Disclaimer: It's simply no use. Legolas.. I wish I'd. *chokes back a sob*
Not even Gimli or Aragorn. And my name doesn't start with T and end with
n either. buaaaaah
Here I go again!!! Boy, how much I detest Physical Chemistry!!! Protocols, experiment data evaluation. 20 sheets weekly. I mean, after sitting for eight hours at your notebook every day you simply end up staring at the keyboard, not being able to recognize the keys. And your head! Your head is spinning with formulas and numbers, and every odd moment or two you simply start grinning and laughing stupidly. mwahahaha.
You know, physical chemistry is a little bit hazardous for our friends' health, for the handling of data about boiling temperatures and pressures gives you strange inspirations.mwahahah
Well, I think I've ranted enough for now. I just wanted to apologize for not updating earlier.
WHITE WOLF: THANK YOU!*beams and bows* As for finishing off our
favourite little Elf. We'll see. You know, I simply LOVE rabbit
stew, so I can't wait for that bunny of yours. *licks her lips*
CHEYSULI: THANKS AGAIN VERY MUCH! I didn't have time to
correct my former mistakes, but as soon as I find myself with
time at my hands again I'll revise the former chapters!
FAER: Thank you very much for the help, it is greatly
appreciated!!! You know, you and I share the same belief: LET'EM
SUFFER!!! And they will, boy, they will. I've not finished with
them yet. *insane glint in her eyes*
LEGOLASLUVER: Your Love? Your Love? *glares daggers at her*
He's mine, mine, mine.. *cackles evilly, only to finish
abruptly, shaking with sobs when realizing the truth.* Oh well,
looks like I've got to share'im with many people. THANK YOU! ;-)
LADY LENNA: Legolas forever. or not forever.*;-)* I mean the
poor guy has been beaten, stabbed, swept down a water fall.
Well, he's an Elf, he will heal. or maybe not? *author ducks
several blunt objects aimed at her head* LOL!
ASHA: You're really sweet, thank you! Read on and see!
DARKNESS STIRS
Nilbrethiliel
Chapter 5: RAIN (A/N: I know, not the most ingenious title *sigh*)
A cold wind tugged at his tunic, chilling him to the bones. It fitted his mood, for inside him it was just as cold and dark. He welcomed the cold, it numbed his pain, dulled his senses. He didn't feel the stinging in his eyes, the biting frost, the stiff fingers. He simply stood there, staring on the ground, seeing nothing.
Nilturiel sighed softly as she regarded Eldarion standing beside her. She had spoken to him for several times, but he had proven unresponsive. Although she had been able to placate his wrath she had failed utterly to quell the hatred that possessed his heart. Unwilling to bear the soothing and explanations he had withdrawn from the others, keeping to himself, restrained, aloof, cold. He didn't want to be comforted, on the contrary, he resented it thoroughly, punishing those who dared with cold stares and scathing remarks. He was so hurt that he had to lash out to forget the burning agony he felt within, feeling strangely comforted to see the pain and the hurt in the others. Aragorn had patiently endured his son's behaviour, never retaliating and never relenting in trying to reach his grieving son. But the days and the horrors had taken their toll on him, for although he retained his youngish features, his eyes betrayed every single year of his age.
In the dark sky the clouds were heavy with rain, ready to unload their burden on the gathered crowd beneath them. All the Elves of Ithilien stood in the clearing around the great pyre in the middle. Slowly a small procession of warriors entered the clearing, carrying the bodies of their fallen comrades on their shoulders. A single flute started to play, its haunting tune wrapping the scene in an aura of desolation. Solemnly the bearers stepped forward, depositing their burdens on the wood. One by one the dead Elves were laid on the pyre and then covered by petals and leaves.
*****
The cold wind wiped through his clothes, slapping him in the face, biting in his eyes. He was riding hard, bent forward so much to evade the wind and the numerous branches tearing at him, trying to bring him down that he was nearly lying on the neck of his horse. His fingers were numb due to his fierce grip on the mane, clinging to it as if his life depended on it, which it certainly did, although at the moment to him his life was the least important thing. His whole concentration was focused on remaining mounted he was almost able to ignore the throbbing pain in his back, and to forget that a black arrow was protruding from between his shoulder blades. Blood was flowing freely from his wound, soaking his tunic, trailing down his back. He had to resist just for a little longer, only a bit more.
