Note to Reviewers: In the last chapter, Sivi broke Gil-galad's brain. In
this chapter, she breaks his heart (but not his pocket-book). Also, pay
attention to small details in this chapter, as many of them are hints at
the growing mystery behind Sivi's character. On a sillier note, thanks to
all the wonderful reviewers who were so gracious about Chapters Nine and
Ten! I printed out the review page and took it to show to people, I was so
pleased :)!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Hi-o! This is a longer chappie, yes. Not that you mind, elf sap is fun. By the by, if anyone knows of a place that can host a web comic for free let me know. Keenspace isn't answering the thingy and it's been over 9 weeks now. Person who left the name blank: Ah mental places.they serve good ice- cream.or was that the.ah well. Wicked Lady: in answer to your question: me. Finnevere: EHAB answered you. Telboriel: Hehehe! Do not worry there will be sap! Megolas: heh, Sivi ish all weird and stuff. Ricky: Aaaahhh! NOOO! No mitosis, BAD! (And tell me how!) Nessawen: hmm.I have no clue, the end is not written yet. Europa: No, my teacher is nice actually, but the subject is 3v1l! OK, I'll go now, Ja! ~Phe-chan~
Legolas had managed to find lodgings for himself, Joseph, and Jeremie in the home of the sister of a Gondorian widow; the widow herself agreed to house Sivi, Andrea, Megan, Sarah, and Christina. Sivi had not told any of the others about her conversation with Gil-galad. She was glad at Legolas' choice of housing, for Gil-galad would not search for a "descendant of kings" in the house of a middle-class widow. After praying that night for wisdom, courage, guidance, and protection, she lay awake and wondered what Gil-galad saw in her that no one else could.
As she drifted at last, as though she were a feather carried on a night's breeze, into the boundless realms of sleep and dreams, she thought that she could discern the distant lullaby of a great ocean. The last fleeting thought that she entertained before leaving consciousness was a bemusèd notion that the Ulumúri were calling to her from afar.
Indeed, the sea's song did not die as she entered her dream, but grew stronger and even more fair to hear. She turned from the cloud of nothingness that assaults one's lidded eyes in sleep, and saw before her a vast, beautifully clear sea flecked with falmar - crested waves - that winked ceaselessly back. The falmar were small and the ocean was calm, glistening in the moonlight. Sivi entertained a bizarre wish that she were made of ithildin; then, perhaps, she might be as lovely as Gil-galad thought her. She could not understand why it should matter to her what a king of Elves, who would die some time in the near future, thought of her physical beauty.
The sea's salt smell was fresh, clearing her senses, telling her that if she was indeed dreaming, then she never wished to awaken. She had had dreams like this all her life: Elven-dreams, more real than the mornings she woke up to; dreams so real that she could sometimes control them, or at least what she herself did in response to the scenarios her dreams gave her. In her dreams, when she ran, she got somewhere, and where she got to depended on where she wanted to go.
In fact, a number of her "nightmares" were dreams in which her control of herself was diminished or taken away. In short, these "nightmares" were normal human dreams. Others, however, were true nightmares, dreams of death by fire or beheading, of loved ones drowning or falling prey to dread diseases, dungeons desolate and cold, creatures even Hollywood would shudder at, made all the more horrific by the fact that, until the alarm clock went off, they were real enough to catch you and truly do you harm. In the dreams of an Elf, pain is real.
However, at the moment, Sivi was not running from a beastly creature. She was reveling in a beautiful Cuiviénen. She felt the cool, white sand beneath her long toes, sand that was both fine and finite, soft and soothing. She joyed in the delicate, filmy raiment of white that flowed like whispers over her arms, brushing her neck like faerie wings, sheltering her body like a mother's soft, ivory hands. She was ornamented in silver, opals, pearl, emeralds, and sapphires, stones with hues as deep as the waters they mirrored, and the light metals felt pleasantly cold on her pale skin. A breeze played through her unbound hair as through lute- strings of gold.
