Olwë's Journey Home - 2

< Previous     < Previous Morning Star

AelKennyr Rhiano

Deaf to the tender, gentle reassurances of Elenwe, blind to the moolight filtering into his cabin through a port window, Olwe dreamed.

He was back in the cave, the walls damp and slimy, the ground beneath smooth and cold.  Cold, also, was the air, and with each breathe he took; it felt like he was breathing in shards of ice, the very air cutting as he took it in.  There, as before, in the center of the room was the fiery pit, casting splashes of orange and red/gold across the cavernous space.  Olwe  sucked in another breath of air, shivering at the chill. 

Then he heard the scurrying, the clicks across the stone floor and forced himself to look down.  Spiders by the thousands were spilling out of the dark recesses of the cavern, where the light did not touch.  They were hurrying, clicking, scurrying to surround him, and crawling over his boots.  He took a step back, but the spiders behind him were fast, hastening to flee where his step landed and then rushing back to surround him. Olwe clenched his jaw and took another step back, with the same results: like one group mind, the spiders retreated before his foot landed and then scurried back.

Then the presence, which always preceded the Voice, entered the cavern, invisible, unstoppable, raising the hair at the nape of his neck.  A pressure, like a hand touching his shoulder and tracing down to his side and over his forearm, caused Olwe to whirl his head in that direction, even though he knew that, as always, there was nothing to see.  The voice spoke, and a warm puff of air, like an exhale, blew across his face, smelling of fire and ash.  “Poor, poor, sad, mad king,” it said, the words caressing his face.  Olwe clenched his fists and tightened his jaw.  There was a light touch under chin, as though a finger touched him there, and Olwe turned his head.  “Why do you fight me, Olwe?” The voice slid, like satin, across his mind, but the echoes bouncing from the walls told the elven lord the words were spoken.  “What is there to gain by thy stubborn resistance?  You are mine, live or die.”

Olwe turned his face to the direction of the voice.  “I am never…yours,” he enunciated clearly, slowly, anger flooding his cheeks, tinting his words. 

Inside his mind, invisible claws raked and slashed.  He sucked in a breath, a hand involuntarily going up to his head grabbing it.  “Can you say so, when I have mastery here?” asked the voice, inside his head.  The air stirred and something unseen, like sharp claws slashed though his tunic and scored his chest and stomach.  Olwe grunted and wrapped his other arm around his waist in reaction.  “I am in your head, in your dreams, in your waking moments. I hear every thought, every word that pours out of you.  And I control it all,” hissed the voice.  “There is no part of you that is not mine.”

He clenched his teeth to keep from moaning at the pain and spoke.  “You are in my head, but my mind is my own.  My heart is my own.  My soul is my own. I am not one of your creatures. I am a child of Blessed Eru.”

The voice roared, and the very walls of the cavern shook, the fire in the pit bubbled and erupted, falling back unto itself.  “NEVER CALL THAT NAME, “ it roared. 

“Eru, “ responded Olwe and felt the slash of unseen claws cut across the arm wrapped protectively around his chest and stomach.  Blood flooded freely from his wounds, and at his feet, the spider clamored to the splatters on the floor.  “Eru,” he whispered again, and braced himself for another attack.

But all was silent for a moment.  Then the voice spoke at his ear, purring, composure regained.  “Where is he, then, if you are his child?  Where is he?  Call out to him, invoke him.  Tell him to save this most favored child.” Unseen hands gripped Olwe’s shoulders.  The air was again cold upon the Teleri’s  lord’s face, and his breath left his body in clouds.  “I do not see him.” The voice grew closer, a puff of warm air on his ear.  “There is only me,” continued the voice in a flat tone.  Then the presence released his shoulders, and the voice drifted across the room.

“You see, Olwe of Alqualonde, that He cares nothing for you.  The Valar care nothing for you.  Your own precious Tilion cares nothing for you. “  The voice seemed to stop in the center, near the pit.  “Poor, poor, Sweet Olwe.  Faithful steward of the Valar, beloved King of the Teleri, he who remained constant, even though it cost some of his people their very lives.”  A pause. Then the voice resumed, a silky false sweetness. “How did it feel, I wonder, to see the pristine docks of Alqualonde drenched in your own people’s blood?  What a pity.”

Olwe took a step forward and was rewarded with a crunch under his foot.  Looking down, he saw that the spiders were not so quick to escape.  “LIAR!” he screamed.  He took another step and was rewarded by another crunch.  “Liar!”  Another step and another crunch.  “Why should I believe anything  you have to say, Foul One?” 

“Because if they cared, why are you still here?” purred the voice.

“I am but one elf, one.  If I fall, another will rise.  You cannot defeat us.  You can never defeat us.” His hands clenched and unclenched in rage.  “You are doomed before you begin.”

A whirl of air, and the voice was in front of him, inches from his face. “I’ve won already.  Living or dying, you will serve my cause, Olwe…dear, beloved king. “  Then the voice continued, but on the move around the cavern.  “You cannot change what is happening. While you live, all around you are obsessed with saving the poor, mad king.  Nothing else matters to them.  Dead, your cousin will be consumed with grief, the Valar will have lost their champion…such as he is, and the elves their heart.”

Olwe’s eyes widened, and a small gasp escaped him. “I am not of such import.” He shook his head. 

“No?” asked the voice, a pleased tone, a soft breathe of self satisfaction.  “The only Eldar King in the mortal world, and not important?  Perhaps not to Manwe, or the other Valar.  But to me, to your people…oh, yes, Olwe.  As far below me as you are, you are of great import.”

The air swirled and a breath brushed Olwe’s cheek.  “Be mine willingly, Olwe, and your life shall be spared.  Be mine willingly, and no more pain, no more torment.  You shall be a king greater than any before you.  Ingwe himself would bow before thee.”

“I do not want Ingwe to bend knee to me.  I do not wish to serve you, and I shall never be yours. My mind belongs to me, my heart to….” His voice trailed off, unwilling to say more.

“Tilion?” asked the voice, puffs of breath warm on Olwe’s cheek.  “Dear, simple Olwe.  Do you dare to think an Ainu would care for you beyond the moment?  Think.  Where is your brother Elwe?  If Ainur cared for their elven lovers, why did Melian let him die?  Why is he in the Halls of Mandos and not at her side?  Be not so foolish to think Tilion will act any different.  For he will have done with you once you are of no amusement to him.  Just as your brother was tossed aside when Melian found no further interest in him.”

