Disclaimers: see previous chapter.
One more note: thanks VERY much to Dark (not from ff.n) for reading this over, helping me edit it, and generally being a fountain of encouragement and helpfulness ever since we met!
Review replies (or rather reply):
Star-Stallion – Thanks a lot! Don't worry, I won't steal your entire plots! And I'd be honored if you put my fics on your site. ::feels very very proud:: Oh, just so you know: please don't feel obliged to read my stories just because I read yours. If you get tired of them, that's completely OK. I don't want to be forcing you to read this... And one last thing: UPDATE "HEARTS OF STONE"! :)
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Chapter 2: A Sunrise
In Weidon's mind, the next three days were blurred into one impossibly long moment. While it lasted, it seemed as though it would never end, but now as he looked back upon it, it was such a short and insignificant time span. These three days were filled with nothing but endless riding, broken only by an occasional stop to give some rest to the three pairs of legs – two pairs belonging to the horse, and one to the man.
Only two significant events broke the monotony of this time span, both on the third day. The first happened soon after the sunset. Riding through the darkening woods, Weidon caught up to another rider. That rider seemed to be heading in the same direction as Weidon, and he carried a small symbolic staff with the emblem of Terreniol. That meant he was a herald, and he was probably sent to another land with a message to its ruler. Weidon saw this meeting as an opportunity he couldn't miss. Now the rider was a nameless corpse hidden some way off from the road, and all his possessions, including the staff and the now bloodstained letter, were inherited by Weidon. He also took the rider's clothes. They were slightly too big for him, but anything was better than his tatters, especially anything so simple-looking and durable at the same time. But he couldn't bring himself to wear the shoes. Having walked barefoot for as long as he could remember, he felt imprisoned when something weighed his feet down. It was a strange, unpleasant feeling, and a few moments after he tried the shoes on, they were off his feet and flying through the air. One of them got caught in a tree branch, and somehow the idea appealed to Weidon. Before continuing on his way, he picked the pair up again, and threw them upwards until both of them were stuck in the tree branches high above his head like two ludicrous scarecrows.
The second event was less fortunate. As the human rode on through the night, a dim worry started to nag at him, making him feel as though there was a live snake slithering between his ribs. As time went on, the feeling intensified, and in a few hours Weidon understood that worry – it was the suspicion that he had gotten himself lost. He might have taken a wrong turn somewhere, or perhaps he was riding too slowly, but the journey to Minas Tirith should have taken him little more than two days, while he was already traveling for three. But it didn't matter, Weidon assured himself. He would just have to ride on until he got to a town or a village, and ask for directions there.
He kept riding all night when he finally grew tired and got off his horse. The crimson sun was rising behind a wall of trees, making the sky around it a blue cloth soaked with blood. On this background, the low tree branches looked as though they were long, crooked, leaf-fingered hands pressed against a wound.
As Weidon looked up at the sunrise with his brown, hard eyes, dark and expressionless as two round stones, he didn't know that somewhere else, not far away, a pair of grey ones was also locked on the sky. This second pair was so different from the first. These two eyes weren't hard and lacklustre. They were like two miniature seas just before a storm – clear and calm, but ready to sparkle with joy or burn with hatred at any moment. And as Weidon brought both his thoughts and his eyes back down to earth, the two grey seas were still focused on the sun. Then a wave of ripples disturbed their still surface, and a worried expression came over them. The sun was red... Blood has been spilled.
Meanwhile Weidon tied the reins of his horse to a nearby tree and started to gather branches for a small fire. He didn't need its light or warmth. The sun provided plenty of that. He only wanted to look at the flames.
The fire looked surprisingly dull in the bright sunlight, and the man wished he stopped sooner to catch the last few hours of darkness. Then the burning branches would have become a glowing tower, or the cave of a dragon, or the mythical flower that Ailea turned into as she was dying in the flames... Weidon loved hearing that legend when he was a child. He always smiled through his tears as his mother recounted the tale of how the first queen of Terreniol found eternal peace after a lifetime of despair.
But Weidon knew better now. Eternal peace wasn't something humans could wish for. There was no such thing. Besides, a peaceful life wasn't a life at all. It was merely an existence, a dull and tedious waste of time. It was fit only for those who had all the time in the world to waste. Like elves.
Elves. The reason he was here right now.
Weidon found that he wasn't sleepy, even though he was riding for most of the night. He sat down by the fire, his chin in his hands, his mind going over his plans.
