He he he, here is the next chapter… I didn't have trouble at all writing
it, because I have this grand master plan in my mind of what has happened/
what is happening/ what will happen, but I just don't really feel satisfied
with the way I'm writing it.
A little info on Haíthwen: she isn't a mary sue, at least I'm not trying to make her one. She is a loyal friend, and trusts the fellowship because Aragorn trusts them, and they are good friends (it's not an Aragorn romance, they are just close friends! He's all Arwens!), but still she does not trust people easily. She feels deeply for people, though, and is very motherly, for she feels it is her duty to care for others; a trait among the faëries. She hates killing. She fears what other people think of her, so she hides what she really is. She doubts herself, even if she doesn't show it, and cannot continue for long without guidance, praise or direction from others. Okay… that's all I can think of saying without giving away anything else… but if you have any suggestions, comments, flames or other, tell me, as I do want to hear!
Okay… onwards!
1 Chapter IV: Hecilë lindámë
[forsaken song-wing]
Previously:
He turned, and stared long and hard at Haíthwen. He knew, somewhere in the far recesses of his mind, of a fairy-tale heard long ago while he was a child that sounded very similar to Aragorn's story. He looked at her, at her small stature that looked like an elf, yet was almost tiny compared to the average height of most elves. The way she sometimes held grace, like she was floating, and the bright light in her eyes that shimmered with glitter…
"You're… you're a –" Legolas cried…
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
I walked up the stairs after ensuring Frodo was asleep and well. It haunted me somewhat that I could help him, of all people, with their nightmares, yet I could do nothing for my own. I pushed that thought aside as I remembered that I was only here to help others, screw myself.
I stopped walking as I saw Legolas stare at me hard. I trembled as he held his gaze on me for so long, but it paled to the fear and anxiety I felt as his face shifted to one in utter shock.
"Oh… shit." I mumbled as he must have recognized fully what he saw before him.
"You're… you're a –" Legolas cried…
I took a step away from him, wondering what may happen. I had yet to see how an elf would react if they ever found out what I truly was, but I had never needed to learn as Mithrandir's spell had never failed me! 'But think, Aíca, he's fallen into darkness now. The spell wouldn't work if he had…'
"You… are a faërie." Legolas said, wonder and awe present in his voice. Whatever I had expected, I was sure this was not it. I had expected beheading, bloodshed, screaming, little kids running for their lives, life in dungeons… okay, so I'm melodramatic. I had not expected him to be looking at me in awe, or wonder, or anything that did not result in death. Somewhere in my subconscious I heard a voice screaming, 'He's an elf! They betrayed your family! Friends! People!' but I could not grasp that opinion. I was still afraid, but I had expected… much worse. Part of me was worried, just because this one elf is amazed, doesn't mean your life is no longer in danger, but the other was relieved, tremendously happy, that he had taken this so lightly. Or as lightly as one can take it. His uncomfortable gaze and the oppressive silence between us was growing unbearable, and I felt tears well up in my eyes for a reason I did not know.
"But I would… should… have known earlier. Elves were always able to tell where faëries were. And you don't look the part if one does not know how to look…" Legolas had a confused look on his face, one that made him look like a small child and really cute, but I thought back to the arrow that he had aimed through my head to wipe my mind of that picture.
"I have been hiding for thousands and hundreds of years. I would not have let one single elf know of what I was could I have prevented it."
"But…" he started, but I interrupted him. Since when are people so easy to predict?
"Yes, I have wings. No, you can not see them. And no, we are not 5 inches tall… All of the time." I sighed and realized that I was still edging away from him. I sighed and walked over to the table, walking around him and getting as close as I dared without creeping against the walls to stay far away from his person. I sad down at the table and sighed, rubbing my arm… I had yet to tell anyone where I had gone earlier in the day, or what had happened, but I realized it had little real value here and now. I had yet to properly care for it, but the athelas leaves I always carried in my pouch had kept the wound clean, to say the least. All I could do till later is hope the wound starts to close, and is not too much a discomfort.
"And for you… you are the one that told him!" I said harshly to Aragorn, who was eating an apple. He looked at me innocently for a moment, like a child that does not realize they have done anything wrong, until my face began to crack into a small smile, which I tried to hide by burying my head in my arms once again.