"Utulielye," said a voice as soft, fair, and insistent as the sea's. "Nan si, ve nalye. Nai nalmet si oio. Im mel le, vana lotë eleniello." (You're here. I am here as you are. May it be we are here forever. I love you, fair blossom of the stars.)
"You don't know me. How can you love me?" she countered, knowing who stood behind her and refusing to turn around.
"Neither do you know me. How, then, can you hate me as you do?" he answered, his words thick and deep as they left his throat. "What is this thing that I have done to earn your enmity?"
"I don't hate you," Sivi returned, executing a slow and mirthless pirouette. As she had known they would since first he spoke, her blue-gray eyes revealed to her the silhouetted form of the High King of the Noldor. His golden hair, the color and tenuity of corn silk, gleamed as the soft beams of moonlight shone through its straight strands as through a faceted gem, casting shafts of light in all directions. Though the moon was behind him, his eyes caught and held a bit of the radiance of the stars, as the eyes of most elves will. Sivi felt as though she had found the two lost Silmarilli - beautiful, but forbidden to any whose heart was impure.
"Say it again, that you hate me not," Gil-galad pleaded. A mist veiled the diadems in his blue-green eyes: a mist of tears.
"I do not hate you," Sivi repeated, "but neither do I understand you. How can you love me if you don't even know me?"
"Beren loved Luthien for her beauty," Gil-galad answered.
Sivi shook her head in despair, confusion. and irony. What should she say to him? Should she tell him.?
"That is not what I want," she said. "I want to be loved for who I am. Besides," she added with a soft, dry laugh, "I know a bit more about Beren and Luthien than you do. Furthermore, it is ridiculous to compare me with Tinúviel. Her beauty surpassed all the elves', but beauty have I none."
Wanting to contradict her but knowing how she would react, Gil-galad let fall a hollow, haunted laugh, and with it, a piece of his pride.
"Do you know I am the High King? That alone would give me the hand of any maiden I that I want, except. except the one I want."
"There: do you love me or want me?" Sivi demanded.
"Im mel le, melui nin," he replied fervently. (I love you, my ever-love.)
Sighing, Sivi turned away.
"This is Cuiviénen, is it not?" she asked. With a nearly imperceptible step toward her, the product more of his subconscious, yet pure, yearning than of any command his mind had given his feet, he answered quietly.
"I often come here, in my dreams. In my dreams I come to the Waters of Awakening," he smiled. "I think I'm dreaming now," he went on, laughing a little, "dreaming of you." His voice softened again.
"Nai romen entul uoio." Sivi would not look at him. (May the coming of the sunrise not take forever.)
"This is Cuiviénen; I neni Im mel, yet less than you do I love these waters now." (the waters I love)
Ignoring his last remark, Sivi began to sing softly:
"By this bay the Elves awoke,
Marveled at Varda's stars.
Quendi were they, the first who spoke,
Summoned to Valimar.
"Vanyar, first and fairest were;
Noldor, deft and wise,
Who shaped the Valar's great treasure;
Teleri, lovers of waves and skies.
"See the fair by forest fountain,
By foaming woodland pool,
Strong, undaunted by vale or mountain,
And wisest of all who rule.
"Mystery lays his hand on me.
Intrigue, his daughter, smiles,
And says, 'My mortal sister be,
Thus prone to mortal wiles.'
"They know I cannot stand the thought
Of knowing naught of you,
For mine is a curious, eager lot,
And I'd rather know than do."
Gil-galad was silent. He knew not what to say. With each word she spoke he loved her more. Why couldn't she see that?
"After that, you bid me not to love you?" he whispered.
"Go away," she said; "you frighten me."
Gil-galad gave a choking cry and a half-sob.
"I frighten you?" he repeated. "Then, melui, I will go. I -"
"Wait," Sivi said suddenly.
Gil-galad stopped eagerly, hoping for a word of comfort. Hanging her head in shame, Sivi admitted quietly,
"The one thing I fear most is being left alone."
Gil-galad cocked his head, intrigued.
"I don't mind being alone," Sivi added, "but I can't stand being LEFT alone."