"Noro lim, mellon nîn, noro lim!" he whispered, his voice barely discernible over the howling wind. [Ride quickly, my friend, ride quickly]
It started to rain.
*****
The sky was crying, mourning the passing of the sixteen Firstborns robbed of their immortality. The rain drops trickled softly on the faces of the Elves, quietly mingling with their salty tears.
All of them were dressed in dark green, wearing black ribbons on the sleeves, their hair unbraided.
Nilturiel brushed away some strands of her silver hair now plastered on her face by the rain. They were getting soaking wet, but neither the rain nor the icy wind deterred the mourners, they stood there, rooted, faces grim and determined. Sombrely she stepped forward, lifting a torch in her hands.
"Sílo, caled en gûrth!" [Shine, light of death!] Suddenly the torch was lit by an unearthly glowing fire, the blue flame dancing in the wind.
Being immortal didn't mean to be unable to die, and although most Elves seldom got in touch with death Elvish funeral rites were the most sacred ones. Having lived under the shadows of Dol Goldur for millennia the Mirkwood Elves were the most experienced in them, having been forced to witness them far too often.
Because an Elvish funeral was a very rare occasion it was the duty of the royalty to perform the rites. Only they had the power to call the caled-en- gûrth, the holy fire.
Nilturiel walked to one edge of the pyre and bowed low in front of it.
"Calad mathatha cen an Mandos" [may the light guide you to Mandos] With that she lowered the torch. As soon as the blue flame touched the wood a sizzling sound was heard, and a white light immersed the whole clearing, blinding everybody momentarily. Small, blue flames danced on the wood, jumping from a log to another. The smell of burning wood and flowers filled the air.
******
His vision was blurring, the loss of blood making him feel dizzy and light- headed. He could feel his hold on consciousness slacken, and despair seized his heart. He could not fail! He was not allowed to fail or everything would be lost! Every step of his horse sent a jolt of agony through his body, bringing him closer to the sweet embrace of oblivion. His will fought against the tender caress ferociously, stubbornly refusing to give in. But it was getting harder and harder.
Only a bit longer, just a little bit
*****
Nilturiel walked to the next corner of the pyre, and bowing she lit the wood again.
"Caled tulgatha cen ned lind lîn!" [May the light comfort you on your journey]
The flames licked at the branches and rose high into the sky. The faint odour of athelas scented the air as the flames reached the bodies, wrapping them in their feral light.
A single tear rolled down her cheek, but it went unnoticed. She felt how her heart was being ripped from her body with every cracking of the burning sticks, and how an immense coldness filled the gaping hole her heart was leaving.
She had witnessed too much funerals in her five thousand years of life, every time feeling as if her life was being choked out of her. She could remember how she stood there, holding Legolas in her arms on the funeral of their mother. He had been barely a toddler at that time and had not been able to grasp the meaning of death as their beloved naneth was delivered to the fire.
And now she stood here, bringing the fire to her baby brother and her beloved husband and wasn't able to grasp the bitter reality either. She prayed silently to the Valar to awake her from this nightmare, to deliver her from the pain. She wanted to ruffle the lovely blond hair again, wanted to feel the sweet embrace and the fiery kisses of Lólindir. Her breath hitched as she felt the heat of the flames on her pale skin and the crackling sound of fire increased. This was no dream. This was reality.
*****
He was getting nearer, and for that he thanked the Valar. Soon he would be within hearing range, and then, finally, he would be able to rest. The rain had turned into a full-blown tempest, thunder growled threatingly and with a loud crack a lightening illuminated the purple sky.
The horse beneath him was faltering as they tore through the bushes; it had been pushed too hard, too recklessly.
"No, no, ride on, ride on! We must reach Eryn Feredron, otherwise they will die! Please, my friend, hold on!"
Sensing the despair in its master's voice the being neighed softly, vowing to ride itself to death in order to comply.
