Disclaimer: I own nothing that is recognizable to the Lord of the Rings franchise. The languages used in this story are Quenya, Primitive Elvish, and Sindarin. These are all owned by J.R.R. Tolkien.
What ARE mine are the original characters and the Darkmen tongue
Confrontation
Thunder roared in his ears at her tacit appraisal. /It isn't right,/ he thought angrily, turning toward her, /She is Avari, a She-Elf traitor to the Valar, and all Eldar! How dare she lay her tainted eyes on the Galadhrim, ones who know obedience!/
Fury and revulsion coursed through him, making his limbs shake and his head to fill with bloodlust. /She will not live to betray our kind again!/ His hand grasped the hilt of his sword tightly, causing the blade to sing as it was pulled from its sheath. Gripping the tightly wrapped leather rigidly in one hand, he advanced on her, swinging its hilt into a two-handed grip.
He stalked her slowly, using his height and mass as intimidation. When her stance became a defensive half-crouch, righteous anger spilled over to his wrath. Even quicker than he, she grasped the twin swords strapped to her back, unsheathing two of the most beautiful blades he had ever seen. The handgrips were wrapped tightly with black leather, stars etched in silver from the pommel to guard.
The blades themselves were slightly similar to those carried by Mirkwood Elves, certain differences aside; their beauty only fueled his ire. As she twirled them in her hands, the righteous anger in him grew.
/She will learn the price of betrayal/ he swore.
She could feel the angry undercurrent of the Sun-haired Elf before her. Defiance in her narrowed eyes, she glared at him, chin raised, daring him to fight. If she was to die this day, she would die with honor.
Orophin let out a wild yell, attacking her with a speed and agility that stunned her. He fought so differently from her kin, she had no idea what to expect.
They led a deadly dance, Orophin determined to destroy the insolent She-Elf, the stranger refusing to yield. He slashed the air in an arc, aiming for her chest, only to be startled as she deflected his attack, turning it against him. For hours they fought tirelessly, locked together in fierce conflict; a crowd began to grow around them in the practice yard as their blows rang through the trees, cheering for Orophin and jeering at the stranger.
At last, Orophin's strong muscles began to show signs of weariness, but he refused to stop his attack. Inch by hard-won inch, he pushed her back toward a mallorn tree, intent on pinning her to its trunk.
Too late she realized his plan, and though she fought desperately to push him back, he succeeded in disarming her, causing her blades to fall to the ground. He watched in satisfaction as she slumped her head in defeat, collapsing against the tree.
"Bereth dhraug," he taunted, his eyes cruel and unforgiving as he pulled his sword back to drive it into her body, "Gweriannel men."
Quicker than thought, the She-Elf straightened, whipping out a dagger and swiftly pinned it to his throat. His stroke was halted mid-air as her knife pressed against him. She could feel his pulse racing against the tip of her blade, pressing slightly against the vein there.
Suddenly, the enraged Elf heard his brother calling his name through the crowd. Oh, that his older brother was to see him in such dishonorable defeat! His hatred of the stranger grew even more, if possible. He swore that she would pay doubly for this disgrace.
"Orophin!" shouted Haldir, thrusting himself through the gathered audience, "Orophin, nuitho, nuitho vuindoren! Sen nauthpen, sen nuitho sí!"
She looked deep into her opponent's eyes, saw the other Sun-haired one trying to get to him, and breathed deeply. Never moving her gaze from Orophin's, she slowly lowered the knife to her side, stepping back to allow the other her place.
Though his brother had not moved his arm from its mid-air position, Haldir saw his arm muscles twitch and shake in repression. Worried for Orophin's rashness, he gripped his brother's arm tightly.
"Move out of the way, Haldir!" Orophin hissed, his eyes wild in his bloodlust, "She deserves to die for her treachery against our kind!"
SILENCE!
The command came deafening, the voice crashing as loud as thunder. So powerful, it forced Haldir and those around him to their knees, Orophin to drop his sword and press his hands to his ears. The echoes of the voice ricocheted through Haldir's mind, causing his eyes to close tightly in an effort to lessen the voice's power. As the echoes died away, the lids of his eyes opened to half-slits. /The stranger is speaking!/ he realized in awe, /How can she speak to us in our minds? The Lady said she was different; I did not realize she was gifted as the Lady Herself!/
Silver eyes glared aggressively at those around her; anger raged in those mithril depths, anger and defiance. Her presence seemed to tower above those before her, forcing them to cover their ears in an attempt to block out her voice. Righteous anger pulsated from her body. Her skin turned to molten gold, hair to pure moonlight, and her silver eyes seemed to deepen, pulling him into her, entrancing him, hypnotizing him.
