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Kellinar Trevellion
He came from the west, gliding through the silent forest, after delivering a tool he fashioned by request of one of his dearest friends. It was a very good visit talking about old times and watching his friend cultivate the rich soil not found on the slopes of Mount Taniquetal, the home of many Vanyar elves. Upon leaving they both agreed to meet up at the upcoming fall festival, and he inwardly smiled about a certain lady elf that had captured his heart.
So caught up reminiscing as Rillë continued to walk the familiar deer path through the forest, that it took awhile before he finally noticed the pervading silence. He stopped to assess the area with his senses, by searching by sight and quietly listening for any sound. Along with the growing feeling of alarm, Rillë silently unsheathed his knife and cautiously resumed his trek still seeking the source of his unease.
Once he crossed a stream, the uneasiness became dread, and a very faint sound like a distant cry or whine seem to come from the hill yonder, but he was not certain. He got off the little path and wove between the bushes and trees until he came over the hill. An almost inaudible hypnotic sound emanated halfway down the hillside and then he saw it. A very large patch of dark purple flowers that were so dark they seemed almost black and without taking his eyes off them Rillë felt compelled to walk to them.
Why he wanted to come closer he had no idea, but the strange flowers beckoned. When he neared the edge of the patch, he saw a peep of white among the blooms. As he bent down for a closer look, an all too familiar cloth draped over the white made his heart clench and his mind reeled at the implication that he hoped was not true. Quickly he stooped over and parted the leaves and blooms to reveal an arm, a shoulder, and then gazed in horror at the lifeless eyes of Linhröa.
A keening sound erupted from Rillë's throat: anguish filled his heart, tears rolled down his cheeks, as he knelt next to his beloved Linhröa clutching her close. She was cold, too cold and the light of Illuvatar had been long distinguished from her body. He felt so physicaly drained and weakened by the loss, but all he could think of was getting Linhröa away from the place of her death. Ignoring the seductive noise in his mind that wanted to distract him from his thoughts and the imaginary tendrils grasping his limbs, Rillë staggered up and was shocked by his sudden weakness. He almost dropped Linhröa and with great determination he laboriously dragged her body beyond the edge of the dangerous flowers.
Laying there heavily breathing, heart racing and feeling dizzy, he put a hand up to his brow, surprised to find it damp and his skin hot to the touch. He swallowed hard, his mouth dry, and flexed his fingers. A heaviness crept into his joints, his limbs, and he gasps at the new sensation. Something was not right. Gingerly, he inspected the empty shell of his love. Not a mark on the flesh, no signs of violence or accident. He peered around.
There is nothing different about this trail....nothing, except the flowers. His eyes blurred as he stared at them, cocking his head. "I've never seen flowers like these," he rasped and slowly pulled his hand away from the gentle form he once loved so well. . There is nothing more he can do for Linhröa as she is now in the blessed halls of Mandos. He can only make his way to someone, anyone. Linhröa's body must be brought home, and he must tell someone how she came to be found.
He got up as if from a long convalescence and staggered in the direction of Valimar, hoping to find someone before his lifeforce was drained completely away. Awareness was leaving fast. The journey back to the city seemed interminably slow, and his mind would wander as a distant unintelligible voice started murmuring to him. When he came out of the forest and crested the hill, he saw the ancient city of Valimar in the distance and knew as he fell to his knees, tears streaming, that he wasn't going to make it. Before he fell unconscious, the bittersweet thoughts of seeing his beloved in Mandos came to mind. Then the darkness surrounded him.
The Vanya guard at the northern gates of Valimar saw a shiny glint of something upon the far distant hilltop and with keen eyes watched the body fall forward to the ground. His fellow guard just left to get some food, but he knew he could not wait for his comrade's return so he raced across the fields and up towards the hill where the body lay. Upon arriving at the top of the hill, the guard saw it was another Vanya elf in a disheveled state. He knelt down and gently turned over the unconscious elf, looking for wounds. Finding none, the guard tried to wake him.
Rillë could feel hands shaking him awake as if from a bad dream. When his eyes fluttered open, the world looked dream-like. He focused on the face before him and tried to speak, but he could not control his vocal cords yet to create sound. Memory of the recent events flooded in and he could see the face more clearly now and felt momentary relief when he noticed the Valimar guard armour. Quickly now, before he plunged back into the darkness for the last time, he speaks.
Rillë: "Tell the King (cough - breathes in deeply) - dark flowers - (a catch in voice and more loudly) she's dead!"
"Where and who?", asks the guard in consternation.
Rillë continues : ".....(softly) up north on a hill in the forest (gasps) - next to the stream....", he barely finishes while his eyes started dimming. Then Rillë mutters a soft vow, "Linhröa, my heart - I will see you soon...."
