Disclaimer: I do not own the world of Tolkien, I just read it and write
about it.
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I had that dream again. The one in which I got my fatal flaw. I try to not let it take control of me. But every time, every time I am drawn to do what I have always done, to do something I should never have considered doing but for the arrogance in my heart.
It always began the same way, in the field with the needed stretches in the morning, so our muscles would not be ruined in a day full of rapid movements and new drills. All of the training warriors were gathered in that field for their daily stretches.
The archers were off to one side, stretching their backs and arms; the swordsmen were near them doing practically the same stretches, but for a few new stretches intending to make all of their muscles flexible to move in any way necessary to block or attack. The spearmen were off to the side near the stables and the horses they used in their training doing the same set of stretches.
The staff wielders were in the middle, watching all, while doing similar stretches as everyone else. We were few in number because the staff was not a popular weapon to be used on the battle field while bows and arrows, swords, and spears were vital parts of an attack and defense. We were the lowlifes of the warriors, but we cared not, for we were not there out of necessity, we were there because we had the choice to be there.
I looked around at all the people on the field with disgust because of their feeble attempts to make themselves appear honorable and noble while they were far from the truth. They were most likely the eldest in a starving family, gone off to learn a trade that would bring wages home to feed their loved ones. Others were probably forgotten children in a large, fairly well-off family, having no inheritance and turning to the art of war to have some means of providing for themselves and their future. And others, the more idiotic ones, were there to learn a way to attain glory, to learn one of the surest ways to become a legend, to be remembered for centuries. It was in battle the common foot soldier was in equality with the fierce lord who led their company.
I, in this dream, always looked around in a feeling of contempt for the low lives of the world, the meager excuses for humans that had to share air with me. And every time I had this dream, I felt more and more loathing and hatred for myself for feeling this way. I sense the emotions from that day with utter, retched disgust for they were the same feelings that people now feel towards me. Bitter irony always wins.
As my vision panned from one side of the field to the next, I remember thinking I was better than any being there. I remember the vanity and pride I acquired from my mother coursing through my veins and making me act every part of the spoiled cow she had made me become. I always felt hatred for myself when I experienced this particular segment because I remember thinking that if I were to even try to wield a sword, I would be better and far more graceful than even the four-year students. It was this thought that compelled me into doing what I did.
In my dream, I always look around to see if any of the teachers were near by, so I could walk over, casually, to the swordsman, and show off my astounding beauty.
The day was perfect for the exhibition of my looks. It was a clear blue day, cool, with a hint in the air of the rain that had fallen the night before. The sun shone down unfiltered upon the open clearing all the warriors were on. It was in just the right direction to pick out the faint red highlights I had in my black hair. It shone on my skin like a golden light, accentuating my high cheekbones and giving a dancing sparkle to my eyes. It gave my skin an almost luminescent glow, making most of the boys I passed go weak in the knees at seeing such a beauty as I. And every time I have this dream, I feel the need to kill myself for the selfishness I had shown that day. I strutted because I wanted to and because I thought I had the right to. I thought I was the most beautiful creature the world had ever seen.
Hateful, conceited snob. If the person I am today had been on that field that day and had seen me waltzing by looking down from my lofty pedestal like I had every right to own the world, then I would have sacrificed my life just to be rid of hers. I would think that, yes she was beautiful, but her attitude definitely needed an adjustment. And I think some higher power felt the same way I did because of what happened next.
While I was still worshipping myself and allowing the poor wretches to be able to see a goddess like me, I happened to pass by a swordsman. A particularly cute swordsman. A quite hot swordsman. He had the sculpted muscles and fine physique of a four-year student. His skin was tan from practicing all day in the sun, his hair was brown with golden highlights, his eyes were blue and so intelligent that when you looked into them, you found yourself lost in the depths. He was perfect. So I decided that instead of boosting my rather low self esteem by having drooling lowlifes fawn over me, I would boost it by having him fawn over me. My walk would be perfect if this particularly fine specimen of the male species would notice me and talk to me. So, in my snobbish air, I walked quite queenly in his area, hoping for a glance and then a stare as I passed by.
