Chapter Seven: New Stars (III. 2924)
Haldanor shifted in his seat atop the Ata, breathing stiffly behind the coarse fabric that draped around his head and face. Lómëí noticed his discomfort behind her, she turned slightly, peering over her shoulder at him.
"What is it?" She, too, was covered in the same style of black garment.
"It is hot." He said simply, bereft of any other way to explain himself. They had been traveling for several months, out of Forodwaith, through the northern lands and had finally crossed into Harad at the southwest border, along the sea. There had been a pleasant breeze then, but as they traveled inward over the past few days it had turned into a stifling heat.
She smiled beneath her veil. "Yes. You will be grateful soon, though." Haldanor moved his hands from her hips, fidgeted with them for a moment before placing them back on her. They had been riding double on the Ata for several days and he still felt ill at east. The woman was cross-legged before him, seemed so natural on the large beast. However, the Rohirrim (even one who was wary of horses such as he) were more accustom to beasts of burden of the northernlands, and Haldanor was yet dubious of the gangly creatures with humps on their backs which Lómëí seemed to be fond of.
He began to unravel the cloth from his head, Lómëí sensed this. "No, Haldanor. Leave it on." She reached behind her, patted him on his thigh. "Trust me." His skin was pale, the sun would harm him. And the deeper south they traveled, the risk of death increased during the daytime. His body could withstand the cold as hers could not, and her body could withstand the blistering heat as his would not.
"I can not imagine being grateful at all for this.. garment." He laughed weakly, overwhelmed by the heat. Sweat trickled slowly down his forehead, he felt is working its way down his back and chest, his stomach, even his legs. His head swirled under the sun, his eyes burned with the humid air and the sand. The sand! He could not believe this land, so barren and dead; and the people, so rich and strong. Lómëí seemed quite content, occasional clicking her tongue and urging the Ata on. She raised her hand, smoothing the sand off of her face. She had lost the pale tint to her skin, darkened, lines had appeared and had very little elvish resemblance left. Aside from her gray eyes, one could have easily mistaken her for a Haradrim.
The sun was sinking quickly, the sky tinted red. A flash on the horizon and the temperature immediately began to fall. A few stars glimmered above, breaking free of the darkness. Lómëí leaned back slightly, her back against Haldanor's chest as she raised a dusky hand to the sky. "Do you see the stars? The constellations here differ from the north." Her voice was hushed, she inhaled deeply and relaxed, slouching into him. Somehow the night was more peaceful, even with the chill and suspicious creatures about. She pulled the veil off, shook her braids loose from the neck of her dress, pulled the shawl from her shoulders. Haldanor followed suit, sighed with relief and pulled off the heavy cloth that was wrapped around his head.
"This is the Me'esaw Alquir. It is.. it is the time between. Evening, is the Westron word, only our word implies something more sweet than the a simple 'evening'. Until the light fades completely, it will be pleasant and safe for us." She pulled the reins, slowing the Ata to a halt. As she swung down from the beast, Haldanor's serene smile dropped.
"And what comes with the darkness?" He looked about himself, trying to figure a way down. She held a hand to him, her gray eyes somewhat hesitant. He slid from the Ata, stumbled in the sand.
"There are some things you must not ask, not yet. We are still secure, we are not too deeply in the south."
Lómëí spread a blanket on the ground, dumped several packs on it. She motioned for the beast to rest, her hand flat and palm down. It slowly sank to its knees and then chest with a groan. Haldanor paced, stretching his legs and back, wishing he was not covered in sand and dried sweat. The woman looked at him as he tried to rub the filth from his skin, and she smiled sweetly.
"It will not come off, believe me." She motioned to her own face and body. "I fear my scent is no better than the beast." It was difficult to look at her and believe she was an Elf.
He laughed, knowing that he could claim no different about his own state. They both sunk to the blanket, adjusting themselves between the haphazardly dumped side packs. They lay shoulder to shoulder, looking up at the increasing number of stars.
