Chapter 2
"Hands of death over the Elves"
***
They were nearing the mountain of Weathertop after a long ride. The noon sun lay high up in the clear sky as they rode through the land of Arnor. On the horizon, the summits of the lofty mountains were visible as they stood close together. The dwarf gazed longingly at the familiar peaks, bringing his hand up to his chest.
"My cousin Boro," he whispered respectfully.
Legolas turned his eyes from the mountain to the dwarf as he smiled. "Are you sure that you want to be left here?" he asked politely, knowing what the dwarf would say.
"Yes, quite positive, as I have said. My cousin will be delighted to see me," he said, grinning like the merry sun above, "and together we will wander as true dwarfs of the hearts of our mountains; with sweat and on foot we will walk to my mountains in the west of Eriador, as true royalty."
The dwarf sighed with delight, caressing the haft of his axe, which hung on the belt around his hanging belly. The afternoon sun shone on them as the white stallion bearing the two companions passed two giant rocks, side by side, like monuments welcoming to visitors who neared the foot of the Weathertop.
"Yes of course, my friend," Legolas replied after a while, his eyes wandering over the white haze that had begun to sink down the rough slopes, "It seems now that our journey ends here, Master Gimli."
The dwarf nodded importantly, as Arod neighed quietly when the elf tugged on the reins. Legolas dismounted first, his clear gaze tracing over the lofty mountains, which now seemed to swim in a white sea of mist. The elf turned gracefully around, and smiled when he saw the dwarf jump with much effort from the tall horse.
"Well, Gimli, I presume that it is here that we shall say our Farewells and Good lucks," Legolas said softly, noticing the surprised look on the hairy face.
"But will you not follow me inside, and at least eat something?" the dwarf asked stupidly. "My cousin will welcome you with much warmth, though I cannot promise you that the rest of- well you are still an elf. But - "
"No, child." Legolas held out a hand. "I have to return to my home also."
"If there is anything that I can do to change-" Gimli continued, feeling the blackness of guilt cloud his heart.
"No, Gimli," Legolas smiled, his eyes wandering over the flaming gold melting together with the plainness of the poor ground. "I must return as soon as possible, hopefully in three sunrises."
Gimli held quiet. "I shall see you again," the dwarf began after a moment of silence. "When the nights grow old I shall take a group of my kin to Aglarond, and become Lord of the Glittering Caves, which has captured my admiration. And there I hope to be seeing you again, my old friend"
Legolas nodded." I believe that our paths will crossed another time; this is not the last time we will see each other." He paused, a faint sorrow lying over his eyes like a visible lace of crystal. "I have much to thank you Gimli, son of Gloin," he continued, kneeling down so that the dwarf was looking down at him slightly. "Because of you I have understood that the differences between Elves and dwarfs do not lie in our hearts. There we are equal"
"And I agree with you, my elf friend"
Legolas smiled, and a moment when words were not exchanged lay between them like the dense fog that crept down from the white summits.
The elf stood up, still smiling. He grasped the reins of Arod, and turned around to Gimli.
Legolas held out a hand. The dwarf gripped it hesitantly, but when he met the mourning eyes, the intimidation vanished, and he brought the surprised elf into a warm hug of months of friendship. Soon their Good Byes were said again as the pats on the backs quieted down. As the elf leaped nimbly on to the young stallion, the dwarf quickly dried a tear in the left eye corner, coughing as he did so. Legolas tugged on the rein, the clear eyes dissolving in the blueness of the mantle above. "Farewell my friend Gimli, son Of Glóin!"
And with waving a hand the white stallion turned around, the elf rode towards the melting red sun. His journey was now nearly ended; he was finally riding home.
*~*~**~*~*
The wind whispered hoarsely in the fresh air of a recent shower; glinting stars shone with all their brilliance, illuminating the dark sky with their radiance. In the young night, the moon sang. No wake eyes could be prevented from gazing with wonder at the precious stone, its silver rays blessing Middle-earth with its touch. Even in the depths of the mountains the dwarfs could sense the soothing light. Elven eyes fell upon then beauty of the sky, and the hearts of men melted in its tenderness.
But in the comfort of this gemstone could not calm the frightened mind, nor did its light guide through the shadows of the trees. In the poisoned heart, in the mourning heartbeats, the warmth of the moon became the judge over death, a watching guard on the dark rooftop. Still the hours of darkness were young, the promise of the brittle rays in the morning still a dream.
