Author's Note: Hey guys! (or maybe more like guy or girl *grumbles
miserably*) This chapter is kind of short and very messy I think. But
well, oh well, here it is all the same! But before you read I must say
that Irima might not get past the age of 7, or 9, or whatever miserable age
she is if I don't get any more reviews. I've seriously been contemplating
the termination of this fic if no one reviews because 0 reviews = 0 readers
( sad but true. And for any errors I have made, I humbly ask for your
forgiveness. So here is my chapter; Vamos ninos to the unknown! Oh, and
please review at the end of the chapter ( Irima would greatly appreciate
the continuance of her existence. Oh yeah, and if she dies you will all be
held responsible for her death.**in creepy Gollum
voice**:Muhhhhrrrdehhrerrr!!!
Disclaimer: yeah, yeah, I know.
************************************************************************
I screamed. I screamed when she did not move; I screamed when I felt that her hands were cold and frozen. And I screamed again when I saw that her eyes were closed. She was lying on the bed like a wax doll, healers and ladies surrounding her as if she were a goddess. Death: it was the mortal curse and yet it still held power over the fiercest of the Eldar. That was the day death's eyes met mine. As my mother lay still in her bed, I could feel his beady black eyes caress my small form. And I felt his icy fingers run over my cheeks as greedy red flames hungrily consumed my mother's body until all was left were frail, useless ashes. My tears were hot and wet in my eyes, but they burned cold with anger down my cheeks like cool droplets rolling off the slick surface of glaciers whose hardness now matched my own. That day, death had caressed me with his staff of grief and with his wise aged hands planted seeds of sorrow into my empty womb. That day, death had become my lover and his hands still hover over my heart where they have been ever since that day, that day....
***
"Irima! Irima!" They cried as they pulled me away from the woman on the bed. I grabbed at the sheets, the blankets, the creamy white dress, and the silvery brown hair not caring about anything except for proving that the woman on the bed was alive. I silently begged for her to wake to find me having a fit. I prayed for her to scream and beat me, threaten to have me flogged right here in Lothlorien if I didn't stop. Long pale hands- so many of them-covered my small red fists that balled around anything in reach and pried them off and away from whatever poor material I managed to crush in my heated and desperate hold. The alien white hands were leech- like and insistent, but I was determined to win. And with a strength and defiance I never knew existed in me, I thrashed and kicked, I bit and scratched at the soft white hands and fed off the sight of raw red wounds blooming against the pallor of their slim white fingers, marking them as my enemies.
They pleaded; they begged, they cried for me to stop. It is strange that through some event as harrowing as this, I could find no tears to solace me. After I realized my mother's death, I returned to Eriador. There I looked upon the faces of friends, family, mourners, and passerby's hoping to find some understanding, but in all attempts to comfort me, none could satisfy my grief. Their faces were cold and indifferent. I wanted them to scream and cry as I did; feel the wrath of realization slamming hard against their chests like fists. I wanted them to feel my grief-feel lost when faced by some truth whose acceptance you could not even fathom. My pain was too deep, too overwhelming to cry. Things are especially painful when you don't even understand.
***
My company and I stood there to bid farewell to the lord and lady of Lothlorien. Lord Celeborn was as distant as ever-even as he smiled, I could find no sincere warmth. The lady's eyes were cold and blank with a sadness I could not name. There was bitterness and a regret in those blue depths set against an ivory face and mass of soft golden waves. A whisper broke to my ears, though no one spoke a word, I heard it: "You are alone child." Something terrified screamed in me then, and though I was loath to admit it, I knew it was true. I unconsciously searched for the nearest hand to find comfort in some familiarity, to fight against the growing hollowness in the back of my mind that was making itself more and more prominent with each waking moment. My eyes never left those of the lady Galadriel's; in a steely grey challenge I held her blue orbs. There was no way she could be right. No way.
As Galadriel whispered the blessing that seemed to push our boats forward into the Anduin, I could hear that unnamed voice again taunting me over and over into aggravation, confusion, and finally realization of my own situation that was something so foreign to me. How could there be no Amme if there always was before? I could imagine life without Adar-something that had been somewhat of a reality in Eriador; but Amme was everywhere. And how could she not be? During the trip back to Eriador, Amme's death had been nothing but a fact that was yet to be proven.
