Disclaimer: I own nothing of J.R.R. Tolkien's brilliant plot, fantasy world, and characters. I only own my new characters, which will be introduced throughout the story.
Author: born to be hanged aka Meltintalle
Title: Poisoned Turquoise
Rating: PG-13 (an R chapter is possible; there will be a warning)
Genre(s): Action/Adventure/Drama/Romance
Compact Summary: Thanks for reviewers are at the end of the chapter. :P
Aressëa is captured by orcs and blinded by a poison, which caused her eyes to turn an unnatural turquoise. This is the story of an Elf who tries to find her true colors in a world of only black darkness. Will she succeed in finding her starry night whilst in the midst of a moonless darkness? Full summary inside. R&R!
Author's Note: There was some confusion as to why she would loose her memories of Elven life because she lost her sight. The loss of her sight was not the reason that she lost her memories. A young person's memory isn't yet adapted to remember everything. If the character was to go leave her parents, her culture, and her home at a very young age, eventually the memories would fade away in time, just as they would in a human's mind. Perhaps if she were to revisit places that might have had some meaning to her, the character would remember. But if there isn't any particular reason to remember something that was so long ago, the character probably wouldn't remember it.
My second explaination is that when a young person goes through a traumatizing experience, certain things can be erased from his or her mind. Combining these two things, I would say that she had a very good chance of losing a lot of her memory of certain things. Adding the loss of her sight would make it even harder to remember. Often a certain smell, or a certain taste, or maybe even a certain sight will make a person remember something specific. One sense was eliminated, and that was the sense a young child would probably use the most to identify things. Sorry I didn't make that clear enough.
indicates an author's note at the end of the text
italicized text indicates a character's thoughts
Text - I couldn't figure out a better way to portray the Common Tongue. All of Aressëa's thoughts are supposed to be in the Elvish language because I'm assuming that would be the only language she would know because of her young age. And since I'm writing in English, which I would portray as the Common Tongue, I was kind of stuck. So anything in those brackets for this chapter are words in the Common Tongue. Sorry if I confuse anyone.
A special thanks to my beta, Lailonniel (Miranda)
Chapter One
Lost
It had been a very long time since she had heard voices such as the ones she heard now. They spoke in very quiet, calm tones, and although she knew that they had to be warriors, their voices reminded her of one word: peace. She was not accustomed to it.
Of course, she remembered numerous times before her kidnapping when she had been with others who had been calm and peaceful. Many times, while she struggled to keep up with the rapid pace of the orcs, she would long for a calm voice, one that would offer comfort and perhaps a word that was not an order. The tranquil and quiet voices that she had become accustomed to hearing before her capture was one of the few memories that seemed to give her body strength when it was needed most. She could feel herself wanting to sigh in relief that she would never have to listen to the rough and callous speech of the orcs again.
But she did not sigh. She felt as though she had fallen in love with their tones, even though she could not understand what they were saying. She felt her face draw into a frown, and sat up straighter from where she rested on the rocky terrain, trying to discern what the men were saying. She knew that understanding the speech would be the only problem that she faced, for her hearing was exceptional. There were many times during her capture when Aressëa had cursed this gift from the Valar. Every jeering tone had reached her ears, no matter if she was awake or in the alfa state. Whispered plans that she could not understand reached her ears, and she even heard the harmless conversations of the orcs, though there were few of these that did not end in brawls.
Aressëa felt her stomach drop. She could not understand what they were saying. She was in the company of yet another group whose occupants would not be able to understand her. She would never be able to explain anything: how she came into the company of the orcs, where she came from originally, if she even remembered where that was. As she listened more intently, her disappointment grew as she recognized the speech of Men.
She suddenly had a very violent hatred for orcs; her blood began to boil with the want of an outburst. She could not imagine why they had bothered to allow her to live. Not for the first time, she wished that she had been taken and killed along with her friend Norion. No, she reminded herself fiercely. You have no proof of his death. She grimaced at the thought of his fate, wondering if he had been as lucky as she. Or perhaps he had shared the same fate as she, and did not consider himself fortunate at all.
She looked up towards the sky, opening her eyes as wide as she could. But as much as she wished and prayed to the Valar to just give her sight of the stars that night, she could see nothing. She snarled silently, cursing the orcs with her thoughts. She wondered about her friend's fate, and yet she could not even look to the stars to wonder whether he could see them also. Her throat hitched, and she reached up to touch her face.