I got no such luck.
He ignored me! He ignored the divine temptress that I was to continue with whatever he was doing. Oh, the horror I felt at not being noticed. I turned around, determined to get his attention. I did not care if he did not notice the storm of feminine wiles that was about to hit him: I was going to be fawned over by him or I was going to be fawned over by no one. They could live without me in their lives - those pitiful, pitiful fools.
When my target did not look up as I approached, I started to hum, to warn that the distance between us was growing smaller. If I loved anything more than my beauty, I loved my voice. It carried in it the ability to make the hearer listen and love the one who sang. My voice was almost like that of a legendary creature called the elf. I almost had their mythical ability to transport the listener to other worlds with just the right pitch and volume. So, to further ensnare the man to my purposes I did not only hum, but I sang. I called to him in some forgotten language, bidding him to get carried away in the hidden meaning of my song. I called for him to look up, at least, and acknowledge me. The others around him, I remember, stared at him with awe for being able to withstand this barrage of beautiful proportions.
As I continued to walk closer, I began to step to the rhythm of my new song, adding further enchantment to the tune that whispered around his being. But that insufferable, incredibly gorgeous man would not look up. He did not even notice my proximity. He made no twitch or flinch to signal his notice of my approach. In fact, it looked as if he was complete unaware I was there, as though he was intentionally ignoring me.
I saw red. I do not remember what exactly happened only that something snapped within me. The selfish pig I was did not know how to handle rejection, so she - I - reacted in the only way I knew how - with hatred.
Since I was in the swordsmen part of the field there were knives, daggers, scimitars, and swords all around me in the hands of their owners. Before I knew what I was doing, I had circled around behind that foolhardy being with a newly borrowed sword in my own hand. I had left my staff by my fellow students when I first began my "self esteem booster". I had not walked with my staff because it would diminish my appearance from that of a perfect gift to that of a gift. So a borrowed sword would have to do my purposes, even if I had never held one before that day.
I stepped closer and took a swing at him, attempting to kill him in one fell swoop. He deserved to die because of what he dared to do. And I was the victim that needed to punish him and rid the world of this self- proclaiming, arrogant orc that would not fawn over me.
He then did something I did not expect: he side-stepped my blow. He moved like one who knew I was going to strike. But I did not ponder the implications of that thought as I took my next swing at him.
Again he side-stepped, almost as if I was giving him the most easily blocked moves. That only made my blind hatred for the man become more red- tinted. I dove again, this time thinking that I needed to show this person, once and for all, he did not want to mess with the beautiful Neroli Salk.
I was wrong. He had every intention of putting me in my proper place. He had known I was there. He had known I had been watching him. He had known that I felt I deserved to be the queen of all I beheld. He knew who I was, and was only doing what he thought should have been done a long time ago.
In my dream, I can still see him standing with a purpose greater than mine, with a mission of greater importance. He was there, I forever knew afterward, to bring me to the end of myself. He was there to tempt me to overreact to non-reaction.
"Do not do this." His voice was cold, not impressed at my attempts to attract his admiration. "This will only lead to folly, and you will be the only one to regret it." My borrowed weapon was held at a standstill as he made known his warning. If I had not been in the fury I was, I would have melted at the sound of his deep, bass voice. I only remember that I suddenly went weak in the knees, but resolved myself to finish this worm off because he had not shown me the proper respect.
If I had known what happened next, I would not be telling this tale.
As I made my last dive at the committed swordsman, his usual easy block was halted by a sudden move on my part. I felt I knew how he was going to block me. I had been watching him for quite some time practicing with his class mates, so I moved in a different direction than the one he was expecting. The move I made was fatal. His sword was pointed diagonally, intending to make my sword glance off his own and force my balance off. But instead of meeting my sword, he met my face. I had bent over to go under his block, but his movement and mine made a wound I would never forget.
I stepped back, not sure of what had happened. My borrowed sword was taken by its rightful owner as soon as he saw I was still for more than a few moments. He too did not heed me of the danger that I had recklessly walked into.