Unbidden, the image of Elwe, when he was allowed to leave the halls of Mandos and speak to Olwe, came to the Teleri king’s mind.  For a moment, he lowered his gaze, looking down at the spiders clustered around him again.  The voice grew lower, more intimate.  “Where has your beloved Tilion been all this time, while you suffered?  Surely you see that even your Sylvan kin value you more than he?” 

Olwe  kept his eyes fixed on the floor. “You know not of what you speak, “ he answers harshly.  “And I do not believe you.”  It felt like lips were a breath away from his own, and he pulled back sharply.  The voice laughed.  “He is the helmsman of the moon and ever obedient to the will of the Valar and the mind of Eru.”  He looked up into the empty space.  “I doubt not you lie.  I doubt not you deceive, and I doubt not that he loves me.”

“We shall see, elf lord,” answered the voice.  “Arise from your bed, and  leave your cabin. Look up at the sky and see if you spy the Vingilot.  See if the morning star is traversing the sky, for I tell you I have blotted it out with my hand.  See my power and then ask yourself if I lie, if I deceive.

“Or if you have been deceived all your pathetical life.   Rise, Olwe, for the mornings you shall live to see are numbered, if you will not serve me.” 

“I shall never serve you,” answered Olwe, tightlipped, and heavy of heart, for in this, he feared, the voice did not lie. 

“You will die, then,” the voice answered, cold, merciless. “First you, then your people.  Arise, and look.  When you see not the morning star, know it is my promise.  You will serve me or you, and all you love, will die.”

> Next     > Next Morning Star       

Nienna and Irmo Leave for Alqualondë

 > Previous    

Lihan Taifun (with Shawn Daysleeper)

A soft wind rustles through the ageless willow trees in the gardens of Lórien. Most of the leaves have fallen, yet the bare branches are graceful, as beautiful and restful as they are in the flush of springtime. The cool autumn air is refreshing. Even in winter, which is coming soon, the winds will not be harsh. Nienna is aware of the crunching texture of the leaves under her feet. Being in a physical body, as she has been for much of the past few weeks, seems to magnify these external sensations. Sounds, colors, smells, textures all take on a distracting urgency. In contrast, it is much harder to perceive the true essential being of any object, or to communicate mentally with other Ainur. If she and her brother were both in their natural spirit forms, it would take no effort at all to find him. Since both in physical bodies, she continues to walk, through crackling fallen leaves, scanning with her eyes among the trees ...

“Greetings, brother.”

“Greetings my sister.”

“I will miss this garden.”

“Yes, as I will miss my etherial form, but this task is of severe importance.”

“Severe importance, indeed. I do hope I can manage the physical form. I have been practicing, but the time is short. Who knows what might be happening to the king, while we have been preparing?”

Irmo nods to his sister, "It is up to us to preserve the hope of the Children. I hope we can manage our disguise long enough to reach the Teleri King."

“Yes, we must manage that, at least. You yourself can always reach the king, in his dreams, but, walking among the Teleri, perhaps we can reach more of them.

“Yes, dreams are one thing, and as I have seen within his dreams, the horrors and visions, he may not trust his dreams so much."

“And perhaps it would be well if he did not trust them.”

Irmo nods "It will be more beneficial to reach them in a physical form. To this end, we raise their hope.”

“Yes, we must do whatever we can to keep their hope strong.”

“There is one last thing, then we will be ready to depart for Alqualondë and the world of the living. We must find names that we will bear, names in their language, that they will be able to speak, and address our bodies among them. I have chosen the name Estelin, the song of Hope.”

Nienna nods at the appropriateness of this name. “And I Apakenwë, the voice of Prophecy.”

Irmo smiles to his sister, beginning to feel emotions in this new body

Apakenwë makes a mental adjustment to her body. Her skin is paler, her hair silvery white and loose. “Do I look like one of the Children?”

“Yes my sister, you do appear as one of the Teleri.” He shifts his own body, likewise in imitation of a Teleri. His clothing is all in the blue favored by that tribe. “Is there anything else we need before we depart?”

“I have my harp. What else do we need?” She pauses, uncertain. She has, in all these ages, seldom been outside the Undying Lands. “You have been to the city, at least in dreams. Do you know where we should arrive? Somewhere so our arrival will not be seen.”

“There is a remote valley there, near the city. That valley is always shrouded in mist. It should serve as an arrival point. It is not likely we would be seen there.”

'Apakenwë' steps forward, and then drops back again. “Wait, I have lost my lower raiment already. Oh, this is going to be hard!”

'Estelin' grins, and laughs a little. “Yes this will be difficult. Managing these bodily functions is also hard.”

“Quite. We are expected to eat every day?”

“Yes, the Teleri eat a few times a day actually.”

“And breathing ... it is hard to breathe and talk at the same time.” Nonetheless, she has managed to recreate her blue skirt while talking. “Alright, I am ready. The valley of mist, brother!”

Estelin nods. “Then let us go, sister.” He takes his sisters hands and prepares to depart to Alqualondë.

Apakenwë shudders in anticipation. They are on their way.

> Next     

Elenwë and Nolë Calm Their King

< Previous

Shawn Daysleeper (with Carleen Luckstone)

The swan ship, powered by icy winds, forged it's way westwards, the white capped waves passing beneath as if the ship was passing over frictionless glass. Nole, on deck, broke from his prayer at the sound of glass crashing below deck. He rises, goes below deck to investigate the sound.

Elenwe emerges from where King Olwe has suffered another frightening episode. As she closes the door, she hears approaching steps. Turning, she spies Nole. "Oh, my friend, the king is suffering again."

Nole looks at Elenwe, frightened for what his king must be experiencing with these episodes of violent thoughts. "My King," he says and follows Elenwe.

Elenwe carefully opens the door, indicating to Nole to follow carefully. She is unsure how violent this attack on her king has been, nor what mental state he might be in. The pair strain in the semi-darkness belowdecks to make out King Olwe as he slumps in the corner of the cabin. "Your majesty? 'tis Elenwe and Nole," she whispers as she approaches the still form.

Nole looks to Elenwe for answers. "These thoughts must be tormenting him." He sits before his king, speaking softly. "My King, I am here. We will be home soon. You will soon be home."