The force in his mind suddenly intensified.
"You call my kind Unwilling; we are not. We are Áraquendi: Elves of the Dawn, ones who dwell in the land where Anár rises, past the settlements of Men and Darkness. Where the earth is still wild and untamed as fire, and we are the ones who protect it.
"Call me what you will, in whatever tongue! Avari, Abari, Avamanyar! Dark-Elf, Mori-kwendê, Moriquendë! These are your names for me! I refuse them; I refuse what you would brand me! I am Kinn-lai, Áraquendë...I am Sálindë, Child of the Dawn!"
Haldir cried out in pain at the strength of her wrath, pressing his ears even harder. All at once, her powerful presence left his mind, replaced by another, one he knew. He clung to the familiar light: the Lady had come.
The pain lessening, he tenderly opened his eyes: there, on the stair leading from the City, stood his Queen, and Lord Celeborn. Her arms were raised slightly, her gaze direct and intense on the stranger. Slowly, he rose to his feet, half-stumbling to his Lady's side; he noticed the rest of the Elves around him, including his brother, had followed the same path as he. Together they stood, some in fear, some in anger, some in confusion, all staring at the stranger.
"Alatáriel," her lips breathed, wonder written plainly on her face as she lowered her knife to her side, and fell to a knee, bowing her head in reverence. The Lady herself seemed slightly surprised at being addressed in such a way:
Uyétanyë palan patnâ an le, herinya. Min nyarlyë mórë engwëa slîwê nórer Róna; nauvasa palu tenna topë Ambar sina
Her words were foreign to him, familiar yet scattered with unknown terms, words harsh and different. Yet it was her voice that captured his attention, her voice that was so similar yet so different from the powerful presence in his mind. Low and rich, it was as though she spoke from deep within her throat; the words, familiar and otherwise, matched her voice.
Thauron-d pellë, herinya, ar hóstëa belê tuo mí Moratani o Róna. Mentanë nin anatullë ar vanda i sercë nossënya
All watched, breathless, as she picked up her blades from where they lay, re-sheathed them, and once again grasped the dagger strapped to her hip. No longer entranced by the two opponents' skill, the audience now saw that the knife itself wasn't made of steel, or metal at all; instead, the blade was a pure, translucent green glass, smooth and straight, unlike any Elvish craft known to them.
Silver eyes never wavering from the Lady, she drew it sharply across her palm, unflinching from the pain. Raising her hand palm-up to Galadriel, she spoke:
Sercë i Minnónar, vandanyë anale
Slowly, she tightened her hand into a fist, squeezing until her blood ran between her fingers onto the ground.
Galadriel stood still beside her husband, both gazing at the stranger, the one called Sálindë, remembering the ancient language and the days of old.
"Come, Sálindë," said Galadriel at last, her eyes grave and face somber, "I accept your pledge. You have traveled far, and are weary with the toil of your charge. Come now and rest, as a guest of the Lord and Lady."
A.N.:
Plain Italics Sindarin
Bold Quenya
/Italics/ Thoughts
Italics and Bold Mind-Speak
A.N. II:
I have read online that "She-Elf" is the lowest of names to call a female Elf, despicable and crude. That is how I am using it in this story.
Avari Sindarin term (the Unwilling, Those who refused the summons to Valinor)
Avamanyar Quenya term (meaning Avari)
Abari Primitive Elvish (meaning Avari), PE henceforth titled 'Avarin'
Dark-Elf Avari, (S)
Moriquendë Dark-Elf (Q)
Mori-kwendê Dark-Elf (A)
Kinn-lai one of the six tribes of the Avari
Áraquendi Dawn Elves (Q)
Sálindë translated as Firesong (Q)
Alatáriel Telerin name for Galadriel
Translation:
Bereth dhraug Wolf feast
Gweriannel men You betrayed us
Orophin, nuitho, nuitho vuindoren! Sen nauthpen, sen nuitho sí! Orophin, stop, stop my brother! This is madness, stop this now!
Uyétanyë palan patnâ an le, herinya. Min nyarlyë mórë engwëa slîwê nórer Róna; nauvasa palu tenna topë Ambar sina I have searched far and wide for you, my lady. I am come to warn you of a Darkness sickening the lands of the East; it will spread until it consumes this world
Thauron-d pellë, herinya, ar hóstëa belê tuo mí Moratani o Róna. Mentanë nin anatullë ar vanda i sercë nossënya The Abhorrent One has returned, my lady, and is gathering strength in the Darkmen of the East; I was chosen to come to you, and pledge the blood of my people
Sercë i Minnónar, vandanyë anale Blood of the Firstborn, I pledge to thee