*****
After she had lit all the four corners of the pyre with the torch Nilturiel raised her hands to the sky and started to chant. Soon the rest of the Elves fell in, answering each of her chants with a counter chant, until their united voices grew in a crescendo that blocked out any other sound. The Elves started to glow intensely until quenching the light of the blue flames with their own.
Gimli shuddered. Only now he was beginning to grasp the essence of the Eldar, they were the firstborn, the children of Illuvitar, magical beings from a different world, ancient and wise. He truly felt honoured and humbled to be called Elvellon, elf-friend.
The flames seemed to dance to the rhythm of the chants, filling the clearing with its ethereal beauty and its comforting warmth. Slowly they started to recede as there was less and less fodder to be devoured, till dying down crackling and spitting. The wind swept over the ashes, elevating them high in the air, as if trying to guide them towards the sky, towards home.
"Namarie. Namarie." [Farewell, farewell]
*****
He was there, he could feel it. The trees were crying at him, telling him to urge on, that he was already within the city's boundaries. He could smell smoke and the faint scent of burning athelas, a combination both pleasant and dreadful, for he recognised its meaning. A funeral was held. Fear gripped his heart. With shaking hands he reached towards his belt and the bundle attached to it. Stiff, unfeeling fingers tried to loose the strips, and after a few awkward moments he finally succeeded in unwrapping it. It was a beautifully carved horn, not unlike the horns the Gondorian soldiers used. Actually, it had been Lord Legolas' idea to imitate them, for he had experienced their usefulness himself. During the first years of the founding of the colony they had already proven vital, having warned and therefore saved the Elves from many attacks and Orc raids. Now these horns were part of the gear of the warriors of Ithilien, and although it had been a long time since their sound had been heard, everybody knew their worth and relied on them.
With a shuddering breath he brought it to his mouth and blew it as hard as he could, which was rather poorly in his current condition.
Uuuuuun, uuuuuun, uuuuuun. Uuuuuun, uuuuuun, uuuuuun. Uuuuuun, uuuuuun,uuuuuun.
*****
The flames had died down, leaving nothing but a black charred spot on the forest floor. The rain was falling heavily, weighing down the Elves.
Nilturiel was trembling slightly. She felt so cold, so utterly lost and alone. But she was now the Lady of Eryn Feredron, and for her people's sake she had to show strength and resolve. Now it was not the time for weakness, there was still so much to do.
The two chief advisors Threlan and Raledh and Eryn Feredron's chief captain Neviâth stepped forward and knelt down in front of her, hitting their chest with their right fist. Nilturiel nodded slightly, waving them to continue.
Threlan stood up and declared gravely, his deep, full voice carrying all over the clearing:
"The King is dead. Hail to the Queen! Ai Rîs Nilturiel!" [Hail queen Nilturiel]
"Ai Rîs Nilturiel!"
The whole clearing sank to their knees as one body, their voices rung in one shout.
Uuuuuun, uuuuuun, uuuuun. Howling wind carried the faint sound. Everybody froze, unable to believe what was happening, unwilling to believe their ears.
Uuuuuun, uuuuuun, uuuuuun. Uuuuuun, uuuuuun,uuuuuun.
The meaning was unmistakable, having been heard far too often.
Nilturiel clenched her fists until her knuckles were white, her lips pressed to a thin line, eyes sparkling with hatred.
*Not even now! Not even now they give us a respite!*
"Warriors of Eryn Feredron, ready yourselves!" Her voice had a steely edge, matching her grim expression.
"We're under attack!"
TBC..
Well, no Legolas in this chappie. *eyes dart around frantically* And looks as if I've got addicted to cliffhangers.*takes several steps backward when seeing angry throngs of readers waving all sort of weapons at her* Uhm guys? Guys! If you kill me I won't be able to continue. I don't know if they have internet in Mandos. *ducks a knife, turns around and flees* :-D
You see this nice little button down here? It makes wonderful things!! Just press the button and see!!!
Please rate!!! Your reviews get me going and force me back on my desk in order to continue. Again, ideas and corrections will be appreciated very much!
