Elen sila lumenn' omentielvo! It's EHAB. Y'know, if we get more
reviews when we DON'T post than we do when we DO post, maybe we should quit
posting... Just kidding. At any rate, Phe-Chan has been in Texas, and I have
been in France and Spain. I love Paris. You may lose me to Paris. I want to
go to Paris and never come back. I WANT PARIS *sob*. Ahem. My apologies.
After a long delay, here is what I hope you will consider a long and
carefully composed chapter, Chapter Seven, "Of Swords and Ships."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The White Towers rose like glittering white candles framed by a sapphire sea. It was twilight, and the stars were just beginning to dot the heavens. The sound of the long grass, as well as the way in which it rippled in the breeze, made it only slightly distinguishable from the ocean by its more silvery-green shade. All was at a most fulfilling peace......... except for the actors.
Into the silence was thrust a long cacophony of "what's," "where's," and "how's" mingled with Liv's general emissions of hysteria. A few of the actors went a bit wild and had to be sat upon once again. Jesse, Misha, and Adam had only just barely managed to wrestle John to the earth when the sound of horses made itself known, and a new voice rang out across the hillside.
"Mani i Ëa na sinomë? I Uroloki?"
"Hold a moment, Cirdan, we've almost got them calmed down — I think," Ulmo called.
"My lord Ulmo!" the Elf-lord exclaimed in wonder. "Of course, lord. What ails them?"
"Er, I'll explain in a minute, friend — WILL you be silent?! — not you, Cirdan — HUSH! NOW!"
Ulmo had lost at least a small part of his patience. It would have been quite dangerous for him to lose it all, or even a great deal of it. When dealing with mortals, a Vala must be very, very careful of his temper.
As it was, his command echoed over the countryside, and complete silence reigned. The actors and most of Cirdan's entourage were shaking, and Liv was crying softly.
"Uncle, you are harsh," Sivi said very quietly. "They are confused and afraid."
It might have done a bit of good for the actors to see the swift look of compassion that crossed Ulmo's face then, but they did not.
"They might be confused and afraid a little less loudly," he grumbled in a much calmer tone.
Under the cover of the gathering dark, Sivi smiled. Ulmo turned to Cirdan, who was mounted upon a dappled silver stallion, rubbing his generous beard, with about thirty much younger Elven warriors arrayed upon their steeds behind him.
"Friend," Ulmo addressed Cirdan, "I need not tell you that this world is in dire straits, but it is worse than you know. I ask you to give us lodging until we may make ready to voyage to Valinor."
"Of course, my lord Ulmo," Cirdan said with a slight bow and a tentative smile. "Forgive my less than gentle greetings. I had thought that the dragons of Utumno were baying on our hillsides, and we came out armed to meet them."
"Are these all your number that you send against them? You may meet them yet. I should build up my host."
Cirdan shifted uncomfortably in his saddle.
"You speak grave words to me, lord. Are we truly in such an ugly plight?"
"Take us into your halls, and I will tell you what has come to pass, and what Varda, Manwë, and Mandos have decreed," Ulmo commanded.
"And, yes, by the way," Sarah added as she walked by Cirdan, towing Liv with one hand and Miranda with the other. "Yes, it really is as bad as he makes it out to be."
With a worried frown, Cirdan turned his riders about and led the way down the bluffs to the seashore. The actors were still trying to take everything in and process it, glancing wildly about themselves as if to reaffirm every few seconds that it was all quite real.
The halls of Cirdan were vast and beautiful, like any other fair Elven city. He and the Regulars showed the actors their rooms and a sort of parlor where they could convene.
"I'm sure you'll have a lot to talk about," Peggy grinned.
"You can wander around the city if you like, and if you get lost, just say you're staying with Cirdan, and someone will lead you back. You can also," Sivi added with a patient grin, "try to run away if you've a mind, but it's quite a distance to the Shire, and I daresay you'll find it even stranger there than here."
