Not to know what happened before we were born,
Is to remain perpetually a child.
For what is the worth of a human life unless it is
Woven into the life of our ancestors by the records of history?
The world spun beneath her: a distant haze against the magenta sky. She wanted to cling to the ground, worried that it might spin out of control and knock her off her feet. But she knew she couldn't cling to anything, she knew she couldn't do anything. She knew for a fact that she was completely paralyzed; a lowly spirit constrained within a lifeless body. She knew it would be over soon-she knew everything would end. She knew the pain wouldn't last forever.
But even though she knew her time was up, knew there was nothing to keep her here, she wanted to see the world with her blind eyes, one last time. Almost unwillingly she pried her bloodstained eyelids apart and gazed about the world around her. She saw a gorgeous blue sky above, birds fluttering passed her face and sunshine caressing her body in its warmth. She saw black daisies, millions-maybe billions of them, swallowing her up in their ocean of sweet aroma. She saw the hilly valley gently sloping down into a pool of crystal blue water, a small waterfall plummeting to it from the heights above.
But everything she saw was really only the effect of the inner mechanisms of her mind, firing and projecting images of her past about her as death overtook her. The real sky above her was a gray, blackening mass of sadness and betrayal, no sun painting her beauty across it. All around the air was thick with death and decay, smoke from the burning carcasses and blood from the bodies just slaughtered and lying in heaps at the base of the Keep. No black daisies were anywhere to be found-let alone any other flower, and only decapitated weeds possessed the earth.
But as none of this was visible to her she just lye there, smiling up at the blue sky above, breathing in the fresh air and smell of the daisies. She didn't even feel it when another dying body fell over her in their last attempts of survival. Nor did she notice it when her eyes drifted shut, and didn't open again.
* * *
"She's been asleep for hours."
"Is she alright though?"
"She was badly injured, temporarily paralyzed from the torso down."
"How long is she bound to this bed?"
"Not long; she is brave and wrought as of iron. Her wounds will mend quickly."
"Thank the Gods."
Cedahlia listened in on this conversation in a dazed manor. She was half listening half-sleeping, a worn and weathered creature bound to the inter boundary of life and death. She could just barely make out the hushed voices near to her, speaking quickly, well mannered and poised. She couldn't recognize the first voice; a woman's quiet and sweet, caring and devoted. She'd never heard it before.
The second voice she knew only too well, but at the moment she couldn't quite place it with a face. It was a male voice, juvenile and buoyant, tinged with anxiousness and longing. But trying to remember who the voice belonged to pained Cedahlia, and her head throbbed with each weak moment of tried concentration.
What had happened? She couldn't remember. In fact, to begin with she had absolutely no memory at all, and the only thought her mind possessed was how soft a bed she lay in, cradling the pain away. To begin with she knew no life nor death, nor the bounty of her deeds that had lead her to lye in this unknown parallel.
Unwillingly she opened her eyes and cringed at the intake of sudden bright light. For a moment all Cedahlia could see was a collage of colors, swimming before her, but after blinking a couple times her eyes became accustomed to the light about her and she was able to see a window, sunlight reflected off of it and mirrored onto her face. She looked to her body and found she was clothed in a silky white dressing gown, stitched to perfection and made to have the feel of pure water. Cedahlia wasn't surprised to find she was lying in a huge bed, the sheets almost the same silky material as her dress. The soft pillows beneath her sweltering head were stuffed with down, meant to have the feeling of clouds. But this wasn't much of a new addition to Cedahlia's experiences; her head was almost always in the clouds.
"Ceda? Ceda you're awake!"
Cedahlia turned her head slightly to stare wide-eyed at the male who'd been talking earlier.
It was an elf. A blonde one large velvety blue eyes that seemed to embrace you with each passing moment. He was a strong looking elf, tall, lean and very fare skinned. He was clothed in a weathered traveling cloak and upon his belt was a long sheathed swords and a couple of daggers that glinted in the sunlight. Cedahlia supposed his bow and quiver were probably somewhere in this room, set down out of politeness and respect. The elf smiled at her and placed his fingers gently to her cheek.
