Disclaimer: Middle-Earth, it's history, languages and characters belong to
J.R.R. Tolkien. Erin and Imrel belong to me. So does this storyline.
Nothing more, nothing less.
A/N: I know, I know. I take forever in finishing a single chapter, and this is one of my shortest. Nonetheless, I think you'll like it. Read, review, and enjoy!
Chapter 7
Erin smiled to herself, pleased at her success. Once again, she had managed to get in and out of the cellars without being seen and leave with a large flask full of booze. These cellars were usually well guarded, as they were full of (don't tell me you hadn't known, or guessed!) barrels, for the elves were very fond of drinking, though they rarely brew any themselves.
She drank it greedily, enjoying the tingling warmth that spread out from her stomach to the very tips of her fingers. She waltzed about her room, bumping into the furniture every now and then, but she didn't care. She was feeling reckless. Her face flushed, and she smiled gleefully, having begun to feel dizzy.
The problem was, whatever she had taken was a lot stronger than she'd originally thought and she had taken too much in a very short time. She stumbled and fell over, nearly hitting herself on the table corner. Luckily for her, Imrel had come into the room just then, and he managed to catch her just before her pretty little head made contact.
She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and dropped to her knees, pulling him down along with her into a sort of bow. Imrel tried in vain to pull her to her feet. She laughed hysterically, tears coming to her eyes, and began to babble, saying things like, "My knight in shining armor! What would I do without you?" He instantly noted the near-empty cut-glass goblet on the table, her slurred words, and the sharp scent of alcohol on her breath.
"Erin, why did you do this?" he asked her angrily. She looked into his eyes and her face melted into a soft, sweet smile, but her eyes were cold as ice. "Revenge," she whispered softly, but he was too intent on scolding her for her irresponsibility to hear. Her hands, which were still around his neck, began to bring his head down to hers. If he couldn't remember, she'd make him...
Suddenly, everything began to spin around madly, endlessly, unstoppably, and the sound of wind filled her ears. Her smile turned to a grimace of pain and terror, and she cried out softly, trying to scream. All strength left her: her hands lost their hold on his neck, and her eyes fluttered closed as she fell into a dead faint...
When Erin opened her eyes again, she could only think about the strange dream she'd had... She wasn't even conscious of having fainted- all she could remember was drinking and beginning to feel peculiarly warm, but not at all like when she drank. Her head, usually very clear after having slept the drink off, felt queer and fuzzy, and her body felt cold and stiff. Her eyesight was blurred, but after blinking a few times, it improved slightly.
She looked around and realized she was no longer in her room, but in a small, round alcove, dimly lit by a small torch on the right. On the left, there were a few small windows just beneath the low ceiling, and she saw it was very dark outside. She wondered if she was still in Mirkwood. Or had she been transported to a different place? And most important, why, or rather, how could she have remained so long in Mirkwood to begin with?
Her head, less fuzzy now, was beginning to hurt horribly, very much like the time she had drugged herself with prescription pills and alcohol. She had loved the way she felt while their combined effect lasted, but the hangover had been so bad she had never done it again. A few months after, a girl she had used to know died from an overdose of the same pills.
The small torch would not last much longer; it was already beginning to flicker. She tried to get up, but she couldn't even lift her head from the floor without great pain and effort. As the torch turned out, she saw a strange, menacing shadow enter the room through a doorway opposite her she hadn't noticed before. She began to panic when it entered the room.
It had basically a human-like shape to begin with, but it's head was spectacularly deformed- overly large to begin with, with strange, pointy ears, a snout and no hair- except for it's ears. The air stirred when it moved, and it stank horribly- as if it were covered in the accumulated filth, blood and death of centuries and not in black and white armor and chain mail.
Her stomach became queasy at the stench of it, and she began to retch, but her belly was empty so there was nothing to vomit and she suffered dry heaves and no more. The strange, disgusting creature came closer to her and pulled out a curved sword- a scimitar. Suddenly, it dawned on her what this creature was and what it meant to do to her... but it was too late to save herself anymore...
Imrel paced around outside the room, trying to decide what to do. He was becoming desperate. He had to help her, but how? He knew he had little time. The only problem was, she wasn't supposed to be here in the first place. How could he help her without outside help, he, of all people? If she was found out, there was no telling what could happen to her. On the other hand, if no one helped her, she would die nevertheless... What in Arda was he to do?
A/N: Once again, thank you very much to everyone who left a review! I appreciate any comments and/or suggestions you might have. Also, it would be nice if you told me exactly what it is you like about this (or any other) chapter, so I can pay more attention to it. To my beloved readers and lurkers, a thousand thanks!
