The Dark Gift - Chapter 2
The Fellowship was settling down for the night ahead, fixing the varying sized beds to the liking of each. Most were silent dwelling on past events, finally letting the recent loss sink in and taking in well-needed rest.
Yet there were 6 members present in the sleeping chamber. Legolas the Elf was missing, as after the Black Lady, as she was now known as, had led them there and helped them settle down, Legolas had been called away, to discuss unknown things with his fellow Elves.
****** Morianna's POV
A few candles, which created dancing shapes of the shadows of her and the visitor Elf, lighted the hollow in the central tree. There were no words spoken between them as she stood and viewed him with caution and allure. She could not doubt that she felt attracted to this Elf, his fair hair and light eyes, contradicted her own. Even his clothing was of nature's colours, and hers was of colour that defiled nature.
Morianna moved to his side with a tall Lothlorien pitcher and from a large basin she filled it with a sweet tasting liquid that had an aroma to match its taste. Drawing Legolas's attention from his own reflection in a mirror, where he was examining the damage to his form. She placed the jug in his hands, by clasping his hands and securing the jug. Their touch was meant to be quick, but it drew out to a long caress as a lighting type excitement ran up her arms and ended in a warm slow pulse deep in her soul. She had never felt that before, no one she had met had re-lit the fire inside of her like this Elf. Then remembering the words of her mother she pulled away resisting the urge to get lost in his eyes. Morianna walked back to her station. Viewing the different blades, she was reminded of her own purpose at this time. But she could not resist speaking to the prince, in their own tongue.
'That nectar will heal your soul and make ease in your sleep, I will be joining you and your fellowship shortly with a cure for your corporal wounds'
'I extend you many thanks my lady, for any healing that you can give would be welcome among me and my companions. May I ask though, in Mirkwood I have heard tales of a Dark Gift, the Black Lady, a She-Elf of great but dark powers, would those tales be of you?'
'Yes they would, Elf of the Woodland Realm, I am the Black Lady, or as my name Morianna means, Dark Gift, but do not fear I do not cause harm as the evil you know does' Morianna began to feel nervous as Legolas had moved to stand behind her. She could feel his aura surrounding her and pulling her to him, she did not like this unfamiliar feeling, though it felt as if it were right. It would do her or him no good at the moment to succumb to such desires. She spoke to him again trying to ward him off with her tone,
'Go now back to your friends and have them drink this' she indicated to the water pitcher in his hands 'I will be along to heal the flesh wounds when I have prepared the potion'
'Then I will take my leave of you Black Lady, and look forward to your return'
And with that Legolas bowed low to her, even though she still had her back turned to him, and he turned and left.
Morianna let out the breath she didn't realise she was holding and was able to get back to the task in hand.
******
Quiet words if any were spoken among the tired travellers, their ears were soothed by a calming sound, a melodious tune that penetrated the very soul of all who heard it, like nature its self was singing a lullaby.
Unsure of the source of this harmony, all but Gimli who was lying still on his bed, looked up, and saw many Elves in the trees above. They were singing, singing all together, the uncountable voices became one, with a power and aged wisdom that still held a beauty and grace that defies the laws of the world.
At that moment Legolas materialized out of a hidden passage in the side of one of the central trees. He was holding a Lothlorien jug filled with sweet Elven nectar that made a precious sleep come over the weary to recover their strength. The expression of grief and pain poisoned his fair Elven features.
The Mirkwood Elf joined his friends while still almost intoxicated by the voices of his kindred, noticing that his companions shared his feeling, and that all of them bar one could not understand what the nature of the song was, he spoke,
'A lament for Gandalf', the words of the song he felt he could not repeat, as the translation would bring renewed grief into his heart. Then as if his fear was heard, one of the Halflings, Merry, asked him,
'What do they say about him' Legolas turned to the young hobbit, whose eyes were filled with curiosity and angst.
'I have not the heart to tell you, for me the grief is still too near' He glanced at Aragon, knowing that he understood the words as well.
Aragon looked back at his friend and felt sorrow for him. Legolas was feeling something that few Elves go through, and both of them knowing that it has been known for that feeling to become so overwhelming that it could cause death among the first born. He would keep an eye on the Elf and hope that no more grief would befall his friends' heart.
While these small events unfolded, a shadow was watching them from a distance and listening to their words. Morianna was stationed in the central tree that Legolas had just been present in. As she was preparing the special liquid that was she would use to heal their surface wounds and maybe give them a new strength to help them fight another day.
****** Morianna's POV
Drawing the blade across the palm of her hand, she made a deep cut, ignoring the too familiar pain; she clenched her hand widening the gash, and let the blood flow in to a small, shallow clay dish. The rough clay dish was as unusual as she was as it was not decorated in any Elvish patterns but it was as plain, yet in its plainness it stood out among the beautifully decorated water pitchers and bowls.
Her knives were the same, plain wooded handles and dull sharp blades, as all the items used for the bleeding of her gift were not decorated with the natural and complicated patterns of the Elves.
The bowl was now beginning to collect a good amount of the red life giving liquid that was still running out of her hand. Opening up her stained fingers she bound her hand in the plain black cloth that was laid out for that purpose. The black material would not show the blood that was still seeping through. Over the top of that she slipped on black finger- less gloves that came all the way up her arm.
She placed the dish on a small tray along with a small cup of the same plain clay and walked out of the tree into the lighted area, going towards the group of travellers, she stopped for a moment and watched them talking amongst themselves she listened to the words as she began her approach again. A poem from one of the Halflings caught her attention and it caused her an innocent joy she had not felt in some time.