I imagined her somewhere, laughing at her own cruel joke. She would want me to cry, but once the first tear would make itself known, she would be livid. "You would not want to show weakness in the face of your people, Irima!" and she would hiss out my name like it was a curse. How ironic it is that I missed her torment, her anger, her threats, and the way she spat out my name as if it were dripping of venom. I could not even remember a time when she was happy, though I told myself that there were probably many times-I just could not remember. I could not understand how so suddenly she was gone, and for a while I did not accept it. As far as I knew, Amme was not dead. I convinced myself that there was no proof; the night in Lothlorien was nothing! Amme was alive and waiting for me in Eriador, and after this everything would be as it was.
But as much as I believed this, some part of me still questioned the conviction with which I held this faith.
***
At the edge of 'Lorien, we met our horses where we left them. Elvean decided to ride out ahead of our party to scout the stretch of land that lay before us. With him he took weapons and a large linen bundle of supplies he would need. We started immediately after we found our horses wandering about languidly as they tested the variety of grasses that grew in the realm of the lady Galadriel. My companions unanimously decided that there would be no reason to delay our arrival to Eriador, though I could not understand how their usually relaxed manner suddenly shifted to hurried and snatched.
From my mount atop the horse where I sat sagging against Ellir's arm, I could see the light golden brush of morn peeking from behind the tops of green mellyrn. They were a great mass of trees both young and ancient, their leaves now turning gold from the soft whisper of an autumn yet to come.
"Look," he breathed. "The sunrise." Ellir pointed towards the radiant break in the clouds that split the grey drabness of thinning twilight in the sky. He was awestruck. The others sighed and nodded in agreement, letting the melancholy that surrounded our party to suddenly lift away to reveal daylight. I refused to look up even as his shoulder gently nudged me to take in the sight before us. My head stayed bent low, my eyes glued to the rock-strewn path. I heard him sigh and his breath ruffled my hair. I knew he was probably growing impatient with me but I was angry and I didn't care how he felt. He turned slightly to face the others behind us-exchanging meaningful glances no doubt-but I didn't care. Silence passed and the heavy shroud of an awkward quiet covered us again, but this time not even the beauty of dawn could lift the thick desperation I had cast on us all.
I heard the clanking of hooves and Lomiel appeared beside us. "I will take her," she offered, her voice regarding me as if I were some heavy, unpleasant burden. Her arms reached out towards me but I simply turned away, feeling shocked as hollow anger at her betrayal bloomed in me like pain. I let myself stare off blankly in the distance. There were all growing weary of me, I knew, but as long as Amme was not here, there would be no one to please.
Where was Amme? I told myself she was in Eriador, but doubt spun itself a web in the back of my mind and the hundreds of renegade spiders that had raided our camp became more and more real. I swallowed down the tears, but the burning in my throat only caused more tears to form from the pain of it. I tried desperately to reason with myself but in the end I simply pushed away all doubts, swallowing them down whole along with the tears that formed to no end. How could she be dead as they said? Wasn't it only a fortnight that we were together in Eriador? Wasn't it only three days ago that she came tearing through the forest to my side by the creek? She came to me, her sides seeping with blood, and she laid herself gently beside me, chanting healers' spells that had never failed her before. And she slept. She always slept after healing herself-drained by the very act. So how could she be dead as they said? There was no logical explanation that could pacify me so I simply succumbed to the simplest, easiest reason there was: Perhaps she wasn't dead after all. They had all been deceived. But not I..and that much I knew.
I looked about at my companions and I saw they were growing weary of me, full of frustration now, and simply tired of my silence, my sourness, and the limp and listless way I was now. I missed Amme. I could feel myself wilting from the very lack of her presence. So this was grief; I was mourning one who was not yet dead. But I knew they wondered if I would ever get better-something even I wondered myself.
From the corner of my eye I saw a white horse with a golden mane and light eyes riding up to my side. Riding the steed was a woman clad in pure white- from Lothlorien no doubt-mounted regally atop the animal. Her hair was the color of unbleached silk-almost white-braided to utter perfection. And her eyes! They were the palest blue I had ever seen.