The peaceful environment became that of war as the black mare rode with all its strength through the dense forest, trying to escape from the shadows of death that hid behind every tree. Pale hands gripped tighter on the reins. The coldness of the endless rain begun to vanish, but still the drenched rider trembled. The heat from the boiling forehead spread down neck to the opened wound on the left collarbone, and down to the bare feet.
Failing in trying to focus on the crooked road, the amber eyes held closed, their usual quickness hidden by the fever veil. The tired head rested on the soft mane, the warmth of the humble animal comforting the aching heart.
But the woods were ending; from a distance the mare could already discern the plain welcoming them with its simplicity. But still there was a long road left, over land and water.
Still she wasn't home.
*~*~**~*~*
In the stunning panorama of a flaming red sunset rode a white stallion, racing with the wind, its mane flying. The rider's sky blue eyes gleamed in the light the sinking sun, focusing on the rising trees before him.
Two beeches entangled in soft green ivy welcomed him with their dangling old branches as he rode past the entrance into the dark forest of Mirkwood. It was dark, the merry sun soon shielded by the spreading green crowns of the trees. Legolas jumped nimbly from the horse, his senses tracing over the silence between the dancing leaves, the singing birds, and the quiet whispers of the trees' old spirits.
It was when he took the first step, tugging on the rein to make the white stallion walk by his side, that he knew that something was wrong. His feet made no prints on the flat ground as the path went deeper into the forest, the last ray of the golden sun swallowed by the glinting dark mantle. Darkness had fallen. The way through Mirkwood is indeed not easy, but for the Green People whose home lies on the highest branches of the oldest beeches it would have not mattered if their clear eyes were blindfolded when walking through these woods.
Legolas indeed remembered his home; he remembered every tree and every branch. But as he now found himself deeper among the dense beeches and spruces, his mind became filled with a feeling of unfamiliarity. He no longer looked further than his torch's fluttering light on the road. With every step he took, his heart beat faster. The silence in the forest was complete.
Dead spiders covered the ground, and dry blood stained the leaves and roots. The elf's fair face showed a slight fear. His heart warned him of what his other senses could not. His regular breath became heavier as he forced the rearing stallion to move on.
When he heard the steams' gushing water, wild and fast, he knew that he was close. In the darkness he could discern the long bridge he had crossed so often in long forgotten times. The guiding red torches leading to the King's gate had been replaced by empty of the shadows.
The stallion reared again as the dark water approached, the brown eyes wandering from side to side, the panic increasing in the animal's face.
"Luthlülia narmeria," Legolas whispered in the darkness, feeling the horse's tangible fear spread to his fingertips. The horse would not cross the water.
With one last glance at the fair stallion, he walked over the gangly bridge. His solemn eyes were focused on the slope on the far side, leading into the entrance of the cave. Two beeches saluted him, their leaves dipping to the surface of the steam, when he reached the passage into the King's Halls.
Legolas did not hesitate when he opened the grandiose gate. In spite his hammering heart, he entered into the darkness, with only the light of his torch guiding his way through the deep corridors. His mouth felt dry, and his mind never once wandered back to merry times of singing in these tunnels.
As he neared the Hall, corridors became and wider and more beautiful, with patterns of glinting rocks. He held his breath, knowing what he would find when he entered his father's throne room, knowing in his bleeding heart what awaited him. But he kept moving.
It was a tremendous room, breathtaking in both size and beauty. Down the walls ran crystal water, cascading down to a pond surrounding the room. There were several marble pillars holding up the ceiling, which was embellished by hanging diamond-formed emeralds. The floor was covered of leaves, the colour varying from the deepest red to the darkest brown; the colours of autumn. The throne stood in the center.
His steps echoed in the end of the last tunnel. His right hand kept a tight grip on his bow, the other held the bowstring ready. He entered.
The bow fell down to the ground. The arrow fell with it, pointing towards the throne, lit by moonlight from an opening in the ceiling.
He fell helplessly down to his knees. Blue eyes were covered with a shining lace of tears as they wandered over the bloodstained leaves covering the throne and finally fell upon a limp body, the dead hand still holding on to the carved oak staff.
By the foot of the seat lay the head of the king of Mirkwood, the elven eyes open and covered by the hand of death.
He did not even blink as he stared upon his father, looking straight into the clear blue eyes the same colour as his own. But his soul was crying, roaring in agony, even though the luminous tears never ran silently down his cheeks.