******
The Fellowship was settling down for the night ahead, fixing the varying sized beds to the liking of each. Most were silent dwelling on past events, finally letting the recent loss sink in and taking in well-needed rest.
Yet there were 6 members present in the sleeping chamber. Legolas the Elf was missing, as after the Black Lady, as she was now known as, had led them there and helped them settle down, Legolas had been called away, to discuss unknown things with his fellow Elves.
****** Morianna's POV
A few candles, which created dancing shapes of the shadows of her and the visitor Elf, lighted the hollow in the central tree. There were no words spoken between them as she stood and viewed him with caution and allure. She could not doubt that she felt attracted to this Elf, his fair hair and light eyes, contradicted her own. Even his clothing was of nature's colours, and hers was of colour that defiled nature.
Morianna moved to his side with a tall Lothlorien pitcher and from a large basin she filled it with a sweet tasting liquid that had an aroma to match its taste. Drawing Legolas's attention from his own reflection in a mirror, where he was examining the damage to his form. She placed the jug in his hands, by clasping his hands and securing the jug. Their touch was meant to be quick, but it drew out to a long caress as a lighting type excitement ran up her arms and ended in a warm slow pulse deep in her soul. She had never felt that before, no one she had met had re-lit the fire inside of her like this Elf. Then remembering the words of her mother she pulled away resisting the urge to get lost in his eyes. Morianna walked back to her station. Viewing the different blades, she was reminded of her own purpose at this time. But she could not resist speaking to the prince, in their own tongue.
'That nectar will heal your soul and make ease in your sleep, I will be joining you and your fellowship shortly with a cure for your corporal wounds'
'I extend you many thanks my lady, for any healing that you can give would be welcome among me and my companions. May I ask though, in Mirkwood I have heard tales of a Dark Gift, the Black Lady, a She-Elf of great but dark powers, would those tales be of you?'
'Yes they would, Elf of the Woodland Realm, I am the Black Lady, or as my name Morianna means, Dark Gift, but do not fear I do not cause harm as the evil you know does' Morianna began to feel nervous as Legolas had moved to stand behind her. She could feel his aura surrounding her and pulling her to him, she did not like this unfamiliar feeling, though it felt as if it were right. It would do her or him no good at the moment to succumb to such desires. She spoke to him again trying to ward him off with her tone,
'Go now back to your friends and have them drink this' she indicated to the water pitcher in his hands 'I will be along to heal the flesh wounds when I have prepared the potion'
'Then I will take my leave of you Black Lady, and look forward to your return'
And with that Legolas bowed low to her, even though she still had her back turned to him, and he turned and left.
Morianna let out the breath she didn't realise she was holding and was able to get back to the task in hand.
******
Quiet words if any were spoken among the tired travellers, their ears were soothed by a calming sound, a melodious tune that penetrated the very soul of all who heard it, like nature its self was singing a lullaby.
Unsure of the source of this harmony, all but Gimli who was lying still on his bed, looked up, and saw many Elves in the trees above. They were singing, singing all together, the uncountable voices became one, with a power and aged wisdom that still held a beauty and grace that defies the laws of the world.
At that moment Legolas materialized out of a hidden passage in the side of one of the central trees. He was holding a Lothlorien jug filled with sweet Elven nectar that made a precious sleep come over the weary to recover their strength. The expression of grief and pain poisoned his fair Elven features.
The Mirkwood Elf joined his friends while still almost intoxicated by the voices of his kindred, noticing that his companions shared his feeling, and that all of them bar one could not understand what the nature of the song was, he spoke,
'A lament for Gandalf', the words of the song he felt he could not repeat, as the translation would bring renewed grief into his heart. Then as if his fear was heard, one of the Halflings, Merry, asked him,
'What do they say about him' Legolas turned to the young hobbit, whose eyes were filled with curiosity and angst.
'I have not the heart to tell you, for me the grief is still too near' He glanced at Aragon, knowing that he understood the words as well.
Aragon looked back at his friend and felt sorrow for him. Legolas was feeling something that few Elves go through, and both of them knowing that it has been known for that feeling to become so overwhelming that it could cause death among the first born. He would keep an eye on the Elf and hope that no more grief would befall his friends' heart.
While these small events unfolded, a shadow was watching them from a distance and listening to their words. Morianna was stationed in the central tree that Legolas had just been present in. As she was preparing the special liquid that was she would use to heal their surface wounds and maybe give them a new strength to help them fight another day.
****** Morianna's POV
Drawing the blade across the palm of her hand, she made a deep cut, ignoring the too familiar pain; she clenched her hand widening the gash, and let the blood flow in to a small, shallow clay dish. The rough clay dish was as unusual as she was as it was not decorated in any Elvish patterns but it was as plain, yet in its plainness it stood out among the beautifully decorated water pitchers and bowls.
Her knives were the same, plain wooded handles and dull sharp blades, as all the items used for the bleeding of her gift were not decorated with the natural and complicated patterns of the Elves.
The bowl was now beginning to collect a good amount of the red life giving liquid that was still running out of her hand. Opening up her stained fingers she bound her hand in the plain black cloth that was laid out for that purpose. The black material would not show the blood that was still seeping through. Over the top of that she slipped on black finger- less gloves that came all the way up her arm.
She placed the dish on a small tray along with a small cup of the same plain clay and walked out of the tree into the lighted area, going towards the group of travellers, she stopped for a moment and watched them talking amongst themselves she listened to the words as she began her approach again. A poem from one of the Halflings caught her attention and it caused her an innocent joy she had not felt in some time.
******