"Come, Irima" came a soft voice. Melodious as it was, it held the firmness of steel in its persuasion. I took comfort in the command that hid itself in a blanket of velvet and let myself be taken by her. As she positioned me in front of her I looked into her eyes the color of endless heavens and in them I saw age and eternity staring me in the face. I marveled in awe of her, and then I knew....
She was my salvation.
Disclaimer: yeah, yeah, I know.
************************************************************************
I screamed. I screamed when she did not move; I screamed when I felt that her hands were cold and frozen. And I screamed again when I saw that her eyes were closed. She was lying on the bed like a wax doll, healers and ladies surrounding her as if she were a goddess. Death: it was the mortal curse and yet it still held power over the fiercest of the Eldar. That was the day death's eyes met mine. As my mother lay still in her bed, I could feel his beady black eyes caress my small form. And I felt his icy fingers run over my cheeks as greedy red flames hungrily consumed my mother's body until all was left were frail, useless ashes. My tears were hot and wet in my eyes, but they burned cold with anger down my cheeks like cool droplets rolling off the slick surface of glaciers whose hardness now matched my own. That day, death had caressed me with his staff of grief and with his wise aged hands planted seeds of sorrow into my empty womb. That day, death had become my lover and his hands still hover over my heart where they have been ever since that day, that day....
***
"Irima! Irima!" They cried as they pulled me away from the woman on the bed. I grabbed at the sheets, the blankets, the creamy white dress, and the silvery brown hair not caring about anything except for proving that the woman on the bed was alive. I silently begged for her to wake to find me having a fit. I prayed for her to scream and beat me, threaten to have me flogged right here in Lothlorien if I didn't stop. Long pale hands- so many of them-covered my small red fists that balled around anything in reach and pried them off and away from whatever poor material I managed to crush in my heated and desperate hold. The alien white hands were leech- like and insistent, but I was determined to win. And with a strength and defiance I never knew existed in me, I thrashed and kicked, I bit and scratched at the soft white hands and fed off the sight of raw red wounds blooming against the pallor of their slim white fingers, marking them as my enemies.
They pleaded; they begged, they cried for me to stop. It is strange that through some event as harrowing as this, I could find no tears to solace me. After I realized my mother's death, I returned to Eriador. There I looked upon the faces of friends, family, mourners, and passerby's hoping to find some understanding, but in all attempts to comfort me, none could satisfy my grief. Their faces were cold and indifferent. I wanted them to scream and cry as I did; feel the wrath of realization slamming hard against their chests like fists. I wanted them to feel my grief-feel lost when faced by some truth whose acceptance you could not even fathom. My pain was too deep, too overwhelming to cry. Things are especially painful when you don't even understand.
***
My company and I stood there to bid farewell to the lord and lady of Lothlorien. Lord Celeborn was as distant as ever-even as he smiled, I could find no sincere warmth. The lady's eyes were cold and blank with a sadness I could not name. There was bitterness and a regret in those blue depths set against an ivory face and mass of soft golden waves. A whisper broke to my ears, though no one spoke a word, I heard it: "You are alone child." Something terrified screamed in me then, and though I was loath to admit it, I knew it was true. I unconsciously searched for the nearest hand to find comfort in some familiarity, to fight against the growing hollowness in the back of my mind that was making itself more and more prominent with each waking moment. My eyes never left those of the lady Galadriel's; in a steely grey challenge I held her blue orbs. There was no way she could be right. No way.
As Galadriel whispered the blessing that seemed to push our boats forward into the Anduin, I could hear that unnamed voice again taunting me over and over into aggravation, confusion, and finally realization of my own situation that was something so foreign to me. How could there be no Amme if there always was before? I could imagine life without Adar-something that had been somewhat of a reality in Eriador; but Amme was everywhere. And how could she not be? During the trip back to Eriador, Amme's death had been nothing but a fact that was yet to be proven.
