The Rising.
By Ardurel
Chapter One
Meeting
"Come on!" I whispered fiercely to no one in particular. The freezing November air bit painfully at my face, but I took little notice. My mount took a gigantic leap over the log that loomed ahead of us. I gathered my frozen leather reins and leaned forward, urging Feamur into a fast gallop. He slid on the ice, recovering quickly. I knew this was dangerous but I cared very little. I heard Feamur's breath heaving and his muscles bunched beneath my legs. Come on! I thought, raising my head to the howling wind. Come on! Feamur came. He hurtled over our next obstacle, a stone wall, and stumbled on the other side. I reached for my rawhide whip, hitting Feamur hard on the flank. He reared in agony but I hung on, his wild flaxen mane whipping me hard in the face.
"Kodir is dead!" I screamed. Red hot anger welled up inside my chest. "I hate you," my voice is a faint whisper now. "Kodir is dead. Kodir is dead." I repeat over and over. Tears stream down my face in boiling drops as I lean on Feamur's sweaty neck. "He's gone. He's gone and it's my fault. It's all my fault. It's all my fault. It's all my fault. He's gone." Feamur is covered in cold sweat, and I don't feel sorry.
"Ene!" I'm being called. I don't answer. Spurring Feamur on, we take a tremendous leap over the stone wall surrounding our little farm, and that's the last time I saw my home, and I don't regret it.
It's winter in Rohan. It freezes the skin rock hard, it burns. Nothing can stop the burning. I sit on the ground, shivering and cold, but my thoughts are icier than the air. Feamur is long gone. Where he is, I don't know. I fell when passing through a field and away he flew.
I pick up my bag of useless items; needles and thread, a map of my village, a book of the high Elven language, Quenya, and a brass belt buckle, all possessions of my father. My father. The very thought rang throughout my head like a bell. He was long dead by now. Orcs, evil beasts under some evil power I do not know of, ambushed our village not more than a month ago. Some shuddered at the very thought of them, but I am not afraid. I fear nothing. Not the chilling wind on my bare chest, not the days that pass me by. Nor death.
There in the snow lay my only valuables. A silvery sword in a sheath of gold, lay at my feet. I pick it up, and feel ready for any enemy to cross my path. It was forged in our village, and is probably the best sword I have ever seen. Its blade is light, sharp, and quick to meet flesh.
My next most prized possession is a neethril necklace. I keep it hidden in my bodice most of the time, but now I gaze at it longingly. Once when I was a girl, I would walk amongst the forest near our village. Some say It was a magical place, where the wizard, Gandalf, used to stroll deep into its midst. All of a sudden, I saw a blinding flash of white light. Terrified, I hid among the bushes, waiting for it to cease. I fell into a deep sleep.
Elves were singing an eerie song, a lament to someone. I only understood three words; king, death, and life. Then, as quickly as it had started, it stopped.
Terrified, my mind blank, I scrambled out from behind the bushes, There in my path lay the necklace. I reached out a hand to grab it. Tentatively, I held it up into the light. It felt warm beneath my fingers. A comforting feeling washed over me, and I pocketed it, running home and never looking back.
That night, I had a dream. The king was bowing before me, kissing my hands and crying. I felt light, like I was hovering a few inches off the ground. Then, the sky turned dark and gray. Dragons were burning the villages, charring everything in their path. I was not afraid. I lifted my hands and closed my eyes. The necklace I had found glowed white hot on my half-naked chest. The dragons were struck by lightning, and the burned land disappeared. A loud cheering filled my ears…
I had no idea what the dream meant. It was no matter, it was unimportant now. Although, I have the faintest idea that the necklace I had found will be important in my future. Somehow, I will use it to fulfill my destiny.
I shook my head. How could that be? Here I am, a wandering peasant, deprived of my mount and no idea where I was.
"Cursed be this cold." I complained, biting my numb tongue and pulling my cloak around me. There on the frosty ground lay my last possessions of some importance to me; my riding whip ("Of course." I said aloud. "Very important now that Feamur is gone!" The bitter thought clawed at my mind.) and two dresses, a deep ruby one with wide sleeves and a low front, and a white gown with gold trimming. Also, a bag of my money, which was not so useless, was partially concealed by the snow.