"I told him some basic details, Lórëala, but he figured it out in his own time." He finally said, seriously, as he cut up another apple and offered it around.
"Call me my proper name, Aragorn." I mumbled, my voice colder that I wished it to sound, as I crossed my arms on the table and set my head in them.
"Why are you afraid to travel to LothLórien?" Legolas asked as he took a piece from Aragorn. I groaned inwardly, knowing this question will have resurfaced by the time we could reach the wood. I had hoped for a little more time though, to think of a lie to sway him away from the whole topic, but knowing elves, he would have seen through it.
"Ages ago, the Elves and the Rámainenórë were joined together, where an elf had a faërie as a guardian of sorts. The faërie would follow them until they left across the sea or died, and the faërie would then find another mate, if they so wished. During the time of the Great Alliance, the elves expected the faëries to join the war against Sauron, but we wouldn't, as we do not go to war. One of our principles. Our race was innocent and naive. We were a young race, and I believe we were simply afraid of what we may have to do, could not cope with the idea of going to war. We don't take away life, as it is very precious to us. So most of the elves became furious that we would not help, so we were cast away. We were without hope, and those who left the elves returned to our last safe-haven, Rossëmár. Rumour is that one elf aligned himself with the Dark Lord, and before he was turned into an Orc, he told of where we were hiding. Sauron came to us, demanding that we align ourselves with him. We wouldn't do that, just as we had said we would not join the war, and he…" I paused, my voice finally disappearing as it had threatened to while I spoke. I took a deep breath and swallowed the lump in my throat. "He killed all that were there.
"A couple were absent from the disaster, some of the faëries that had refused to participate in the war, let lend their services elsewhere, like healing and planning refuge and shelter for others that were affected. A total of 13 were spared from death, but they, too, eventually left as the elves grew resentful of us. And over the years, especially the last 10 winter-cycles, the Nazgûl have been dividing us, hunting us down, one by one, and we have diminished, our magi's being lost."
"Magi, now here is something you have yet to tell of." Aragorn said as he stretched his arms.
"I shall not go into it in detail, for it would take many hours to explain, and you are weary. There are 5 types of Magi among the Rámainenórë: the Eärrámë, the Vilya, the Nárolië, the Olvaralië, and the Hisiëfëa. Each one tends to lean towards a certain type of magic, water, air, fire, earth, and life. It's our life force, in a way. Since there are so few of us left, each person left as the last of their elements has almost all of that type of magic available. If none are left, then the magi is divided between the rest of the faëries, until another comes along with that type to reclaim it, or only one is left with all five types."
"So right now, only two faëries are left, divided between 5 types of magic. Which do you possess?" Legolas asked, barely able to hide his interest. I wondered how he knew there were only two left, but I left it that Aragorn had let it slip. I'll add it to the 'list of things to berate Aragorn with'.
"Only Cemendur and I remain, he possesses all of Earth, I possess all of Life, and among the two of us, we have almost half of all Air, Water, and Fire each. I believe that's it… it's not exactly a precise science."
"Incredible." Legolas said, awe-struck. I left him at that, for he seemed too amazed at it all to say anything else.
"I hardly think of it as wonderful. Indeed…" I scoffed, picking up an apple and rolling it between my hands. How could anyone think this power is great? Such burden I can hardly begin to describe, yet it is Sauron's lust for power that is slowly killing us off.
"But that still leaves one question unanswered: What so frightens you in LothLórien?" Aragorn inquired.
"Each faërie has an elf mate. Before the Great War, I was Galadriel's faërie. I fear returning, for I know, should I enter her realm and be caught, I shall be brought before her, and I fear what she may say, for we did not leave in the best of circumstances. But enough if this talk," I stopped, standing and stretching my stiff back and knee, "It is well into the night, and I'm sure whichever one of you which has taken 2nd watch shall want to rest before-hand."
Legolas stood and bid us a pleasant watch before retiring to rest, but clearly thought the discussion not to be over, as he looked like he had many questions.