"Thanks for the advice," Karl said grouchily.
Sivi sighed.
"They haven't quite figured out yet that we're on their side," she told Cirdan with a sad smile.
"I haven't quite figured out yet who they are," Cirdan returned.
"Neither have they," Megan remarked, "but we're about to tell you."
Círdan and the Regulars then left the actors standing in the hallway, quite free to go wherever they wished, and yet still bound within what seemed to them a foreign world.
They hung close together for a moment. No one spoke. No one knew what to say, or even what to think.
"I don't want to stay here," Liv said at last. "I — I'm going out to the beach."
Without a glance at any of her companions, she slipped past them down the corridor and disappeared around a corner. Orlando shifted uneasily and looked about himself.
"I think I'll go, too. Anyone else want to come?"
"I will," Elijah said, and Billy nodded.
"Wait," Martin protested with a faintly audible tinge of desperation, "can't we — let's be logical, can't we?"
"I'm listening," Orlando replied in a flat tone of voice.
Rubbing the back of his neck in an embarrassed fashion, Marton admitted,
"Well, I was really hoping that you would talk, or — or —"
"Or anyone else but you? I think that's how we all feel," Miranda said, massaging her upper arms. "We each want someone else to have the answers."
"I'm going on outside," Orlando said, and he left, followed by Elijah and Billy.
"What now?" sighed Hugo.
No one knew.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The music of the Grey Havens flowed as a mountain stream. The pipes wended down soft and clear, rising again in a bubbling trill, a spring welling up from the earth. The notes of harp and lyre fell as golden rain, mingled with high, fervent bells like a dew laden branch in a sudden wind.
Beneath all these came the tide's rise and fall, ebb and flow, inhale and exhale. The sand was moist under Liv's back as she watched the starlight's undulating shimmer. She tugged her lilac shirt down, wringing its hem in her fingers as she cried softly. How much she would have given to be as serene as this fair realm's night! Her mind was in a tumultuous uproar. If this new world was real, what else was true? She tried to tell herself that the whole affair was ridiculous and stupid, but the strange constellations rebuked her gently.
"I'm not," she whispered fiercely to them. "Go away. I can't be!"
Yet as she cried herself to sleep, she found that all surety had left her like the last breath of the dying... or the first breath of one born.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The steady rushing roar of many waters reverberated around the otherwise silent forest. The air was moist with the spray of a nearby waterfall, leaving the moss, ferns, and other foliage dripping mildly. All about glowed the brightness of gold and green balanced with the solidity of earthy brown. It was too quiet.
Liv called cautiously, "Is anyone there?"
The noiselessness took her words and muted them. Trembling, she passed between the trees, painfully conscious of the fact that, no matter how she tried to crunch twigs, rustle leaves, or even stomp the ground, her going made no sound. Thus she crossed through sunlit glades and dense thickets like a glorious, beautiful shade until the trees parted and faded, revealing a slender, swift, cascading rivulet. It was cold on her poor, small, bare feet as she slipped across it. Where were her shoes? Ah, but she had left them on the beach. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. She didn't even know who she was, and it didn't matter anymore.
Raising her luminous eyes, she saw the city. A flashing, freshly whetted dirk of memory pierced the finite casket of her flesh and sliced her fragile heart, driving onward through her soul and straight into the locked confines of her spirit. The blade's unglancing blow struck her down to the earth, crying out in agony,
"Elbereth! Elbereth!"
Lying on her side, the ends of her dark hair buffeted in the unfeeling waters, she shook and sobbed, working her fingers against the soil. It was gone, now, the knowledge of what had been, but the raw pain stayed with her. Tenderly, trembling, she pushed herself back onto her feet. Everything hurt.
She turned to look again. The city stood white in the afternoon light. White. Pure. Innocent. It was lovely, elegant, and intricate, many- tiered and mysterious. The sun dropped behind the mountains, the evening shadows became midnight moonbeams, and still she stood gazing. Imladris, it was called.
