Arwen stood beneath the doorway leading to Dinsam, the chamber of silence.
Therein lay Narsil, blade of Elendil, once surrounded by other remnants of
the last great war of Middle-Earth. Not it lay alone, save perchance some
other small item of men. The elvish armour, and such things, had been
removed and packed away safely for the journey to Valinor but this
remained, for its importance belonged to men, not to the elven kindred.
And so she stood there, clad in traveling clothes and a soft cloak that
fell to gently brush the floor, staring at the statue far across the room
which held the reforged blade of Isildur cradeled within its arm. She
walked slowly toward it, her eyes fixed upon the sword in awe. IN her mind
she listened to the tales of her father as he told of Elendil and Gil-galad
and of the bright flame of Narsil as it swept through the unnumbered hosts
of Mordor, dancing in its masters hand, an unquenchable flame, untiring of
battle.
Her cold hand reached out and she felt her fingers grasp the handle. Arwen hefted it, watching the dying rays of the sun glimmering red down the blade, admiring the skill with which the elves of Imladris had mended the shattered weapon. It was perfectly balanced, and seemed a thing to grand for even her hand, something meant to lead all good things to victory. Her eyes glazed, a mist filled them, her mind slipping unbidden into the world of dreams even as she stood, holding the hilt of Narsil in her pale white hand.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Far away Aragorn stood upon the wall of helm's Deep; the rain fell in torrents about the army arrayed there. With a single deft movement he drew his sword, its blade gleaming in the smoggy light cast from torches positioned here and there. Around him were elves, clad in shining armour. Proud and stern he was, a commanding light was in his eyes.
Lightning flashed, illuminating the disturbing sight surrounding the fortress. Standing before the wall, girt for war, were thousands upon thousands of foul orcs, a sea beyond her count, pounding tall spears in a cruel measure of war. Their ranks suddenly ceased all action, and a deathly still fell upon both sides, hardly bearable. Suddenly an arrow was loosed from the battlement at the end of the wall, streaking through the air and piercing an orc in the throat.
The fury of the forces of Saruman was unleashed even as their first casualty fell to the ground, dead. They crashed upon the fortress as waves upon the shore, fearsome cries ringing through the night.
"Hado I phillin!" came the command. The air was suddenly filled with arrows, and many orcs fell slain by their deadly accuracy. Yells of pain and hatred rang from both sides and the sounds of war grew almost deafening, the twang of bowstrings and the grating of metal and stone.
War had come to Rohan.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Arwen started, the sword dropped from her hand and fell to the floor with a loud clang! The mist fell from before her eyes
And she bent down to retrieve Narsil. She traced the lines of the hilt, running her fingers along its cross and letting them drift down the base of the blade, dipping them into the shallow ravine at its center.
The moments passed, and at last she stopped and gripped the hilt, raising the sword to her lips. She softly kissed the blade, then laid it gently back onto the velvety cloth. "Namarië," she whispered, then slipped silently from the room.
Once again, thank you for all the yummy support! Brownie points will be eaten with much pleasure! I've completely reversed what I really think is going to happen to write this story because it's easier to fill in the gaps of what I don't know this way! Sorry the chap's kinda shorter then I'd like, but I'm trying to type them out when I can. Expect another one veeery soon, though. LOVE YA! XOXO
Her cold hand reached out and she felt her fingers grasp the handle. Arwen hefted it, watching the dying rays of the sun glimmering red down the blade, admiring the skill with which the elves of Imladris had mended the shattered weapon. It was perfectly balanced, and seemed a thing to grand for even her hand, something meant to lead all good things to victory. Her eyes glazed, a mist filled them, her mind slipping unbidden into the world of dreams even as she stood, holding the hilt of Narsil in her pale white hand.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Far away Aragorn stood upon the wall of helm's Deep; the rain fell in torrents about the army arrayed there. With a single deft movement he drew his sword, its blade gleaming in the smoggy light cast from torches positioned here and there. Around him were elves, clad in shining armour. Proud and stern he was, a commanding light was in his eyes.
Lightning flashed, illuminating the disturbing sight surrounding the fortress. Standing before the wall, girt for war, were thousands upon thousands of foul orcs, a sea beyond her count, pounding tall spears in a cruel measure of war. Their ranks suddenly ceased all action, and a deathly still fell upon both sides, hardly bearable. Suddenly an arrow was loosed from the battlement at the end of the wall, streaking through the air and piercing an orc in the throat.
The fury of the forces of Saruman was unleashed even as their first casualty fell to the ground, dead. They crashed upon the fortress as waves upon the shore, fearsome cries ringing through the night.
"Hado I phillin!" came the command. The air was suddenly filled with arrows, and many orcs fell slain by their deadly accuracy. Yells of pain and hatred rang from both sides and the sounds of war grew almost deafening, the twang of bowstrings and the grating of metal and stone.
War had come to Rohan.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Arwen started, the sword dropped from her hand and fell to the floor with a loud clang! The mist fell from before her eyes
And she bent down to retrieve Narsil. She traced the lines of the hilt, running her fingers along its cross and letting them drift down the base of the blade, dipping them into the shallow ravine at its center.
The moments passed, and at last she stopped and gripped the hilt, raising the sword to her lips. She softly kissed the blade, then laid it gently back onto the velvety cloth. "Namarië," she whispered, then slipped silently from the room.
Once again, thank you for all the yummy support! Brownie points will be eaten with much pleasure! I've completely reversed what I really think is going to happen to write this story because it's easier to fill in the gaps of what I don't know this way! Sorry the chap's kinda shorter then I'd like, but I'm trying to type them out when I can. Expect another one veeery soon, though. LOVE YA! XOXO