"You would rather be here with one who frightens you?"
"Yes," replied Sivi, barely audible. She almost added that her fear of being left was such that she would rather be in the same room with Ungoliant or Shelob, but felt he might not find that a very flattering comparison.
"Melui, I would never hurt you. Please trust me. Im mel le," Gil-galad insisted.
Sivi sat down on the sand with her feet in the surf. Gil-galad stood protectively over her, longing to place a hand on her shoulder but not daring. If she should shudder or brush his fingers away, it might kill him.
"Melui," he said quietly. Resignedly, Sivi accepted the pet name he had given her.
"Yes?"
"From whence do you come?"
"America," she replied dryly, not caring what he thought.
"I do not know it, but I will search the charts for it until I -"
"Don't waste your time," she broke in. "It's not on your maps. Trust me."
"I will. Will you trust me?"
Sivi said nothing.
"I will die, Melui," he whispered. "I will die of a broken heart."
"You will not die of a broken heart, if you do die," Sivi said, feeling a wave of remorse for this elf that pledged his love to her. Remembering her words in the tower, it occurred to Gil-galad that Sivi might be some sort of prophetess.
"Will I die?" he asked, having grown cold. Carefully, Sivi answered,
"The Quendi are not born to die."
"No, but some do," he pressed.
"Some do, yes."
"Then I will die," he surmised quietly. "In Mordor?"
"You assume too much," Sivi said. "I never said yes or no to the first question."
"And you will not say yes or no, will you? Then know this: whether I am or am not to die, I will return to the field of battle. The soldiers under me are Quendi, as I am, and are no more born to die than I am. I am their king, and I will lead them."
"I wish you blessings, guidance, and protection," she said sincerely, looking up at him, "but should we never meet again, I think it better for us both."
The burden of the girl's words smote the elf-king so heavily that he woke. Few have heard the weeping of an elf denied his one love. Be grateful if you are not numbered among those few.
As for Sivi, she, too, woke from the dream with a start. Even the gentle breathing of Andrea and Megan in the cots on either side of her-or murmurings of flying coco bunnies, in Andrea's case-could not soothe her. Stricken by guilt, whether deservedly or no, I will let you judge, she cried silent tears well into the night.
Hi-o! This is a longer chappie, yes. Not that you mind, elf sap is fun. By the by, if anyone knows of a place that can host a web comic for free let me know. Keenspace isn't answering the thingy and it's been over 9 weeks now. Person who left the name blank: Ah mental places.they serve good ice- cream.or was that the.ah well. Wicked Lady: in answer to your question: me. Finnevere: EHAB answered you. Telboriel: Hehehe! Do not worry there will be sap! Megolas: heh, Sivi ish all weird and stuff. Ricky: Aaaahhh! NOOO! No mitosis, BAD! (And tell me how!) Nessawen: hmm.I have no clue, the end is not written yet. Europa: No, my teacher is nice actually, but the subject is 3v1l! OK, I'll go now, Ja! ~Phe-chan~
Legolas had managed to find lodgings for himself, Joseph, and Jeremie in the home of the sister of a Gondorian widow; the widow herself agreed to house Sivi, Andrea, Megan, Sarah, and Christina. Sivi had not told any of the others about her conversation with Gil-galad. She was glad at Legolas' choice of housing, for Gil-galad would not search for a "descendant of kings" in the house of a middle-class widow. After praying that night for wisdom, courage, guidance, and protection, she lay awake and wondered what Gil-galad saw in her that no one else could.
As she drifted at last, as though she were a feather carried on a night's breeze, into the boundless realms of sleep and dreams, she thought that she could discern the distant lullaby of a great ocean. The last fleeting thought that she entertained before leaving consciousness was a bemusèd notion that the Ulumúri were calling to her from afar.