Still in shock, I hardly notice the sword being absent from my hand. I only remember the shock that his blade, his sword, had touched my flesh. Pain was not even among my emotions as of that moment.
I looked around, still in silent surprise when I noticed the others around me looking at me with unusual emotions on their faces, almost a mirroring of my own emotions. Silent, universal shock graced every face I turned to see. They were all staring at me with the same degree of horror. Before my attempt at gratification, I had been used to the stares of awe that I felt I had warranted, but these were of a completely different kind. That is when I felt something move down my face.
At first I had thought it a mere bug, so I swatted at it, and looked to see if I had killed the annoying creature. What I saw surprised me even more than the fact that he had dared to touch my face. My hand was covered in blood.
Sometimes, the brilliance of man can be greatly exaggerated.
I stood there, my face dripping wondering how a bug that small could cause that much of a mess. It was not until I finally faced him again that I began to realize something was utterly and terribly wrong. He was looking at me with deep pity, an emotion I had never seen directed towards me. I knew there was no way I could warrant such a look if I had failed to even capture his attention before.
Suddenly, as if by some granted wish, I knew. I knew my life would never be the same. I knew what I had before was all gone in an instant. And I knew for half a second that I had deserved this.
By that time, word had gotten to the teachers that something was wrong on the field. They knew if they did not hurry, something terrible was going to happen. But they got there just as I realized what had happened to me, too late to even do anything other than worry over the excessive amounts of blood I was losing. They had taken one look at my face and had hurried me away to the healers' section of the Rivendell Archives.
By then, the full weight of what had happened was finally upon me, and I wept. I wept bitterly for my lost beauty. I loved it as much as one would love a child. I exalted my face over everything in my life. And in one mistake, one rash decision, it was taken away from me.
My face would bear the remembrance of that day till the end of my life. I had procured a scar running in a diagonal line from my left temple just beyond my hair line, to the middle of my right jaw bone.
And always I would wake from this dream, as I have just done, in a state of dread, the same dread I felt that wretched day, and it leaves me cold and heartless with knowing I deserved the mark that now graced my face.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
I had that dream again. The one in which I got my fatal flaw. I try to not let it take control of me. But every time, every time I am drawn to do what I have always done, to do something I should never have considered doing but for the arrogance in my heart.
It always began the same way, in the field with the needed stretches in the morning, so our muscles would not be ruined in a day full of rapid movements and new drills. All of the training warriors were gathered in that field for their daily stretches.
The archers were off to one side, stretching their backs and arms; the swordsmen were near them doing practically the same stretches, but for a few new stretches intending to make all of their muscles flexible to move in any way necessary to block or attack. The spearmen were off to the side near the stables and the horses they used in their training doing the same set of stretches.
The staff wielders were in the middle, watching all, while doing similar stretches as everyone else. We were few in number because the staff was not a popular weapon to be used on the battle field while bows and arrows, swords, and spears were vital parts of an attack and defense. We were the lowlifes of the warriors, but we cared not, for we were not there out of necessity, we were there because we had the choice to be there.
I looked around at all the people on the field with disgust because of their feeble attempts to make themselves appear honorable and noble while they were far from the truth. They were most likely the eldest in a starving family, gone off to learn a trade that would bring wages home to feed their loved ones. Others were probably forgotten children in a large, fairly well-off family, having no inheritance and turning to the art of war to have some means of providing for themselves and their future. And others, the more idiotic ones, were there to learn a way to attain glory, to learn one of the surest ways to become a legend, to be remembered for centuries. It was in battle the common foot soldier was in equality with the fierce lord who led their company.
I, in this dream, always looked around in a feeling of contempt for the low lives of the world, the meager excuses for humans that had to share air with me. And every time I had this dream, I felt more and more loathing and hatred for myself for feeling this way. I sense the emotions from that day with utter, retched disgust for they were the same feelings that people now feel towards me. Bitter irony always wins.