I had a decent amount of coins. I had always worked tirelessly for long hours to save money to help our farm. However, I was miles from there at the moment. The money now belonged to me. If I ever reached a market, it would be useful.
I opened the map, looking hopelessly for any sign of where I might be. Without a horse, I was making very slow progress. My shoes were worn and stiff. I didn't dare take them off to stitch them for risk of frostbite, which would only make matters worse. I stuffed my things back into my sack, grabbed my sword, and was off.
Ahead of me lay a grove of trees covered by snow. I dared not stop, for If I did, I might not start again. Come on! Keep going! Don't stop! I trudged on, my sword swinging at my side.
I wondered if I might meet someone out here, although, I had no idea where I was. I was far from my village, and that was for sure.
I looked into the horizon. The sun was sinking down slowly, it was almost nightfall. Already the moon shone and stars began to pear out at me. My stomach ached with hunger, but I ignored it, looking for a place to make camp. A circle of huge boulders would suffice, I thought to myself, and made my way towards them.
Laying my sword down into the snow, I bared a patch of ground and lay down on the snow, pulling my cloak off and using it as a blanket, and may sack as a pillow. I do not know why, but I fasten my necklace of neethril around my neck as well.
*************************
The next morning is much warmer. The snow has begun to melt. Winter is falling under spring's spell. I rise from my place on the ground, expecting to be wet and uncomfortable, but I'm not. Instead, I am dry as can be.
"How can this be so?" I look around wildly. My sack is wet, and the sheath of my sword is glistening in thick dew, but here I stand, warm and dry, bewildered. Then something caught my sight. It was a man.
I gasped and grabbed my sword and sack, but hw took little notice. He was listening for a far off sound, his ear flat against a large rock. My throat felt dry. Who was he? What was he doing here?
I was breathing loudly, but he still took little notice. In fact, he held his hand up to his lips, hushing me. I felt embarrassed, but didn't sheath my sword. I would take no chances. All of a sudden, he called to someone. I took a sharp intake of breath, sword poised to attack. The man stood up.
"And who are you?"
By Ardurel
Chapter One
Meeting
"Come on!" I whispered fiercely to no one in particular. The freezing November air bit painfully at my face, but I took little notice. My mount took a gigantic leap over the log that loomed ahead of us. I gathered my frozen leather reins and leaned forward, urging Feamur into a fast gallop. He slid on the ice, recovering quickly. I knew this was dangerous but I cared very little. I heard Feamur's breath heaving and his muscles bunched beneath my legs. Come on! I thought, raising my head to the howling wind. Come on! Feamur came. He hurtled over our next obstacle, a stone wall, and stumbled on the other side. I reached for my rawhide whip, hitting Feamur hard on the flank. He reared in agony but I hung on, his wild flaxen mane whipping me hard in the face.
"Kodir is dead!" I screamed. Red hot anger welled up inside my chest. "I hate you," my voice is a faint whisper now. "Kodir is dead. Kodir is dead." I repeat over and over. Tears stream down my face in boiling drops as I lean on Feamur's sweaty neck. "He's gone. He's gone and it's my fault. It's all my fault. It's all my fault. It's all my fault. He's gone." Feamur is covered in cold sweat, and I don't feel sorry.
"Ene!" I'm being called. I don't answer. Spurring Feamur on, we take a tremendous leap over the stone wall surrounding our little farm, and that's the last time I saw my home, and I don't regret it.
It's winter in Rohan. It freezes the skin rock hard, it burns. Nothing can stop the burning. I sit on the ground, shivering and cold, but my thoughts are icier than the air. Feamur is long gone. Where he is, I don't know. I fell when passing through a field and away he flew.
I pick up my bag of useless items; needles and thread, a map of my village, a book of the high Elven language, Quenya, and a brass belt buckle, all possessions of my father. My father. The very thought rang throughout my head like a bell. He was long dead by now. Orcs, evil beasts under some evil power I do not know of, ambushed our village not more than a month ago. Some shuddered at the very thought of them, but I am not afraid. I fear nothing. Not the chilling wind on my bare chest, not the days that pass me by. Nor death.
