A/N I'm really sorry its taken so long to get this up...and it may seem a bit abrupt to some, but I'm coming to the end of a long fanfiction (especially counting Queens) and I'm running out of steam. There's only a couple of chapters left and they're finished and only need to be uploaded, so I wont make any more adjustments on them. I'm sorry this is such a short chapter, but it didn't seem right to attach this to another chapter...so I'll try and upload another one soon to make up for this one being so short. And btw, I'm sorry for any spelling mistakes. I've got a new computer but it doesn't have spell check on it, so I'm hoping for the best! Thanks, Istalindar.
I led the funeral of Isolde and Mairra in Anorondor. There would be a memorial service in Mirkwood next week, but for now, the main service, and the cremation, would be here.
All of Anorondor were dressed in grey, the dark grey of rainclouds that signify both passing and renewal. Delegates from Gondor, Mirkwood and Rohan wore black, or the mourning colour of their country. Mairra hadn't been particularly liked, but it seemed Isolde had made a place for herself in everyone's hearts, and people also came for moral support. It was no secret that Legolas had not truly loved Mairra, how could he? But his daughter had had all his love.
It rained all day, and the fire would not start. Finally, Bria stepped forward, and pushing back her grey hood, started the wood afire with the green flames that licked from her hands. Tears ran freely down her cheeks, for while few but ourselves knew it, this was the funeral of Bria's half sister, as well as her stepmother.
The green flames cast an eerie light, but, as Legolas pointed out, the green flames were fitting for two princesses who had lived in the Greenwood. Even as we watched the green flames lick at the velvet draped corpses, the skies opened once again and rain poured to the ground, drumming on the rocks and splashing in the puddles until there was a veritable chorus of noise. Smoke rose from the pyre, and soon there was little left of the two elves but wet ash.
Bria let the flames fall, and then she came and stood between myself and Legolas, and she leaned her head on Legolas' shoulder even as her cold fingers twined with mine.
I saw some of Mairra's family watching us: a woman I thought to be her mother and a man who I disliked, and Legolas had identified him as Mairra's brother. He spent most of the time watching Bria, much as a hawk watches prey, but all colour drained from his face at Bria's little demonstration with the palm fire. He had sent me an accusing look, and I had stared back, a small smirk forming momentarily on my lips. Bria never has been nor never will be prey.
I led the funeral of Isolde and Mairra in Anorondor. There would be a memorial service in Mirkwood next week, but for now, the main service, and the cremation, would be here.
All of Anorondor were dressed in grey, the dark grey of rainclouds that signify both passing and renewal. Delegates from Gondor, Mirkwood and Rohan wore black, or the mourning colour of their country. Mairra hadn't been particularly liked, but it seemed Isolde had made a place for herself in everyone's hearts, and people also came for moral support. It was no secret that Legolas had not truly loved Mairra, how could he? But his daughter had had all his love.
It rained all day, and the fire would not start. Finally, Bria stepped forward, and pushing back her grey hood, started the wood afire with the green flames that licked from her hands. Tears ran freely down her cheeks, for while few but ourselves knew it, this was the funeral of Bria's half sister, as well as her stepmother.
The green flames cast an eerie light, but, as Legolas pointed out, the green flames were fitting for two princesses who had lived in the Greenwood. Even as we watched the green flames lick at the velvet draped corpses, the skies opened once again and rain poured to the ground, drumming on the rocks and splashing in the puddles until there was a veritable chorus of noise. Smoke rose from the pyre, and soon there was little left of the two elves but wet ash.
Bria let the flames fall, and then she came and stood between myself and Legolas, and she leaned her head on Legolas' shoulder even as her cold fingers twined with mine.
I saw some of Mairra's family watching us: a woman I thought to be her mother and a man who I disliked, and Legolas had identified him as Mairra's brother. He spent most of the time watching Bria, much as a hawk watches prey, but all colour drained from his face at Bria's little demonstration with the palm fire. He had sent me an accusing look, and I had stared back, a small smirk forming momentarily on my lips. Bria never has been nor never will be prey.