"Why should you feel so wronged in telling others your story? I know there were many things you avoided telling him, as well as me. Why?" Aragorn asked, forehead creased in worry or something as he looked at me again. I groaned in frustration. I barely knew my story, and the one I do know is much different from that that the rest of the world knew. I wished sometimes that my story was just a fairy tale (no pun intended), for indeed, they all ended with 'happily ever after'. Whereas mine just goes from bad to worse to horrendous to 'kill-me-now-get-it-over-with'. Why should I feel 'wronged'? Because I don't want pity. Because I don't like to be the centre of attention. Because I just want to be forgotten. Because I miss her. Both of them.
"Please, Estel… not now. I do not wish to speak anymore on the subject, please do not force me to." I pleaded, feeling strangely weary and tired, but I pushed it away. He looked at me strangely, as if debating whether to push the subject, but he finally nodded.
"Why is Mithrandir not here?" I asked quietly, stopping as I turned back to Aragorn. I knew not why exactly I choose this moment to blurt out the question that plagued my mind, and I wished I had not spoken of it, but there was naught to be done about it now. I must have seemed a lost child to him at the moment, and truly I felt one, not knowing what to do, when to do it, or where to go for help. Aragorn was caught off guard at the question as well, it seemed, and clenched his hand before closing his eyes and rubbing his chin, choosing words carefully. "Give me one reason that stopped him, be it person, place, or thing, and I'll discontinue the conversation. But I wish… I need… to know." I pleaded, folding my hands repeatedly with uncomforting strain, for as soon as I said that, I felt as if I didn't want to know, just wanted to forget everything and keep on thinking with some hope that he was still alive. Whatever I heard, I was sure, at that moment, that my hope would be burned away.
"A Balrog was in the mines." Aragorn finally said, shaking his head and turning away from my face, where I could feel unshed tears threatening to fall. I let out a held breath, and turned away for a moment, but continued with lighting another candle, taking comfort in the warmth that it gave, even if only small and temporary.
I suddenly felt very weak, as all the weariness that I had been feeling previously caught up with me tenfold. I slowly leaned against the wall, taking strength from its cool hardness. I clenched my arm again, and cursed myself as Aragorn saw me do this.
Aragorn stood and walked around the table, over to his pack, where he removed a small package.
"Now, let me have a look at that arm of yours." Aragorn said, smiling as he advanced towards me. I looked at him, then at my arm and back again.
I frowned as I backed away from him. He only smiled broader as he continued cornering me. "Shit."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
2 please review! I do read your stories! And review then, too!
A little info on Haíthwen: she isn't a mary sue, at least I'm not trying to make her one. She is a loyal friend, and trusts the fellowship because Aragorn trusts them, and they are good friends (it's not an Aragorn romance, they are just close friends! He's all Arwens!), but still she does not trust people easily. She feels deeply for people, though, and is very motherly, for she feels it is her duty to care for others; a trait among the faëries. She hates killing. She fears what other people think of her, so she hides what she really is. She doubts herself, even if she doesn't show it, and cannot continue for long without guidance, praise or direction from others. Okay… that's all I can think of saying without giving away anything else… but if you have any suggestions, comments, flames or other, tell me, as I do want to hear!
Okay… onwards!
1 Chapter IV: Hecilë lindámë
[forsaken song-wing]
Previously:
He turned, and stared long and hard at Haíthwen. He knew, somewhere in the far recesses of his mind, of a fairy-tale heard long ago while he was a child that sounded very similar to Aragorn's story. He looked at her, at her small stature that looked like an elf, yet was almost tiny compared to the average height of most elves. The way she sometimes held grace, like she was floating, and the bright light in her eyes that shimmered with glitter…
"You're… you're a –" Legolas cried…
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
I walked up the stairs after ensuring Frodo was asleep and well. It haunted me somewhat that I could help him, of all people, with their nightmares, yet I could do nothing for my own. I pushed that thought aside as I remembered that I was only here to help others, screw myself.
I stopped walking as I saw Legolas stare at me hard. I trembled as he held his gaze on me for so long, but it paled to the fear and anxiety I felt as his face shifted to one in utter shock.
"Oh… shit." I mumbled as he must have recognized fully what he saw before him.
