SIXTH INSTALLMENT FOR QUEST FOR THE RINGS
6. VISIONS, CONFESSIONS AND EXPLANATIONS
A scream pierced the air, reverberating throughout the inn. Rorimac knew that voice in an instant. "Tarrodwen!" he shouted as he leaped up from the bed where he had been sharpening his sword. Rorimac bolted out the door to Tarrodwen's room with Legolas and Gandalf hot on his heels. He threw open the door to find Tarrodwen lying curled up tightly in a ball on her mattress. She was shaking uncontrollably and tears of terror rolled down her cheeks to tangle in her lovely hair.
"What's wrong? What happened?" Rorimac asked fervently as he knelt down beside her. He took hold of both her hands, which were tightened into unyielding fists, in one of his own and spoke more gently. "Tarrodwen, Tarrodwen. Can you hear me, love?" he leaned in closer to her and brushed away strands of hair from her sweat-drenched face. She simply continued rocking back and forth and shaking, not making any response to them at all.
"Let me near her," Legolas said suddenly. Rorimac looked at him with fear in his eyes, not wanting to let go of her, of Tarrodwen, whom he had comforted like a little sister all her life. "Please, Rorimac. Let me see her," Legolas urged gently. He put a hand on Rorimac's shoulder and gave him a look of compassion that spoke volumes. Hesitantly, Rorimac released his hold on her and stepped away.
"I'm going to stall the curious gawkers outside," Gandalf said quietly as he slipped out of the room.
Legolas put a cool hand to Tarrodwen's fevered forehead and closed his eyes. A faint blue light emanated from the elf's palm, pulsating as it grew to encompass Tarrodwen. Rorimac looked on in wonder at the Elvin healing he was witness to. Suddenly, there was a sharp intake of breath, another cry, and Tarrodwen opened her eyes.
I couldn't feel myself. It was as if I was floating in a void of darkness, as an entity, a being, with no shape or form, only a consciousness. The black was stifling; it seemed to possess an oppressive force that weighed me down, and choked me. With an abrupt pitch forward, I was thrown into motion. I was hurtling through a space so utterly and totally devoid of light, it could not even be called black, for that suggested an opposite for comparison; and in this place there was none.
Suddenly, I could see a small speck of flickering light up ahead. As I approached it I realized it was a blazing ball of intense white-hot fire. I panicked, and I heard a scream escape my lips. Struggling against the force pulling me inexorably forward, I tried to close my eyes, tried to shut out the inescapable death that was coming for me, to no avail. Closer and closer it came, getting hotter and hotter by the instant. Then it hit me, and I seemed to meld into it, to become the flames, and I lost all senses.
There before me, quite out of nowhere, appeared the words,
"A fellowship of four to take the ring,
With them destruction they will bring.
Without the power Geldrion will die,
All hope rests in the Elfling's eye."
They were written in gold and shined enticingly at me. As soon as I finished reading them, however, the gold seemed to melt into a red and red became blood, dripping out of the lines, oozing towards me as if it carried a life of its own. I cried out once more as it reached out to touch me, and suddenly, I heard a strong, and familiar, voice above me. "No, you may not have her," it said. A blue light seemed to reach out from nowhere, enclosing me and bathing everything in a comforting sapphire hue. The blood reared back in terror and began a slow retreat back from whence it came.
Abruptly, I was back in my room at the inn, with Legolas sitting next to me with his hand on my head. Rorimac was standing above me, his face contorted with anxiety and worry.
"It's all right, Tarrodwen. You're back with us. You're safe," Legolas told me soothingly. I could feel my heart pounding and I was shaking, but the sound of his soft voice calmed me and the touch of his skin reminded me of what was real.
"What happened?" Rorimac asked anxiously.
"A Vision," I said a bit breathlessly. "That's never happened to me before. I've never blacked out of reality so completely like that. It just...engulfed me," I said in baffled puzzlement. "And the Vision, it...it was a verse, it said, 'A fellowship of four to take the ring, with them destruction they will bring, without the power Geldrion will die, all hope rests in the Elfling's eye.' Now what is that?"