Elenwe is reassured by Nole's calming voice. She comes closer and assists her king in sitting up against the bulkhead. Reaching to a nearby locker, she pulls out a blanket to spread over him, hoping to stop the shivering that has beset Olwe.

Olwe suddenly awakens, shouting, "Never! Never will I be yours, never, never," he repeats over and over. Nole takes his shaking hands. He tries to steady Olwe and help Elenwe cover him with the blankets.

Elenwe whispers to her king, "Of course you never will," unsure of to whom his rants are addressed. The pair lift Olwe and help him to his bed. "My friend," Elenwe says. "What could be the cause of these dark thoughts plaguing our king? Oh, I hope we are not long from our home. Perhaps returning to his beloved Alqualonde will be just what His Majesty needs to be restored to his full health."

"Yes, he was very intent about going home while we were in Sylvhara. I only hope arriving there will help him steady his mind until... it happens." Nole shudders, bows his head. He sheds a tear, then looks up at Elenwe. "My friend, please steady his thoughts. We must be close to arriving home. I must see to the deck."

Elenwe's heart sinks as the words, "It happens." She had hoped beyond all hope that the events in Sylvhara would not truly lead to such an awful conclusion. She puts a hand on Nole's shoulder to encourage him. "Yes, my friend, I will care for the king while you guide the ship." She turns back to Olwe, drawing up a stool beside the bed and smoothing his coverings.

Nole smiles to his friend, "Thank you. We will be home soon." He goes above deck, the icy winds of winter began to yield to gentle, warm breezes. The aurora of the northern sky melted into the advancing daylight. The stars of night faded, and a warm sunrise greeted the ship captain. "Soon, I hope, this nightmare will end." His smile broadened as the towers of Alqualonde castle appeared to his far seeing eyes at the edge of the horizon.

> Next      

Elwing in a New Land

< Previous       Cinnamon Raymaker As she looked around her new surroundings, Elwing the White started to regain her composure as she realised that this isle must be inhabited, or visited, if a row boat was beached on the shore. As she slowly got to her feet and started to look around, she relished the sight of the forest encroaching on the small beach and noted how some of the leaves had turned to orange and brown - something which was quite uncommonly seen in her homeland. The sun shone through the foliage and gave it the appearance of shiny gold and copper metal. As she looked upwards above the tree tops, she spied a wooden structure and her heart lifted. So - someone did live here! Maybe wood elves or simple forest folk? She would explore further and try to discover which. Elwing walked gingerly up a small embankment, thankful she was able to barely touch the rocky ground as she had lost her shoes in that fall from the sky. Right then she came across a roaring campfire and sat quickly on a tree stump to begin the onerous task of drying her clothes - such that they were. She sat quite cheerfully taking in the sounds of nature, the feel of the calm breeze on her skin and the warming air flowing towards her from the fire. As she turned to her right, she noticed a stone structure with elvish runes, and her heart lifted again. Noticing the shelter contained a table, she scrambled to her feet to explore. Seating herself carefully on the wooden bench and realising that she was ravenously hungry, she reached out for some of the bread in the basket in front of her and carefully placed one of the cooked eggs, from another plate, inside the folded bread in her hands. She closed her eyes and tasted the delicious food, enjoying every bite as it replenished her sapped energy. She also picked up a rosy red apple and crunched into its juicy sweetness, smiling at the memories of eating the fruit in the halls of her childhood home. Feeling the edge taken off her hunger, Elwing arose and grabbed a tankard from the table, and - moving around to the enormous barrel inside the stone structure - filled the tankard to the brim with the honeyed mead she discovered inside the barrel. Carefully nursing the full tankard, she wandered back to the stump in front of the fire and sat down. As she looked about her, with hope again rising in her heart and her head, she took small sips of the honeyed mead and pondered what Lord Ulmo and Lord Manwe would be able to do about the loss of Vingilot. Would they find her beloved somewhere hidden in the folds of time and space, or had he vanished forever? How was she now to continue her quest to find her Uncle - every time she had tried thus far, she had been battered and prevented from completing from that quest. She realised now that there was more to this situation than had at first been thought, she just wished she knew with certainty why providence had brought her to this new land she had yet to explore. >  Next