"May I ask you something?" His voice was a quiet whisper.
"Of course." She looked over to him in the dimming light. His cheeks and jaw were dusted with slight stubble. She found it endearing, had never seen a man quite like him. He did not complain at the inconveniences and strains of travel. He was a good natured companion, a friend when all others had abandon her. With every passing day, she was overwhelmed with how she cared for him and all of his peculiar idiosyncrasies. Mortals had always intrigued her and this one, more than any other.
Her father and his people would be appalled if they had known that she was traveling with a Mniw-htr. From the time she was young, she was taught fear and distrust of the men from the northern borders, the Mniw-htr. The horse- masters, in Common Speech. The earliest tales she heard were of the Mniw- htr raiding the borders. They would take women and children, force them to be slaves and serve in harems. It was only after Lómëí traveled there herself did she discover that there were many lands of men, not all of whom were cruel-hearted.
And then, there was Haldanor. A man unlike any other, in all regards. The dark hair and pale skin, the eyes alone had her to her knees at their meeting in Forodwaith. He did not look like an elf, he looked like something else, entirely, that she could not place.
"What were you wishing to ask me?" Lómëí grabbed a blanket with her left hand and spread it over the two of them. He took his half, pulled it over him.
"For what reason did you agree to guide me?" Haldanor turned, also, looking into her eyes.
"Does it matter? You have seen lands you never realized existed. You have seen the stars under a different sky. You have escaped the Rohirrim and their distaste for strangers, even if the stranger is one of their own blood." Her breath came out in lingering haze, it was getting chilled.
Haldanor pondered this, smiling in the darkness of the desert shroud. "I have enjoyed this, regardless of the items with which I return to the north with. And you will be paid for your time and effort in providing me with an escort through Harad, either way."
Her laugh was harsh, but happy. "You will return to Rohan and Gondor with items the inhabitants have never seen, you will have money. You will be respected, they will have no choice but to respect you! Perhaps you will always be an outsider, but you will be a wealthy one!" His laugh joined hers, dissipating in the dunes.
"Tomorrow, we will ride due South. You will see Teima and there we will refill our supply of water, we can rest for a while. There will be many nomads there to trade." She yawned, pulling another several blankets atop she and Haldanor. Lómëí turned on her side, facing him. "Morning will come sooner than we would wish. Sleep." Her eyes closed, within moments she was snoring softly.
"Lómëí." He whispered. No reply. He wanted yet to learn so much of the varying peoples of Harad. There was not merely one civilization, but many cultures, a broad spectrum in custom, appearance, lifestyle. They were wanderers, they were farmers, they were warriors. They had deeply bronzed skin, they had olive skin. She must have felt much like him, growing up in a such a place, a myriad of races. Being a half-breed made her stand apart in a land of cultural identity as being an intellectual in a land of those only concerned with killing for sport and pleasure. She was not tragic, just as he did not see himself as being tragic. They were two people- well, beings, at any rate- who were trying to find their place in a world that did not have specified rolls for them.
He watched her sleep for several moments before closing his own eyes and allowing himself to drift away.
~~
[Author's note: For about the millionth time, I apologize for chapter six. It was about five in the morning, I'd just watched Brad Dourif's character die (::sniffle::) in a really bad movie, and.. I don't know what my excuse is. I uploaded the correct version, complete with correct spelling and paragraphs that make sense! Please check chapter six again to make sure you didn't read the -really- horrible version. Thank you all for the reviews, and thank you, Gaslight for the Mary Sue Litmus test! I'm trying to avoid Mary Sueisms..
The Indiana Jones reference was "fortune and glory".. From The Temple of Doom, I believe.
I am basing the languages of Harad off of Ancient Egyptian and ancient Semitic tongues, as well as some blending of current Arabic.]
[Disclaimer: Based on the works of J.R.R. Tolkien, etc.]
