Hello, yet again! Welcome to the third chapter—that being Chapter Three, of course. Please try to remember that I do not own the Lord of the Rings, I just write about it because it's so much fun! ...right. Now that that's over, read on! =)
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Help Me Win...
Chapter Three~Unfound Mercy
Airië lifted her face against the howling wind once more. A gentle rumbling—as gentle as was possible to be heard above the wind—had begun above her head again. She flattened herself against the sheer rock-face to her left and remained there, breathing clouds of steamy breath into the snow-spotted air.
If this was the full wrath of Caradhras, she thought, it wasn't so bad. The wind did pose a threat at times, but the snow was of really no bother to her. Being an elf, the cold did not hinder her—rather, it made her feel fresh and energized. But, despite her keen sense of balance, she did find herself stumbling for footing because of the surging gusts that rocked the mountainside.
And now, this was the fourth avalanche she had encountered. The first and second ones hadn't been so bad, but the third had taken her quite a while to free herself of. She was fully expecting another torrent of snow, possibly even larger than the last. But, no matter how much she happened to expect, nothing could have prepared her for the ocean of debris that rained down on her from the ledges above.
Airië, as soon as she looked up and spotted the danger, lifted both arms to shield her face. The wind seemed to gasp and pause as a thundering river of snow fell onto herself and her path. The mountain, knowing enough about elves to know better than to block their paths, seemed to aim most of the snowy current at Airië herself.
It was a full fifteen minutes before Airië could, gasping and sputtering, raise her head into the wind once more. It knocked her newfound breath from her—somehow, the gale was blowing stronger than it had been before. A thought occurred to her as she pushed up on the snow and shifted her weight back to her feet; maybe the mountain did have the upper hand here. Her mind, elven though it was, could not stand up to the great, slow workings of something that had stood since the dawn of time.
A few more steps against the overpowering blast brought her to the bottom of the towering mound of snow and ice and stones. Her light feet allowed her to stay above the sinking depths of snow that would have enveloped her, had she been of any other race—but that was hardly an advantage. The wind blew with such force that each step became a labor harder than the last. Her pace slowed, and soon came to a wavering halt.
Finally, the elven-maid lowered her head in defeat. She had tried. Imladris probably lay in ruins now; everyone she had known or loved there must be either captured or dead. The only people she had left now were those of Lothlórien, the land of her mother's kin. And now, here she was, defeated by the mountain, less than halfway across.
Her head raised again to the faltering wind; as soon as she had stopped walking, the weather had begun to clear. "Mercy!" She cried aloud, her customarily fair elven-voice ragged and weary. "Have you none?" Airië did not expect an answer—nor did she expect mercy. She spoke out of sheer anguish, and anger at having failed.
The unexpected answer never came. So it was that, once more, though she knew it was hopeless, Airië turned her face eastward. Her feet walked of their own free will toward the ever-distant Lórien. Her pace was slow and heavy; willful, yet without resolve.
The winds and weather rose about her once more, but she paid no heed. Her feet walked until they could walk no more; the distance she had traveled may have been great or small—she didn't care any more. Rivendell was ruined, her very home was gone. There was no more reason to care.
She fell where her feet stopped walking, and lay limp in the snow until the bliss of unconciousness slowed her breathing and left her mind blank. The mountain let her lie; no snow covered her nor wind disturbed her as she lay, motionless, in the heights of the beautiful, relentlessly cruel Caradhras.
*~*
A pair of bright eyes shined among the many branches that made the borders of Lothlórien. They peered westward—into Dimrill Dale and toward the slopes of the Misty Mountains. The eyes were peircing—that of an elf, for only elven-eyes could be possibly seen in all the leaves and tree-limbs that hid the face they belonged to. The elf made no sound, nor any movement. The eyes' gaze did not waver for many long minutes.
Elven though they were, the two bright eyes could not see one of the mountains they faced. Caradhras, the Cruel, was wreathed and enveloped in dark, dangerous-looking clouds. It was this disturbance that brought the elf so far out of the forest. Elves were not usually allowed so far away from Caras Galadhon—they left the confines of the forest at their own risk. In fact, as young and sharp as they were, the elven-eyes must have belonged to a young elf—probably out of the forest without permission.
Indeed, Vanyalassë had crossed the Nimrodel without her father's permission. It wasn't the first time—she often came to this very place to watch the mountains. And it had been a while since she had seen Caradhras unleash it's wrath. Not since before the travellers had come—though that was not so long. Time seemed to have stretched, so much had happened—the first attack by the Orcs, her father announcing his intentions to leave for Rohan ... it was all so confusing.
The elven-maid sighed as she watched the coulds roll and tumble amongst themselves, atop the peak of cruel Caradhras. She had better be getting home now; there were likely to be Orcs about somewhere, and her father might panic if she were gone too long. Rising to her light feet, Vanyalassë cast one more glance back across the Dale and up at the mountains—and froze.