Fëamahtar Discovers a Surprising Power

> Previous Dalish        > Previous Fëamahtar        After meeting Tamlin in the forest when her vessel made landfall in Dalish lands, Feamahtar agrees to travel with the Dalish Keeper to his village as part of her quest. Many days of travel brings Feamahtar and Tamlin to the forested land near the Dalish dwellings. "My village is right over this hill, Feamahtar," says Tamlin. As the pair begins to climb the last hill, Tamlin lifts his head and, sensing something is amiss, says, "Wait, what is that smell? Is it smoke? It shouldnt be smoke: we rarely have fires." A look of grave concern clouds his face. Feamahtar catches the grim look as, at the same time, an acrid, unpleasant scent fills her nostrils. "There is something wrong here, Tamlin. I am feeling most uncomfortable," she says. "As do I," says Tamlin, "We must make haste." He walks faster. Feamahtar picks up her pace, saying, "We had best hurry. There is trouble, I am sure." Trying to ignore the fear rising rapidly in his heart, Tamlin beings to run toward the Dalish village. As he goes, he sees a black plume rising skyward. Tamlin realizes with dread that it is coming from the Dalish village. He dashes down the tree-lined path, Feamahtar scrambling to keep up with him. A short distance from the village, Tamlin spies something on the path leading from the Dalish dwellings. As he nears, he sees that it is a body crumpled on the path. Stopping short, he cries, "Oh my, what in the four winds could have caused this?" Feamahtar sees the smoke and, standing still in shock, stares ahead to where Tamlin is looking at the body in the path. Coming closer, Tamlin notices the long auburn hair of the figure. His Lady, Taila, has auburn locks. He also catches a glimpse of tartan cloth. Cold dread clutches hard at his heart. That is the cloth of the skirt the queen wears. Trying to control the panic, he cries, "Is that? No! It can't be my queen!" Closing the distance, he drops to his knees beside the still form. Feamahtar runs to the prone figure and leans down to look at her. "She is alive. I can feel breath. It is faint, but there." Looking up at Tamlin, she asks, "Who is this?" "This is Taila, my queen. She is still breathing, but we must act quickly before it is too late. Please, I don't have time to explain. Give me your hand, Feamahter." Feamahter murmurs, "Yes, there is something. Yes," and she touches his hand. As she places her other hand on Taila's back, an odd glow eminates from the point of contact. She is shocked, but does not remove her hand from the still figure. "Tamlin," she implores, "What is happening?" "I am unlocking a healing ability you have and enhancing it with my own powers," Tamlin replies. He strokes Taila's shoulder, concern etched in his face, and Taila stirs a little. Feamahtar gasps with surprise and looks to Tamlin. "She lives, Tamlin! I know not what we did, but she lives." Taila coughs and groans, but does not move. Tamlin gently turns Taila over and lifts her head, supporting it with his arms. Taila droops in his embrace. Her eyelids flutter briefly, and then close again. Feamahter moves closer to help support them. Tamlin brushes the disheveled hair from Taila's face. Feeling the touch causes Taila's eyes to open again. "Who? What?" she whispers hoarsely. "My queen, who or what did this to you?" Tamlin asks anxiously. Taila looks up briefly before closing her eyes again. "I-I know not what is happening, and I know not where I am." "Oh dear," Tamlin says, looking about him. An apple tree stands just off the path, and he reaches out to snatch an apple from a pail at the foot of the tree. "Eat this," he says, holding it to her mouth. Taila tries but can barely open her dirt-encrusted mouth. "I canna," she croaks. Feamahtar frowns. "She needs drink, Talmin. Is there some I can fetch?" "There is a stream we passed right down that hill there. Please hurry. Time is of the essence." Feamahtar stands. "I will go. Have you a vessel?" Tamlin Nerea grabs the pail of apples, empties it and flings it to Feamahtar.  "Yes, that will do well," she cries, whirls and runs down the hill toward the stream. Taila barely hears the exchange between the two. She tries to cast about in her mind for her last memory, but can remember nothing. She is too worn to think straight, and sinks back into unconsciousness. Tamlin comforts his queen as best he can while Feamahtar fetches water. He brushes leaves from her tangled air and tries to wipe the dirt from her caked lips. Dipping the pail into the water, Feamahtar fills it and hurrys back up the hill. Dropping to her knees she says, "Here Tamlin." Tearing some cloth from her skirt, she dips it into the water and uses it to wipe Taila's face gently. Saying, "Here, let me," Tamlin lets some water drop onto her lips. Taila's eyes open and she looks up into Tamlin's face, seeing the concern. "My queen, it is I, Tamlin. Drink this." He drops more water onto her lips. Taila looks confused. "But-but, you are far away, are you not?" she whispers as she tries to drink. "Shhhh, I am right here with you," Tamlin whispers as he tries to open his queen's eyes. Taila coughs and tries to sit, then sinks back, crying out in pain. Tamlin gently picks her up, cradling his arms around her. "All is ok. I am here," he whispers.  "Feamahter, please help me." Quickly Feamahter moves to steady him. "Tamlin, love, I'm so glad you are here." As Taila stands, a searing pain shoots through her leg. Her body feels as if she has been beaten severely. She winces, and leans on Tamlin and Feamahter as she hobbles down the path. "Taila, this is the prodigy we heard about," Tamlin says, indicating Feamahter. "She will help me heal you." "I welcome you to our village, good lady. I am most grateful to you for your aid," Taila says quietly. Feamahter continues to assist Taila as she replies, "Ahh, dear lady, I am grateful you are alive, and will do what I can to help you." "Aye, thank you. Grateful, as am I. I have nae idea how I ended up here. My memory is a dark void." Nodding, Feamahtar gazes ahead at the growing plume of smoke issuing from the village. "There has been evil here, that is certain." "My love,  it is ok. Your memory may return," Tamlin assures the Dalish queen. "Until then, we need to heal you." "Aye," Taila murmers. "Perhaps, in time, I shall recall what befell me." "Perhaps, but now you must rest, my lady," says Feamahtar. Tamlin carefully guides Taila along the path with Feamahtar. "I am glad I came when I did, and with help. Nonetheless, you are gravely injured, my love." Looking across at Feamahtar, he asks, "Feamahtar, will you help me heal my dear queen Taila?" Feamahtar nods affirmatively. "I know not what I am doing, Tamlin, but if you will give me your help and instruction, I will do what I can." As the group reaches the village's outskirts, Taila's gaze is drawn to the smoke. With a strangled cry, she stumbles but is caught by Feamahtar and Tamlin. "Oh!" Taila cries. "Our home! Our people! All is destroyed!" > Next Dalish         > Next Fëamahtar

Olwë's Journey Home

 < Previous       

AelKennyr Rhiano

Olwe rolled off his cabin bed and onto his feet in a gracious movement that brought him into a stand position perfectly balanced to handle the gentle rocking, to and fro, of the swanship.  He dabbed at the sweat on his top lip and ran a shaky hand through his silver hair.  Automatically he crossed the room to the table, upon which rested a delicately etched decanter of wine and two glasses.  He poured a glass, made it halfwary to his lips before his face contorted in disgust, and he flung the class from him, to smash again a wall and shatter. 

It began with a cup of wine.  Will it end with a pool of his own blood? 

Shaking with rage, with frustration, he leaned forward and placed both hands on the table, bowing his head, the long silver hair a curtain of silk hiding his features.  Waking or sleeping, there is never a moment when the voice is not speaking, sliding around inside his head, relentless, cruel, cunning.   He shook his head, a dog would, coming out of a lake of water, after a swim.  Taking a deep breath,  his hands gripping the table so hard his knuckles turn white, he gathered his strength and pushed the voice to the edges of his awareness.  There its whispers sounded like the buzzing of angry bees. 

Slowly he pushed himself away from the table and crossed over to where the shards of the glass scattered across the floor.  Bending down, he began to collect them, placing each piece in the palm of one hand.  The melodious voice of Nole floated down to Olwe.  The faithful merchant was on deck, attending to the duties a crew would once had shared.  Now he must do alone. A small smile flitted across Olwe's features.  He remembered first holding the infant Nole in his arms as his proud mother extolled the vitues of her little paragon to the Teleri lord.  He recalled one night as he was strolling past the home of Nole's parents, the effervescent young elf, all of nine years, came bounding up, fearless, to Olwe. "Look, look, my king, my king," he said proudly, producing a scale model of a swanship. And Olwe remembered bending down and taking the boat in his hands, inspecting the sleek design, the innovative construction.  "You did this?" he asked Nole, who nodded with a boastful, undaunted pride only the very young have. 