At last she moved toward it, closer and closer until she stood upon the threshold, and then she entered through the moon-silvered archway. It was deserted.
She walked aimlessly from chamber to chamber, reflecting almost boredly on the beauty that pervaded this surreal place. In every room, on every door, in every hall, hung a mirror, but she did not look. She came like an autumn mist into a strange room, a mural of Isildur's victory was to her left, but to her right, a carven figure held a shield draped in dark velvet upon which rested a bright sword, whole.
Drawn, she crossed to it and lifted the gleaming weapon, the flat of its blade like winter frost on her palm, the grip smooth in her other fist. She slanted her hands toward herself and peered into the reflective surface of the metal.
Her breath came sharp and ragged. She could see the painted image of Isildur, but it ought to have been broken by her own face, and it wasn't. She had no reflection. She half-dropped, half-flung the blade away, and it shattered in the air, its shards scattering like large slivers of glass on the velvet beneath. In those shards, she saw the visage of a dark-haired queen of Elves, crowned and shining like the evening star.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Prince among the Aratar," Cirdan pleaded, "rescind these hateful words and say to me that my sovereign and his queen are not among the alien mortals you have brought here to my house."
"Aragorn was mortal before he was enchanted," Sarah commented.
"Not like that!" Eldir, a cousin of Cirdan's house, exclaimed harriedly. "These Men, these Women, they're empty inside! They're lost and confused and dead —"
"Not dead," Sivi interrupted; "only trapped. That's why we have to help them."
"How? These were the great ones of our Age, and now see how they are fallen! How can we save those upon whom we depended to save us?" Eldir questioned, her fair face utterly distraught.
"We don't know," Jeremie returned. "That's why we're going to take them to the other Valar to see what Manwë, Varda, and Mandos have to say."
"You will need a ship," Cirdan said.
"Yes, lord shipwright; thus it is that we come to you," Sivi told him.
"It will be ready for you within the fortnight," Cirdan promised.
"What may we pay you for this service?" Sarah inquired.
"Pay me? To prepare a ship for the Lord of Waters? Nay, Lady Lachlotiel, you shall do nothing of the kind."
"Then take at least our gratitude," Ulmo said as he rose. "Rest assured, lord shipwright, that if the deed may be done at all, we will find a way to restore the heroes of the Third Age."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Liv, Liv, what's wrong?" Elijah demanded, taking her by the shoulders and shaking her gently. Liv stood up to her calves in the surf, her eyes wide and desperate. Her face was bathed in tears, her dark hair was taken in the night breeze, whipping violently around her face and neck, and she stared almost madly out at the horizon. The three men who had found her there were frightened by her wild appearance. "I — I have to get across the sea," she gasped breathlessly.
"Across the — Liv, WHAT?" Billy exclaimed. "The sea, I have to go... across the sea; I — I have to remember." "Liv, it's alright," Orlando coaxed her. "You can't let this place get to you. We have to —" "You don't understand! There wasn't a face — in the mirror, in the sword, there wasn't a face, but then I broke it, and it was her face — HER face, not mine!" "Liv, you're hysterical," Elijah said firmly. "We can't understand a word of what you're saying. Come back to the city with us. Cate and Miranda will be there, and you can tell them what's happened, and I'm sure —" He got no more said, for at this point the poor woman fainted away, falling face down into the water. Orlando darted down and lifted her up. "I'll carry her," Billy offered. He picked her up, and together they started back to the Havens. "We've got to get out of this place," Elijah said despondently as they walked. "We've only been here for a few hours, but already it's doing things to us." Preoccupied with their pretty burden, the men walked straight by the diminutive form silhouetted against the bluffs. When they had passed, Andrea stepped from the shadows and stared after them, gazing most piteously upon Orlando. She was torn between a mix of curiosity and concern for the lovely actress and an overpowering desire to never meet Orlando's eyes again until he had been restored to his true Elven form — the form that loved her. The latter won out, and the little Elf stood miserably watching the actors' backs diminishing into the night. Of a sudden, Sivi was at her friend's elbow. Andrea didn't move. She had long ago ceased to wonder at the elder girl's ability to appear from nowhere just when Andrea most needed companionship. Sivi began to sing to the night. "'When I look at you, He's touching me. I would reach for him, But who can hold a memory? Love isn't everything. That moonlight on the bed will melt away... Someday.