My life depends on you!!!
RRRRRRRRRRRR! :-D
Here I go again!!! Boy, how much I detest Physical Chemistry!!! Protocols, experiment data evaluation. 20 sheets weekly. I mean, after sitting for eight hours at your notebook every day you simply end up staring at the keyboard, not being able to recognize the keys. And your head! Your head is spinning with formulas and numbers, and every odd moment or two you simply start grinning and laughing stupidly. mwahahaha.
You know, physical chemistry is a little bit hazardous for our friends' health, for the handling of data about boiling temperatures and pressures gives you strange inspirations.mwahahah
Well, I think I've ranted enough for now. I just wanted to apologize for not updating earlier.
WHITE WOLF: THANK YOU!*beams and bows* As for finishing off our
favourite little Elf. We'll see. You know, I simply LOVE rabbit
stew, so I can't wait for that bunny of yours. *licks her lips*
CHEYSULI: THANKS AGAIN VERY MUCH! I didn't have time to
correct my former mistakes, but as soon as I find myself with
time at my hands again I'll revise the former chapters!
FAER: Thank you very much for the help, it is greatly
appreciated!!! You know, you and I share the same belief: LET'EM
SUFFER!!! And they will, boy, they will. I've not finished with
them yet. *insane glint in her eyes*
LEGOLASLUVER: Your Love? Your Love? *glares daggers at her*
He's mine, mine, mine.. *cackles evilly, only to finish
abruptly, shaking with sobs when realizing the truth.* Oh well,
looks like I've got to share'im with many people. THANK YOU! ;-)
LADY LENNA: Legolas forever. or not forever.*;-)* I mean the
poor guy has been beaten, stabbed, swept down a water fall.
Well, he's an Elf, he will heal. or maybe not? *author ducks
several blunt objects aimed at her head* LOL!
ASHA: You're really sweet, thank you! Read on and see!
DARKNESS STIRS
Nilbrethiliel
Chapter 5: RAIN (A/N: I know, not the most ingenious title *sigh*)
A cold wind tugged at his tunic, chilling him to the bones. It fitted his mood, for inside him it was just as cold and dark. He welcomed the cold, it numbed his pain, dulled his senses. He didn't feel the stinging in his eyes, the biting frost, the stiff fingers. He simply stood there, staring on the ground, seeing nothing.
Nilturiel sighed softly as she regarded Eldarion standing beside her. She had spoken to him for several times, but he had proven unresponsive. Although she had been able to placate his wrath she had failed utterly to quell the hatred that possessed his heart. Unwilling to bear the soothing and explanations he had withdrawn from the others, keeping to himself, restrained, aloof, cold. He didn't want to be comforted, on the contrary, he resented it thoroughly, punishing those who dared with cold stares and scathing remarks. He was so hurt that he had to lash out to forget the burning agony he felt within, feeling strangely comforted to see the pain and the hurt in the others. Aragorn had patiently endured his son's behaviour, never retaliating and never relenting in trying to reach his grieving son. But the days and the horrors had taken their toll on him, for although he retained his youngish features, his eyes betrayed every single year of his age.
In the dark sky the clouds were heavy with rain, ready to unload their burden on the gathered crowd beneath them. All the Elves of Ithilien stood in the clearing around the great pyre in the middle. Slowly a small procession of warriors entered the clearing, carrying the bodies of their fallen comrades on their shoulders. A single flute started to play, its haunting tune wrapping the scene in an aura of desolation. Solemnly the bearers stepped forward, depositing their burdens on the wood. One by one the dead Elves were laid on the pyre and then covered by petals and leaves.
*****
The cold wind wiped through his clothes, slapping him in the face, biting in his eyes. He was riding hard, bent forward so much to evade the wind and the numerous branches tearing at him, trying to bring him down that he was nearly lying on the neck of his horse. His fingers were numb due to his fierce grip on the mane, clinging to it as if his life depended on it, which it certainly did, although at the moment to him his life was the least important thing. His whole concentration was focused on remaining mounted he was almost able to ignore the throbbing pain in his back, and to forget that a black arrow was protruding from between his shoulder blades. Blood was flowing freely from his wound, soaking his tunic, trailing down his back. He had to resist just for a little longer, only a bit more.