There in the snow lay my only valuables. A silvery sword in a sheath of gold, lay at my feet. I pick it up, and feel ready for any enemy to cross my path. It was forged in our village, and is probably the best sword I have ever seen. Its blade is light, sharp, and quick to meet flesh.
My next most prized possession is a neethril necklace. I keep it hidden in my bodice most of the time, but now I gaze at it longingly. Once when I was a girl, I would walk amongst the forest near our village. Some say It was a magical place, where the wizard, Gandalf, used to stroll deep into its midst. All of a sudden, I saw a blinding flash of white light. Terrified, I hid among the bushes, waiting for it to cease. I fell into a deep sleep.
Elves were singing an eerie song, a lament to someone. I only understood three words; king, death, and life. Then, as quickly as it had started, it stopped.
Terrified, my mind blank, I scrambled out from behind the bushes, There in my path lay the necklace. I reached out a hand to grab it. Tentatively, I held it up into the light. It felt warm beneath my fingers. A comforting feeling washed over me, and I pocketed it, running home and never looking back.
That night, I had a dream. The king was bowing before me, kissing my hands and crying. I felt light, like I was hovering a few inches off the ground. Then, the sky turned dark and gray. Dragons were burning the villages, charring everything in their path. I was not afraid. I lifted my hands and closed my eyes. The necklace I had found glowed white hot on my half-naked chest. The dragons were struck by lightning, and the burned land disappeared. A loud cheering filled my ears…
I had no idea what the dream meant. It was no matter, it was unimportant now. Although, I have the faintest idea that the necklace I had found will be important in my future. Somehow, I will use it to fulfill my destiny.
I shook my head. How could that be? Here I am, a wandering peasant, deprived of my mount and no idea where I was.
"Cursed be this cold." I complained, biting my numb tongue and pulling my cloak around me. There on the frosty ground lay my last possessions of some importance to me; my riding whip ("Of course." I said aloud. "Very important now that Feamur is gone!" The bitter thought clawed at my mind.) and two dresses, a deep ruby one with wide sleeves and a low front, and a white gown with gold trimming. Also, a bag of my money, which was not so useless, was partially concealed by the snow.
I had a decent amount of coins. I had always worked tirelessly for long hours to save money to help our farm. However, I was miles from there at the moment. The money now belonged to me. If I ever reached a market, it would be useful.
I opened the map, looking hopelessly for any sign of where I might be. Without a horse, I was making very slow progress. My shoes were worn and stiff. I didn't dare take them off to stitch them for risk of frostbite, which would only make matters worse. I stuffed my things back into my sack, grabbed my sword, and was off.
Ahead of me lay a grove of trees covered by snow. I dared not stop, for If I did, I might not start again. Come on! Keep going! Don't stop! I trudged on, my sword swinging at my side.
I wondered if I might meet someone out here, although, I had no idea where I was. I was far from my village, and that was for sure.
I looked into the horizon. The sun was sinking down slowly, it was almost nightfall. Already the moon shone and stars began to pear out at me. My stomach ached with hunger, but I ignored it, looking for a place to make camp. A circle of huge boulders would suffice, I thought to myself, and made my way towards them.
Laying my sword down into the snow, I bared a patch of ground and lay down on the snow, pulling my cloak off and using it as a blanket, and may sack as a pillow. I do not know why, but I fasten my necklace of neethril around my neck as well.
*************************
The next morning is much warmer. The snow has begun to melt. Winter is falling under spring's spell. I rise from my place on the ground, expecting to be wet and uncomfortable, but I'm not. Instead, I am dry as can be.
"How can this be so?" I look around wildly. My sack is wet, and the sheath of my sword is glistening in thick dew, but here I stand, warm and dry, bewildered. Then something caught my sight. It was a man.
I gasped and grabbed my sword and sack, but hw took little notice. He was listening for a far off sound, his ear flat against a large rock. My throat felt dry. Who was he? What was he doing here?
I was breathing loudly, but he still took little notice. In fact, he held his hand up to his lips, hushing me. I felt embarrassed, but didn't sheath my sword. I would take no chances. All of a sudden, he called to someone. I took a sharp intake of breath, sword poised to attack. The man stood up.
"And who are you?"