"Later, we'll figure it out later, you don't need to recount it right now. Just try to relax, love," Rorimac interrupted me. "I'm just so glad to see you're all right, you gave us all quite a scare," he said with a small smile.
"Rorimac, would you go enlighten Gandalf, please? I need to talk to Tarrodwen a moment before we let her rest," Legolas said. Rorimac nodded somewhat uncertainly, but said nothing. Legolas watched as he closed the door behind him, then returned his gaze to me.
"That was you, wasn't it," I asked him. "The blue light, I mean, you saved me," I said in slight wonder.
"At least I had the power to save one whom I love," he told me quietly with a sigh. He raised his eyes to look deep into mine, and a spark of pure energy seemed to jump between us. My mind exploded with a rekindled love for the man kneeling over me. Not a man, but an elf, an elf who not long ago held all my deepest affections, and I without so much as a glimmer of faith in his ever returning my love. Now, here he was, confessing to me that he indeed loved me, with that passionate look in his eye that I thought would never belong solely to me. I smiled up at him though the spring of joyful tears in my eyes, as he leaned forward and fervidly kissed me. My emotions swirled into a blissful chaos inside my mind, and everything hazed over to the point when I was aware of Legolas, and only Legolas.
All too soon he pulled away, and only the lingering half-smile so full of warmth and devotion, consoled my feeling of the loss of his touch. "Now," he said, in a voice, I noted delightedly, that was tinted with regret, "I need to ask you about your heritage." The question slightly surprised me. I hadn't realized that he had listened to me when I told him I was half-elf.
"Well," I started, slightly puzzled, my mind still in a whirl over his kiss, "My father was an Elf from the Glades, like Aceleniel. He traveled widely and met my mortal mother when in Krellon. They fell in love, he gave up his immortal life for her, and the rest is a storybook tale."
"Oh," he smiled with pleasure lighting up his face with the confirmation of my Elvin roots. "Tell me about yourself, Tarrodwen. Are you immortal? Is the quarterstaff your Weapon? I'm afraid I know very little about halflings, if you pardon the term," he asked me curiously.
"I probably know less than you about halflings, Legolas. I'm the only one I know," I told him with a faint smile. "But, yes, I am immortal. My mother conceived me before my father gave up his immortality, passing it on to me. As to the Weapon, I'm not sure I know what you're talking about."
"My bow, it is my Weapon," he patiently explained as he took my hand in his. "I was made to be an archer. No one ever taught me how to shoot, I just knew. I was born to wield a bow and arrow, to wield THAT bow. The Weapon itself is made just for me, no one else can shoot it--it simply will not bend for them." I looked at him wide-eyed. He had just explained to me the very experience I had gone through with my staff.
"Then, yes, my quarterstaff is my Weapon, only my receiving the staff was a bit odd."
"How so?" he asked me with a slight frown; his fingers intertwining with mine distracted me for a moment.
"Well, I won it playing poker in a tavern one night. The man who bet it said it was unbalanced enough that it wouldn't even lie on the floor properly. He said it wasn't worth anything as a quarterstaff, but that the silver engraving would cover his bet. I had been having rotten luck all night, but I went in one last time on this, on a hunch--and I won.
"Legolas, I felt something when I picked it up. It felt...right. I didn't know what the man was talking about when he said it was unbalanced. It was as balanced in my hands as if it had been crafted by the gods. It seemed to belong to me, to want me to use it, IT taught me to fight with a quarterstaff, and I haven't been beaten since," I finished in a disbelieving tone. I had never really thought about how I had learned to fight, but it all coming together so perfectly made me slightly skeptical.
He looked pensive for a moment then he abruptly stood up and left, coming back in with his bow in hand. "Let me see your staff," he said as he stood above me. I pointed to the nook behind the door, where my quarterstaff stood, gleaming richly in the lamplight. He picked it up and placed both staff and bow on the bed below my feet. A gasp escaped my lips at the same time that Legolas exclaimed in a low voice, "I knew it!"
Looking down at the pair of Weapons, it was clear that the silver engraving on each matched the other perfectly. "A match," Legolas declared in disbelief, "You ARE the one."