Her fingers rested on her cheeks, feeling her tears cascade around them. She moved her hands upwards, towards her eyes. She felt her eyelids, wondering how such things as tears could exist from sightless and useless eyes. She grasped her face in anguish, wishing that she could see the light again. But she knew that the only way to see light was through the eyes. Hers were useless.
"I am lost," she whispered hoarsely, wishing she could only be near Norion, or her parents, or any other who could speak her language. She pushed her hands away from her cheeks and into her hair, bending her spine so that her face was over her knees. Her hair fell from her back and pooled into her lap. Her fingers felt the thick end of each lock of hair, and she felt as though she could not remember what anything looked like anymore. She could not recall what color her hair was, nor her eyes, nor the rags that she wore which had once been called a dress.
She suddenly wanted to talk to someone. It did not matter if they could understand her, nor if she could understand them. She had to make sure that she was in the company of Men, not orcs. She had to say something.
She opened her dry and cracked mouth, feeling some warm blood begin to seep from one of the splits in her bottom lip. She cleared her throat, noticing for the first time how very thirsty she was. "Who is there? Come here."
She assumed the camp was a very large one since it was filled with many different voices, and not many could have heard the quiet voice that had called out for assistance. She wondered if anyone had heard her at all. She knew she would have been able to hear it within a quarter mile, but she knew she could not expect all others to be able to do this. Perhaps the only reason she had this gift was because she was destined to lose her sight. Or perhaps it was no gift at all, but a hereditary trait. She gritted her teeth; she couldn't remember.
"I need to go home." Her voice was loud, and she almost flinched. She had not spoken this loudly on her own impulses for a long time. For months she had tried to stay as quiet as possible for fear of discovery. Sometimes if she sat in a certain way, or breathed very carefully, or even held her breath, the orcs did not notice her presence, and they would leave her be for a while. But just moments ago, she felt as though she had screamed. And she had spoken loudly in a language that none would understand. She felt foolish, even under the circumstances.
There was only a slight decrease in noise, and the camp soon resumed to its normal volume. Her brows knitted together; she could hear the sound of heavy boots walking towards her. She could tell the man was trying to be as quiet as possible. She withdrew slightly, but immediately felt ashamed of herself. Had she become so cowardly that she cringed at even the smallest of sounds?
"I know you are there," she said warningly. A voice inside of her told her that he would not know what she was saying anyway. She held her breath, listening to the easy, confident breathing of the man who approached. She could already sense his presence; he was not far from her now. She felt a tiny rush of air as he knelt beside her.
His soft tones meant nothing to her. I cannot understand you! She wanted to beat the ground in frustration. She could not talk to the orcs, and she could not talk to Men. Who was she destined to speak to? She could not even remember.
"I do not understand you," she said, trying to speak very clearly and slowly. She doubted any man would understand her language. It had a definite ring to it; the words were more soft and flowing. They cascaded out of a person's mouth, as if the words themselves were small waterfalls. She was taught that Men could not speak this tongue.
He spoke to her again, but she could feel his resistance. He knew she could not understand him, and he could not understand her. She could feel his body leaning away from her when she looked at him through sightless eyes. She could feel that he wanted to stand and walk away from her and never come back. And when he spoke to her, his voice was laced with panic and worry.
Something was thrust into her hands, and she heard something akin to scrambling. The breathing of the man was gone. He was gone, and she was alone. She wondered why he was so afraid of her. Did she look any different? She reached up to graze her face with her fingertips. They painted a picture of herself in her mind; she looked the same as she always did. Or so she supposed. She knew she could not even remember the color of her own eyes. The picture her hands painted was colorless.
Aressëa felt her throat hitch again, but she immediately held back her tears. It was not hard to do this, since she had thought it a matter of life and death while she was a prisoner. She would not cry in front of the orcs, and she would not cry in front of the Men. She could not help but wish that she could cry. Hope had been restored; she had been rescued from the orcs. But it had been taken away; she could not speak with others. She had been so close to being able to travel home. She would have risked anything to be able to go home, wherever that may be. She could no longer remember. But without speech and without sight, she could do nothing.
What is happening to me? A sudden panic filled her. She could not remember. She could not remember anything. She could not remember her home, her hair, her eyes. Nothing came to her mind. She felt very blank-minded, not knowing what was what and waiting for her elders to tell her. But I have no elders here.