*~*~**~*~*
"We knew that this moment would come", she whispered hoarsely, as she softly caressed the black mane. The horse neighed in response, and nuzzled her black hair. She stared into the animal's eyes, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. "You will be fine"
The dark waves became more violent, breaking against the sharp rocks. Her eyes wandered over the open sea, its eternity dissolving with the starry sky. She couldn't look at the meek animal face at that moment; she couldn't meet the trustful eyes that had followed her as long as she could remember. She breathed in, filling her lungs with the freshness of the serene sea, trying to lose herself in the blackness of the deep, to suffocate the intense feelings in her bleeding heart.
She couldn't let herself cry; she would not shed yet another tear. But she couldn't turn around, for her already destroyed heart would shatter into a million pieces.
"Good Bye," she whispered.
And she began to run, run as fast as she could, ignoring the whinnying behind her. She gasped for air as she felt the heat from her forehead drum in her ears, hearing from a distant the clattering hooves following her. Her bare foot scratched against the pointy stones and the wound on her left collarbone began to ache intensely. The meager strength she had left drained by the second.
Before her, on the pitch black sea reflecting the beaming stars, stood the small boat by the bank, bobbing on the moving water.
She jumped. Jumped over air, over the shallow blackness, and tumbled over in the boat, hitting her head on the rudder. Ignoring the striking pain in her temple she gripped the oars, feeling her hands shake as she dipped the stiff oars in the water.
"Go away Centéy! You cannot come home, you cannot come with me!" she cried, devastated as she gazed upon the frightened horse battling against the waves, trying to follow its rider. The animal's eyes gleamed like one of the dazzling gemstones on the ebony arch of the sky, the whole time darting to the bobbing boat as it began to disappear into the black mist.
"Go back" The girl stood still. Her whispered words faded away in the cool wind. She could no longer see through the thick fog. She swallowed hard, briskly brushing away the warm tears. Centéy would be all right. The spirit of the animal was filled of strength and courage, of goodness and fearless.
Something she hadn't.
Soon the cloudy view of the soaring mountains could be discerned through the hazy veil of the sea. The morning sun was rising, painting the horizon with melted gold, welcoming the new day. Her light brown eyes surveyed the soft slopes and the green richness
She was home.
And then she began to cry.
*~*~**~*~*
Hm, I'm a bit sceptical about this story.What do you think?
"Hands of death over the Elves"
***
They were nearing the mountain of Weathertop after a long ride. The noon sun lay high up in the clear sky as they rode through the land of Arnor. On the horizon, the summits of the lofty mountains were visible as they stood close together. The dwarf gazed longingly at the familiar peaks, bringing his hand up to his chest.
"My cousin Boro," he whispered respectfully.
Legolas turned his eyes from the mountain to the dwarf as he smiled. "Are you sure that you want to be left here?" he asked politely, knowing what the dwarf would say.
"Yes, quite positive, as I have said. My cousin will be delighted to see me," he said, grinning like the merry sun above, "and together we will wander as true dwarfs of the hearts of our mountains; with sweat and on foot we will walk to my mountains in the west of Eriador, as true royalty."
The dwarf sighed with delight, caressing the haft of his axe, which hung on the belt around his hanging belly. The afternoon sun shone on them as the white stallion bearing the two companions passed two giant rocks, side by side, like monuments welcoming to visitors who neared the foot of the Weathertop.
"Yes of course, my friend," Legolas replied after a while, his eyes wandering over the white haze that had begun to sink down the rough slopes, "It seems now that our journey ends here, Master Gimli."
The dwarf nodded importantly, as Arod neighed quietly when the elf tugged on the reins. Legolas dismounted first, his clear gaze tracing over the lofty mountains, which now seemed to swim in a white sea of mist. The elf turned gracefully around, and smiled when he saw the dwarf jump with much effort from the tall horse.
"Well, Gimli, I presume that it is here that we shall say our Farewells and Good lucks," Legolas said softly, noticing the surprised look on the hairy face.
"But will you not follow me inside, and at least eat something?" the dwarf asked stupidly. "My cousin will welcome you with much warmth, though I cannot promise you that the rest of- well you are still an elf. But - "
"No, child." Legolas held out a hand. "I have to return to my home also."
"If there is anything that I can do to change-" Gimli continued, feeling the blackness of guilt cloud his heart.
"No, Gimli," Legolas smiled, his eyes wandering over the flaming gold melting together with the plainness of the poor ground. "I must return as soon as possible, hopefully in three sunrises."
