Estel Hiruvalyë
(thou shalt find hope)
Yeah, okay, so this is the first Lord of the Rings story I have thought to write, and it probably sucks (no, don't run away yet!), but I'm writing it anyway! I'm not even gonna pretend I know what I'm doing including Elvish in the story, but I will say beside it what I MEANT it to mean, at least. 97% the elvish will be Quenya, since that's the one I'm familiar with, and I don't give a crap about no grammar either, lets just stick to "look up, put there, maybe mix 'em around so they look pretty." [note the sarcasm.]. Hopefully I get reviews! Cause they make us all happy! ^_^ so, um… please read it and tell me how much it sucks!
1 Chapter I : Ëala
2 [spirit]
"Fly, you fools!" Gandalf cried before his hands slipped, and he fell into the deep darkness of the abyss below.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
I lay on a flat, hark rock, gazing around Dimril Dale. The warm sun glowed steadily overhead, and I sat there, perfectly contented for the time being. A qualm of misgiving and misery hung around the air, the sun's warmth barely succeeding in cutting through this unwelcome feeling that sought it's way into me. I pushed it aside as best I could, trying to forego all the negative feelings that I knew would someday surround all of Middle Earth. The feeling eventually settled into my heart as a cloud strayed in front of the sun, shadowing the plain in darkness compared to the sun's light.
I sat up, knowing that I would not be able to shake this feeling of dread until I could converse with Mithrandir. I looked again back to the mighty stone doorway of Moria, carved what seemed to be millennia ago from the mountain's face. Here I sat, for the past week now, watching and waiting for any sign of Mithrandir and his fellowship, the partnership that carried the One Ring. I knew them to be close, for even as I sat here, I could feel the pull of Sauron's creation.
For the past 2 days, I have not been able to rest. Sleep has been filled with the most horrendous dreams I could have ever imagined. And I knew that, with the approach of the Ring, they would only get worse, until I could find a way to block them out. I hoped that I would never see it, never mind it come to me. I feared what would happen, if I laid eyes on it. Perhaps it would kill me if I were to touch it, but compared to these countless years spent alone, death would be a welcome.
No, the screams are a tenfold worse. Screams, pleas, accusations, they all haunted me to no end. The screams of my parents dying at the hands of the Ring, the pleas of the remaining lives as they were slowly hunted down and extinguished, the accusations of my people screaming of it all being my own doing and fault. They were worse than any death that could finally claim my life.
Just last night, I felt the remaining of the Eärrámë perish. Ehtelë, the last people of the Water, was hunted down by the Nazgûl Lords. I felt as if I was drowning, as the remainder of her power was lost to the remaining two Spirits, myself included. How I shall miss her, my dear friend, one of the last friends I had of my people. Water was lost.
I knew that Fanyarë, the last of the Vilya, and Urolóki, of the Nárolië, had also fallen into the sleep. Only Cemendur and I remained. But for how long?
I drew myself out of my despair as I saw dark figures flee out of Moria. I slid of the rock and crept closer, concealing myself behind a large boulder, somewhat taller than my own short figure. Even with the concealing spell that Mithrandir cast, I still remained shorter than most, even compared to Elves and Men. I did not have the appearance of Men, yet neither did I fit in with the descriptions of Elves. I had short, silver hair that reached only to my shoulders, and my eyes remained the violet colour that had stood out for millennia. I did not have as pointy of ears as the Elves, yet I could hear and see as them when I really tried, which wasn't often, as it did take a lot of energy. The spell, however, did conceal many features that would have given me away millennia past, something I was grateful yet resentful of in the same moment. I am a child of the stars like all others. I have a right to be here, just as any Hobbits, Dwarves, Elves or Men do. Why should I have to hide myself in the shadows? Yet conceal myself I did, for it was perhaps my last line to safety, or whatever equivalent could be had in these dark times.
I pulled my hood over my head and crawled up the boulder, peering over at the group of companions. Mithrandir had written in his letter that there was a fellowship of Nine, and that through dealings with the witchcraft of Saruman, they would not be passing over Caradhras. Instead, they would travel through the deep mines of Moria, a path that had held me in worry for some time. Dark tidings indeed must have passed if Mithrandir had to resort to that Pit of Evil.
I counted the heads of the people who had exited the dark doorway, and counted the heads of four of the Hobbits, the little halflings that Mithrandir spoke so fondly of during his stories, and two taller silhouettes that must be Men. A short figure, taller that the hobbits and shorter that the men, must have been the dwarf, but that still was coming short of the number nine.
« Mammen lende Mithrandir ar elda? » [Where's Gandalf and the elf?] I asked myself aloud, sighing heavily and closing my eyes as I turned around and slid down the rock to the ground. I opened my eyes again to look up the long shaft of an arrow, the pointed head inches away from my head.
« Ela! Símenië i elda. » [Behold! Here's the elf.] A cold voice answered, and I finally tore my eyes away from the tip to look up. There stood the afore-mentioned elf, a tall male that had dark eyes fixed in a glare. His long blonde hair was partially pulled back, the sides braided to avoid being caught in an arrow or bowstring. He was obviously an archer, and my suspicions placed him from Mirkwood. He would have looked very handsome had he not an arrow pointed between my eyes and did not have such a fierce look on his features.