A/N: I know, I know. I take forever in finishing a single chapter, and this is one of my shortest. Nonetheless, I think you'll like it. Read, review, and enjoy!
Chapter 7
Erin smiled to herself, pleased at her success. Once again, she had managed to get in and out of the cellars without being seen and leave with a large flask full of booze. These cellars were usually well guarded, as they were full of (don't tell me you hadn't known, or guessed!) barrels, for the elves were very fond of drinking, though they rarely brew any themselves.
She drank it greedily, enjoying the tingling warmth that spread out from her stomach to the very tips of her fingers. She waltzed about her room, bumping into the furniture every now and then, but she didn't care. She was feeling reckless. Her face flushed, and she smiled gleefully, having begun to feel dizzy.
The problem was, whatever she had taken was a lot stronger than she'd originally thought and she had taken too much in a very short time. She stumbled and fell over, nearly hitting herself on the table corner. Luckily for her, Imrel had come into the room just then, and he managed to catch her just before her pretty little head made contact.
She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and dropped to her knees, pulling him down along with her into a sort of bow. Imrel tried in vain to pull her to her feet. She laughed hysterically, tears coming to her eyes, and began to babble, saying things like, "My knight in shining armor! What would I do without you?" He instantly noted the near-empty cut-glass goblet on the table, her slurred words, and the sharp scent of alcohol on her breath.
"Erin, why did you do this?" he asked her angrily. She looked into his eyes and her face melted into a soft, sweet smile, but her eyes were cold as ice. "Revenge," she whispered softly, but he was too intent on scolding her for her irresponsibility to hear. Her hands, which were still around his neck, began to bring his head down to hers. If he couldn't remember, she'd make him...
Suddenly, everything began to spin around madly, endlessly, unstoppably, and the sound of wind filled her ears. Her smile turned to a grimace of pain and terror, and she cried out softly, trying to scream. All strength left her: her hands lost their hold on his neck, and her eyes fluttered closed as she fell into a dead faint...
When Erin opened her eyes again, she could only think about the strange dream she'd had... She wasn't even conscious of having fainted- all she could remember was drinking and beginning to feel peculiarly warm, but not at all like when she drank. Her head, usually very clear after having slept the drink off, felt queer and fuzzy, and her body felt cold and stiff. Her eyesight was blurred, but after blinking a few times, it improved slightly.
She looked around and realized she was no longer in her room, but in a small, round alcove, dimly lit by a small torch on the right. On the left, there were a few small windows just beneath the low ceiling, and she saw it was very dark outside. She wondered if she was still in Mirkwood. Or had she been transported to a different place? And most important, why, or rather, how could she have remained so long in Mirkwood to begin with?
Her head, less fuzzy now, was beginning to hurt horribly, very much like the time she had drugged herself with prescription pills and alcohol. She had loved the way she felt while their combined effect lasted, but the hangover had been so bad she had never done it again. A few months after, a girl she had used to know died from an overdose of the same pills.
The small torch would not last much longer; it was already beginning to flicker. She tried to get up, but she couldn't even lift her head from the floor without great pain and effort. As the torch turned out, she saw a strange, menacing shadow enter the room through a doorway opposite her she hadn't noticed before. She began to panic when it entered the room.
It had basically a human-like shape to begin with, but it's head was spectacularly deformed- overly large to begin with, with strange, pointy ears, a snout and no hair- except for it's ears. The air stirred when it moved, and it stank horribly- as if it were covered in the accumulated filth, blood and death of centuries and not in black and white armor and chain mail.
Her stomach became queasy at the stench of it, and she began to retch, but her belly was empty so there was nothing to vomit and she suffered dry heaves and no more. The strange, disgusting creature came closer to her and pulled out a curved sword- a scimitar. Suddenly, it dawned on her what this creature was and what it meant to do to her... but it was too late to save herself anymore...
Imrel paced around outside the room, trying to decide what to do. He was becoming desperate. He had to help her, but how? He knew he had little time. The only problem was, she wasn't supposed to be here in the first place. How could he help her without outside help, he, of all people? If she was found out, there was no telling what could happen to her. On the other hand, if no one helped her, she would die nevertheless... What in Arda was he to do?
A/N: Once again, thank you very much to everyone who left a review! I appreciate any comments and/or suggestions you might have. Also, it would be nice if you told me exactly what it is you like about this (or any other) chapter, so I can pay more attention to it. To my beloved readers and lurkers, a thousand thanks!