Haldanor shifted in his seat atop the Ata, breathing stiffly behind the coarse fabric that draped around his head and face. Lómëí noticed his discomfort behind her, she turned slightly, peering over her shoulder at him.
"What is it?" She, too, was covered in the same style of black garment.
"It is hot." He said simply, bereft of any other way to explain himself. They had been traveling for several months, out of Forodwaith, through the northern lands and had finally crossed into Harad at the southwest border, along the sea. There had been a pleasant breeze then, but as they traveled inward over the past few days it had turned into a stifling heat.
She smiled beneath her veil. "Yes. You will be grateful soon, though." Haldanor moved his hands from her hips, fidgeted with them for a moment before placing them back on her. They had been riding double on the Ata for several days and he still felt ill at east. The woman was cross-legged before him, seemed so natural on the large beast. However, the Rohirrim (even one who was wary of horses such as he) were more accustom to beasts of burden of the northernlands, and Haldanor was yet dubious of the gangly creatures with humps on their backs which Lómëí seemed to be fond of.
He began to unravel the cloth from his head, Lómëí sensed this. "No, Haldanor. Leave it on." She reached behind her, patted him on his thigh. "Trust me." His skin was pale, the sun would harm him. And the deeper south they traveled, the risk of death increased during the daytime. His body could withstand the cold as hers could not, and her body could withstand the blistering heat as his would not.
"I can not imagine being grateful at all for this.. garment." He laughed weakly, overwhelmed by the heat. Sweat trickled slowly down his forehead, he felt is working its way down his back and chest, his stomach, even his legs. His head swirled under the sun, his eyes burned with the humid air and the sand. The sand! He could not believe this land, so barren and dead; and the people, so rich and strong. Lómëí seemed quite content, occasional clicking her tongue and urging the Ata on. She raised her hand, smoothing the sand off of her face. She had lost the pale tint to her skin, darkened, lines had appeared and had very little elvish resemblance left. Aside from her gray eyes, one could have easily mistaken her for a Haradrim.
The sun was sinking quickly, the sky tinted red. A flash on the horizon and the temperature immediately began to fall. A few stars glimmered above, breaking free of the darkness. Lómëí leaned back slightly, her back against Haldanor's chest as she raised a dusky hand to the sky. "Do you see the stars? The constellations here differ from the north." Her voice was hushed, she inhaled deeply and relaxed, slouching into him. Somehow the night was more peaceful, even with the chill and suspicious creatures about. She pulled the veil off, shook her braids loose from the neck of her dress, pulled the shawl from her shoulders. Haldanor followed suit, sighed with relief and pulled off the heavy cloth that was wrapped around his head.
"This is the Me'esaw Alquir. It is.. it is the time between. Evening, is the Westron word, only our word implies something more sweet than the a simple 'evening'. Until the light fades completely, it will be pleasant and safe for us." She pulled the reins, slowing the Ata to a halt. As she swung down from the beast, Haldanor's serene smile dropped.
"And what comes with the darkness?" He looked about himself, trying to figure a way down. She held a hand to him, her gray eyes somewhat hesitant. He slid from the Ata, stumbled in the sand.
"There are some things you must not ask, not yet. We are still secure, we are not too deeply in the south."
Lómëí spread a blanket on the ground, dumped several packs on it. She motioned for the beast to rest, her hand flat and palm down. It slowly sank to its knees and then chest with a groan. Haldanor paced, stretching his legs and back, wishing he was not covered in sand and dried sweat. The woman looked at him as he tried to rub the filth from his skin, and she smiled sweetly.
"It will not come off, believe me." She motioned to her own face and body. "I fear my scent is no better than the beast." It was difficult to look at her and believe she was an Elf.
He laughed, knowing that he could claim no different about his own state. They both sunk to the blanket, adjusting themselves between the haphazardly dumped side packs. They lay shoulder to shoulder, looking up at the increasing number of stars.