"Noro lim, mellon nîn, noro lim!" he whispered, his voice barely discernible over the howling wind. [Ride quickly, my friend, ride quickly]
It started to rain.
*****
The sky was crying, mourning the passing of the sixteen Firstborns robbed of their immortality. The rain drops trickled softly on the faces of the Elves, quietly mingling with their salty tears.
All of them were dressed in dark green, wearing black ribbons on the sleeves, their hair unbraided.
Nilturiel brushed away some strands of her silver hair now plastered on her face by the rain. They were getting soaking wet, but neither the rain nor the icy wind deterred the mourners, they stood there, rooted, faces grim and determined. Sombrely she stepped forward, lifting a torch in her hands.
"Sílo, caled en gûrth!" [Shine, light of death!] Suddenly the torch was lit by an unearthly glowing fire, the blue flame dancing in the wind.
Being immortal didn't mean to be unable to die, and although most Elves seldom got in touch with death Elvish funeral rites were the most sacred ones. Having lived under the shadows of Dol Goldur for millennia the Mirkwood Elves were the most experienced in them, having been forced to witness them far too often.
Because an Elvish funeral was a very rare occasion it was the duty of the royalty to perform the rites. Only they had the power to call the caled-en- gûrth, the holy fire.
Nilturiel walked to one edge of the pyre and bowed low in front of it.
"Calad mathatha cen an Mandos" [may the light guide you to Mandos] With that she lowered the torch. As soon as the blue flame touched the wood a sizzling sound was heard, and a white light immersed the whole clearing, blinding everybody momentarily. Small, blue flames danced on the wood, jumping from a log to another. The smell of burning wood and flowers filled the air.
******
His vision was blurring, the loss of blood making him feel dizzy and light- headed. He could feel his hold on consciousness slacken, and despair seized his heart. He could not fail! He was not allowed to fail or everything would be lost! Every step of his horse sent a jolt of agony through his body, bringing him closer to the sweet embrace of oblivion. His will fought against the tender caress ferociously, stubbornly refusing to give in. But it was getting harder and harder.
Only a bit longer, just a little bit
*****
Nilturiel walked to the next corner of the pyre, and bowing she lit the wood again.
"Caled tulgatha cen ned lind lîn!" [May the light comfort you on your journey]
The flames licked at the branches and rose high into the sky. The faint odour of athelas scented the air as the flames reached the bodies, wrapping them in their feral light.
A single tear rolled down her cheek, but it went unnoticed. She felt how her heart was being ripped from her body with every cracking of the burning sticks, and how an immense coldness filled the gaping hole her heart was leaving.
She had witnessed too much funerals in her five thousand years of life, every time feeling as if her life was being choked out of her. She could remember how she stood there, holding Legolas in her arms on the funeral of their mother. He had been barely a toddler at that time and had not been able to grasp the meaning of death as their beloved naneth was delivered to the fire.
And now she stood here, bringing the fire to her baby brother and her beloved husband and wasn't able to grasp the bitter reality either. She prayed silently to the Valar to awake her from this nightmare, to deliver her from the pain. She wanted to ruffle the lovely blond hair again, wanted to feel the sweet embrace and the fiery kisses of Lólindir. Her breath hitched as she felt the heat of the flames on her pale skin and the crackling sound of fire increased. This was no dream. This was reality.
*****
He was getting nearer, and for that he thanked the Valar. Soon he would be within hearing range, and then, finally, he would be able to rest. The rain had turned into a full-blown tempest, thunder growled threatingly and with a loud crack a lightening illuminated the purple sky.
The horse beneath him was faltering as they tore through the bushes; it had been pushed too hard, too recklessly.
"No, no, ride on, ride on! We must reach Eryn Feredron, otherwise they will die! Please, my friend, hold on!"
Sensing the despair in its master's voice the being neighed softly, vowing to ride itself to death in order to comply.