She stood suddenly, feeling the panic in her stomach rise. The parcel that had been thrust towards her fell out of her hands. She heard its soft thud on the dusty ground. A part of her wondered what was the point in standing. She was still with the Men, far from home. She still could not see at all or remember much of anything. Standing would do nothing. Sitting would do nothing. Crying would do nothing. She felt as if she were trapped in an iron box. She could not even look around herself, to see what was going on. She could only listen, and at that moment, she felt that hearing would not do much either. Her hands went to rest on her face, covering her eyes. She wanted to weep so badly. She wanted to give up caring about being strong; she wished someone would be strong for her just this once. She knew that she had had guardians before. But she could not remember them at all.
She knelt again, and tried to remember where the parcel had fallen. She was certain that it was food. What else would it be? Her palms went over rocks and dust and nothing else. There was not one sprout of grass. She was not surprised, though. Her bare feet had told her this long ago when she was still in the company of the orcs.
Suddenly, there was a presence before her. She cursed herself for not noticing the sound of his breathing, the sounds of his steps towards her. How had she become so careless since her kidnapping? She had learned to be cautious. She knew that being caught unaware could seal her fate with a very painful death. And now she had been careless. Would he drive his long blade right through her spine? She doubted it, but she kept this in her mind as a punishment. He could have done that had he wanted to. She would have been dead moments ago.
There was a hand on her arm. It was a gentle touch, but she had to work hard to prevent herself from throwing if off. She did not stiffen her body, for it was already as tense as it could be. But she knew that she was not in control of this situation. She was at the mercy of the Men, whether she liked it or not. So she allowed him to help her from the ground.
She frowned. It was not the same man. It could not be the same man. He was very tall, and she could feel the calluses on his hands from where they rested on her arms. He smelled of dust and travel, but so did the other. But she could tell that he was not afraid of her. He was not leaning away from her, nor breathing hard in panic. When he spoke to her, his voice was very soft and soothing. He was trying to comfort her. She tilted her head to the side, listening to it. His voice sounded very young. He could not be more than twelve years old.
"Arlec," he said very slowly and clearly. She frowned, wondering if he knew that she could not understand him. She felt him take her hand and press it to his skin, directly beneath his throat.
She shrank away, trying to pull her hand away with her. She was not sure why she felt as if something was not right. She had touched his chest, and even though he had guided her hand there, she could not help but feel awkward. She was uncomfortable with physical contact. She wished she could see him; she could only rely on her other senses. She knew wishing would not make her see the young man in front of her.
He was now speaking rapidly to her in what she thought was an apolgetic tone, but she could not be sure. She wondered if he could even tell that she could not see. He had spoken to her in polite enough tones, but she could not see his expressions.
"I am sorry," she said quietly; his voice ceased immediately. "I cannot understand you. I do not speak your language." She paused, wondering what else she could say. She almost yelped in frustration as she realized that she could say anything she wanted, and he would still understand none of it. How does one speak to another without words? She did not particularly wish to act out all of her thoughts, but as the moments passed and the man continued to speak in soft tones, she feared that she would have no other choice. And she needed to make a few things very clear.
"I," she said, pointing to herself, "cannot see." She opened her eyes wide, then put her hands over them, so that they were covered.
The man did not speak for a moment. He uttered a breathy word; she could only guess what it meant. She felt him take her hand into his again. She tried not to shrink away, calling herself a coward, but she could not help pulling just a bit. But she was also curious as to what he would do. She let the young man turn it over very carefully. She could feel the tiny rush of air as he bent over, and the scratching of something in the dirt as he picked it up from the ground.
He closed her fingers around the small package that she had dropped. It was wrapped in a small, rough handkerchief. He wrapped his fingers around hers, and said, "Food."
He repeated it, and though she could not see his face, she imagined that he was nodding his encouragement. She frowned, but repeated the word. He squeezed her fingers tighter around the parcel, repeating the word yet again. Then he pried her fingers open and unwrapped the handkerchief. He took her other hand and placed a piece of the parcel's contents into it, repeating the word again.
Realization dawned on her, and she brought her hand to her nose to smell the thing that he had placed in her palm. She let her lips curl into a delighted smile as she sniffed the bread that was in her hand. "Food," she murmured. "I know what it is, it's food." She opened her mouth to eat the piece of bread. It was a bit stale, but it was food nonetheless. And now she suddenly understood what 'Arlec' was. But she let him take her empty hand again, and press her fingers to his chest. And she listened carefully as he repeated his name to her. She could hear the pleased smile that was in his voice.
She did not feel so lost now that she knew another's name. She knew he was not a friend, but he was someone. Aressëa knew she had gotten one of her wishes, and she suddenly felt very pleased and lighthearted. She hoped Arlec would not leave her alone. She hoped that he would stay with her. He had been the only one to approach her to give comfort. Perhaps he did not even realize that he had given her comfort. She did not care.