"May I ask you something?" His voice was a quiet whisper.
"Of course." She looked over to him in the dimming light. His cheeks and jaw were dusted with slight stubble. She found it endearing, had never seen a man quite like him. He did not complain at the inconveniences and strains of travel. He was a good natured companion, a friend when all others had abandon her. With every passing day, she was overwhelmed with how she cared for him and all of his peculiar idiosyncrasies. Mortals had always intrigued her and this one, more than any other.
Her father and his people would be appalled if they had known that she was traveling with a Mniw-htr. From the time she was young, she was taught fear and distrust of the men from the northern borders, the Mniw-htr. The horse- masters, in Common Speech. The earliest tales she heard were of the Mniw- htr raiding the borders. They would take women and children, force them to be slaves and serve in harems. It was only after Lómëí traveled there herself did she discover that there were many lands of men, not all of whom were cruel-hearted.
And then, there was Haldanor. A man unlike any other, in all regards. The dark hair and pale skin, the eyes alone had her to her knees at their meeting in Forodwaith. He did not look like an elf, he looked like something else, entirely, that she could not place.
"What were you wishing to ask me?" Lómëí grabbed a blanket with her left hand and spread it over the two of them. He took his half, pulled it over him.
"For what reason did you agree to guide me?" Haldanor turned, also, looking into her eyes.
"Does it matter? You have seen lands you never realized existed. You have seen the stars under a different sky. You have escaped the Rohirrim and their distaste for strangers, even if the stranger is one of their own blood." Her breath came out in lingering haze, it was getting chilled.
Haldanor pondered this, smiling in the darkness of the desert shroud. "I have enjoyed this, regardless of the items with which I return to the north with. And you will be paid for your time and effort in providing me with an escort through Harad, either way."
Her laugh was harsh, but happy. "You will return to Rohan and Gondor with items the inhabitants have never seen, you will have money. You will be respected, they will have no choice but to respect you! Perhaps you will always be an outsider, but you will be a wealthy one!" His laugh joined hers, dissipating in the dunes.
"Tomorrow, we will ride due South. You will see Teima and there we will refill our supply of water, we can rest for a while. There will be many nomads there to trade." She yawned, pulling another several blankets atop she and Haldanor. Lómëí turned on her side, facing him. "Morning will come sooner than we would wish. Sleep." Her eyes closed, within moments she was snoring softly.
"Lómëí." He whispered. No reply. He wanted yet to learn so much of the varying peoples of Harad. There was not merely one civilization, but many cultures, a broad spectrum in custom, appearance, lifestyle. They were wanderers, they were farmers, they were warriors. They had deeply bronzed skin, they had olive skin. She must have felt much like him, growing up in a such a place, a myriad of races. Being a half-breed made her stand apart in a land of cultural identity as being an intellectual in a land of those only concerned with killing for sport and pleasure. She was not tragic, just as he did not see himself as being tragic. They were two people- well, beings, at any rate- who were trying to find their place in a world that did not have specified rolls for them.
He watched her sleep for several moments before closing his own eyes and allowing himself to drift away.
~~
[Author's note: For about the millionth time, I apologize for chapter six. It was about five in the morning, I'd just watched Brad Dourif's character die (::sniffle::) in a really bad movie, and.. I don't know what my excuse is. I uploaded the correct version, complete with correct spelling and paragraphs that make sense! Please check chapter six again to make sure you didn't read the -really- horrible version. Thank you all for the reviews, and thank you, Gaslight for the Mary Sue Litmus test! I'm trying to avoid Mary Sueisms..
The Indiana Jones reference was "fortune and glory".. From The Temple of Doom, I believe.
I am basing the languages of Harad off of Ancient Egyptian and ancient Semitic tongues, as well as some blending of current Arabic.]
[Disclaimer: Based on the works of J.R.R. Tolkien, etc.]