*****
After she had lit all the four corners of the pyre with the torch Nilturiel raised her hands to the sky and started to chant. Soon the rest of the Elves fell in, answering each of her chants with a counter chant, until their united voices grew in a crescendo that blocked out any other sound. The Elves started to glow intensely until quenching the light of the blue flames with their own.
Gimli shuddered. Only now he was beginning to grasp the essence of the Eldar, they were the firstborn, the children of Illuvitar, magical beings from a different world, ancient and wise. He truly felt honoured and humbled to be called Elvellon, elf-friend.
The flames seemed to dance to the rhythm of the chants, filling the clearing with its ethereal beauty and its comforting warmth. Slowly they started to recede as there was less and less fodder to be devoured, till dying down crackling and spitting. The wind swept over the ashes, elevating them high in the air, as if trying to guide them towards the sky, towards home.
"Namarie. Namarie." [Farewell, farewell]
*****
He was there, he could feel it. The trees were crying at him, telling him to urge on, that he was already within the city's boundaries. He could smell smoke and the faint scent of burning athelas, a combination both pleasant and dreadful, for he recognised its meaning. A funeral was held. Fear gripped his heart. With shaking hands he reached towards his belt and the bundle attached to it. Stiff, unfeeling fingers tried to loose the strips, and after a few awkward moments he finally succeeded in unwrapping it. It was a beautifully carved horn, not unlike the horns the Gondorian soldiers used. Actually, it had been Lord Legolas' idea to imitate them, for he had experienced their usefulness himself. During the first years of the founding of the colony they had already proven vital, having warned and therefore saved the Elves from many attacks and Orc raids. Now these horns were part of the gear of the warriors of Ithilien, and although it had been a long time since their sound had been heard, everybody knew their worth and relied on them.
With a shuddering breath he brought it to his mouth and blew it as hard as he could, which was rather poorly in his current condition.
Uuuuuun, uuuuuun, uuuuuun. Uuuuuun, uuuuuun, uuuuuun. Uuuuuun, uuuuuun,uuuuuun.
*****
The flames had died down, leaving nothing but a black charred spot on the forest floor. The rain was falling heavily, weighing down the Elves.
Nilturiel was trembling slightly. She felt so cold, so utterly lost and alone. But she was now the Lady of Eryn Feredron, and for her people's sake she had to show strength and resolve. Now it was not the time for weakness, there was still so much to do.
The two chief advisors Threlan and Raledh and Eryn Feredron's chief captain Neviâth stepped forward and knelt down in front of her, hitting their chest with their right fist. Nilturiel nodded slightly, waving them to continue.
Threlan stood up and declared gravely, his deep, full voice carrying all over the clearing:
"The King is dead. Hail to the Queen! Ai Rîs Nilturiel!" [Hail queen Nilturiel]
"Ai Rîs Nilturiel!"
The whole clearing sank to their knees as one body, their voices rung in one shout.
Uuuuuun, uuuuuun, uuuuun. Howling wind carried the faint sound. Everybody froze, unable to believe what was happening, unwilling to believe their ears.
Uuuuuun, uuuuuun, uuuuuun. Uuuuuun, uuuuuun,uuuuuun.
The meaning was unmistakable, having been heard far too often.
Nilturiel clenched her fists until her knuckles were white, her lips pressed to a thin line, eyes sparkling with hatred.
*Not even now! Not even now they give us a respite!*
"Warriors of Eryn Feredron, ready yourselves!" Her voice had a steely edge, matching her grim expression.
"We're under attack!"
TBC..
Well, no Legolas in this chappie. *eyes dart around frantically* And looks as if I've got addicted to cliffhangers.*takes several steps backward when seeing angry throngs of readers waving all sort of weapons at her* Uhm guys? Guys! If you kill me I won't be able to continue. I don't know if they have internet in Mandos. *ducks a knife, turns around and flees* :-D
You see this nice little button down here? It makes wonderful things!! Just press the button and see!!!
Please rate!!! Your reviews get me going and force me back on my desk in order to continue. Again, ideas and corrections will be appreciated very much!
My life depends on you!!!
RRRRRRRRRRRR! :-D