As my vision panned from one side of the field to the next, I remember thinking I was better than any being there. I remember the vanity and pride I acquired from my mother coursing through my veins and making me act every part of the spoiled cow she had made me become. I always felt hatred for myself when I experienced this particular segment because I remember thinking that if I were to even try to wield a sword, I would be better and far more graceful than even the four-year students. It was this thought that compelled me into doing what I did.
In my dream, I always look around to see if any of the teachers were near by, so I could walk over, casually, to the swordsman, and show off my astounding beauty.
The day was perfect for the exhibition of my looks. It was a clear blue day, cool, with a hint in the air of the rain that had fallen the night before. The sun shone down unfiltered upon the open clearing all the warriors were on. It was in just the right direction to pick out the faint red highlights I had in my black hair. It shone on my skin like a golden light, accentuating my high cheekbones and giving a dancing sparkle to my eyes. It gave my skin an almost luminescent glow, making most of the boys I passed go weak in the knees at seeing such a beauty as I. And every time I have this dream, I feel the need to kill myself for the selfishness I had shown that day. I strutted because I wanted to and because I thought I had the right to. I thought I was the most beautiful creature the world had ever seen.
Hateful, conceited snob. If the person I am today had been on that field that day and had seen me waltzing by looking down from my lofty pedestal like I had every right to own the world, then I would have sacrificed my life just to be rid of hers. I would think that, yes she was beautiful, but her attitude definitely needed an adjustment. And I think some higher power felt the same way I did because of what happened next.
While I was still worshipping myself and allowing the poor wretches to be able to see a goddess like me, I happened to pass by a swordsman. A particularly cute swordsman. A quite hot swordsman. He had the sculpted muscles and fine physique of a four-year student. His skin was tan from practicing all day in the sun, his hair was brown with golden highlights, his eyes were blue and so intelligent that when you looked into them, you found yourself lost in the depths. He was perfect. So I decided that instead of boosting my rather low self esteem by having drooling lowlifes fawn over me, I would boost it by having him fawn over me. My walk would be perfect if this particularly fine specimen of the male species would notice me and talk to me. So, in my snobbish air, I walked quite queenly in his area, hoping for a glance and then a stare as I passed by.
I got no such luck.
He ignored me! He ignored the divine temptress that I was to continue with whatever he was doing. Oh, the horror I felt at not being noticed. I turned around, determined to get his attention. I did not care if he did not notice the storm of feminine wiles that was about to hit him: I was going to be fawned over by him or I was going to be fawned over by no one. They could live without me in their lives - those pitiful, pitiful fools.
When my target did not look up as I approached, I started to hum, to warn that the distance between us was growing smaller. If I loved anything more than my beauty, I loved my voice. It carried in it the ability to make the hearer listen and love the one who sang. My voice was almost like that of a legendary creature called the elf. I almost had their mythical ability to transport the listener to other worlds with just the right pitch and volume. So, to further ensnare the man to my purposes I did not only hum, but I sang. I called to him in some forgotten language, bidding him to get carried away in the hidden meaning of my song. I called for him to look up, at least, and acknowledge me. The others around him, I remember, stared at him with awe for being able to withstand this barrage of beautiful proportions.
As I continued to walk closer, I began to step to the rhythm of my new song, adding further enchantment to the tune that whispered around his being. But that insufferable, incredibly gorgeous man would not look up. He did not even notice my proximity. He made no twitch or flinch to signal his notice of my approach. In fact, it looked as if he was complete unaware I was there, as though he was intentionally ignoring me.
I saw red. I do not remember what exactly happened only that something snapped within me. The selfish pig I was did not know how to handle rejection, so she - I - reacted in the only way I knew how - with hatred.
Since I was in the swordsmen part of the field there were knives, daggers, scimitars, and swords all around me in the hands of their owners. Before I knew what I was doing, I had circled around behind that foolhardy being with a newly borrowed sword in my own hand. I had left my staff by my fellow students when I first began my "self esteem booster". I had not walked with my staff because it would diminish my appearance from that of a perfect gift to that of a gift. So a borrowed sword would have to do my purposes, even if I had never held one before that day.