Gimli held quiet. "I shall see you again," the dwarf began after a moment of silence. "When the nights grow old I shall take a group of my kin to Aglarond, and become Lord of the Glittering Caves, which has captured my admiration. And there I hope to be seeing you again, my old friend"
Legolas nodded." I believe that our paths will crossed another time; this is not the last time we will see each other." He paused, a faint sorrow lying over his eyes like a visible lace of crystal. "I have much to thank you Gimli, son of Gloin," he continued, kneeling down so that the dwarf was looking down at him slightly. "Because of you I have understood that the differences between Elves and dwarfs do not lie in our hearts. There we are equal"
"And I agree with you, my elf friend"
Legolas smiled, and a moment when words were not exchanged lay between them like the dense fog that crept down from the white summits.
The elf stood up, still smiling. He grasped the reins of Arod, and turned around to Gimli.
Legolas held out a hand. The dwarf gripped it hesitantly, but when he met the mourning eyes, the intimidation vanished, and he brought the surprised elf into a warm hug of months of friendship. Soon their Good Byes were said again as the pats on the backs quieted down. As the elf leaped nimbly on to the young stallion, the dwarf quickly dried a tear in the left eye corner, coughing as he did so. Legolas tugged on the rein, the clear eyes dissolving in the blueness of the mantle above. "Farewell my friend Gimli, son Of Glóin!"
And with waving a hand the white stallion turned around, the elf rode towards the melting red sun. His journey was now nearly ended; he was finally riding home.
*~*~**~*~*
The wind whispered hoarsely in the fresh air of a recent shower; glinting stars shone with all their brilliance, illuminating the dark sky with their radiance. In the young night, the moon sang. No wake eyes could be prevented from gazing with wonder at the precious stone, its silver rays blessing Middle-earth with its touch. Even in the depths of the mountains the dwarfs could sense the soothing light. Elven eyes fell upon then beauty of the sky, and the hearts of men melted in its tenderness.
But in the comfort of this gemstone could not calm the frightened mind, nor did its light guide through the shadows of the trees. In the poisoned heart, in the mourning heartbeats, the warmth of the moon became the judge over death, a watching guard on the dark rooftop. Still the hours of darkness were young, the promise of the brittle rays in the morning still a dream.
The peaceful environment became that of war as the black mare rode with all its strength through the dense forest, trying to escape from the shadows of death that hid behind every tree. Pale hands gripped tighter on the reins. The coldness of the endless rain begun to vanish, but still the drenched rider trembled. The heat from the boiling forehead spread down neck to the opened wound on the left collarbone, and down to the bare feet.
Failing in trying to focus on the crooked road, the amber eyes held closed, their usual quickness hidden by the fever veil. The tired head rested on the soft mane, the warmth of the humble animal comforting the aching heart.
But the woods were ending; from a distance the mare could already discern the plain welcoming them with its simplicity. But still there was a long road left, over land and water.
Still she wasn't home.
*~*~**~*~*
In the stunning panorama of a flaming red sunset rode a white stallion, racing with the wind, its mane flying. The rider's sky blue eyes gleamed in the light the sinking sun, focusing on the rising trees before him.
Two beeches entangled in soft green ivy welcomed him with their dangling old branches as he rode past the entrance into the dark forest of Mirkwood. It was dark, the merry sun soon shielded by the spreading green crowns of the trees. Legolas jumped nimbly from the horse, his senses tracing over the silence between the dancing leaves, the singing birds, and the quiet whispers of the trees' old spirits.
It was when he took the first step, tugging on the rein to make the white stallion walk by his side, that he knew that something was wrong. His feet made no prints on the flat ground as the path went deeper into the forest, the last ray of the golden sun swallowed by the glinting dark mantle. Darkness had fallen. The way through Mirkwood is indeed not easy, but for the Green People whose home lies on the highest branches of the oldest beeches it would have not mattered if their clear eyes were blindfolded when walking through these woods.
Legolas indeed remembered his home; he remembered every tree and every branch. But as he now found himself deeper among the dense beeches and spruces, his mind became filled with a feeling of unfamiliarity. He no longer looked further than his torch's fluttering light on the road. With every step he took, his heart beat faster. The silence in the forest was complete.
Dead spiders covered the ground, and dry blood stained the leaves and roots. The elf's fair face showed a slight fear. His heart warned him of what his other senses could not. His regular breath became heavier as he forced the rearing stallion to move on.
When he heard the steams' gushing water, wild and fast, he knew that he was close. In the darkness he could discern the long bridge he had crossed so often in long forgotten times. The guiding red torches leading to the King's gate had been replaced by empty of the shadows.