Indeed, the sea's song did not die as she entered her dream, but grew stronger and even more fair to hear. She turned from the cloud of nothingness that assaults one's lidded eyes in sleep, and saw before her a vast, beautifully clear sea flecked with falmar - crested waves - that winked ceaselessly back. The falmar were small and the ocean was calm, glistening in the moonlight. Sivi entertained a bizarre wish that she were made of ithildin; then, perhaps, she might be as lovely as Gil-galad thought her. She could not understand why it should matter to her what a king of Elves, who would die some time in the near future, thought of her physical beauty.
The sea's salt smell was fresh, clearing her senses, telling her that if she was indeed dreaming, then she never wished to awaken. She had had dreams like this all her life: Elven-dreams, more real than the mornings she woke up to; dreams so real that she could sometimes control them, or at least what she herself did in response to the scenarios her dreams gave her. In her dreams, when she ran, she got somewhere, and where she got to depended on where she wanted to go.
In fact, a number of her "nightmares" were dreams in which her control of herself was diminished or taken away. In short, these "nightmares" were normal human dreams. Others, however, were true nightmares, dreams of death by fire or beheading, of loved ones drowning or falling prey to dread diseases, dungeons desolate and cold, creatures even Hollywood would shudder at, made all the more horrific by the fact that, until the alarm clock went off, they were real enough to catch you and truly do you harm. In the dreams of an Elf, pain is real.
However, at the moment, Sivi was not running from a beastly creature. She was reveling in a beautiful Cuiviénen. She felt the cool, white sand beneath her long toes, sand that was both fine and finite, soft and soothing. She joyed in the delicate, filmy raiment of white that flowed like whispers over her arms, brushing her neck like faerie wings, sheltering her body like a mother's soft, ivory hands. She was ornamented in silver, opals, pearl, emeralds, and sapphires, stones with hues as deep as the waters they mirrored, and the light metals felt pleasantly cold on her pale skin. A breeze played through her unbound hair as through lute- strings of gold.
"Utulielye," said a voice as soft, fair, and insistent as the sea's. "Nan si, ve nalye. Nai nalmet si oio. Im mel le, vana lotë eleniello." (You're here. I am here as you are. May it be we are here forever. I love you, fair blossom of the stars.)
"You don't know me. How can you love me?" she countered, knowing who stood behind her and refusing to turn around.
"Neither do you know me. How, then, can you hate me as you do?" he answered, his words thick and deep as they left his throat. "What is this thing that I have done to earn your enmity?"
"I don't hate you," Sivi returned, executing a slow and mirthless pirouette. As she had known they would since first he spoke, her blue-gray eyes revealed to her the silhouetted form of the High King of the Noldor. His golden hair, the color and tenuity of corn silk, gleamed as the soft beams of moonlight shone through its straight strands as through a faceted gem, casting shafts of light in all directions. Though the moon was behind him, his eyes caught and held a bit of the radiance of the stars, as the eyes of most elves will. Sivi felt as though she had found the two lost Silmarilli - beautiful, but forbidden to any whose heart was impure.
"Say it again, that you hate me not," Gil-galad pleaded. A mist veiled the diadems in his blue-green eyes: a mist of tears.
"I do not hate you," Sivi repeated, "but neither do I understand you. How can you love me if you don't even know me?"
"Beren loved Luthien for her beauty," Gil-galad answered.
Sivi shook her head in despair, confusion. and irony. What should she say to him? Should she tell him.?
"That is not what I want," she said. "I want to be loved for who I am. Besides," she added with a soft, dry laugh, "I know a bit more about Beren and Luthien than you do. Furthermore, it is ridiculous to compare me with Tinúviel. Her beauty surpassed all the elves', but beauty have I none."
Wanting to contradict her but knowing how she would react, Gil-galad let fall a hollow, haunted laugh, and with it, a piece of his pride.
"Do you know I am the High King? That alone would give me the hand of any maiden I that I want, except. except the one I want."
"There: do you love me or want me?" Sivi demanded.
"Im mel le, melui nin," he replied fervently. (I love you, my ever-love.)
Sighing, Sivi turned away.
"This is Cuiviénen, is it not?" she asked. With a nearly imperceptible step toward her, the product more of his subconscious, yet pure, yearning than of any command his mind had given his feet, he answered quietly.