"Tomorrow, take you to the harbor, young Nole. Tell Master shipwright, I wish him to look at your model...then build a full scale version."  He tossled the young elf's hair.  "You shall be his apprentice, and we will see what comes of your design." 
The young Nole screamed with pleasure and ran back to his home, babbling excitedly to his mother. 

Now he was coming home in a swanship of Nole's design.. to die...after that...he felt a prick on his finger and looked down to see blood welling up on a spot on  the tip of his left forefinger.  "Blood, " hissed the voice..."Your blood...a little now, a lot later..."
"Be quiet, "hissed Olwe aloud, but softly,

"Be quiet, be quiet...awhh, the elf said to be quiet.  Can he not stop me?  Can he not excise me like a bad tooth?" Olwe felt a sharp pain on his wrist and looked down to see his own hand slicing a gash across one of his own wrist.  He hissed and stood up hurriedly, dropping the shard of glass to fall  to the ground.  He clamped his hand over the bleeding wrist.  Not enough to bleed him out, but deep enough to hurt, he noted. 

"I did that," cooed the voice, purring with pleasure, thick with pride.  "I did that, I did, I did. You are mine, Olwe of Alqualonde, body and soul and soul and body.  Give into it." 

Ghost fingers sroked the inner workings of his soul, and Olwe gave a short shout of surprise.  "Never," Olwe growled.  Then the...thing inside his head raked metaphysical claws across Olwe's mind.  Olwe clasped his hands to his ears and lurches accross his cabin and collapses onto the bed.  "Never will I be yours, never, never, " Olwe repeated, over and over. 

Then the voice purred contentedly.  "Fool, you are already mine."

> Next       

Elwing's Rescue and Ulmo's Journey

< Previous      

AelKennyr Rhiano

Ulmo had turned and started to exit his watery palace, prepared to hasten to Mighty Manwe's side, when he suddnely halted. 

Across the miles, Elwing's desperate cry of his name reached his ears, and the Singer of the Waves, without hesitation, swiftly swam from his beloved palace, hurrying toward the falling and now unconscious Elwing.  Osse watched his lord depart hurriedly, hearing the voice as well and turned to Unien, Lady of the Sea and his spouse.  To his voiceless question, came Unien's quiet response: "I do not know, beloved husband of mine, if the hand of Melkor has extended beyond his prison.  I, too, feel the coldness that is stealing over the world of the Children of Iluvatar, and like you, I know not what may be done."  He grunted in answer and paced angrily.  She rose, lithe and tranquil and crossed to him putting a  hand out to touch his arm.  "Calm thyself, my Love," she cooed.  "We must stand at the ready for what is to come."

Osse stopped and looked at her sharply.  Unien, knowing her husband's unspoken thought, slowly nods her head.  "Yes, husband, even if we must stand by and see the Lord of the Teleri give his life."

Osse jerked his arm away and stormed off, the water churning and circling him, his anger evident in the water the water foamed and rolled about his retreating form.  "I know," she whispered.  "I od not want to see that happen either, husband."

Meanwhile, Ulmo sped toward the falling elf, allowing his form to take the  massive size that best suits him.  Just ahead and above him he spies the tiny form, plummeting toward the sea, when a whirl of wind swirled around her.  He watched as a Wind of the Lord of Arda rescues the gentle elf and rushes off to the nearest land.  "Linfea," Ulmo thinks and nods, sending to the Wind of Manwe his gratitude.  Elwing the White is safe now, and Ulmo can communicate with her once she has recovered.  He gives the sky one more glance, wondering what had rendered the elf unconscious, what had made her call out so sharply, as though her heart was torn in two.  Then he turned and sped to the Undying Lands, a heaviness and foreboding in his heart.

>  Next      

Elwing's Quest Continues

< Previous     

Cinnamon Raymaker

As she plummeted to the earth below, the swan plumage she wore when flying shimmered and was lost - just as it was hidden when she walked on the deck of the shining Vingilot or with the ground firmly beneath her feet. In her dazed and weakened state, she had no control over the thoughts flitting through her mind. Like ants scurrying around looking for scraps of food, though tucked away deep within the darkest recess of her memory, she felt a growing sense of dread and loss. This feeling magnified a hundredfold when she came to the stark realisation that something precious had been taken from the world. In her mind's eye she replayed the moments before those physical assaults, first from the immense surge of energy and then from the crushing force of darkness.  There was the smallest seed of hope that she had been wrong. But it was hopeless. She recalled the blackness of the sky and then the rosy fingers of dawn. Something exceedingly precious, that hope of all elvenkind - the Morning Star carried by Vingilot through the early skies before the dawn-- had not appeared before the start of this day. A cry of anguish escaped from her parched lips, "Earendil, my beloved - what has become of you? What will become of us all?"

With that she again blacked out unaware of anything else around her.

*********

On her way, flanked by the great hawk Voronwe and one of the great swans of Alqualonde, Linfea sped to Lord Manwe,  to report her observations.  But the Ocean Wind, Linfea Nensule, spied yet another most unusual occurrence. The great white swan of Alqualonde became agitated and started to leave her side, veering slightly away from the Ainu.

"This day has been filled with strange happenings," the Ainu murmured to herself. "Firstly the great hawk, Voronwe, then a great white swan of Alqualonde, the burnt parchment message, and now something else ... What is that?"

As her eyes followed the swan of Alqualonde, yet another swan appeared in her sights. But this one was acting very strangely. It was falling at great speed towards the water, its wings tucked in by its sides as though tied to its body! And even more strangely, its feathers were somehow disappearing, and there, in front of Linfea, was an elven maiden plummeting to the waves below!

Linfea realised that something was terribly amiss and swiftly skimmed the waters to reach out tendrils of air to softly cushion the fall of the maiden. The great swan of Alqualonde hovered nearby, peering at the elven maiden and chattering away in its birdlike language. For several minutes it chattered, as though trying to communicate with the elven maiden, then it gently prodded her with its beak.

With a deep sigh, the maiden opened her eyes and looked about her in a most dazed state. She shielded her eyes from the bright light of the sun. Slowly and carefully, she chattered back to the great swan of Alqualonde. "Well met, my friend, how may I thank you for your timely rescue?"

