Sivi sighed, playing the day's events back through her mind like a
broken record. It had not been a totally wasted day; they had managed to
decide when and exactly where they would catch up with Gil-galad and
Elendil as the two kings rode to join their armies. Megan and Sarah had
found and purchased, using money given them by Lord Celeborn, four horses.
The great problem was what to do when the little band did meet the kings. Gil-galad, at least, had made it clear that he would not be turned away or dissuaded from returning to the battle. Sarah had tried her hand once more at devising plans; she suggested ambushing Gil-galad and Elendil and holding them "hostage" until the battle was over, but Sivi had shot down that idea in flames.
Six teens, a middle-aged supervisor, and one elf, all but three of them untrained in the art of combat, ambushing two kings twice their physical size, surrounded by an entourage, in full body armor, and armed to Elendil's teeth and Gil-gald's pointed ears?
"Are you MAD?!? We'd end up more full of spikes than the punch at a college fraternity party!"
"Oh. Yeah, I guess you're right."
So, as of yet, no plans had been laid. Sivi rubbed her temples. The three guys had gone back to the house of Widow Dorwen's sister. The other four girls were breathing deeply, calling Sivi after them into dreams, but she was not willing to sleep. She was almost sure she would dream again, and if she did, she was even more sure of what she would dream about. Yet she knew that she could not lie awake all night. She had done that before, in order to escape vicious nightmares, but she knew that tomorrow she would need her mind fresh for thinking. Tomorrow would be the last day before Gil- glad would leave Minas Tirith. It would be their last day to come up with a way to rescue him.
Somewhere between resignedly and begrudgingly, she settled down onto her cot and allowed her tired body to rest. At that point, sleep became inevitable, and she did not strive against it.
Gil-galad wished fervently that he might sleep. He was desperate to see her again, and it was beginning to appear that that would only be possible in his dreams. Yet the more he longed to nod off, the more awake he became. Finally, after numerous long, brutal hours of lying absolutely rigid on his bed and staring aimlessly at the ceiling, the elf slipped into a dream.
Still, something was not right. He should have been controlling his dream, at least in part, but it was not so. He was on a long and narrow ribbon of sand betwixt an ocean and a wood; so much was fine and presented no problem at all. The figure of a young woman robed in flowing, star-spun white silk stood only just out of his arm's length, her tawny hair blazing as it mirrored the rose-golden tidal wave of the setting sun's last light. Again, so much was good, more than pleasing to Gil-galad. Her back was to him. Well, what of that? These things were the settings of his dream, beyond his power to manipulate. The one thing an Elf is permitted to control in his dreams is himself, his reactions to the settings given him.
Yet that was just it: he could not react. He could not move, could not speak, could only stare at her in dumb fascination. He could not even cry out to her. What if she did not turn, did not see him or know he was there?
Even as this ugly thought occurred to him, she did turn, did see him. Gil-galad's heart nearly ceased to serve him as he saw disappointment and fear register in her eyes. He tried to speak to hear, to beg her not to look at him in such a way, but his lips were as useless and immobile as carven stone.
"Your Highness," she said with a curtsy far too formal and dignified.
Suddenly discovering that the leaden shroud had fallen from his body, the elf bowed almost pleadingly but did not speak. She waited for him to shower her with "Im mel lle's" and "Melui's", but he said nothing, to her great relief.
Then, he opened his mouth as if to address her, but no sound emerged. Concernedly, she asked,
"Are you all right?"
He started to clasp his throat, but his hand stopped midair. Tentatively, he managed,
"My lady?"
"Are you all right?" she asked again.
"I... I could not speak," he replied, but his voice had indeed been restored to him, as handsomely appealing as ever it had been.
"A moment ago, I could not move, either," he added shakily.
"I'm sorry," Sivi said, flushing. "I think it was my fault. I knew you were behind me, but I didn't want you... to touch me, so I hoped in my mind that... that you would stay where you were. Then, I... I didn't want you saying all those things to me that you did last night--"
"And my voice left me. I do not understand. Why should YOU be able to do that to ME? I'm the Elf."
"This is MY dream," she retorted rather pertly.
"I was not aware that humans could control their dreams, as elves do," Gil-galad returned by way of mild apology.
"Most can't," Sivi said softly. "I'm different."
"I meant no offense, M--"
The last word, as much as the elf worked his mouth, would not come out. He looked rather expressively at Sivi.
"I didn't do anything," she protested. "Try to speak."