The guard heard Rillë's last words and solemnly watches the light fade from the Vanya's eyes and then he was gone.
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So caught up reminiscing as Rillë continued to walk the familiar deer path through the forest, that it took awhile before he finally noticed the pervading silence. He stopped to assess the area with his senses, by searching by sight and quietly listening for any sound. Along with the growing feeling of alarm, Rillë silently unsheathed his knife and cautiously resumed his trek still seeking the source of his unease.
Once he crossed a stream, the uneasiness became dread, and a very faint sound like a distant cry or whine seem to come from the hill yonder, but he was not certain. He got off the little path and wove between the bushes and trees until he came over the hill. An almost inaudible hypnotic sound emanated halfway down the hillside and then he saw it. A very large patch of dark purple flowers that were so dark they seemed almost black and without taking his eyes off them Rillë felt compelled to walk to them.
Why he wanted to come closer he had no idea, but the strange flowers beckoned. When he neared the edge of the patch, he saw a peep of white among the blooms. As he bent down for a closer look, an all too familiar cloth draped over the white made his heart clench and his mind reeled at the implication that he hoped was not true. Quickly he stooped over and parted the leaves and blooms to reveal an arm, a shoulder, and then gazed in horror at the lifeless eyes of Linhröa.
A keening sound erupted from Rillë's throat: anguish filled his heart, tears rolled down his cheeks, as he knelt next to his beloved Linhröa clutching her close. She was cold, too cold and the light of Illuvatar had been long distinguished from her body. He felt so physicaly drained and weakened by the loss, but all he could think of was getting Linhröa away from the place of her death. Ignoring the seductive noise in his mind that wanted to distract him from his thoughts and the imaginary tendrils grasping his limbs, Rillë staggered up and was shocked by his sudden weakness. He almost dropped Linhröa and with great determination he laboriously dragged her body beyond the edge of the dangerous flowers.
Laying there heavily breathing, heart racing and feeling dizzy, he put a hand up to his brow, surprised to find it damp and his skin hot to the touch. He swallowed hard, his mouth dry, and flexed his fingers. A heaviness crept into his joints, his limbs, and he gasps at the new sensation. Something was not right. Gingerly, he inspected the empty shell of his love. Not a mark on the flesh, no signs of violence or accident. He peered around.
There is nothing different about this trail....nothing, except the flowers. His eyes blurred as he stared at them, cocking his head. "I've never seen flowers like these," he rasped and slowly pulled his hand away from the gentle form he once loved so well. . There is nothing more he can do for Linhröa as she is now in the blessed halls of Mandos. He can only make his way to someone, anyone. Linhröa's body must be brought home, and he must tell someone how she came to be found.
He got up as if from a long convalescence and staggered in the direction of Valimar, hoping to find someone before his lifeforce was drained completely away. Awareness was leaving fast. The journey back to the city seemed interminably slow, and his mind would wander as a distant unintelligible voice started murmuring to him. When he came out of the forest and crested the hill, he saw the ancient city of Valimar in the distance and knew as he fell to his knees, tears streaming, that he wasn't going to make it. Before he fell unconscious, the bittersweet thoughts of seeing his beloved in Mandos came to mind. Then the darkness surrounded him.
The Vanya guard at the northern gates of Valimar saw a shiny glint of something upon the far distant hilltop and with keen eyes watched the body fall forward to the ground. His fellow guard just left to get some food, but he knew he could not wait for his comrade's return so he raced across the fields and up towards the hill where the body lay. Upon arriving at the top of the hill, the guard saw it was another Vanya elf in a disheveled state. He knelt down and gently turned over the unconscious elf, looking for wounds. Finding none, the guard tried to wake him.
Rillë could feel hands shaking him awake as if from a bad dream. When his eyes fluttered open, the world looked dream-like. He focused on the face before him and tried to speak, but he could not control his vocal cords yet to create sound. Memory of the recent events flooded in and he could see the face more clearly now and felt momentary relief when he noticed the Valimar guard armour. Quickly now, before he plunged back into the darkness for the last time, he speaks.
Rillë: "Tell the King (cough - breathes in deeply) - dark flowers - (a catch in voice and more loudly) she's dead!"
"Where and who?", asks the guard in consternation.
Rillë continues : ".....(softly) up north on a hill in the forest (gasps) - next to the stream....", he barely finishes while his eyes started dimming. Then Rillë mutters a soft vow, "Linhröa, my heart - I will see you soon...."
The guard heard Rillë's last words and solemnly watches the light fade from the Vanya's eyes and then he was gone.
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