The swan replied, "Dear friend, look around, and you will see that it is the Ocean Wind, Linfea  Nensule, who has come to your rescue. Strange events are taking us all from our safe havens these days."

With great effort, the maiden lifted her head.  In her weakened and dreamlike state, she fancied she spied the Ainu who had saved her. "Thank you, Lady Linfea.  You have arrived at a most opportune time. Methinks this poor wretch would have been lying at the bottom of Lord Ulmo's watery domain had you not rescued her. Though I do recall he mentioned I could call on him at any time during my quest should I need help. It would seem that providence has somehow brought us together at a very opportune time! Please forgive, me Lady Linfea, I have not introduced myself. I am Elwing the White, friend of seabirds, daughter of Dior Eluchil and Nimloth, of the Sindar Elves. I was on my way to the lands of my Uncle's, King Olwe's, cousin, Queen Comet. My Uncle is in dire need of help, and Lord Ulmo charged me with reporting back to him on his condition." The Lady Elwing paused for breath.

Becoming a little agitated, she continued, "I fear I have not carried out my duty. 'Tis the second time I have been attacked,  though this time I am sure the consequences will be more dire. In my attempt to fly to those lands, I believe I witnessed the disappearance of the vessel Vingilot, which carries the morning star, and is navigated through the early skies by my beloved Earendil. What is to become of us all? What can I do to help further? So many questions needing answers."

As she felt another wave of despair overcome her, the Lady Elwing laid back and allowed the pent up tears to flow and mingle with the salty seas around her. The great swan of Alqualonde bobbed up and down with the waves alongside the cushion of air supporting the lady Elwing. It again pushed its beak towards her and nestled alongside as if to comfort her in this outpouring of grief.

Allowing her a little time to recover from her emotional outburst, the Ainu Linfea whispered in Elwing's ear, "Well, Lady Elwing, I shall find the nearest landfall and set you down. You need time to recover from this shock, and I need to travel with great haste to the Sacred Mountain as I have much to report to my Lord Manwe."

With a stifled sob, Elwing replied, "Thank you dear lady. I fear we will need much help from Lord Manwe. Please set me down as soon as you can and continue your journey. I am so thankful that you passed this way at this time."

The Ocean Wind gently skipped across the waves, taking the Lady Elwing on her way. As they journeyed to the nearest island, the Lady Elwing was trying to sweep all the cobwebs of despair from her mind in order to better understand the nature of the dark force that had crushed her. Her sense of hope started to return, knowing that the friendly Ainu would soon be traveling on her way to Lord Manwe.

With this thought, she looked up and spied a warm and welcoming sandy beach in front of her, a small rowing boat lying on the shore. She stepped lightly down from the safe, cushioning winds and bid farewell and safe paths to the Ainu who had rescued her. With a last chatter to the great swan of Alqualonde, she waved goodbye and reluctantly watched her rescuers leave. Then turned to face her immediate future. 

>  Next Elwing    > Next Linfëa     > Next Morning Star

Linfëa Becomes Curious

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Fifi Wickentower

Linfea Nensule, Manwe's Ocean Wind,  was playing with the waves off the coast of a small island.  She would skim lightly over the surface of the peaceful waters and enjoy the salty spray as it responded to her increases and decreases in speed;  sometimes spraying high and wide and others only a small spitting of salty water. It didn't matter, she just enjoyed the frolic and had no thought other than the moment and the water and the air. 

Overhead the sea birds played among the air currents that she created, gliding softly on the gentle tufts of air allowing the air to move them about.  When she saw that one bird was different than the others . . . this bird is not a regular bird of the sea and it seemed to be in quite a hurry,  The wings were flapping with speed and he was moving against the currents of air she had set up for her play.

"I know this bird"  she said to no one in particular (for there were none to hear her anyway).  "Why this is the great hawk, Voronwe.  What brings him so far and in such a hurry?"

And, looking up, she also saw one of the great swans of Alqualonde,  home of King Olwe, the Leader of the Teleri Elves and one of the few remaining Eldar from the original time shortly after the Great Song (in which she had a small part) flying in the same direction as Voronwe..

"This is most unusual," she said, still to herself.  "I am growing most curious.  What in Illuvatar would cause such unusual behavior".  Still watching the labored movement of the great birds she sniffs at the air a frown passing fleetingly across her face. "That is smoke I perceive,  very faint but there are none out here to make fire." And turning this way and that,  she saw bits of charred parchment floating atop the gentle water where she had been at play.

Putting her hands out she caught a couple of small fragments, which stuck easily to her hands.  Looking very closely she could just make out a few letters.  "pra, Iatar, Manw, Olw . . ."  she reads from the charred and soggy bits of parchment.

Becoming very still, so still that the surface of the great ocean became like glass,  Manwe's Wind was then able to hear the faint and distant sounds of a harp.  "Ahhh, the lovely music that I do so love."   Staying still for just a moment more (for she was rarely at rest), she  glanced around, and, nodding to herself ( for still there were none else), rose up into the sky and hastened toward Taniquetil.

"Surely Lord Manwe should know of this most unusual occurrence.  I will fly to him and bring the birds with me.  It has been far too long since I have been home to the Sacred Mountain and rested in the Palace of our High Lord.  Perhaps it is nothing.  Or perhaps it is something.  But surely it is not for me to decide".

> Next       
 

Dominique Sends a Note to Manwë

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Dominique Darkwatch

Dominique Darkwatch, cleric of Iluvatar, has meditated upon the events of the night before King Olwe's departure.  She thinks of the king's words and his charge to find the will of Iluvatar through the Vala Manwe. 

Until this point, her duties have been relatively simple, in that she does healing in the name of Eru and has performed a few rituals; an elven wedding and even summoning a wind of Manwe on one occasion.  She has used the harp Iluvatar gave her to calm troubled hearts and the tears Nienna gave her to help heal broken bodies.  She has occasionally shared her belief system with others.  But mostly she has tried to be helpful and supportive of those in the realm while not bothering the Valar overly much.  In fact, she has not contacted them directly at all outside of her regular prayers since being chosen by Eru Iluvatar and since her dream-like encounter with Nienna.  And the valar have certainly not contacted her since then.

But now, she can not be silent nor wait any longer.  The life of King Olwe hangs in the balance, and Dominique needs to get the attention of Manwe, or at least one of the vala who can convey a message to him.  So now she contemplates her options.