'You were once that someone Whom I followed like a star. Then suddenly you changed, And now I don't know who you are. Or could it be that I never really knew you from the start? Did I create a dream? Was he a fantasy? Even a memory Is paradise For all the fools like me...
Now remembering is all that I can do... Because I miss him so... When I look at you...'"
"You really need to quit reading my mind. Did you make that up yourself?" Andrea asked dully. "No, it's by Frank Wildhorn and Nan Knighton... a song from the Broadway musical 'The Scarlet Pimpernel.'" "Oh... What's a Scarlet Pimpernel?" "It's a flower they have in England. THE Scarlet Pimpernel was a fictitious character invented by Baroness Emmuska Orczy. He was supposed to have been like an eighteenth century superhero who went over to France and rescued aristocrats from being guillotined during the French Revolution. He and his wife were estranged," Sivi explained pleasantly. "Why?" "She denounced the Marquis de St. Cyr, who was then beheaded, but she didn't tell her husband until after they were married. Naturally, he was a little upset. What she didn't tell him even after they were married was why she had done it and that she had never meant for the marquis to be executed." "Oh... Broadway, huh?" Andrea laughed dejectedly. "I knew it didn't sound Elvish." "Would you prefer something Elvish?" Sivi asked. "Would you mind? Yes! Sing me pretty Elvis lullabies all night long." "Until you fall asleep," Sivi amended. "Then I must go and tend to Liv." "Okay," Andrea agreed. Sivi sat down upon a rock and allowed Andrea to perch on her lap and recline her head over Sivi's heart. "Eleni i lach a Ëa úna..."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
With excruciating care, Liv slowly lifted the seemingly weighted lids of her striking eyes. Her breath came in small, pitiful sighs. She saw that Viggo and Cate were bent over her with twin expressions of anxiety, but she didn't care. Her breast was filled with the dull sting of total apathy. She did not even speak to acknowledge them or relieve their fears. Viggo had seen her eyes open, however, and he called to her through what she felt must be a muting, echoing ocean of numbness.
"Liv? Are you awake?" he asked gently.
"The sea," she whispered. It was all that mattered now.
"It's still there, Missie," John said was a false smile that did but little to belie his worried countenance, "but we — we were starting to wonder if you were."
"I am not," she answered simply.
"No?" came an equally soft voice from the back of the chamber.
The actors jumped. That Sivi girl was so quiet that it was nearly impossible to remember she was in the room.
"Are you not still with us, then, Lady?" Sivi questioned in her low, comforting tones.
The actors let her speak. She had brought Liv 'round twice before that night, though only for long enough to make her drink small amounts of water. This time, the strange Elven girl seemed purposeful and determined, and even though the actors did not understand her queries, they seemed to go right to Liv's encasèd heart.
"No, I'm not here," murmured Liv's broken mouth. "Was I ever?"
"You were," Sivi responded with that same quiet firmness.
"I have to get across the sea," Liv returned flatly.
"Anon, I go myself, and you and all your companions shall go with me, an they will," Sivi proclaimed easily.
"Am I there?" Liv inquired cryptically.
The actors shot quizzical looks at one another, but Sivi apparently understood the young actress's meaning quite well.
"No, you're here. We're just going to go and visit some of my family; that's all."
"What has that to do with us?" Liv asked.
"Everything," Sivi smiled sadly. "You're fever's broken now," she added abruptly, "but you still need to rest. We leave within the fortnight."
"When's that?" Liv answered in a very different, strangely normal, tone of voice.