He had to get to Minas Tirith – that's step one. This looked like the easiest task to accomplish: even if he really was lost, it was only a matter of time to find his way. Step two – he had to get near the king. When he set out from Terreniol, he thought this would be the most complicated task, but Lady Luck smiled down on him today. Now he had the letter which Ereku, the king of Terreniol, sent to Lodenir, the king of Heketto. Weidon didn't even know where Heketto was, but it didn't matter. When he killed the herald and found the letter, he soaked it in blood of the messenger so that it became impossible to make out what was written on the envelope. When he would deliver it and they would find out that it wasn't addressed to the king of Gondor, he would just pretend that the wrong letter was put into this envelope. It would still get him past the guards. But he didn't know what the letter was about or what kind of person the king of Gondor was, so after delivering the message he would have to improvise. That's three. And four – could Senerath really be trusted?
Weidon pushed that last thought aside. It didn't matter at the moment. He would have time to think about it on the way back to Terreniol, if he was successful. And if he failed, he'd have plenty of time to think while awaiting the noose.
Suddenly his ears picked up the sound of hoofs somewhere down the path he was following. Jumping up, Weidon stomped out the fire, wincing as the embers burned his bare heels. He untied the horse's reins and grabbed his pack, and a moment later he was hidden behind the trees on the side of the road.
A rider on a white horse was riding in the direction of Weidon's hiding place. He wore a forest-green cloak, and his long blond hair streamed after him in the wind.
Weidon smiled. Maybe he could ask this man for directions. But the horse was moving very fast. If Weidon didn't stop it quickly, it would gallop right past him.
Jumping out of his hiding place, he landed in front of the rider. The horse neighed and reared up, nearly trampling over Weidon. He took a quick step back, tripped, and fell to the ground. The rider was barely able to stay in the saddle, gripping the reins tightly and shouting a command to his horse in a language Weidon couldn't understand. After a few seconds, the animal was finally calm enough to stand relatively still.
Weidon felt his heartbeat quicken as all the stupidity of his move caught up to him. Jumping in front of a galloping horse – just the thing to start one's day. Or end it.
Making a mental note to be more careful, he got up from the ground and bowed, opening his mouth to speak. But as he took a closer look at the rider, he froze, his mouth still open. The rider's ears were pointed.
One more note: thanks VERY much to Dark (not from ff.n) for reading this over, helping me edit it, and generally being a fountain of encouragement and helpfulness ever since we met!
Review replies (or rather reply):
Star-Stallion – Thanks a lot! Don't worry, I won't steal your entire plots! And I'd be honored if you put my fics on your site. ::feels very very proud:: Oh, just so you know: please don't feel obliged to read my stories just because I read yours. If you get tired of them, that's completely OK. I don't want to be forcing you to read this... And one last thing: UPDATE "HEARTS OF STONE"! :)
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Chapter 2: A Sunrise
In Weidon's mind, the next three days were blurred into one impossibly long moment. While it lasted, it seemed as though it would never end, but now as he looked back upon it, it was such a short and insignificant time span. These three days were filled with nothing but endless riding, broken only by an occasional stop to give some rest to the three pairs of legs – two pairs belonging to the horse, and one to the man.
Only two significant events broke the monotony of this time span, both on the third day. The first happened soon after the sunset. Riding through the darkening woods, Weidon caught up to another rider. That rider seemed to be heading in the same direction as Weidon, and he carried a small symbolic staff with the emblem of Terreniol. That meant he was a herald, and he was probably sent to another land with a message to its ruler. Weidon saw this meeting as an opportunity he couldn't miss. Now the rider was a nameless corpse hidden some way off from the road, and all his possessions, including the staff and the now bloodstained letter, were inherited by Weidon. He also took the rider's clothes. They were slightly too big for him, but anything was better than his tatters, especially anything so simple-looking and durable at the same time. But he couldn't bring himself to wear the shoes. Having walked barefoot for as long as he could remember, he felt imprisoned when something weighed his feet down. It was a strange, unpleasant feeling, and a few moments after he tried the shoes on, they were off his feet and flying through the air. One of them got caught in a tree branch, and somehow the idea appealed to Weidon. Before continuing on his way, he picked the pair up again, and threw them upwards until both of them were stuck in the tree branches high above his head like two ludicrous scarecrows.