She knows she can use her harp, and perhaps her music can be carried on the winds.  However, the message she needs to transmit is quite complicated and detailed.  Short of setting up an audience with the Vala himself, this would not serve.  She needs to send a detailed letter.

She sits and begins to write a draft of the letter.

“To the most high Vala, Manwe

I am Dominique Darkwatch of the Sylvan elves and cleric of Iluvatar, chosen by Eru Himself to serve among the elves and to venerate those of you who have served Him since the beginning of time as cocreators of Arda.  I am sending you a message of great urgency on behalf of King Olwe, King of the Teleri of Alqualonde.  My lord, he is in a grievous state and is not well at all.  His very life hangs in the balance as he has been infected by some mysterious black flowers that we Sylvans have named “Nightmare's Tears.”  These flowers are very dangerous and have resulted in the deaths of many beings here in Sylvhara and surrounding realms.  And many who were not killed have been driven to a sort of mental degeneration into madness, which I fear is the case for King Olwe.”

At this point Dominique pauses and wipes the tears from her eyes, as she remembers the look in the King's eyes, and the darkness surrounding him.  She softly prays and then rebukes herself as she know the situation is uegent and grave.  She steels herself for the task at hand and resumes writing.

“Our mages have developed a treatment for the poison, but it is very severe and costly, my Lord Manwe.  It involves a ritual of cleansing where the victim is to be sacrificed at the hands of a loved one, whose tears are then to mingle with the blood of the slain victim.  The love from the tears mingles with and cleanses the blood, which is then transformed through a divine rite of resurrection.  This ritual was last performed during the fall equinox and successfully treated 4 individuals from infection from the Nightmare's Tears. 

"I know the cure is very severe, and it troubles me.  However the prospect of losing such a one as King Olwe troubles me much more.  There is a darkness that spreads across all elven lands, and his guidance and leadership are much needed at this time.  We are in dire need of a king such as Olwe now more than ever.  To lose him would lead all of us elves into a state of deep despair.  King Olwe has refused to act on this without some confirmation from you, Lord Manwe, as he has always sought and continues to seek, the will of Iluvatar in such things.  Even now he sails back to Alqualonde to see his home one more time.

"Therefore, I humbly beseech and beg you to act with all haste, and seek the will of Iluvatar in this matter.  I fear the king will not last long in his current state, as even now he suffers greatly.  I must know whether Eru approves of this cure.  I also wish to know if the Valar can possibly offer any further aid to the king, whether in this ritual or to ease his passing into the house of Mandos if the cure is not approved.  It grieves me greatly to see the king suffer so.  I will hasten to his side if there is anything at all that I might be able to do.

"I await your answer and continue to offer my prayers and my service to you and all of the Valar in the name of Him whom we all serve.  May the will of Eru Iluvatar always be done.

Most humbly yours,
Dominique Darkwatch
Cleric of Iluvatar"

Dominique breathes a sigh as she looks the letter over.  She hopes that it can be understood once it is received...IF it is received.  She begins to formulate several different plans and decides to make several copies of her letter.  One of them must get through to Taniquetil, the Holy Mountain, and the halls of Ilmarin, the dwelling place of Manwe and Varda.

The first note she ties to the leg of Voronwe, the hawk, outside the cleric guild.

“Cuiva!  Vanta Tenequitel, vanta Manwë!  Mauya nestië Olwë!”
(In quenya: “Wake up!  Go to Tenequitel and go to Manwë!  Olwë needs healing!”)

Voronwe immediately and obediently takes flight, westward and over the trees and out of sight.  Dominique has no idea if Voronwe understood or knows the way.  She cannot take the chance.  She proceeds to employ other methods to deliver her letter to the Lord of the Valar.  First, one copy goes into a bottle. which she kisses and throws into the river in hopes that Osse, or eventually Ulmo might come across it.  She also takes some bread to a nreaby river, and plays her harp, thus attracting several swans, one of which she is able to scoop up gentle into her arms and  to its leg tie a box that is sealed with the note inside.  This one could be found as it rests in the waters or in the air, should it reach its intended destination.

Finally, she journeys to a small island south of of the realm.  She lays the parchment on the ground and thinks about the king.  Even though she has met him only a few times, his regal presence had a great impact on her.  She had no trouble shedding tears as she imagined the pain and torment he must be going through.  Once the letter was soaked with her tears and she said a prayer over it, she lit a fire.  Then she carefully set the letter on the fire and  played her harp while the smoke and charred pieces of the parchment went into the air and began to blow west.  Perhaps this would be the one to reach Manwe, although she was not sure how. 

She had done all she could, and now she would continue to pray and wait in faith.
 > Next Olwë          > Next Sylvhara         > Ainur Reactions         

Jillian Wants to be Found

< Prev  Tearmann      < Prev  Jillian      This is Hondo's first scene.

November 15, 2010

Jillian Newey

"I need this to stop, Hondo." Jillian is now tormented, sleeping or waking. While she is awake, scenes from her nightmare are  in her mind. "I need to find this Elf King. It is killing me".

She is now beginning to look like the king who is being tormented in her dreams.  She can not eat nor sleep. She is pale, and her wings transparent. Her hair is unkempt. Tormented. Yet she does not know why.  Hondo goes to the elven tower, one of the buildings left standing when they came to this land and petitions the spirits of the land. Answering a summons from desperate wizards, the Fae found the land deserted except for  a few buildings , some in ruin, and they begin to heal the land.  Over time, others came to the land, mostly travelers  seeking wealth and the answer to a great riddle: what happened to King Balfour. 

Long ago a group of humans were exploring these lands. In a cave they discovered a small vein of flowing lava.    Over the years the land flourished and grew. Over the years as more came to the land.  Jain Balfour, the leader of the group,  became the King and ruled the lands. He grew in power as his wizards learned how to tap into the power  released by the lava.   With this new found power, they were able to summon a demon. At first the demon seemed weak and allowed King Balfour to use him,     Jain  used the demon to create and shape the land and to build a great kingdom for his people; however, over time, the demon slowly  filled him with dark and paranoid thoughts. King Balfour begin to see those around him as a threat,   He sent his armies to destroy the kingdoms around him, but the more he killed, the more he saw his own people begin to question his actions. He tightened his grip and started to destroy those around him.  The demon gave him enough power to defend himself from those around him.