"A fortnight is two weeks," Sivi said as she rose, dusted off her lap in a business-like fashion, and turned to go.
"And I must wait," said Liv, lapsing back into the odd, feverish whisper.
"Yes, for a little while," Sivi replied, and then she left.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The White Towers rose like glittering white candles framed by a sapphire sea. It was twilight, and the stars were just beginning to dot the heavens. The sound of the long grass, as well as the way in which it rippled in the breeze, made it only slightly distinguishable from the ocean by its more silvery-green shade. All was at a most fulfilling peace......... except for the actors.
Into the silence was thrust a long cacophony of "what's," "where's," and "how's" mingled with Liv's general emissions of hysteria. A few of the actors went a bit wild and had to be sat upon once again. Jesse, Misha, and Adam had only just barely managed to wrestle John to the earth when the sound of horses made itself known, and a new voice rang out across the hillside.
"Mani i Ëa na sinomë? I Uroloki?"
"Hold a moment, Cirdan, we've almost got them calmed down — I think," Ulmo called.
"My lord Ulmo!" the Elf-lord exclaimed in wonder. "Of course, lord. What ails them?"
"Er, I'll explain in a minute, friend — WILL you be silent?! — not you, Cirdan — HUSH! NOW!"
Ulmo had lost at least a small part of his patience. It would have been quite dangerous for him to lose it all, or even a great deal of it. When dealing with mortals, a Vala must be very, very careful of his temper.
As it was, his command echoed over the countryside, and complete silence reigned. The actors and most of Cirdan's entourage were shaking, and Liv was crying softly.
"Uncle, you are harsh," Sivi said very quietly. "They are confused and afraid."
It might have done a bit of good for the actors to see the swift look of compassion that crossed Ulmo's face then, but they did not.
"They might be confused and afraid a little less loudly," he grumbled in a much calmer tone.
Under the cover of the gathering dark, Sivi smiled. Ulmo turned to Cirdan, who was mounted upon a dappled silver stallion, rubbing his generous beard, with about thirty much younger Elven warriors arrayed upon their steeds behind him.
"Friend," Ulmo addressed Cirdan, "I need not tell you that this world is in dire straits, but it is worse than you know. I ask you to give us lodging until we may make ready to voyage to Valinor."
"Of course, my lord Ulmo," Cirdan said with a slight bow and a tentative smile. "Forgive my less than gentle greetings. I had thought that the dragons of Utumno were baying on our hillsides, and we came out armed to meet them."
"Are these all your number that you send against them? You may meet them yet. I should build up my host."
Cirdan shifted uncomfortably in his saddle.
"You speak grave words to me, lord. Are we truly in such an ugly plight?"
"Take us into your halls, and I will tell you what has come to pass, and what Varda, Manwë, and Mandos have decreed," Ulmo commanded.
"And, yes, by the way," Sarah added as she walked by Cirdan, towing Liv with one hand and Miranda with the other. "Yes, it really is as bad as he makes it out to be."
With a worried frown, Cirdan turned his riders about and led the way down the bluffs to the seashore. The actors were still trying to take everything in and process it, glancing wildly about themselves as if to reaffirm every few seconds that it was all quite real.
The halls of Cirdan were vast and beautiful, like any other fair Elven city. He and the Regulars showed the actors their rooms and a sort of parlor where they could convene.
"I'm sure you'll have a lot to talk about," Peggy grinned.
"You can wander around the city if you like, and if you get lost, just say you're staying with Cirdan, and someone will lead you back. You can also," Sivi added with a patient grin, "try to run away if you've a mind, but it's quite a distance to the Shire, and I daresay you'll find it even stranger there than here."
"Thanks for the advice," Karl said grouchily.
Sivi sighed.
"They haven't quite figured out yet that we're on their side," she told Cirdan with a sad smile.
"I haven't quite figured out yet who they are," Cirdan returned.
"Neither have they," Megan remarked, "but we're about to tell you."