The second event was less fortunate. As the human rode on through the night, a dim worry started to nag at him, making him feel as though there was a live snake slithering between his ribs. As time went on, the feeling intensified, and in a few hours Weidon understood that worry – it was the suspicion that he had gotten himself lost. He might have taken a wrong turn somewhere, or perhaps he was riding too slowly, but the journey to Minas Tirith should have taken him little more than two days, while he was already traveling for three. But it didn't matter, Weidon assured himself. He would just have to ride on until he got to a town or a village, and ask for directions there.
He kept riding all night when he finally grew tired and got off his horse. The crimson sun was rising behind a wall of trees, making the sky around it a blue cloth soaked with blood. On this background, the low tree branches looked as though they were long, crooked, leaf-fingered hands pressed against a wound.
As Weidon looked up at the sunrise with his brown, hard eyes, dark and expressionless as two round stones, he didn't know that somewhere else, not far away, a pair of grey ones was also locked on the sky. This second pair was so different from the first. These two eyes weren't hard and lacklustre. They were like two miniature seas just before a storm – clear and calm, but ready to sparkle with joy or burn with hatred at any moment. And as Weidon brought both his thoughts and his eyes back down to earth, the two grey seas were still focused on the sun. Then a wave of ripples disturbed their still surface, and a worried expression came over them. The sun was red... Blood has been spilled.
Meanwhile Weidon tied the reins of his horse to a nearby tree and started to gather branches for a small fire. He didn't need its light or warmth. The sun provided plenty of that. He only wanted to look at the flames.
The fire looked surprisingly dull in the bright sunlight, and the man wished he stopped sooner to catch the last few hours of darkness. Then the burning branches would have become a glowing tower, or the cave of a dragon, or the mythical flower that Ailea turned into as she was dying in the flames... Weidon loved hearing that legend when he was a child. He always smiled through his tears as his mother recounted the tale of how the first queen of Terreniol found eternal peace after a lifetime of despair.
But Weidon knew better now. Eternal peace wasn't something humans could wish for. There was no such thing. Besides, a peaceful life wasn't a life at all. It was merely an existence, a dull and tedious waste of time. It was fit only for those who had all the time in the world to waste. Like elves.
Elves. The reason he was here right now.
Weidon found that he wasn't sleepy, even though he was riding for most of the night. He sat down by the fire, his chin in his hands, his mind going over his plans.
He had to get to Minas Tirith – that's step one. This looked like the easiest task to accomplish: even if he really was lost, it was only a matter of time to find his way. Step two – he had to get near the king. When he set out from Terreniol, he thought this would be the most complicated task, but Lady Luck smiled down on him today. Now he had the letter which Ereku, the king of Terreniol, sent to Lodenir, the king of Heketto. Weidon didn't even know where Heketto was, but it didn't matter. When he killed the herald and found the letter, he soaked it in blood of the messenger so that it became impossible to make out what was written on the envelope. When he would deliver it and they would find out that it wasn't addressed to the king of Gondor, he would just pretend that the wrong letter was put into this envelope. It would still get him past the guards. But he didn't know what the letter was about or what kind of person the king of Gondor was, so after delivering the message he would have to improvise. That's three. And four – could Senerath really be trusted?
Weidon pushed that last thought aside. It didn't matter at the moment. He would have time to think about it on the way back to Terreniol, if he was successful. And if he failed, he'd have plenty of time to think while awaiting the noose.
Suddenly his ears picked up the sound of hoofs somewhere down the path he was following. Jumping up, Weidon stomped out the fire, wincing as the embers burned his bare heels. He untied the horse's reins and grabbed his pack, and a moment later he was hidden behind the trees on the side of the road.
A rider on a white horse was riding in the direction of Weidon's hiding place. He wore a forest-green cloak, and his long blond hair streamed after him in the wind.
Weidon smiled. Maybe he could ask this man for directions. But the horse was moving very fast. If Weidon didn't stop it quickly, it would gallop right past him.
Jumping out of his hiding place, he landed in front of the rider. The horse neighed and reared up, nearly trampling over Weidon. He took a quick step back, tripped, and fell to the ground. The rider was barely able to stay in the saddle, gripping the reins tightly and shouting a command to his horse in a language Weidon couldn't understand. After a few seconds, the animal was finally calm enough to stand relatively still.
Weidon felt his heartbeat quicken as all the stupidity of his move caught up to him. Jumping in front of a galloping horse – just the thing to start one's day. Or end it.
Making a mental note to be more careful, he got up from the ground and bowed, opening his mouth to speak. But as he took a closer look at the rider, he froze, his mouth still open. The rider's ears were pointed.