"I... I don't understand. That one word... I cannot say it."
"What are you tr-- oh. You were going to call me Melui, weren't you? No wonder."
"You would rather that I did not refer to you so, I take it," murmured Gil-galad. A fresh pain revealed itself in the king's eyes. "Perhaps, then, you prefer 'Sivi'?"
"No, I prefer Telpeliniel," Sivi replied without blinking.
"Why did you lie to me?" the dejected elf asked miserably.
"I didn't. Telpeliniel is my Elven name. I told you it was only one of my names."
"What can I do? How can I make you at least TRUST me?"
"I don't want to go through this entire conversation again," she said. A twinkle appeared in her eyes. "But..."
"But?" Gil-galad pressed hopefully.
"If you can keep up with me, I'll talk to you," Sivi said mischievously. She had caused him enough grief that she owed him at least one game, one token of friendship, or so she felt.
"Will you allow me to move?" Gil-galad inquired pointedly, yet he was greatly encouraged by her sudden playful demeanor.
"Of course," she laughed. "See you later."
She took off down the beach at a speed Gil-galad had never seen in a human. Relieved to find that she had kept her word, that his feet would indeed respond to his mental urgings, he shot off. Lightning running jagged through the now orange sky could not have overtaken the determined elf. He made up for a few of the seconds he had lost, but he could not quite catch her. She was like a silver-golden phantom that was swept just beyond his reach by the four winds. He ran harder, pushing his disciplined muscles to achieve a speed so wild that he was certain he would fall out of sheer recklessness. Had Andrea been there, she would have nicknamed him, "The Blur," and for once, she would have made sense.
The beach was not infinite, or at least, was not uninterrupted. There rose before the two runners a towering, spiraling, ancient, structure made of what seemed to be white seashell, like so many allicorns of immortal unicorns grown from the earth itself. It resembles a tight-structured but immensely tall castle of Men.
Into the high, arced, door less portal of the place, Sivi dove without a thought. She raced down a long corridor and darted to her left, up a winding well of steps. "If he could catch her," had she said? "If he could find her" was now more appropriate.
Despairing, Gil-galad dashed more than headlong after her. Tracing her steps down the lengthy hall, he wondered almost madly which side passage she could have taken. As he started to pass a flight of stairs, something made him stop. Without knowing why, he felt certain that he must traverse those stairs to find her.
The muscles in his legs were flaming. The High Elven King had never before had to work so terribly hard to get what he wanted. He truly loved Sivi; he loved her as one loves a rare and brilliant gemstone. It was beautiful and bittersweet, this game she played with him. It thrilled his heart that she would spend time with him in games and childish fun, but if -- WHEN, he insisted to himself -- he caught her, what would be his prize? She had said that she would talk to him. No less, but then again no more, than one conversation would be awarded him. Not a drop, a trinket, or a bauble of her love would he win.
His light Elven boots found step after smooth, shallow step as he wound his way up, up, higher, faster, harder. He did not take the time to gaze around him. If he had, he would have noticed smooth, curving white walls, unlit by any torches, lanterns, or candles, or anything save thin streaks of white-gold light coming in through high slits of windows. He would have seen the occasional opening into the center of the tower. He might have noticed that he had not yet seen a door in the whole castle, nor any wood, nor stone; all was the same slick white shell.
Gil-galad's chest was beginning to burn. He would not let himself stop or even slow his pace, but instead spurred himself on faster. At last, the stairs led him through a square hole in the tower roof.
Gil-galad turned to his right -- and immediately could not move. If he had been able, he might have sprawled onto his stomach, so abrupt was his forced halt. He could not speak, and he was beginning to have trouble even thinking. He wondered -- as well as he could in light of his current inability to form a clear thought -- if she was wishing him out of existence.
Turning to him with a teasing grin, Sivi said simply,
"You win."
Instantly his body was once again his own to command, as were his voice and mind. "Please stop doing that to me," Gil-galad pleaded breathlessly.
"I'm sorry," she said sincerely. "And... I'm sorry about what I said last night, too. About not seeing you again. I didn't mean that."
Gil-galad's heart swelled. There was yet hope. Taking a cautious step towards her, he said,
"You don't have to be sorry. Ever. I'm sorry for hounding you as I've done. It's just... I honestly, earnestly love you."
"I didn't believe you last night," Sivi whispered. "Now I do."
She drew close to him and put a hand on his shoulder, one finger resting on the side of his throat. A welcome chill washed up and down his spine.