Círdan and the Regulars then left the actors standing in the hallway, quite free to go wherever they wished, and yet still bound within what seemed to them a foreign world.
They hung close together for a moment. No one spoke. No one knew what to say, or even what to think.
"I don't want to stay here," Liv said at last. "I — I'm going out to the beach."
Without a glance at any of her companions, she slipped past them down the corridor and disappeared around a corner. Orlando shifted uneasily and looked about himself.
"I think I'll go, too. Anyone else want to come?"
"I will," Elijah said, and Billy nodded.
"Wait," Martin protested with a faintly audible tinge of desperation, "can't we — let's be logical, can't we?"
"I'm listening," Orlando replied in a flat tone of voice.
Rubbing the back of his neck in an embarrassed fashion, Marton admitted,
"Well, I was really hoping that you would talk, or — or —"
"Or anyone else but you? I think that's how we all feel," Miranda said, massaging her upper arms. "We each want someone else to have the answers."
"I'm going on outside," Orlando said, and he left, followed by Elijah and Billy.
"What now?" sighed Hugo.
No one knew.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The music of the Grey Havens flowed as a mountain stream. The pipes wended down soft and clear, rising again in a bubbling trill, a spring welling up from the earth. The notes of harp and lyre fell as golden rain, mingled with high, fervent bells like a dew laden branch in a sudden wind.
Beneath all these came the tide's rise and fall, ebb and flow, inhale and exhale. The sand was moist under Liv's back as she watched the starlight's undulating shimmer. She tugged her lilac shirt down, wringing its hem in her fingers as she cried softly. How much she would have given to be as serene as this fair realm's night! Her mind was in a tumultuous uproar. If this new world was real, what else was true? She tried to tell herself that the whole affair was ridiculous and stupid, but the strange constellations rebuked her gently.
"I'm not," she whispered fiercely to them. "Go away. I can't be!"
Yet as she cried herself to sleep, she found that all surety had left her like the last breath of the dying... or the first breath of one born.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The steady rushing roar of many waters reverberated around the otherwise silent forest. The air was moist with the spray of a nearby waterfall, leaving the moss, ferns, and other foliage dripping mildly. All about glowed the brightness of gold and green balanced with the solidity of earthy brown. It was too quiet.
Liv called cautiously, "Is anyone there?"
The noiselessness took her words and muted them. Trembling, she passed between the trees, painfully conscious of the fact that, no matter how she tried to crunch twigs, rustle leaves, or even stomp the ground, her going made no sound. Thus she crossed through sunlit glades and dense thickets like a glorious, beautiful shade until the trees parted and faded, revealing a slender, swift, cascading rivulet. It was cold on her poor, small, bare feet as she slipped across it. Where were her shoes? Ah, but she had left them on the beach. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. She didn't even know who she was, and it didn't matter anymore.
Raising her luminous eyes, she saw the city. A flashing, freshly whetted dirk of memory pierced the finite casket of her flesh and sliced her fragile heart, driving onward through her soul and straight into the locked confines of her spirit. The blade's unglancing blow struck her down to the earth, crying out in agony,
"Elbereth! Elbereth!"
Lying on her side, the ends of her dark hair buffeted in the unfeeling waters, she shook and sobbed, working her fingers against the soil. It was gone, now, the knowledge of what had been, but the raw pain stayed with her. Tenderly, trembling, she pushed herself back onto her feet. Everything hurt.
She turned to look again. The city stood white in the afternoon light. White. Pure. Innocent. It was lovely, elegant, and intricate, many- tiered and mysterious. The sun dropped behind the mountains, the evening shadows became midnight moonbeams, and still she stood gazing. Imladris, it was called.
At last she moved toward it, closer and closer until she stood upon the threshold, and then she entered through the moon-silvered archway. It was deserted.