6. VISIONS, CONFESSIONS AND EXPLANATIONS
A scream pierced the air, reverberating throughout the inn. Rorimac knew that voice in an instant. "Tarrodwen!" he shouted as he leaped up from the bed where he had been sharpening his sword. Rorimac bolted out the door to Tarrodwen's room with Legolas and Gandalf hot on his heels. He threw open the door to find Tarrodwen lying curled up tightly in a ball on her mattress. She was shaking uncontrollably and tears of terror rolled down her cheeks to tangle in her lovely hair.
"What's wrong? What happened?" Rorimac asked fervently as he knelt down beside her. He took hold of both her hands, which were tightened into unyielding fists, in one of his own and spoke more gently. "Tarrodwen, Tarrodwen. Can you hear me, love?" he leaned in closer to her and brushed away strands of hair from her sweat-drenched face. She simply continued rocking back and forth and shaking, not making any response to them at all.
"Let me near her," Legolas said suddenly. Rorimac looked at him with fear in his eyes, not wanting to let go of her, of Tarrodwen, whom he had comforted like a little sister all her life. "Please, Rorimac. Let me see her," Legolas urged gently. He put a hand on Rorimac's shoulder and gave him a look of compassion that spoke volumes. Hesitantly, Rorimac released his hold on her and stepped away.
"I'm going to stall the curious gawkers outside," Gandalf said quietly as he slipped out of the room.
Legolas put a cool hand to Tarrodwen's fevered forehead and closed his eyes. A faint blue light emanated from the elf's palm, pulsating as it grew to encompass Tarrodwen. Rorimac looked on in wonder at the Elvin healing he was witness to. Suddenly, there was a sharp intake of breath, another cry, and Tarrodwen opened her eyes.
I couldn't feel myself. It was as if I was floating in a void of darkness, as an entity, a being, with no shape or form, only a consciousness. The black was stifling; it seemed to possess an oppressive force that weighed me down, and choked me. With an abrupt pitch forward, I was thrown into motion. I was hurtling through a space so utterly and totally devoid of light, it could not even be called black, for that suggested an opposite for comparison; and in this place there was none.
Suddenly, I could see a small speck of flickering light up ahead. As I approached it I realized it was a blazing ball of intense white-hot fire. I panicked, and I heard a scream escape my lips. Struggling against the force pulling me inexorably forward, I tried to close my eyes, tried to shut out the inescapable death that was coming for me, to no avail. Closer and closer it came, getting hotter and hotter by the instant. Then it hit me, and I seemed to meld into it, to become the flames, and I lost all senses.
There before me, quite out of nowhere, appeared the words,
"A fellowship of four to take the ring,
With them destruction they will bring.
Without the power Geldrion will die,
All hope rests in the Elfling's eye."
They were written in gold and shined enticingly at me. As soon as I finished reading them, however, the gold seemed to melt into a red and red became blood, dripping out of the lines, oozing towards me as if it carried a life of its own. I cried out once more as it reached out to touch me, and suddenly, I heard a strong, and familiar, voice above me. "No, you may not have her," it said. A blue light seemed to reach out from nowhere, enclosing me and bathing everything in a comforting sapphire hue. The blood reared back in terror and began a slow retreat back from whence it came.
Abruptly, I was back in my room at the inn, with Legolas sitting next to me with his hand on my head. Rorimac was standing above me, his face contorted with anxiety and worry.
"It's all right, Tarrodwen. You're back with us. You're safe," Legolas told me soothingly. I could feel my heart pounding and I was shaking, but the sound of his soft voice calmed me and the touch of his skin reminded me of what was real.
"What happened?" Rorimac asked anxiously.
"A Vision," I said a bit breathlessly. "That's never happened to me before. I've never blacked out of reality so completely like that. It just...engulfed me," I said in baffled puzzlement. "And the Vision, it...it was a verse, it said, 'A fellowship of four to take the ring, with them destruction they will bring, without the power Geldrion will die, all hope rests in the Elfling's eye.' Now what is that?"