She wanted him to know her name. She almost laughed; this introduction felt very much like when she met Norion. He had hidden from her in the gardens, and watched as she picked flowers and skipped as a young Elfling should. When he had jumped out from his hiding place, he had said nothing but his name. She remembered tilting her head to the side, listening to his voice, just as she had listened to Arlec's voice.
"Aressëa," she said, and felt the familiar thrill of the sound of her own voice. She nodded when he repeated it, sure that the grin on her face was making her look like a little fool. Her smile slowly left her face.
The young man took her hand again, and bent to the ground, forcing her to kneel down with him. She wished very much that she could see his face just once. Stop, wishing shall not do anything, she scolded herself, and she knew that her face was set into a hard scowl.
Arlec was flattening her palm against the hard earth. She felt his palm on top of hers, pressing it down to into the dust. She wondered how he could stand being there; the earth felt like death beneath her palms. She could not feel or sense a vibe of life in this barren terrain. It was a desert, but it was not one. Even deserts had life to some extent. Her hand was laid upon nothingness, and she felt it even more now that she could not see.
"Gondor." His voice was not desolate, as her feelings remained. He sounded pleased and proud of this dead desert. He was smiling, she could tell, for she could feel the vibes of his gladness from the hand that was upon hers.
"Gondor," she repeated, and she was surprised to find that she knew what Gondor was, or rather where it was. So I am in the realm of Men, she thought as she straightened to stand upright. She felt her stomach drop violently, and she suddenly felt sick. She could not remember from whence she came, but she knew it could not have been the realm of Men. If only I could remember the name of my home, she thought desperately, racking her brain for more information. But again it became blank, and she felt that she could not even remember what she had been doing when the orcs had come upon her.
The young Gondorian was speaking in soft tones to her again, trying to offer whatever comfort he could muster. Aressëa wanted to take it; she wanted to take the words to heart, perhaps even accept an embrace if he would offer it. But she could feel herself retreating, sinking back into her own morbid thoughts of helplessness.
She was suddenly pressed up against him, her tears spilling from sightless eyes. She let him hold her in a brotherly embrace, and she exhaled slowly, feeling calm but overwhelmed at the same time. She wept into his shirt, too embarrassed of her tears to pull back, wondering how she could feel such opposite emotions at the same time. While she was releasing the tears she had held back for a long time, she felt safe for the first time in many months, for she was leaning against one who could be trusted. It did not seem right to her young mind, but she felt both and she could not deny it.
In a way, he was still a child himself. She could not understand it, but she knew beyond all reason that she had to be older than he. She was a young child in his and all of the others' eyes, but she knew that she surpassed at least half of their ages. It was an instinct that she dared not deny or refuse to recognize. She knew this had to be true. Some things were true, even if they were against all odds.
For a moment, she felt as though she was going to laugh through her tears. She could not understand why she could laugh while crying, but the choked sound was bubbling up in her throat. She guessed it was a strange irony, that she should be rescued and given a peculiar comfort from these men, many who were younger than she. Knowing that a young mortal was her guardian should not have been a comfort.
But it was the only comfort that she had received for many months. And it would be the only comfort offered to her in the near future. So she welcomed it, breathing it in like the scent of flora that could never be smelled in this barren land. It was not the comfort of a mother or a father, but she knew that she could have nothing else. Eventually, it became the only kind of comfort she knew. Any trace of a memory of the love of her parents that was still intact slowly drifted from her mind in time.
Author's Note: Any and all feedback will be greatly appreciated!
the alpha state - state in which Elves may keep watch and rest at the same time.
ien: Thanks for that. Enjoy!
Alyde: I hope you like the new version of the tale. :P My sis.
Iluvien: Thanks for reviewing. I really have to get over to your site and read your story about Kallindo. I've been really bad about that, and it sounds like such a juicy story. :)
giveGodtheglory: Thanks for reviewing! I left a review on one of your message boards. Seems we haven't talked in a while. :)
Chibie: A new reviewer! Yay! lol Thanks for reviewing, I hope you like my revisions.
ouchie: Thanks, I'm glad you liked. Happy reading!
Salysha: Thanks for giving your honest opinion. I found myself feeling glad that you mentioned how you truly felt about the format, etc. etc. :)
Crecy: Here it is, I updated. (Finally) I know it's been a long while, but hopefully two newbies will do. ;)
