Chapter 8: Tainted Rain
Rivers' POV
I felt like I had won.
I felt like I had beaten him.
But I didn't taste satisfaction, or guilt. It was a bitter splash of defense, like he might bite back.
I stayed with Aragorn, hovering over the bridge. The early preliminaries of the orc army had been spotted a few minutes ago, and a wave of paralytic terror pervaded the entire encampment. The two kings were reviewing the battle plan for the umpteenth time, and I was just standing there by the wall.
I was in padded leather armour, very mobile and comfortable. I had a simple circlet screwed into my blonde hair, and the fact that I was without a weapon added to my feeling of vulnerability. I couldn't pick up any of the battle-axes or swords, and these morning stars were three times as heavy as the one in Moria.
I could pick up a quarterstaff, but Gimli said it wouldn't break the orcs' amour. I was right arm dominant, but left eye dominant, thus rendering me unable to fire an arrow. I could try a short sword or two daggers, but the orcs' sword would be longer.
"My Lady?"
Aragorn pushes me softly and dumps two nasty blades into my arms. He smiles. "They're the lightest we have."
They are decent-sized hand katars, strap on blades. Easy to put on, easier to kill with, but most difficult to climb in. So if I go over the wall, I'm staying on the ground until Gandalf gets here. "Aragorn, do you remember what Gandalf said?"
He nods as I recite, "'Look to my coming on the first light on the fifth day. Turn to the east.'"
He mumbles, "It is the night on the fourth day. He waits over the hill just to taunt us."
"I think not, m'lord."
I grant him a huge smile, which he gallantly returns. "You have been a wonderful addition to our Fellowship, Lady Rivers. When we overtake this, remind me to thank Lord Elrond for his brilliant idea."
"I am not fond of flattery," I say, turning away with reddening embarrassment.
He laughs. "Nor am I."
A moment of silence ensued as we were both lost for words. I saw Legolas converse with Gimli over Aragorn's shoulder. The scene put air in my lungs and words in my mouth. "My Lord, do you think it is wise to quarrel over women's intelligence?"
He knew of what I spoke. "Women are not as ferocious and men, yet men are not as patient. The chips fall into balance in the end."
"So you believe women not partaking in battle is archaic and traditional?"
"Nothing is archaic or traditional about battle, My Lady."
"Why is it that some think so?" I iced my tone with spite and turned an angry eye on the elf, who was doing a most excellent job of ignoring me.
Aragorn shifted and clapped my shoulder. "He's just worried. About you and Rohan's people. We have a lot on our minds, as do you."
He didn't know Kyler, but he knew I had left some sort of family behind. Only Kyler and our foster mother. And Tess. What were they doing? Was I sleeping?
No. I was supposed to be at Tess' party. I was driving there, wasn't I? What happened? Did I hit I take a wrong turn and hit Isengard?
Wait...
Oh God.
I hit something, I think. I remember the light, and the sting from the stab. Wait, I was stabbed? I still bear the scars, but were they from the crash? I forget.
I need to play that flute again. It's with me, but I can't just whip it out and start playing. They'd rip it away. I tell the ranger, "I need to be alone for a bit. It won't take long."
He nods, granting me my leave, which I take. I cross one of the walls, flinching as I pass Legolas. I know he noticed.
Finally, I'm in a secluded courtyard of stone. Moss marches proudly across the walls as colorful lichen creep from the stones below me. At last, peace in a war-torn world.
The flute flies to my lips and I blow. A tainted Rain falls about the courtyard, muffling the muted music of the Cúron Ivor. My fingers play a familiar tune, as the flute remains cold and silent, the incarnation of crypt's chilling solitude.
I can't feel the old elven magic that was sown into the instrument. I wondered...maybe it thinks I'm dead?
The flute flames beneath my lips and I almost drop it. There is a latent tingling in my lips as the blaze is doused, my mind being washed of any sickening thoughts. I bend my mind and soul on those last moments of life, when I was slipping away...
The flute once again bursts into glorious heat as I concentrate. I'm fully believing that I'm dead and I realize-
-This flute trying to rekindle the spark of life I once sustained.
I'm screaming in my head. I know I'm dead; I'm just a walking corpse...
And I fail, flicker, and fade away into the stonewalls.
(3rd person)
The orc withdrew is sword from the girl's back. A crystal flute rolled away from her dead fingers. His comrade laughed. "What a waste of valor."
The orc snorted. "What imbecile plays a flute in the middle of a battle?"
"A human."
They laughed heartily and continued on their way, ripping through two elves on their way out.
The flute hit a raised stone and retraced its roll. A shine of distant light was building the framework of the instrument and with a wayward spark, burst back into a fiery light. The glare was blinding.
The flute stretched, trying to find the cradle of Sirion's hand. It knew she'd play it and cure herself long enough for her to get help. Why did that hand seem so distant?
Rivers was out cold, obviously unconscious. With a final sigh, her death bell rattled and the flute froze and fell cold.
