Author: Luinëturiel (aka Zoe)
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters from Lord of the Rings. They belong to the wonderful J.R.R. Tolkien. Any other characters in this story, however, are mine.
Many thanks to Jynx and Miss2Pouty for posting reviews. And don't worry, I don't feel stalked by reviewers. How could I? ;o)
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
A Spark in the Dark
4 Thalwyn: DarknessAs soon as I awake I know that I am not lying in my own bed. My bed is soft already, but this...this is just heavenly. Nevertheless, my forehead wrinkles in a frown. If I am not at home, in my own bed, then...
Oh no!
...then it means that I have not just woken from a nightmare...
So it
really has happened –
the ride into the woods,
a rustling in the bushes,
the smell of autumn filling
the air,
Aldarida shouting a warning,
the sun gently caressing my
face,
arrows singing in the air,
the sound of Liorin munching
on some plants,
a bloodcurdling cry from behind as I flee...
A lump forms in my throat. I want to scream, but I find myself unable to even open my mouth. Paralysed.
No, this cannot be true! This must not be true!
The lump in my throat seems to grow steadily, threatening to choke me. Darkness wraps around my heart. Again. I recall that same, icy hand closing around it, squeezing hard, when I first realised that my sister had not managed to flee, and that there was no way I could help her. All I had been able to do was to get away from there myself, riding blindly until Liorin would not run any further. The last thing I remember is that those other riders had appeared. They had seemed friendly, and one of them had spoken to me as if he wanted to help me.
Recalling that encounter with the strange riders, I wonder if it was them who brought me here – wherever this 'here' may be. At that moment, I become aware of the voices that are whispering somewhere across the room. As far as I can tell, there are two male voices. One of them might be that of the rider who spoke to me, but I am not entirely sure, for the whispers are so faint they hardly carry over to me. Needless to say that I cannot make out a single word of the talk.
I do not move, but lie still, eyes closed. I do not intend to announce my waking up – not yet. First, I will see how much I can find out about this place.
O the
irony of those words!
As if my eyes could be of any help to me...
Once more frowning, I draw my attention away from the voices in this room and instead focus on the other noises and the smells all around. This is definitely not my home, that much is for sure. The air is clear, subtly perfumed with the scent of trees and flowers. What a lovely scent, so fresh and earthy and sweet – all at the same time. It mixes with the smell of cooked food and burning candles.
A gurgling, splashing sound tells me that there must be a stream floating by with unbridled force; there might even be a waterfall somewhere near. I keep listening to the sound of the running waters for quite a while before I redirect my attention to the voices whispering across the room. Or should I say try to do so; I strain my ears, but the only voices I can hear now come from somewhere else, hardly carrying over all the distance – they are singing and laughing, like there was some kind of merry-making going on. But the voices I heard before have gone. Apparently, I have been left on my own.
On my own.
My sister has been taken from me, and now I wake up in a strange place – a safe place? – and am left alone once more.
If only I knew where I am, and who those riders were that I believe brought me here...
I roll over onto my back and open my eyes, only to find the familiar blackness staring back at me – now weighing me down as heavily as the darkness that has clasped my heart.
"Thalwyn?"
I start as the soft voice breaks the silence. It comes from the left, not far from the bed.
"I am sorry. I did not mean to frighten you."
Now I recognise the voice; it belongs to the rider that spoke to me before I lost consciousness. But where does he come from, so all of a sudden? I could have sworn to be alone in this room...
I move to sit up straight in the bed, my back coming to rest against the headboard. "No, you did not frighten me. I had simply not expected anybody to be here with me." I pause for a second before I ask, "But where am I, and who are you?"
"My name is Legolas. My companions and I were on our way to Rivendell when we came across you, and that is where you are now – in Rivendell, in the house of Lord Elrond." His voice has come nearer, yet I could not hear him move.
How does
he do this?
And Rivendell...Rivendell... I have heard that name before – but when and
where?
The second the question forms in my mind, I know the answer to it. Aldarida has often told me stories about strange places; about places of legend and magic. I recall her telling me about a place called Rivendell – she said that Elves dwelt there.
"Elves..."
Did I say that aloud?
"Yes, you are in the house of an Elf," the stranger by the name of Legolas confirms my assumption. I can almost hear him smile.
"Elves," I repeat dreamily. "My sister has told me about the Fair Folk, but I have never met an Elf." Suddenly it dawns on me. "Oh! But wait – the strange, beautiful language your comrades spoke...and I could not hear your footfalls when you walked over here..."
Legolas lets out a gentle laugh. "Aye, Thalwyn. Me and my companions are Elves as well." I feel rather than hear him sit down next to me on the edge of the bed as he speaks.
Did you hear that? You're talking to an Elf, Thalwyn!
For a brief moment, all sorrows are forgotten. My lips curve in a light smile.
An Elf.
I know little about Elves, but everything I do know about the Fair Folk I learned from the stories my dear sister used to tell.
But Aldarida will never tell me any of her stories again...
The lump in my throat is back as quickly as it had vanished before, wiping the smile from my lips again. I swallow hard. It is when I feel Legolas' fingers gently close around mine that I become aware that my hands are trembling. Just then tears spring into my eyes, and a moment later I find myself lying in the stranger's arms, shaking with sobs. My hands have grabbed the front of his shirt, clinging to the soft fabric as if my life depended on it, while he has loosely put his arms around me. Almost insecure.
But then his hands start roaming my back in a feathery touch, and I hear Legolas speak to me. His silken voice washes over me, murmuring in that beautiful, foreign tongue I now know to be some dialect of Elvish. These whispers are the most comforting I have ever heard – despite the fact that I cannot understand a single word.
My face is buried in Legolas' shirt, and he has tilted his head down so that he whispers close to my ear. I can feel each and every of his breaths dance across my skin, leaving a tingling feeling in their wake. Before long the voice of the Elf, his sheer presence, fills my mind, helping me to push aside the worries and the pain inside me. The words that roll from his tongue brush across my heart and tear open the veil of darkness that has wrapped around it.
After a while my sobs ebb away, and the stream of tears finally runs dry. But even when I have calmed down, Legolas keeps holding me, never stopping to speak to me. I do not make a move to break the embrace either. All I want is savour the feeling of safety and comfort he gives me, just for another moment.