I stepped closer and took a swing at him, attempting to kill him in one fell swoop. He deserved to die because of what he dared to do. And I was the victim that needed to punish him and rid the world of this self- proclaiming, arrogant orc that would not fawn over me.
He then did something I did not expect: he side-stepped my blow. He moved like one who knew I was going to strike. But I did not ponder the implications of that thought as I took my next swing at him.
Again he side-stepped, almost as if I was giving him the most easily blocked moves. That only made my blind hatred for the man become more red- tinted. I dove again, this time thinking that I needed to show this person, once and for all, he did not want to mess with the beautiful Neroli Salk.
I was wrong. He had every intention of putting me in my proper place. He had known I was there. He had known I had been watching him. He had known that I felt I deserved to be the queen of all I beheld. He knew who I was, and was only doing what he thought should have been done a long time ago.
In my dream, I can still see him standing with a purpose greater than mine, with a mission of greater importance. He was there, I forever knew afterward, to bring me to the end of myself. He was there to tempt me to overreact to non-reaction.
"Do not do this." His voice was cold, not impressed at my attempts to attract his admiration. "This will only lead to folly, and you will be the only one to regret it." My borrowed weapon was held at a standstill as he made known his warning. If I had not been in the fury I was, I would have melted at the sound of his deep, bass voice. I only remember that I suddenly went weak in the knees, but resolved myself to finish this worm off because he had not shown me the proper respect.
If I had known what happened next, I would not be telling this tale.
As I made my last dive at the committed swordsman, his usual easy block was halted by a sudden move on my part. I felt I knew how he was going to block me. I had been watching him for quite some time practicing with his class mates, so I moved in a different direction than the one he was expecting. The move I made was fatal. His sword was pointed diagonally, intending to make my sword glance off his own and force my balance off. But instead of meeting my sword, he met my face. I had bent over to go under his block, but his movement and mine made a wound I would never forget.
I stepped back, not sure of what had happened. My borrowed sword was taken by its rightful owner as soon as he saw I was still for more than a few moments. He too did not heed me of the danger that I had recklessly walked into.
Still in shock, I hardly notice the sword being absent from my hand. I only remember the shock that his blade, his sword, had touched my flesh. Pain was not even among my emotions as of that moment.
I looked around, still in silent surprise when I noticed the others around me looking at me with unusual emotions on their faces, almost a mirroring of my own emotions. Silent, universal shock graced every face I turned to see. They were all staring at me with the same degree of horror. Before my attempt at gratification, I had been used to the stares of awe that I felt I had warranted, but these were of a completely different kind. That is when I felt something move down my face.
At first I had thought it a mere bug, so I swatted at it, and looked to see if I had killed the annoying creature. What I saw surprised me even more than the fact that he had dared to touch my face. My hand was covered in blood.
Sometimes, the brilliance of man can be greatly exaggerated.
I stood there, my face dripping wondering how a bug that small could cause that much of a mess. It was not until I finally faced him again that I began to realize something was utterly and terribly wrong. He was looking at me with deep pity, an emotion I had never seen directed towards me. I knew there was no way I could warrant such a look if I had failed to even capture his attention before.
Suddenly, as if by some granted wish, I knew. I knew my life would never be the same. I knew what I had before was all gone in an instant. And I knew for half a second that I had deserved this.
By that time, word had gotten to the teachers that something was wrong on the field. They knew if they did not hurry, something terrible was going to happen. But they got there just as I realized what had happened to me, too late to even do anything other than worry over the excessive amounts of blood I was losing. They had taken one look at my face and had hurried me away to the healers' section of the Rivendell Archives.
By then, the full weight of what had happened was finally upon me, and I wept. I wept bitterly for my lost beauty. I loved it as much as one would love a child. I exalted my face over everything in my life. And in one mistake, one rash decision, it was taken away from me.
My face would bear the remembrance of that day till the end of my life. I had procured a scar running in a diagonal line from my left temple just beyond my hair line, to the middle of my right jaw bone.
And always I would wake from this dream, as I have just done, in a state of dread, the same dread I felt that wretched day, and it leaves me cold and heartless with knowing I deserved the mark that now graced my face.