"Later, we'll figure it out later, you don't need to recount it right now. Just try to relax, love," Rorimac interrupted me. "I'm just so glad to see you're all right, you gave us all quite a scare," he said with a small smile.
"Rorimac, would you go enlighten Gandalf, please? I need to talk to Tarrodwen a moment before we let her rest," Legolas said. Rorimac nodded somewhat uncertainly, but said nothing. Legolas watched as he closed the door behind him, then returned his gaze to me.
"That was you, wasn't it," I asked him. "The blue light, I mean, you saved me," I said in slight wonder.
"At least I had the power to save one whom I love," he told me quietly with a sigh. He raised his eyes to look deep into mine, and a spark of pure energy seemed to jump between us. My mind exploded with a rekindled love for the man kneeling over me. Not a man, but an elf, an elf who not long ago held all my deepest affections, and I without so much as a glimmer of faith in his ever returning my love. Now, here he was, confessing to me that he indeed loved me, with that passionate look in his eye that I thought would never belong solely to me. I smiled up at him though the spring of joyful tears in my eyes, as he leaned forward and fervidly kissed me. My emotions swirled into a blissful chaos inside my mind, and everything hazed over to the point when I was aware of Legolas, and only Legolas.
All too soon he pulled away, and only the lingering half-smile so full of warmth and devotion, consoled my feeling of the loss of his touch. "Now," he said, in a voice, I noted delightedly, that was tinted with regret, "I need to ask you about your heritage." The question slightly surprised me. I hadn't realized that he had listened to me when I told him I was half-elf.
"Well," I started, slightly puzzled, my mind still in a whirl over his kiss, "My father was an Elf from the Glades, like Aceleniel. He traveled widely and met my mortal mother when in Krellon. They fell in love, he gave up his immortal life for her, and the rest is a storybook tale."
"Oh," he smiled with pleasure lighting up his face with the confirmation of my Elvin roots. "Tell me about yourself, Tarrodwen. Are you immortal? Is the quarterstaff your Weapon? I'm afraid I know very little about halflings, if you pardon the term," he asked me curiously.
"I probably know less than you about halflings, Legolas. I'm the only one I know," I told him with a faint smile. "But, yes, I am immortal. My mother conceived me before my father gave up his immortality, passing it on to me. As to the Weapon, I'm not sure I know what you're talking about."
"My bow, it is my Weapon," he patiently explained as he took my hand in his. "I was made to be an archer. No one ever taught me how to shoot, I just knew. I was born to wield a bow and arrow, to wield THAT bow. The Weapon itself is made just for me, no one else can shoot it--it simply will not bend for them." I looked at him wide-eyed. He had just explained to me the very experience I had gone through with my staff.
"Then, yes, my quarterstaff is my Weapon, only my receiving the staff was a bit odd."
"How so?" he asked me with a slight frown; his fingers intertwining with mine distracted me for a moment.
"Well, I won it playing poker in a tavern one night. The man who bet it said it was unbalanced enough that it wouldn't even lie on the floor properly. He said it wasn't worth anything as a quarterstaff, but that the silver engraving would cover his bet. I had been having rotten luck all night, but I went in one last time on this, on a hunch--and I won.
"Legolas, I felt something when I picked it up. It felt...right. I didn't know what the man was talking about when he said it was unbalanced. It was as balanced in my hands as if it had been crafted by the gods. It seemed to belong to me, to want me to use it, IT taught me to fight with a quarterstaff, and I haven't been beaten since," I finished in a disbelieving tone. I had never really thought about how I had learned to fight, but it all coming together so perfectly made me slightly skeptical.
He looked pensive for a moment then he abruptly stood up and left, coming back in with his bow in hand. "Let me see your staff," he said as he stood above me. I pointed to the nook behind the door, where my quarterstaff stood, gleaming richly in the lamplight. He picked it up and placed both staff and bow on the bed below my feet. A gasp escaped my lips at the same time that Legolas exclaimed in a low voice, "I knew it!"
Looking down at the pair of Weapons, it was clear that the silver engraving on each matched the other perfectly. "A match," Legolas declared in disbelief, "You ARE the one."