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Mwahahahaha! Do you hate me? Maybe you do—yet maybe you don't. *sigh* I guess you'll just have to review and tell me! *wink, wink* Excuse me ... I think I have something in my eye ... =)
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Help Me Win...
Chapter Three~Unfound Mercy
Airië lifted her face against the howling wind once more. A gentle rumbling—as gentle as was possible to be heard above the wind—had begun above her head again. She flattened herself against the sheer rock-face to her left and remained there, breathing clouds of steamy breath into the snow-spotted air.
If this was the full wrath of Caradhras, she thought, it wasn't so bad. The wind did pose a threat at times, but the snow was of really no bother to her. Being an elf, the cold did not hinder her—rather, it made her feel fresh and energized. But, despite her keen sense of balance, she did find herself stumbling for footing because of the surging gusts that rocked the mountainside.
And now, this was the fourth avalanche she had encountered. The first and second ones hadn't been so bad, but the third had taken her quite a while to free herself of. She was fully expecting another torrent of snow, possibly even larger than the last. But, no matter how much she happened to expect, nothing could have prepared her for the ocean of debris that rained down on her from the ledges above.
Airië, as soon as she looked up and spotted the danger, lifted both arms to shield her face. The wind seemed to gasp and pause as a thundering river of snow fell onto herself and her path. The mountain, knowing enough about elves to know better than to block their paths, seemed to aim most of the snowy current at Airië herself.
It was a full fifteen minutes before Airië could, gasping and sputtering, raise her head into the wind once more. It knocked her newfound breath from her—somehow, the gale was blowing stronger than it had been before. A thought occurred to her as she pushed up on the snow and shifted her weight back to her feet; maybe the mountain did have the upper hand here. Her mind, elven though it was, could not stand up to the great, slow workings of something that had stood since the dawn of time.
A few more steps against the overpowering blast brought her to the bottom of the towering mound of snow and ice and stones. Her light feet allowed her to stay above the sinking depths of snow that would have enveloped her, had she been of any other race—but that was hardly an advantage. The wind blew with such force that each step became a labor harder than the last. Her pace slowed, and soon came to a wavering halt.
Finally, the elven-maid lowered her head in defeat. She had tried. Imladris probably lay in ruins now; everyone she had known or loved there must be either captured or dead. The only people she had left now were those of Lothlórien, the land of her mother's kin. And now, here she was, defeated by the mountain, less than halfway across.
Her head raised again to the faltering wind; as soon as she had stopped walking, the weather had begun to clear. "Mercy!" She cried aloud, her customarily fair elven-voice ragged and weary. "Have you none?" Airië did not expect an answer—nor did she expect mercy. She spoke out of sheer anguish, and anger at having failed.
The unexpected answer never came. So it was that, once more, though she knew it was hopeless, Airië turned her face eastward. Her feet walked of their own free will toward the ever-distant Lórien. Her pace was slow and heavy; willful, yet without resolve.
The winds and weather rose about her once more, but she paid no heed. Her feet walked until they could walk no more; the distance she had traveled may have been great or small—she didn't care any more. Rivendell was ruined, her very home was gone. There was no more reason to care.
She fell where her feet stopped walking, and lay limp in the snow until the bliss of unconciousness slowed her breathing and left her mind blank. The mountain let her lie; no snow covered her nor wind disturbed her as she lay, motionless, in the heights of the beautiful, relentlessly cruel Caradhras.
*~*
A pair of bright eyes shined among the many branches that made the borders of Lothlórien. They peered westward—into Dimrill Dale and toward the slopes of the Misty Mountains. The eyes were peircing—that of an elf, for only elven-eyes could be possibly seen in all the leaves and tree-limbs that hid the face they belonged to. The elf made no sound, nor any movement. The eyes' gaze did not waver for many long minutes.
Elven though they were, the two bright eyes could not see one of the mountains they faced. Caradhras, the Cruel, was wreathed and enveloped in dark, dangerous-looking clouds. It was this disturbance that brought the elf so far out of the forest. Elves were not usually allowed so far away from Caras Galadhon—they left the confines of the forest at their own risk. In fact, as young and sharp as they were, the elven-eyes must have belonged to a young elf—probably out of the forest without permission.
Indeed, Vanyalassë had crossed the Nimrodel without her father's permission. It wasn't the first time—she often came to this very place to watch the mountains. And it had been a while since she had seen Caradhras unleash it's wrath. Not since before the travellers had come—though that was not so long. Time seemed to have stretched, so much had happened—the first attack by the Orcs, her father announcing his intentions to leave for Rohan ... it was all so confusing.
The elven-maid sighed as she watched the coulds roll and tumble amongst themselves, atop the peak of cruel Caradhras. She had better be getting home now; there were likely to be Orcs about somewhere, and her father might panic if she were gone too long. Rising to her light feet, Vanyalassë cast one more glance back across the Dale and up at the mountains—and froze.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Mwahahahaha! Do you hate me? Maybe you do—yet maybe you don't. *sigh* I guess you'll just have to review and tell me! *wink, wink* Excuse me ... I think I have something in my eye ... =)