I imagined her somewhere, laughing at her own cruel joke. She would want me to cry, but once the first tear would make itself known, she would be livid. "You would not want to show weakness in the face of your people, Irima!" and she would hiss out my name like it was a curse. How ironic it is that I missed her torment, her anger, her threats, and the way she spat out my name as if it were dripping of venom. I could not even remember a time when she was happy, though I told myself that there were probably many times-I just could not remember. I could not understand how so suddenly she was gone, and for a while I did not accept it. As far as I knew, Amme was not dead. I convinced myself that there was no proof; the night in Lothlorien was nothing! Amme was alive and waiting for me in Eriador, and after this everything would be as it was.
But as much as I believed this, some part of me still questioned the conviction with which I held this faith.
***
At the edge of 'Lorien, we met our horses where we left them. Elvean decided to ride out ahead of our party to scout the stretch of land that lay before us. With him he took weapons and a large linen bundle of supplies he would need. We started immediately after we found our horses wandering about languidly as they tested the variety of grasses that grew in the realm of the lady Galadriel. My companions unanimously decided that there would be no reason to delay our arrival to Eriador, though I could not understand how their usually relaxed manner suddenly shifted to hurried and snatched.
From my mount atop the horse where I sat sagging against Ellir's arm, I could see the light golden brush of morn peeking from behind the tops of green mellyrn. They were a great mass of trees both young and ancient, their leaves now turning gold from the soft whisper of an autumn yet to come.
"Look," he breathed. "The sunrise." Ellir pointed towards the radiant break in the clouds that split the grey drabness of thinning twilight in the sky. He was awestruck. The others sighed and nodded in agreement, letting the melancholy that surrounded our party to suddenly lift away to reveal daylight. I refused to look up even as his shoulder gently nudged me to take in the sight before us. My head stayed bent low, my eyes glued to the rock-strewn path. I heard him sigh and his breath ruffled my hair. I knew he was probably growing impatient with me but I was angry and I didn't care how he felt. He turned slightly to face the others behind us-exchanging meaningful glances no doubt-but I didn't care. Silence passed and the heavy shroud of an awkward quiet covered us again, but this time not even the beauty of dawn could lift the thick desperation I had cast on us all.
I heard the clanking of hooves and Lomiel appeared beside us. "I will take her," she offered, her voice regarding me as if I were some heavy, unpleasant burden. Her arms reached out towards me but I simply turned away, feeling shocked as hollow anger at her betrayal bloomed in me like pain. I let myself stare off blankly in the distance. There were all growing weary of me, I knew, but as long as Amme was not here, there would be no one to please.
Where was Amme? I told myself she was in Eriador, but doubt spun itself a web in the back of my mind and the hundreds of renegade spiders that had raided our camp became more and more real. I swallowed down the tears, but the burning in my throat only caused more tears to form from the pain of it. I tried desperately to reason with myself but in the end I simply pushed away all doubts, swallowing them down whole along with the tears that formed to no end. How could she be dead as they said? Wasn't it only a fortnight that we were together in Eriador? Wasn't it only three days ago that she came tearing through the forest to my side by the creek? She came to me, her sides seeping with blood, and she laid herself gently beside me, chanting healers' spells that had never failed her before. And she slept. She always slept after healing herself-drained by the very act. So how could she be dead as they said? There was no logical explanation that could pacify me so I simply succumbed to the simplest, easiest reason there was: Perhaps she wasn't dead after all. They had all been deceived. But not I..and that much I knew.
I looked about at my companions and I saw they were growing weary of me, full of frustration now, and simply tired of my silence, my sourness, and the limp and listless way I was now. I missed Amme. I could feel myself wilting from the very lack of her presence. So this was grief; I was mourning one who was not yet dead. But I knew they wondered if I would ever get better-something even I wondered myself.
From the corner of my eye I saw a white horse with a golden mane and light eyes riding up to my side. Riding the steed was a woman clad in pure white- from Lothlorien no doubt-mounted regally atop the animal. Her hair was the color of unbleached silk-almost white-braided to utter perfection. And her eyes! They were the palest blue I had ever seen.
"Come, Irima" came a soft voice. Melodious as it was, it held the firmness of steel in its persuasion. I took comfort in the command that hid itself in a blanket of velvet and let myself be taken by her. As she positioned me in front of her I looked into her eyes the color of endless heavens and in them I saw age and eternity staring me in the face. I marveled in awe of her, and then I knew....
She was my salvation.