She walked aimlessly from chamber to chamber, reflecting almost boredly on the beauty that pervaded this surreal place. In every room, on every door, in every hall, hung a mirror, but she did not look. She came like an autumn mist into a strange room, a mural of Isildur's victory was to her left, but to her right, a carven figure held a shield draped in dark velvet upon which rested a bright sword, whole.
Drawn, she crossed to it and lifted the gleaming weapon, the flat of its blade like winter frost on her palm, the grip smooth in her other fist. She slanted her hands toward herself and peered into the reflective surface of the metal.
Her breath came sharp and ragged. She could see the painted image of Isildur, but it ought to have been broken by her own face, and it wasn't. She had no reflection. She half-dropped, half-flung the blade away, and it shattered in the air, its shards scattering like large slivers of glass on the velvet beneath. In those shards, she saw the visage of a dark-haired queen of Elves, crowned and shining like the evening star.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Prince among the Aratar," Cirdan pleaded, "rescind these hateful words and say to me that my sovereign and his queen are not among the alien mortals you have brought here to my house."
"Aragorn was mortal before he was enchanted," Sarah commented.
"Not like that!" Eldir, a cousin of Cirdan's house, exclaimed harriedly. "These Men, these Women, they're empty inside! They're lost and confused and dead —"
"Not dead," Sivi interrupted; "only trapped. That's why we have to help them."
"How? These were the great ones of our Age, and now see how they are fallen! How can we save those upon whom we depended to save us?" Eldir questioned, her fair face utterly distraught.
"We don't know," Jeremie returned. "That's why we're going to take them to the other Valar to see what Manwë, Varda, and Mandos have to say."
"You will need a ship," Cirdan said.
"Yes, lord shipwright; thus it is that we come to you," Sivi told him.
"It will be ready for you within the fortnight," Cirdan promised.
"What may we pay you for this service?" Sarah inquired.
"Pay me? To prepare a ship for the Lord of Waters? Nay, Lady Lachlotiel, you shall do nothing of the kind."
"Then take at least our gratitude," Ulmo said as he rose. "Rest assured, lord shipwright, that if the deed may be done at all, we will find a way to restore the heroes of the Third Age."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Liv, Liv, what's wrong?" Elijah demanded, taking her by the shoulders and shaking her gently. Liv stood up to her calves in the surf, her eyes wide and desperate. Her face was bathed in tears, her dark hair was taken in the night breeze, whipping violently around her face and neck, and she stared almost madly out at the horizon. The three men who had found her there were frightened by her wild appearance. "I — I have to get across the sea," she gasped breathlessly.
"Across the — Liv, WHAT?" Billy exclaimed. "The sea, I have to go... across the sea; I — I have to remember." "Liv, it's alright," Orlando coaxed her. "You can't let this place get to you. We have to —" "You don't understand! There wasn't a face — in the mirror, in the sword, there wasn't a face, but then I broke it, and it was her face — HER face, not mine!" "Liv, you're hysterical," Elijah said firmly. "We can't understand a word of what you're saying. Come back to the city with us. Cate and Miranda will be there, and you can tell them what's happened, and I'm sure —" He got no more said, for at this point the poor woman fainted away, falling face down into the water. Orlando darted down and lifted her up. "I'll carry her," Billy offered. He picked her up, and together they started back to the Havens. "We've got to get out of this place," Elijah said despondently as they walked. "We've only been here for a few hours, but already it's doing things to us." Preoccupied with their pretty burden, the men walked straight by the diminutive form silhouetted against the bluffs. When they had passed, Andrea stepped from the shadows and stared after them, gazing most piteously upon Orlando. She was torn between a mix of curiosity and concern for the lovely actress and an overpowering desire to never meet Orlando's eyes again until he had been restored to his true Elven form — the form that loved her. The latter won out, and the little Elf stood miserably watching the actors' backs diminishing into the night. Of a sudden, Sivi was at her friend's elbow. Andrea didn't move. She had long ago ceased to wonder at the elder girl's ability to appear from nowhere just when Andrea most needed companionship. Sivi began to sing to the night. "'When I look at you, He's touching me. I would reach for him, But who can hold a memory? Love isn't everything. That moonlight on the bed will melt away... Someday.