Rivers' POV
I felt like I had won.
I felt like I had beaten him.
But I didn't taste satisfaction, or guilt. It was a bitter splash of defense, like he might bite back.
I stayed with Aragorn, hovering over the bridge. The early preliminaries of the orc army had been spotted a few minutes ago, and a wave of paralytic terror pervaded the entire encampment. The two kings were reviewing the battle plan for the umpteenth time, and I was just standing there by the wall.
I was in padded leather armour, very mobile and comfortable. I had a simple circlet screwed into my blonde hair, and the fact that I was without a weapon added to my feeling of vulnerability. I couldn't pick up any of the battle-axes or swords, and these morning stars were three times as heavy as the one in Moria.
I could pick up a quarterstaff, but Gimli said it wouldn't break the orcs' amour. I was right arm dominant, but left eye dominant, thus rendering me unable to fire an arrow. I could try a short sword or two daggers, but the orcs' sword would be longer.
"My Lady?"
Aragorn pushes me softly and dumps two nasty blades into my arms. He smiles. "They're the lightest we have."
They are decent-sized hand katars, strap on blades. Easy to put on, easier to kill with, but most difficult to climb in. So if I go over the wall, I'm staying on the ground until Gandalf gets here. "Aragorn, do you remember what Gandalf said?"
He nods as I recite, "'Look to my coming on the first light on the fifth day. Turn to the east.'"
He mumbles, "It is the night on the fourth day. He waits over the hill just to taunt us."
"I think not, m'lord."
I grant him a huge smile, which he gallantly returns. "You have been a wonderful addition to our Fellowship, Lady Rivers. When we overtake this, remind me to thank Lord Elrond for his brilliant idea."
"I am not fond of flattery," I say, turning away with reddening embarrassment.
He laughs. "Nor am I."
A moment of silence ensued as we were both lost for words. I saw Legolas converse with Gimli over Aragorn's shoulder. The scene put air in my lungs and words in my mouth. "My Lord, do you think it is wise to quarrel over women's intelligence?"
He knew of what I spoke. "Women are not as ferocious and men, yet men are not as patient. The chips fall into balance in the end."
"So you believe women not partaking in battle is archaic and traditional?"
"Nothing is archaic or traditional about battle, My Lady."
"Why is it that some think so?" I iced my tone with spite and turned an angry eye on the elf, who was doing a most excellent job of ignoring me.
Aragorn shifted and clapped my shoulder. "He's just worried. About you and Rohan's people. We have a lot on our minds, as do you."
He didn't know Kyler, but he knew I had left some sort of family behind. Only Kyler and our foster mother. And Tess. What were they doing? Was I sleeping?
No. I was supposed to be at Tess' party. I was driving there, wasn't I? What happened? Did I hit I take a wrong turn and hit Isengard?
Wait...
Oh God.
I hit something, I think. I remember the light, and the sting from the stab. Wait, I was stabbed? I still bear the scars, but were they from the crash? I forget.
I need to play that flute again. It's with me, but I can't just whip it out and start playing. They'd rip it away. I tell the ranger, "I need to be alone for a bit. It won't take long."
He nods, granting me my leave, which I take. I cross one of the walls, flinching as I pass Legolas. I know he noticed.
Finally, I'm in a secluded courtyard of stone. Moss marches proudly across the walls as colorful lichen creep from the stones below me. At last, peace in a war-torn world.
The flute flies to my lips and I blow. A tainted Rain falls about the courtyard, muffling the muted music of the Cúron Ivor. My fingers play a familiar tune, as the flute remains cold and silent, the incarnation of crypt's chilling solitude.
I can't feel the old elven magic that was sown into the instrument. I wondered...maybe it thinks I'm dead?
The flute flames beneath my lips and I almost drop it. There is a latent tingling in my lips as the blaze is doused, my mind being washed of any sickening thoughts. I bend my mind and soul on those last moments of life, when I was slipping away...
The flute once again bursts into glorious heat as I concentrate. I'm fully believing that I'm dead and I realize-
-This flute trying to rekindle the spark of life I once sustained.
I'm screaming in my head. I know I'm dead; I'm just a walking corpse...
And I fail, flicker, and fade away into the stonewalls.
(3rd person)
The orc withdrew is sword from the girl's back. A crystal flute rolled away from her dead fingers. His comrade laughed. "What a waste of valor."
The orc snorted. "What imbecile plays a flute in the middle of a battle?"
"A human."
They laughed heartily and continued on their way, ripping through two elves on their way out.
The flute hit a raised stone and retraced its roll. A shine of distant light was building the framework of the instrument and with a wayward spark, burst back into a fiery light. The glare was blinding.
The flute stretched, trying to find the cradle of Sirion's hand. It knew she'd play it and cure herself long enough for her to get help. Why did that hand seem so distant?
Rivers was out cold, obviously unconscious. With a final sigh, her death bell rattled and the flute froze and fell cold.