"You're… you're a –" Legolas cried…
I took a step away from him, wondering what may happen. I had yet to see how an elf would react if they ever found out what I truly was, but I had never needed to learn as Mithrandir's spell had never failed me! 'But think, Aíca, he's fallen into darkness now. The spell wouldn't work if he had…'
"You… are a faërie." Legolas said, wonder and awe present in his voice. Whatever I had expected, I was sure this was not it. I had expected beheading, bloodshed, screaming, little kids running for their lives, life in dungeons… okay, so I'm melodramatic. I had not expected him to be looking at me in awe, or wonder, or anything that did not result in death. Somewhere in my subconscious I heard a voice screaming, 'He's an elf! They betrayed your family! Friends! People!' but I could not grasp that opinion. I was still afraid, but I had expected… much worse. Part of me was worried, just because this one elf is amazed, doesn't mean your life is no longer in danger, but the other was relieved, tremendously happy, that he had taken this so lightly. Or as lightly as one can take it. His uncomfortable gaze and the oppressive silence between us was growing unbearable, and I felt tears well up in my eyes for a reason I did not know.
"But I would… should… have known earlier. Elves were always able to tell where faëries were. And you don't look the part if one does not know how to look…" Legolas had a confused look on his face, one that made him look like a small child and really cute, but I thought back to the arrow that he had aimed through my head to wipe my mind of that picture.
"I have been hiding for thousands and hundreds of years. I would not have let one single elf know of what I was could I have prevented it."
"But…" he started, but I interrupted him. Since when are people so easy to predict?
"Yes, I have wings. No, you can not see them. And no, we are not 5 inches tall… All of the time." I sighed and realized that I was still edging away from him. I sighed and walked over to the table, walking around him and getting as close as I dared without creeping against the walls to stay far away from his person. I sad down at the table and sighed, rubbing my arm… I had yet to tell anyone where I had gone earlier in the day, or what had happened, but I realized it had little real value here and now. I had yet to properly care for it, but the athelas leaves I always carried in my pouch had kept the wound clean, to say the least. All I could do till later is hope the wound starts to close, and is not too much a discomfort.
"And for you… you are the one that told him!" I said harshly to Aragorn, who was eating an apple. He looked at me innocently for a moment, like a child that does not realize they have done anything wrong, until my face began to crack into a small smile, which I tried to hide by burying my head in my arms once again.
"I told him some basic details, Lórëala, but he figured it out in his own time." He finally said, seriously, as he cut up another apple and offered it around.
"Call me my proper name, Aragorn." I mumbled, my voice colder that I wished it to sound, as I crossed my arms on the table and set my head in them.
"Why are you afraid to travel to LothLórien?" Legolas asked as he took a piece from Aragorn. I groaned inwardly, knowing this question will have resurfaced by the time we could reach the wood. I had hoped for a little more time though, to think of a lie to sway him away from the whole topic, but knowing elves, he would have seen through it.
"Ages ago, the Elves and the Rámainenórë were joined together, where an elf had a faërie as a guardian of sorts. The faërie would follow them until they left across the sea or died, and the faërie would then find another mate, if they so wished. During the time of the Great Alliance, the elves expected the faëries to join the war against Sauron, but we wouldn't, as we do not go to war. One of our principles. Our race was innocent and naive. We were a young race, and I believe we were simply afraid of what we may have to do, could not cope with the idea of going to war. We don't take away life, as it is very precious to us. So most of the elves became furious that we would not help, so we were cast away. We were without hope, and those who left the elves returned to our last safe-haven, Rossëmár. Rumour is that one elf aligned himself with the Dark Lord, and before he was turned into an Orc, he told of where we were hiding. Sauron came to us, demanding that we align ourselves with him. We wouldn't do that, just as we had said we would not join the war, and he…" I paused, my voice finally disappearing as it had threatened to while I spoke. I took a deep breath and swallowed the lump in my throat. "He killed all that were there.
"A couple were absent from the disaster, some of the faëries that had refused to participate in the war, let lend their services elsewhere, like healing and planning refuge and shelter for others that were affected. A total of 13 were spared from death, but they, too, eventually left as the elves grew resentful of us. And over the years, especially the last 10 winter-cycles, the Nazgûl have been dividing us, hunting us down, one by one, and we have diminished, our magi's being lost."
"Magi, now here is something you have yet to tell of." Aragorn said as he stretched his arms.