"Rory?" Cedahlia tried to ask, finally recalling the elf's name. But the words were caught up in her throat and she wasn't quite sure if she'd made a sound or not.
"How are you feeling?" Rory asked urgently. "Are you alright? They took a huge blow to your head, can you feel it? Are you-"
"Sir, the last thing she needs right now is to be questioned so." The bearer of the sweet, female voice said, coming into Cedahlia's limited view.
She was apparently a chambermaid, dressed in white and her hair done up in two plaits. She too was an elf, but a rather plump one at that. She had rosy cheeks and a piercing blue gaze that sparkled in the light. She smiled sweetly at Cedahlia, but scowled at Rory.
Rory had never been one to take being chastised very well, and he furrowed his brow at the chambermaid as she prepared to dab Cedahlia's wounds with a wet cloth.
"How are you feeling?" the chambermaid asked Cedahlia with concern as she attempted to soak a large gash on Cedahlia's cheekbone.
Cedahlia cleared her throat a couple of times before answering. "I'm okay-a bit dim witted I fear but I'll manage."
The chambermaid smiled. "That's good."
"May I speak to Rory?" Cedahlia asked, her throat feeling sore and tired.
"As soon as I'm done here," the chambermaid replied briskly, dipping her cloth back into the bowl of water set out on the bedside table.
"But this is terribly urgent," Cedahlia argued.
"So are your wounds."
"Please!" Cedahlia cried, her head beginning to swelter in pain again.
"Alright, alright," the chambermaid surrendered. She stepped back from her job and stood tall. "But make it quick," she said shortly.
Cedahlia cleared her throat yet again. "I wish to speak to Rory alone," she said, malice nearly dripping off her every word.
Looking offended the chambermaid turned in a huff and stomped out of the room, shutting the door with a rude snap behind her.
"I thought she would never leave!" Rory said after a moment of silence. He moved back towards Cedahlia and leaned onto the bed to beam at her.
"So tell me," Cedahlia said, leaning back into her pillows. "Where in God's name am I?"
"The household of Lord Elrond," Rory replied, still smiling as he gazed intently at Cedahlia. "You sure you okay? You have the largest bruise on your head and your fare skin is weathered and sliced."
"Of coarse I'm not okay!" Cedahlia cried. "My head burns with the same intensity as magma and my wound feel as if they keep getting bigger! I just told that chambermaid I was fine as it's none of her concern as to how my state of being is and if I had told her I was feeling off she would have never let us be."
"Good musing," Rory said, grinning his signature roguish grin.
"Now will you tell me what happened?" Cedahlia asked. "Why am I here? How'd I get all cut up?"
"You don't recall? Blimey!" Rory shook his head in disprove. "It was the battle! You were sliced to bits during the battle!"
"Which battle?" Cedahlia cried.
"At Osgiliath," Rory replied. "Don't you remember; 'The enemy is rising, gathering power. We must flee to Osgiliath and protect the West Fold, which is besieged.' Do you not recall Gandalf's very words when he caught up with us in Rohan? Do you not remember that great horde of uruk-hai we watched march over the Rohirian border? Or how you bravely fought the men of the south? You, the only woman on the entire battlefield."
"No, I do not recall," Cedahlia cried. "Do not baffle me with such inquiries! All I remember is you taking my hand and saying something I hadn't understood, and then me, staring up at a blue, clear sky."
"Well I have no memories of any blue sky," Rory said, raising his left eyebrow. "But I do recall that time as we watched the uruks approach, the time I took your hand and told you everything was going to be alright. And just look at us now, we're perfectly fine! I'm a miracle man!"
Cedahlia rolled her eyes. "Rory?"
"Yes?"
"Leave me be, for I wish to rest."
"Alright, alright," Rory said, climbing to his feet. "Goodnight," he said, ever grinning as he lightly kissed Cedahlia's forehead. Then he turned and moved towards the door. With a last look at Cedahlia, tucked pleasantly
within her bed, he turned away and closed the door softly.