The stallion reared again as the dark water approached, the brown eyes wandering from side to side, the panic increasing in the animal's face.
"Luthlülia narmeria," Legolas whispered in the darkness, feeling the horse's tangible fear spread to his fingertips. The horse would not cross the water.
With one last glance at the fair stallion, he walked over the gangly bridge. His solemn eyes were focused on the slope on the far side, leading into the entrance of the cave. Two beeches saluted him, their leaves dipping to the surface of the steam, when he reached the passage into the King's Halls.
Legolas did not hesitate when he opened the grandiose gate. In spite his hammering heart, he entered into the darkness, with only the light of his torch guiding his way through the deep corridors. His mouth felt dry, and his mind never once wandered back to merry times of singing in these tunnels.
As he neared the Hall, corridors became and wider and more beautiful, with patterns of glinting rocks. He held his breath, knowing what he would find when he entered his father's throne room, knowing in his bleeding heart what awaited him. But he kept moving.
It was a tremendous room, breathtaking in both size and beauty. Down the walls ran crystal water, cascading down to a pond surrounding the room. There were several marble pillars holding up the ceiling, which was embellished by hanging diamond-formed emeralds. The floor was covered of leaves, the colour varying from the deepest red to the darkest brown; the colours of autumn. The throne stood in the center.
His steps echoed in the end of the last tunnel. His right hand kept a tight grip on his bow, the other held the bowstring ready. He entered.
The bow fell down to the ground. The arrow fell with it, pointing towards the throne, lit by moonlight from an opening in the ceiling.
He fell helplessly down to his knees. Blue eyes were covered with a shining lace of tears as they wandered over the bloodstained leaves covering the throne and finally fell upon a limp body, the dead hand still holding on to the carved oak staff.
By the foot of the seat lay the head of the king of Mirkwood, the elven eyes open and covered by the hand of death.
He did not even blink as he stared upon his father, looking straight into the clear blue eyes the same colour as his own. But his soul was crying, roaring in agony, even though the luminous tears never ran silently down his cheeks.
*~*~**~*~*
"We knew that this moment would come", she whispered hoarsely, as she softly caressed the black mane. The horse neighed in response, and nuzzled her black hair. She stared into the animal's eyes, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. "You will be fine"
The dark waves became more violent, breaking against the sharp rocks. Her eyes wandered over the open sea, its eternity dissolving with the starry sky. She couldn't look at the meek animal face at that moment; she couldn't meet the trustful eyes that had followed her as long as she could remember. She breathed in, filling her lungs with the freshness of the serene sea, trying to lose herself in the blackness of the deep, to suffocate the intense feelings in her bleeding heart.
She couldn't let herself cry; she would not shed yet another tear. But she couldn't turn around, for her already destroyed heart would shatter into a million pieces.
"Good Bye," she whispered.
And she began to run, run as fast as she could, ignoring the whinnying behind her. She gasped for air as she felt the heat from her forehead drum in her ears, hearing from a distant the clattering hooves following her. Her bare foot scratched against the pointy stones and the wound on her left collarbone began to ache intensely. The meager strength she had left drained by the second.
Before her, on the pitch black sea reflecting the beaming stars, stood the small boat by the bank, bobbing on the moving water.
She jumped. Jumped over air, over the shallow blackness, and tumbled over in the boat, hitting her head on the rudder. Ignoring the striking pain in her temple she gripped the oars, feeling her hands shake as she dipped the stiff oars in the water.
"Go away Centéy! You cannot come home, you cannot come with me!" she cried, devastated as she gazed upon the frightened horse battling against the waves, trying to follow its rider. The animal's eyes gleamed like one of the dazzling gemstones on the ebony arch of the sky, the whole time darting to the bobbing boat as it began to disappear into the black mist.
"Go back" The girl stood still. Her whispered words faded away in the cool wind. She could no longer see through the thick fog. She swallowed hard, briskly brushing away the warm tears. Centéy would be all right. The spirit of the animal was filled of strength and courage, of goodness and fearless.
Something she hadn't.
Soon the cloudy view of the soaring mountains could be discerned through the hazy veil of the sea. The morning sun was rising, painting the horizon with melted gold, welcoming the new day. Her light brown eyes surveyed the soft slopes and the green richness
She was home.
And then she began to cry.
*~*~**~*~*
Hm, I'm a bit sceptical about this story.What do you think?
