
Chapter 1
A week had passed since that fateful battle. The Ancient Huntresses, Prairie Song Tinuviel and Sierra had fallen protecting their village from the darkness. All were still mourning, yet the elves had to be told. High Chief Forest Fire lightly touched his daughter's shoulder as she quietly lay in the sunshine of that bright day. "Sala Aria, sho elafas sherae bi calare. Thea ria feylas."
Gracefully, the gray filly rose to her hooves. "Siya, Farata. E kia di." Sacred Smoke took the rolled and tied parchment from her father's hand and placed in the pouch that was fastened around her waist. The huntress quickly packed what she would need; as time was of the essence. After shouldering her pack, she turned to her father. "Cornawa." She cantered away, into the shadows of Harlindon that were around the village.
Sacred Smoke emerged from the shadows and moved across the grasslands that separated her from the elven home. Not a single blade was stirred by her passage, a characteristic of huntresses.
After her first day's journey, she settled in for the night under the stars. As she was near the lands those who would become hobbits lived in, she erred on the side of caution and stayed away from where they were known to be. Sorrow was nearly overwhelming her with its black tide. A song came to her heart, sweet and sad.
"Red Vixen, mother of the line;
Take into your company Prairie Song and Sierra.
Keep them safe, keep them sound sweet ancestress.
By the powers of Fire I implore you, burn
This grief from my heart to leave the joy
Of their memory.
Mothers they were to me as mine left all too soon.
Please burn the grief away."
The last note died away as she pulled her traveling blanket closer about her. Maybe I should tell the people by the rivers. They were friends as well. She shook her head. No, not now. The grief is still too near and would they believe one they feel is a child? Sacred Smoke Tinuviel retreated into the world of dreams, where grief and pain could not touch her.
Golden light of the morning woke her from her slumber. Sacred Smoke rose to her hooves and folded her blanket. After a quick breakfast and a grooming she set out once again. Something told her to stay in the shadows; the seeds of men's mistrust had grown greater and enemies could come from any side. Her loping strides carried her far that day as she rarely stopped and her instincts brought her to the quickest path.
The huntress pulled up for a bit of a breather. The evening light grew dimmer as the colors faded from the sky above her. Imladris isn't much farther now. She uneasily shuffled about. Danger! But who and where... Her sharp gaze caught a small party of orcs. They had seen her as she had them. She burst into a gallop, covering the ground with large, graceful strides. Obstacles in her path were no more than mere annoyances as her agility served her well.
Her hooves splashed into a river as she continued to run. Unknown to her pursuers, she knew how to call upon the power of the elves. The orcs followed her into the river and only then did they hear her speaking in Sindaran. Not one of them understood a word. The level of the water in the river rose rapidly and washed them all away. As the surge died away she continued on her way to the elven home.
~
"Father!" Arwen called. He turned, not knowing why she was so worked up. "One of the guards saw orcs in the river!"
Lord Elrond walked over to the edge of a balcony. The startled cry of one of his sons reached his ears. Only three people could startle them in such a way. He shifted his gaze to the direction of the yelp. A satiny gray filly with snowflakes dancing across her stood there... Sacred Smoke! "I see why they were in the river. Apparently they were chasing Sacred Smoke." The elf-lord left his house to meet her.
"Corta anyo, Lord Elrond." Her tone was even, breathing steady. Her long run hadn't winded her at all, showing the classic stamina of huntresses.
"Sina dosena. What brings you to Imladris?" He blinked when she handed him the rolled up parchment. Elrond carefully broke the seal and untied the cord. The runes inscribed told a tale of great sorrow. After 2,518 years of life, 2,000 of them known to him, Prairie Song Tinuviel had passed on due to swords of darkness. And with her had gone Sierra. He blinked back tears, managing to keep himself under control. "Sacred Smoke Tinuviel, you have my sympathy."
Only when he had said those words did the elves that had gathered know what had happened. They had lost two of the greatest elf-friends in all of the peoples of centaurs.
Sacred Smoke was barely seventeen and she had lost those who had been as mothers to her. They lifted their voices in lamentation, not surprised in the least when she joined them. The name Tinuviel suited her as it did Prairie Song. Both sang with the great beauty of voice.