The world spun beneath her: a distant haze against the magenta sky. She wanted to cling to the ground, worried that it might spin out of control and knock her off her feet. But she knew she couldn't cling to anything, she knew she couldn't do anything. She knew for a fact that she was completely paralyzed; a lowly spirit constrained within a lifeless body. She knew it would be over soon-she knew everything would end. She knew the pain wouldn't last forever.
But even though she knew her time was up, knew there was nothing to keep her here, she wanted to see the world with her blind eyes, one last time. Almost unwillingly she pried her bloodstained eyelids apart and gazed about the world around her. She saw a gorgeous blue sky above, birds fluttering passed her face and sunshine caressing her body in its warmth. She saw black daisies, millions-maybe billions of them, swallowing her up in their ocean of sweet aroma. She saw the hilly valley gently sloping down into a pool of crystal blue water, a small waterfall plummeting to it from the heights above.
But everything she saw was really only the effect of the inner mechanisms of her mind, firing and projecting images of her past about her as death overtook her. The real sky above her was a gray, blackening mass of sadness and betrayal, no sun painting her beauty across it. All around the air was thick with death and decay, smoke from the burning carcasses and blood from the bodies just slaughtered and lying in heaps at the base of the Keep. No black daisies were anywhere to be found-let alone any other flower, and only decapitated weeds possessed the earth.
But as none of this was visible to her she just lye there, smiling up at the blue sky above, breathing in the fresh air and smell of the daisies. She didn't even feel it when another dying body fell over her in their last attempts of survival. Nor did she notice it when her eyes drifted shut, and didn't open again.
* * *
"She's been asleep for hours."
"Is she alright though?"
"She was badly injured, temporarily paralyzed from the torso down."
"How long is she bound to this bed?"
"Not long; she is brave and wrought as of iron. Her wounds will mend quickly."
"Thank the Gods."
Cedahlia listened in on this conversation in a dazed manor. She was half listening half-sleeping, a worn and weathered creature bound to the inter boundary of life and death. She could just barely make out the hushed voices near to her, speaking quickly, well mannered and poised. She couldn't recognize the first voice; a woman's quiet and sweet, caring and devoted. She'd never heard it before.
The second voice she knew only too well, but at the moment she couldn't quite place it with a face. It was a male voice, juvenile and buoyant, tinged with anxiousness and longing. But trying to remember who the voice belonged to pained Cedahlia, and her head throbbed with each weak moment of tried concentration.
What had happened? She couldn't remember. In fact, to begin with she had absolutely no memory at all, and the only thought her mind possessed was how soft a bed she lay in, cradling the pain away. To begin with she knew no life nor death, nor the bounty of her deeds that had lead her to lye in this unknown parallel.
Unwillingly she opened her eyes and cringed at the intake of sudden bright light. For a moment all Cedahlia could see was a collage of colors, swimming before her, but after blinking a couple times her eyes became accustomed to the light about her and she was able to see a window, sunlight reflected off of it and mirrored onto her face. She looked to her body and found she was clothed in a silky white dressing gown, stitched to perfection and made to have the feel of pure water. Cedahlia wasn't surprised to find she was lying in a huge bed, the sheets almost the same silky material as her dress. The soft pillows beneath her sweltering head were stuffed with down, meant to have the feeling of clouds. But this wasn't much of a new addition to Cedahlia's experiences; her head was almost always in the clouds.
"Ceda? Ceda you're awake!"
Cedahlia turned her head slightly to stare wide-eyed at the male who'd been talking earlier.
It was an elf. A blonde one large velvety blue eyes that seemed to embrace you with each passing moment. He was a strong looking elf, tall, lean and very fare skinned. He was clothed in a weathered traveling cloak and upon his belt was a long sheathed swords and a couple of daggers that glinted in the sunlight. Cedahlia supposed his bow and quiver were probably somewhere in this room, set down out of politeness and respect. The elf smiled at her and placed his fingers gently to her cheek.