"Why can't we be together?" he asked softly.
"For many reasons," she replied. "Do you see the sun, how it sinks lower into the pool of the horizon? I am a human woman. Mine are people of the sunset. At our rising we are young and bright; in our zenith we are proud and fair; but when it comes time for our setting.." She trailed off, and the Elf said nothing. He knew what was the sunset of humankind: age and death.
"Yours," she went on, "are people of the countless, infinite, and immortal stars. How, then, can we be together?"
Still he made her no answer. She continued,
"Another reason is this" and she turned away from the ramparts and faced him once again. She tapped with one finger the breastplate of the king's golden armor.
"You leave the day after tomorrow for the siege at the Dark Tower," she reminded him sadly, "but I must remain."
"Battles are not forever," he returned weakly.
"Even so," said she, turning quickly away, "there is my mortality, and there are other reasons that I am not sure I could make you understand."
She thought of Pepsi, lawnmowers, and gumball machines. He caught the slight smile on her face, and his body went lifelessly cold.
"Is there another?" he asked in the voice of one incapable of emotion.
"Another what?" she frowned.
"A -- a man?"
"O! No, no, I don't have --" she started to say "a boyfriend," but realized that he would not understand, so she ended, "-- any prospects."
Relief nearly drowned the poor elf as he stood there shaking from his fright. "Who is the Elf who travels with you?" he inquired cautiously.
"Who, Legolas? He's--" she stopped. She did not know how closely Gil- galad and Thranduil knew one another, and Legolas had not yet been born in this time, so it would probably not be safe to call him Thranduil's son.
"He is the betrothed of my good friend Andrea," she said.
"Ah."
"Will I see you tomorrow?" she asked abruptly.
"Would that you might," he answered, shaking his head ruefully, "but I must hold council with Elendil and Isildur."
"Will you come and see me the day after, before you leave?"
"I do not know where you are staying," he said rather pointedly, but within him his heart was thundering like the hooves of an unbroken stallion. She wanted to see him again?
"I'm staying with the widow Dorwen," she admitted quietly.
"I will do my absolute best," he said gravely. "You will see me again tomorrow night, or so I hope," he added.
"True, but I wanted to see you again... in real life; outside of my dreams."
In an astonished voice, Gil-galad began,
"You --"
Suddenly, the sun, whose light had been waning speedily, disappeared altogether. In that instant, both Gil-galad and Sivi awoke.
The great problem was what to do when the little band did meet the kings. Gil-galad, at least, had made it clear that he would not be turned away or dissuaded from returning to the battle. Sarah had tried her hand once more at devising plans; she suggested ambushing Gil-galad and Elendil and holding them "hostage" until the battle was over, but Sivi had shot down that idea in flames.
Six teens, a middle-aged supervisor, and one elf, all but three of them untrained in the art of combat, ambushing two kings twice their physical size, surrounded by an entourage, in full body armor, and armed to Elendil's teeth and Gil-gald's pointed ears?
"Are you MAD?!? We'd end up more full of spikes than the punch at a college fraternity party!"
"Oh. Yeah, I guess you're right."
So, as of yet, no plans had been laid. Sivi rubbed her temples. The three guys had gone back to the house of Widow Dorwen's sister. The other four girls were breathing deeply, calling Sivi after them into dreams, but she was not willing to sleep. She was almost sure she would dream again, and if she did, she was even more sure of what she would dream about. Yet she knew that she could not lie awake all night. She had done that before, in order to escape vicious nightmares, but she knew that tomorrow she would need her mind fresh for thinking. Tomorrow would be the last day before Gil- glad would leave Minas Tirith. It would be their last day to come up with a way to rescue him.
Somewhere between resignedly and begrudgingly, she settled down onto her cot and allowed her tired body to rest. At that point, sleep became inevitable, and she did not strive against it.
Gil-galad wished fervently that he might sleep. He was desperate to see her again, and it was beginning to appear that that would only be possible in his dreams. Yet the more he longed to nod off, the more awake he became. Finally, after numerous long, brutal hours of lying absolutely rigid on his bed and staring aimlessly at the ceiling, the elf slipped into a dream.
Still, something was not right. He should have been controlling his dream, at least in part, but it was not so. He was on a long and narrow ribbon of sand betwixt an ocean and a wood; so much was fine and presented no problem at all. The figure of a young woman robed in flowing, star-spun white silk stood only just out of his arm's length, her tawny hair blazing as it mirrored the rose-golden tidal wave of the setting sun's last light. Again, so much was good, more than pleasing to Gil-galad. Her back was to him. Well, what of that? These things were the settings of his dream, beyond his power to manipulate. The one thing an Elf is permitted to control in his dreams is himself, his reactions to the settings given him.