« Amorta. » [Get up.]He said harshly, and I slowly pushed myself up, leaning lightly against the boulder to my back, careful not to hurt myself. He nudged me away from the rock with the tip of the arrow, and I stepped backwards from it, keeping face to the elf who could kill me at any minute. Great, just what I need, the people I have been asked to help killing me. I really need to reconsider what Gandalf had requested me to do.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
alright, so what do you think… I have more chapters, all done, but I desperately need reviews!!! And the romance will come eventually so give me some time…
(thou shalt find hope)
Yeah, okay, so this is the first Lord of the Rings story I have thought to write, and it probably sucks (no, don't run away yet!), but I'm writing it anyway! I'm not even gonna pretend I know what I'm doing including Elvish in the story, but I will say beside it what I MEANT it to mean, at least. 97% the elvish will be Quenya, since that's the one I'm familiar with, and I don't give a crap about no grammar either, lets just stick to "look up, put there, maybe mix 'em around so they look pretty." [note the sarcasm.]. Hopefully I get reviews! Cause they make us all happy! ^_^ so, um… please read it and tell me how much it sucks!
1 Chapter I : Ëala
2 [spirit]
"Fly, you fools!" Gandalf cried before his hands slipped, and he fell into the deep darkness of the abyss below.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
I lay on a flat, hark rock, gazing around Dimril Dale. The warm sun glowed steadily overhead, and I sat there, perfectly contented for the time being. A qualm of misgiving and misery hung around the air, the sun's warmth barely succeeding in cutting through this unwelcome feeling that sought it's way into me. I pushed it aside as best I could, trying to forego all the negative feelings that I knew would someday surround all of Middle Earth. The feeling eventually settled into my heart as a cloud strayed in front of the sun, shadowing the plain in darkness compared to the sun's light.
I sat up, knowing that I would not be able to shake this feeling of dread until I could converse with Mithrandir. I looked again back to the mighty stone doorway of Moria, carved what seemed to be millennia ago from the mountain's face. Here I sat, for the past week now, watching and waiting for any sign of Mithrandir and his fellowship, the partnership that carried the One Ring. I knew them to be close, for even as I sat here, I could feel the pull of Sauron's creation.
For the past 2 days, I have not been able to rest. Sleep has been filled with the most horrendous dreams I could have ever imagined. And I knew that, with the approach of the Ring, they would only get worse, until I could find a way to block them out. I hoped that I would never see it, never mind it come to me. I feared what would happen, if I laid eyes on it. Perhaps it would kill me if I were to touch it, but compared to these countless years spent alone, death would be a welcome.
No, the screams are a tenfold worse. Screams, pleas, accusations, they all haunted me to no end. The screams of my parents dying at the hands of the Ring, the pleas of the remaining lives as they were slowly hunted down and extinguished, the accusations of my people screaming of it all being my own doing and fault. They were worse than any death that could finally claim my life.
Just last night, I felt the remaining of the Eärrámë perish. Ehtelë, the last people of the Water, was hunted down by the Nazgûl Lords. I felt as if I was drowning, as the remainder of her power was lost to the remaining two Spirits, myself included. How I shall miss her, my dear friend, one of the last friends I had of my people. Water was lost.
I knew that Fanyarë, the last of the Vilya, and Urolóki, of the Nárolië, had also fallen into the sleep. Only Cemendur and I remained. But for how long?
I drew myself out of my despair as I saw dark figures flee out of Moria. I slid of the rock and crept closer, concealing myself behind a large boulder, somewhat taller than my own short figure. Even with the concealing spell that Mithrandir cast, I still remained shorter than most, even compared to Elves and Men. I did not have the appearance of Men, yet neither did I fit in with the descriptions of Elves. I had short, silver hair that reached only to my shoulders, and my eyes remained the violet colour that had stood out for millennia. I did not have as pointy of ears as the Elves, yet I could hear and see as them when I really tried, which wasn't often, as it did take a lot of energy. The spell, however, did conceal many features that would have given me away millennia past, something I was grateful yet resentful of in the same moment. I am a child of the stars like all others. I have a right to be here, just as any Hobbits, Dwarves, Elves or Men do. Why should I have to hide myself in the shadows? Yet conceal myself I did, for it was perhaps my last line to safety, or whatever equivalent could be had in these dark times.
I pulled my hood over my head and crawled up the boulder, peering over at the group of companions. Mithrandir had written in his letter that there was a fellowship of Nine, and that through dealings with the witchcraft of Saruman, they would not be passing over Caradhras. Instead, they would travel through the deep mines of Moria, a path that had held me in worry for some time. Dark tidings indeed must have passed if Mithrandir had to resort to that Pit of Evil.
I counted the heads of the people who had exited the dark doorway, and counted the heads of four of the Hobbits, the little halflings that Mithrandir spoke so fondly of during his stories, and two taller silhouettes that must be Men. A short figure, taller that the hobbits and shorter that the men, must have been the dwarf, but that still was coming short of the number nine.
« Mammen lende Mithrandir ar elda? » [Where's Gandalf and the elf?] I asked myself aloud, sighing heavily and closing my eyes as I turned around and slid down the rock to the ground. I opened my eyes again to look up the long shaft of an arrow, the pointed head inches away from my head.
« Ela! Símenië i elda. » [Behold! Here's the elf.] A cold voice answered, and I finally tore my eyes away from the tip to look up. There stood the afore-mentioned elf, a tall male that had dark eyes fixed in a glare. His long blonde hair was partially pulled back, the sides braided to avoid being caught in an arrow or bowstring. He was obviously an archer, and my suspicions placed him from Mirkwood. He would have looked very handsome had he not an arrow pointed between my eyes and did not have such a fierce look on his features.
« Amorta. » [Get up.]He said harshly, and I slowly pushed myself up, leaning lightly against the boulder to my back, careful not to hurt myself. He nudged me away from the rock with the tip of the arrow, and I stepped backwards from it, keeping face to the elf who could kill me at any minute. Great, just what I need, the people I have been asked to help killing me. I really need to reconsider what Gandalf had requested me to do.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
alright, so what do you think… I have more chapters, all done, but I desperately need reviews!!! And the romance will come eventually so give me some time…