"I shall not go into it in detail, for it would take many hours to explain, and you are weary. There are 5 types of Magi among the Rámainenórë: the Eärrámë, the Vilya, the Nárolië, the Olvaralië, and the Hisiëfëa. Each one tends to lean towards a certain type of magic, water, air, fire, earth, and life. It's our life force, in a way. Since there are so few of us left, each person left as the last of their elements has almost all of that type of magic available. If none are left, then the magi is divided between the rest of the faëries, until another comes along with that type to reclaim it, or only one is left with all five types."
"So right now, only two faëries are left, divided between 5 types of magic. Which do you possess?" Legolas asked, barely able to hide his interest. I wondered how he knew there were only two left, but I left it that Aragorn had let it slip. I'll add it to the 'list of things to berate Aragorn with'.
"Only Cemendur and I remain, he possesses all of Earth, I possess all of Life, and among the two of us, we have almost half of all Air, Water, and Fire each. I believe that's it… it's not exactly a precise science."
"Incredible." Legolas said, awe-struck. I left him at that, for he seemed too amazed at it all to say anything else.
"I hardly think of it as wonderful. Indeed…" I scoffed, picking up an apple and rolling it between my hands. How could anyone think this power is great? Such burden I can hardly begin to describe, yet it is Sauron's lust for power that is slowly killing us off.
"But that still leaves one question unanswered: What so frightens you in LothLórien?" Aragorn inquired.
"Each faërie has an elf mate. Before the Great War, I was Galadriel's faërie. I fear returning, for I know, should I enter her realm and be caught, I shall be brought before her, and I fear what she may say, for we did not leave in the best of circumstances. But enough if this talk," I stopped, standing and stretching my stiff back and knee, "It is well into the night, and I'm sure whichever one of you which has taken 2nd watch shall want to rest before-hand."
Legolas stood and bid us a pleasant watch before retiring to rest, but clearly thought the discussion not to be over, as he looked like he had many questions.
"Why should you feel so wronged in telling others your story? I know there were many things you avoided telling him, as well as me. Why?" Aragorn asked, forehead creased in worry or something as he looked at me again. I groaned in frustration. I barely knew my story, and the one I do know is much different from that that the rest of the world knew. I wished sometimes that my story was just a fairy tale (no pun intended), for indeed, they all ended with 'happily ever after'. Whereas mine just goes from bad to worse to horrendous to 'kill-me-now-get-it-over-with'. Why should I feel 'wronged'? Because I don't want pity. Because I don't like to be the centre of attention. Because I just want to be forgotten. Because I miss her. Both of them.
"Please, Estel… not now. I do not wish to speak anymore on the subject, please do not force me to." I pleaded, feeling strangely weary and tired, but I pushed it away. He looked at me strangely, as if debating whether to push the subject, but he finally nodded.
"Why is Mithrandir not here?" I asked quietly, stopping as I turned back to Aragorn. I knew not why exactly I choose this moment to blurt out the question that plagued my mind, and I wished I had not spoken of it, but there was naught to be done about it now. I must have seemed a lost child to him at the moment, and truly I felt one, not knowing what to do, when to do it, or where to go for help. Aragorn was caught off guard at the question as well, it seemed, and clenched his hand before closing his eyes and rubbing his chin, choosing words carefully. "Give me one reason that stopped him, be it person, place, or thing, and I'll discontinue the conversation. But I wish… I need… to know." I pleaded, folding my hands repeatedly with uncomforting strain, for as soon as I said that, I felt as if I didn't want to know, just wanted to forget everything and keep on thinking with some hope that he was still alive. Whatever I heard, I was sure, at that moment, that my hope would be burned away.
"A Balrog was in the mines." Aragorn finally said, shaking his head and turning away from my face, where I could feel unshed tears threatening to fall. I let out a held breath, and turned away for a moment, but continued with lighting another candle, taking comfort in the warmth that it gave, even if only small and temporary.
I suddenly felt very weak, as all the weariness that I had been feeling previously caught up with me tenfold. I slowly leaned against the wall, taking strength from its cool hardness. I clenched my arm again, and cursed myself as Aragorn saw me do this.
Aragorn stood and walked around the table, over to his pack, where he removed a small package.
"Now, let me have a look at that arm of yours." Aragorn said, smiling as he advanced towards me. I looked at him, then at my arm and back again.
I frowned as I backed away from him. He only smiled broader as he continued cornering me. "Shit."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
2 please review! I do read your stories! And review then, too!