Yet that was just it: he could not react. He could not move, could not speak, could only stare at her in dumb fascination. He could not even cry out to her. What if she did not turn, did not see him or know he was there?
Even as this ugly thought occurred to him, she did turn, did see him. Gil-galad's heart nearly ceased to serve him as he saw disappointment and fear register in her eyes. He tried to speak to hear, to beg her not to look at him in such a way, but his lips were as useless and immobile as carven stone.
"Your Highness," she said with a curtsy far too formal and dignified.
Suddenly discovering that the leaden shroud had fallen from his body, the elf bowed almost pleadingly but did not speak. She waited for him to shower her with "Im mel lle's" and "Melui's", but he said nothing, to her great relief.
Then, he opened his mouth as if to address her, but no sound emerged. Concernedly, she asked,
"Are you all right?"
He started to clasp his throat, but his hand stopped midair. Tentatively, he managed,
"My lady?"
"Are you all right?" she asked again.
"I... I could not speak," he replied, but his voice had indeed been restored to him, as handsomely appealing as ever it had been.
"A moment ago, I could not move, either," he added shakily.
"I'm sorry," Sivi said, flushing. "I think it was my fault. I knew you were behind me, but I didn't want you... to touch me, so I hoped in my mind that... that you would stay where you were. Then, I... I didn't want you saying all those things to me that you did last night--"
"And my voice left me. I do not understand. Why should YOU be able to do that to ME? I'm the Elf."
"This is MY dream," she retorted rather pertly.
"I was not aware that humans could control their dreams, as elves do," Gil-galad returned by way of mild apology.
"Most can't," Sivi said softly. "I'm different."
"I meant no offense, M--"
The last word, as much as the elf worked his mouth, would not come out. He looked rather expressively at Sivi.
"I didn't do anything," she protested. "Try to speak."
"I... I don't understand. That one word... I cannot say it."
"What are you tr-- oh. You were going to call me Melui, weren't you? No wonder."
"You would rather that I did not refer to you so, I take it," murmured Gil-galad. A fresh pain revealed itself in the king's eyes. "Perhaps, then, you prefer 'Sivi'?"
"No, I prefer Telpeliniel," Sivi replied without blinking.
"Why did you lie to me?" the dejected elf asked miserably.
"I didn't. Telpeliniel is my Elven name. I told you it was only one of my names."
"What can I do? How can I make you at least TRUST me?"
"I don't want to go through this entire conversation again," she said. A twinkle appeared in her eyes. "But..."
"But?" Gil-galad pressed hopefully.
"If you can keep up with me, I'll talk to you," Sivi said mischievously. She had caused him enough grief that she owed him at least one game, one token of friendship, or so she felt.
"Will you allow me to move?" Gil-galad inquired pointedly, yet he was greatly encouraged by her sudden playful demeanor.
"Of course," she laughed. "See you later."
She took off down the beach at a speed Gil-galad had never seen in a human. Relieved to find that she had kept her word, that his feet would indeed respond to his mental urgings, he shot off. Lightning running jagged through the now orange sky could not have overtaken the determined elf. He made up for a few of the seconds he had lost, but he could not quite catch her. She was like a silver-golden phantom that was swept just beyond his reach by the four winds. He ran harder, pushing his disciplined muscles to achieve a speed so wild that he was certain he would fall out of sheer recklessness. Had Andrea been there, she would have nicknamed him, "The Blur," and for once, she would have made sense.
The beach was not infinite, or at least, was not uninterrupted. There rose before the two runners a towering, spiraling, ancient, structure made of what seemed to be white seashell, like so many allicorns of immortal unicorns grown from the earth itself. It resembles a tight-structured but immensely tall castle of Men.
Into the high, arced, door less portal of the place, Sivi dove without a thought. She raced down a long corridor and darted to her left, up a winding well of steps. "If he could catch her," had she said? "If he could find her" was now more appropriate.
Despairing, Gil-galad dashed more than headlong after her. Tracing her steps down the lengthy hall, he wondered almost madly which side passage she could have taken. As he started to pass a flight of stairs, something made him stop. Without knowing why, he felt certain that he must traverse those stairs to find her.