"Rory?" Cedahlia tried to ask, finally recalling the elf's name. But the words were caught up in her throat and she wasn't quite sure if she'd made a sound or not.
"How are you feeling?" Rory asked urgently. "Are you alright? They took a huge blow to your head, can you feel it? Are you-"
"Sir, the last thing she needs right now is to be questioned so." The bearer of the sweet, female voice said, coming into Cedahlia's limited view.
She was apparently a chambermaid, dressed in white and her hair done up in two plaits. She too was an elf, but a rather plump one at that. She had rosy cheeks and a piercing blue gaze that sparkled in the light. She smiled sweetly at Cedahlia, but scowled at Rory.
Rory had never been one to take being chastised very well, and he furrowed his brow at the chambermaid as she prepared to dab Cedahlia's wounds with a wet cloth.
"How are you feeling?" the chambermaid asked Cedahlia with concern as she attempted to soak a large gash on Cedahlia's cheekbone.
Cedahlia cleared her throat a couple of times before answering. "I'm okay-a bit dim witted I fear but I'll manage."
The chambermaid smiled. "That's good."
"May I speak to Rory?" Cedahlia asked, her throat feeling sore and tired.
"As soon as I'm done here," the chambermaid replied briskly, dipping her cloth back into the bowl of water set out on the bedside table.
"But this is terribly urgent," Cedahlia argued.
"So are your wounds."
"Please!" Cedahlia cried, her head beginning to swelter in pain again.
"Alright, alright," the chambermaid surrendered. She stepped back from her job and stood tall. "But make it quick," she said shortly.
Cedahlia cleared her throat yet again. "I wish to speak to Rory alone," she said, malice nearly dripping off her every word.
Looking offended the chambermaid turned in a huff and stomped out of the room, shutting the door with a rude snap behind her.
"I thought she would never leave!" Rory said after a moment of silence. He moved back towards Cedahlia and leaned onto the bed to beam at her.
"So tell me," Cedahlia said, leaning back into her pillows. "Where in God's name am I?"
"The household of Lord Elrond," Rory replied, still smiling as he gazed intently at Cedahlia. "You sure you okay? You have the largest bruise on your head and your fare skin is weathered and sliced."
"Of coarse I'm not okay!" Cedahlia cried. "My head burns with the same intensity as magma and my wound feel as if they keep getting bigger! I just told that chambermaid I was fine as it's none of her concern as to how my state of being is and if I had told her I was feeling off she would have never let us be."
"Good musing," Rory said, grinning his signature roguish grin.
"Now will you tell me what happened?" Cedahlia asked. "Why am I here? How'd I get all cut up?"
"You don't recall? Blimey!" Rory shook his head in disprove. "It was the battle! You were sliced to bits during the battle!"
"Which battle?" Cedahlia cried.
"At Osgiliath," Rory replied. "Don't you remember; 'The enemy is rising, gathering power. We must flee to Osgiliath and protect the West Fold, which is besieged.' Do you not recall Gandalf's very words when he caught up with us in Rohan? Do you not remember that great horde of uruk-hai we watched march over the Rohirian border? Or how you bravely fought the men of the south? You, the only woman on the entire battlefield."
"No, I do not recall," Cedahlia cried. "Do not baffle me with such inquiries! All I remember is you taking my hand and saying something I hadn't understood, and then me, staring up at a blue, clear sky."
"Well I have no memories of any blue sky," Rory said, raising his left eyebrow. "But I do recall that time as we watched the uruks approach, the time I took your hand and told you everything was going to be alright. And just look at us now, we're perfectly fine! I'm a miracle man!"
Cedahlia rolled her eyes. "Rory?"
"Yes?"
"Leave me be, for I wish to rest."
"Alright, alright," Rory said, climbing to his feet. "Goodnight," he said, ever grinning as he lightly kissed Cedahlia's forehead. Then he turned and moved towards the door. With a last look at Cedahlia, tucked pleasantly
within her bed, he turned away and closed the door softly.