'You were once that someone Whom I followed like a star. Then suddenly you changed, And now I don't know who you are. Or could it be that I never really knew you from the start? Did I create a dream? Was he a fantasy? Even a memory Is paradise For all the fools like me...
Now remembering is all that I can do... Because I miss him so... When I look at you...'"
"You really need to quit reading my mind. Did you make that up yourself?" Andrea asked dully. "No, it's by Frank Wildhorn and Nan Knighton... a song from the Broadway musical 'The Scarlet Pimpernel.'" "Oh... What's a Scarlet Pimpernel?" "It's a flower they have in England. THE Scarlet Pimpernel was a fictitious character invented by Baroness Emmuska Orczy. He was supposed to have been like an eighteenth century superhero who went over to France and rescued aristocrats from being guillotined during the French Revolution. He and his wife were estranged," Sivi explained pleasantly. "Why?" "She denounced the Marquis de St. Cyr, who was then beheaded, but she didn't tell her husband until after they were married. Naturally, he was a little upset. What she didn't tell him even after they were married was why she had done it and that she had never meant for the marquis to be executed." "Oh... Broadway, huh?" Andrea laughed dejectedly. "I knew it didn't sound Elvish." "Would you prefer something Elvish?" Sivi asked. "Would you mind? Yes! Sing me pretty Elvis lullabies all night long." "Until you fall asleep," Sivi amended. "Then I must go and tend to Liv." "Okay," Andrea agreed. Sivi sat down upon a rock and allowed Andrea to perch on her lap and recline her head over Sivi's heart. "Eleni i lach a Ëa úna..."
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With excruciating care, Liv slowly lifted the seemingly weighted lids of her striking eyes. Her breath came in small, pitiful sighs. She saw that Viggo and Cate were bent over her with twin expressions of anxiety, but she didn't care. Her breast was filled with the dull sting of total apathy. She did not even speak to acknowledge them or relieve their fears. Viggo had seen her eyes open, however, and he called to her through what she felt must be a muting, echoing ocean of numbness.
"Liv? Are you awake?" he asked gently.
"The sea," she whispered. It was all that mattered now.
"It's still there, Missie," John said was a false smile that did but little to belie his worried countenance, "but we — we were starting to wonder if you were."
"I am not," she answered simply.
"No?" came an equally soft voice from the back of the chamber.
The actors jumped. That Sivi girl was so quiet that it was nearly impossible to remember she was in the room.
"Are you not still with us, then, Lady?" Sivi questioned in her low, comforting tones.
The actors let her speak. She had brought Liv 'round twice before that night, though only for long enough to make her drink small amounts of water. This time, the strange Elven girl seemed purposeful and determined, and even though the actors did not understand her queries, they seemed to go right to Liv's encasèd heart.
"No, I'm not here," murmured Liv's broken mouth. "Was I ever?"
"You were," Sivi responded with that same quiet firmness.
"I have to get across the sea," Liv returned flatly.
"Anon, I go myself, and you and all your companions shall go with me, an they will," Sivi proclaimed easily.
"Am I there?" Liv inquired cryptically.
The actors shot quizzical looks at one another, but Sivi apparently understood the young actress's meaning quite well.
"No, you're here. We're just going to go and visit some of my family; that's all."
"What has that to do with us?" Liv asked.
"Everything," Sivi smiled sadly. "You're fever's broken now," she added abruptly, "but you still need to rest. We leave within the fortnight."
"When's that?" Liv answered in a very different, strangely normal, tone of voice.
"A fortnight is two weeks," Sivi said as she rose, dusted off her lap in a business-like fashion, and turned to go.
"And I must wait," said Liv, lapsing back into the odd, feverish whisper.
"Yes, for a little while," Sivi replied, and then she left.