"I often come here, in my dreams. In my dreams I come to the Waters of Awakening," he smiled. "I think I'm dreaming now," he went on, laughing a little, "dreaming of you." His voice softened again.
"Nai romen entul uoio." Sivi would not look at him. (May the coming of the sunrise not take forever.)
"This is Cuiviénen; I neni Im mel, yet less than you do I love these waters now." (the waters I love)
Ignoring his last remark, Sivi began to sing softly:
"By this bay the Elves awoke,
Marveled at Varda's stars.
Quendi were they, the first who spoke,
Summoned to Valimar.
"Vanyar, first and fairest were;
Noldor, deft and wise,
Who shaped the Valar's great treasure;
Teleri, lovers of waves and skies.
"See the fair by forest fountain,
By foaming woodland pool,
Strong, undaunted by vale or mountain,
And wisest of all who rule.
"Mystery lays his hand on me.
Intrigue, his daughter, smiles,
And says, 'My mortal sister be,
Thus prone to mortal wiles.'
"They know I cannot stand the thought
Of knowing naught of you,
For mine is a curious, eager lot,
And I'd rather know than do."
Gil-galad was silent. He knew not what to say. With each word she spoke he loved her more. Why couldn't she see that?
"After that, you bid me not to love you?" he whispered.
"Go away," she said; "you frighten me."
Gil-galad gave a choking cry and a half-sob.
"I frighten you?" he repeated. "Then, melui, I will go. I -"
"Wait," Sivi said suddenly.
Gil-galad stopped eagerly, hoping for a word of comfort. Hanging her head in shame, Sivi admitted quietly,
"The one thing I fear most is being left alone."
Gil-galad cocked his head, intrigued.
"I don't mind being alone," Sivi added, "but I can't stand being LEFT alone."
"You would rather be here with one who frightens you?"
"Yes," replied Sivi, barely audible. She almost added that her fear of being left was such that she would rather be in the same room with Ungoliant or Shelob, but felt he might not find that a very flattering comparison.
"Melui, I would never hurt you. Please trust me. Im mel le," Gil-galad insisted.
Sivi sat down on the sand with her feet in the surf. Gil-galad stood protectively over her, longing to place a hand on her shoulder but not daring. If she should shudder or brush his fingers away, it might kill him.
"Melui," he said quietly. Resignedly, Sivi accepted the pet name he had given her.
"Yes?"
"From whence do you come?"
"America," she replied dryly, not caring what he thought.
"I do not know it, but I will search the charts for it until I -"
"Don't waste your time," she broke in. "It's not on your maps. Trust me."
"I will. Will you trust me?"
Sivi said nothing.
"I will die, Melui," he whispered. "I will die of a broken heart."
"You will not die of a broken heart, if you do die," Sivi said, feeling a wave of remorse for this elf that pledged his love to her. Remembering her words in the tower, it occurred to Gil-galad that Sivi might be some sort of prophetess.
"Will I die?" he asked, having grown cold. Carefully, Sivi answered,
"The Quendi are not born to die."
"No, but some do," he pressed.
"Some do, yes."
"Then I will die," he surmised quietly. "In Mordor?"
"You assume too much," Sivi said. "I never said yes or no to the first question."
"And you will not say yes or no, will you? Then know this: whether I am or am not to die, I will return to the field of battle. The soldiers under me are Quendi, as I am, and are no more born to die than I am. I am their king, and I will lead them."
"I wish you blessings, guidance, and protection," she said sincerely, looking up at him, "but should we never meet again, I think it better for us both."
The burden of the girl's words smote the elf-king so heavily that he woke. Few have heard the weeping of an elf denied his one love. Be grateful if you are not numbered among those few.
As for Sivi, she, too, woke from the dream with a start. Even the gentle breathing of Andrea and Megan in the cots on either side of her-or murmurings of flying coco bunnies, in Andrea's case-could not soothe her. Stricken by guilt, whether deservedly or no, I will let you judge, she cried silent tears well into the night.