The muscles in his legs were flaming. The High Elven King had never before had to work so terribly hard to get what he wanted. He truly loved Sivi; he loved her as one loves a rare and brilliant gemstone. It was beautiful and bittersweet, this game she played with him. It thrilled his heart that she would spend time with him in games and childish fun, but if -- WHEN, he insisted to himself -- he caught her, what would be his prize? She had said that she would talk to him. No less, but then again no more, than one conversation would be awarded him. Not a drop, a trinket, or a bauble of her love would he win.
His light Elven boots found step after smooth, shallow step as he wound his way up, up, higher, faster, harder. He did not take the time to gaze around him. If he had, he would have noticed smooth, curving white walls, unlit by any torches, lanterns, or candles, or anything save thin streaks of white-gold light coming in through high slits of windows. He would have seen the occasional opening into the center of the tower. He might have noticed that he had not yet seen a door in the whole castle, nor any wood, nor stone; all was the same slick white shell.
Gil-galad's chest was beginning to burn. He would not let himself stop or even slow his pace, but instead spurred himself on faster. At last, the stairs led him through a square hole in the tower roof.
Gil-galad turned to his right -- and immediately could not move. If he had been able, he might have sprawled onto his stomach, so abrupt was his forced halt. He could not speak, and he was beginning to have trouble even thinking. He wondered -- as well as he could in light of his current inability to form a clear thought -- if she was wishing him out of existence.
Turning to him with a teasing grin, Sivi said simply,
"You win."
Instantly his body was once again his own to command, as were his voice and mind. "Please stop doing that to me," Gil-galad pleaded breathlessly.
"I'm sorry," she said sincerely. "And... I'm sorry about what I said last night, too. About not seeing you again. I didn't mean that."
Gil-galad's heart swelled. There was yet hope. Taking a cautious step towards her, he said,
"You don't have to be sorry. Ever. I'm sorry for hounding you as I've done. It's just... I honestly, earnestly love you."
"I didn't believe you last night," Sivi whispered. "Now I do."
She drew close to him and put a hand on his shoulder, one finger resting on the side of his throat. A welcome chill washed up and down his spine.
"Why can't we be together?" he asked softly.
"For many reasons," she replied. "Do you see the sun, how it sinks lower into the pool of the horizon? I am a human woman. Mine are people of the sunset. At our rising we are young and bright; in our zenith we are proud and fair; but when it comes time for our setting.." She trailed off, and the Elf said nothing. He knew what was the sunset of humankind: age and death.
"Yours," she went on, "are people of the countless, infinite, and immortal stars. How, then, can we be together?"
Still he made her no answer. She continued,
"Another reason is this" and she turned away from the ramparts and faced him once again. She tapped with one finger the breastplate of the king's golden armor.
"You leave the day after tomorrow for the siege at the Dark Tower," she reminded him sadly, "but I must remain."
"Battles are not forever," he returned weakly.
"Even so," said she, turning quickly away, "there is my mortality, and there are other reasons that I am not sure I could make you understand."
She thought of Pepsi, lawnmowers, and gumball machines. He caught the slight smile on her face, and his body went lifelessly cold.
"Is there another?" he asked in the voice of one incapable of emotion.
"Another what?" she frowned.
"A -- a man?"
"O! No, no, I don't have --" she started to say "a boyfriend," but realized that he would not understand, so she ended, "-- any prospects."
Relief nearly drowned the poor elf as he stood there shaking from his fright. "Who is the Elf who travels with you?" he inquired cautiously.
"Who, Legolas? He's--" she stopped. She did not know how closely Gil- galad and Thranduil knew one another, and Legolas had not yet been born in this time, so it would probably not be safe to call him Thranduil's son.
"He is the betrothed of my good friend Andrea," she said.
"Ah."
"Will I see you tomorrow?" she asked abruptly.
"Would that you might," he answered, shaking his head ruefully, "but I must hold council with Elendil and Isildur."
"Will you come and see me the day after, before you leave?"
"I do not know where you are staying," he said rather pointedly, but within him his heart was thundering like the hooves of an unbroken stallion. She wanted to see him again?
"I'm staying with the widow Dorwen," she admitted quietly.
"I will do my absolute best," he said gravely. "You will see me again tomorrow night, or so I hope," he added.
"True, but I wanted to see you again... in real life; outside of my dreams."
In an astonished voice, Gil-galad began,
"You --"
Suddenly, the sun, whose light had been waning speedily, disappeared altogether. In that instant, both Gil-galad and Sivi awoke.