 The wizards  saw the demon's power growing and called forth help from the elves that  lived  in the forest.   With the combined power of humans and elves they  built a secret chamber to study the darkest magical arts,  They found a way to bind the demon,  but there was a high price to pay, the land was drained of all living things.

Now Hondo beseeches the same ones that summoned Jillian and other fae to the land to heal it. "Please find someone who can save my wife. She will die if this goes on."  His tears wash against the tree's bark.  Then a feeling sweeps over him, a sense that  his pleading is heard and that someone will come to help his love in her torment.  Hondo goes to Jillian and assures her, " Soon, my love, someone will come."

 Now he waits for something or someone to come.  But Jillian feels as cold as when the land turns to winter.  "Something is missing.  Something is wrong, and I can not say what it is,"
she says one day.  "Mother, Father, who am I, and why did you have to leave me? I am not elf, I am not fae.Who am I?" She collapse to the ground and sobs. "Someone find me please, and tell me who I am."

Healing the land has taken much from Jillian but not the nightmares. She has become very wary of everyone now: she carries her longbow and dagger wherever she goes. If only Tempest, the old one who helped her through her loss of her family, would return to the land, she could lean on him.
Hondo cannot bear all this weight she carries. He is strong but not in that way. He holds her when Jillian allows him as she cries, but nothing he can do will console her. His heart is breaking.

When Hondo is not around, this thought, this wild crazy thought, runs through Jillian's mind. "I will go look for this Elf King. I cannot wait for anyone. These screams are making me as crazy as the elf."  Jillian is not thinking of what her absence will mean. It has already statred with the cold and snow. All she can think of is the sounds that are making her crazy.

"If I leave when Hondo is not looking, If I just follow what I feel in my heart, then maybe I will find someone." Jillian looks to the east and says,"Yes, that way. I will..........yes that is what I will do".

> Next Tearmann      > Next Jillian       > Next Hondo

Jillian's Recurring Nightmare

{This is the first Tearmann story}

November 13, 2010

Jillian Newey

"This can not be happening again!" Jillian screams. She wakes from a nightmare she has been having for many days.

Every night she fears sleep and elves even more. Outwardly Jillian is a free spirited Fae, but deep within, her heart is scarred from her elven past. Two worlds torn apart but live together within her.   Born into these  worlds, she hides her elven part deep inside.  Elves, and humans to a lesser degree, were to blame for the destruction of her family.    

Though she has seem much in her life that has taught her that hatred is destructive, there lies within her an anger, a temper she struggles with and believes to be part of her elven heritage. She fears that should she lose that struggle, she would lose her soul.  Born of royal stock to an elven father and a fae mother, she was a child conceived in love, as was her younger brother, away from any palace or royal duties.   While both siblings were mirrors of their father's elven features, Jillian also had her mother's eyes...and wings. Two siblings, outwardly different, but with the same lineage.  Things were peaceful, full of love and hope...

Until the day the elves found them. .....

But, now, in the present, waking from the nightmare, she pulls away from her love.  He watches as she buries her face in her hands and cries, helpless, aching to ease her fear. 

" I cannot sleep, not again," she tells herself.  But sleep she does, and thus it begins again. Purple flowers, so dark they are black..... one can feel the evil they are, but why do others go to them? She watches the horrific sight and can do nothing to stop it, screaming at them,"Leave them! Stay away!"

  It fades away to an ceremony, a ritual. Jillian shivers. The blood, the carnage. "Why are you doing this?" She silently screams at the participants. Jillian sobs. Are elves so blood thirsty they kill thier own? In her heart, Jillian knows this to be true.

 Again the picture fades to an elven king. beautiful even to one who mistrust elves. He is babbling,not making sense, talking to no one there. Again the scene changes. Jillian is beside herself once it dawns upon her what she is witnessing.  She cannot stop what is happening nor wake up. Again a ritual: they are going to kill their own king!

She runs to the circle to stop them. Why? She does not know why: after all, he is an elf. But she is compelled to do so. She even knows his name. "Olwe, stop them! Do not let them do this!" She screams in frustration. " I wish you could hear me. I wish I could help you." Again they cut to his heart. She screams and wakes up in tears and sweat. 

Who is Olwe?

> Next Tearmann      > Next Jillian

News Comes to Ulmo

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AelKennyr Rhiano

Dolphins chatter as they give escort for the Singer of Waves.  Formless, one with the waters, he glides along, engaged in a watery ballet with the dolphins beside him, engrossed in their frollicking.  For the moment, all else is pushed to the back of his mind, and Ulmo rolls and tumbles with the friendly sea creatures, caught up in their childlike delight, until he spies ahead his watery palace, Ulmonan, and sends the pair off to continue their play elsewhere with soothing strokes of his hands. 

As he enters, he frowns, for there awaits Osse, visage grim and spirit greatly agitated, his wife, Unien, quiet close beside him, looking from her husband, the Lord of Sea Storms, to Ulmo, Lord of the Seas.  "Ulubôz," she greets him in Quenya, bowing low.  "There are sad and troublesome tidings," she begins, but gets no further. Her spouse's mercurial nature will not allow him to remain silent, but a tempest of thoughts spill from him to his Lord, images, feelings...fears...Grimly Ulmo digests it all, face growing more troubled and dark with a rage he had not felt since last Melkor tried to destroy the whole of Illuvatar's creation. Casting forth his mind, sensing all that moves above and below the oceans of the world, he, indeed, finds the swanship, which Osse revealed to him. 

"He returns home, my Lord," says Unien, a great and terrible sadness in her voice.   The Lady of the Sea looked at Ulmo, he who was one of the chief Architects of Arda, and tears spilled from her eyes. Beloved of the Teleri is Unien, and that love she returned freely, weeping bitterly for those Teleri slain at the Kinslaying of Alqualonde. Unien it was, and Osse, who befriended the Teleri at the river Sirion. And Unien it was who became entranced with the princess of the Teleri, Earwen.  Shells and pearls and other trinkets she would wash up on the shores of the Swanhaven for the daughter of Olwe to find when she was a small child.

Now sat the Lady of the Sea, weeping openly for the Lord of Alqualonde.  Ulmo, as before, reached for the mind of the Teleri lord.  Darkness...a  deep blackness...then the thought, "Spiders," and nothing more.  He dare not press further into the mind of Olwe. 

When he spoke, his voice rumbled, like the crash of storm tossed waves against the shore. "Go forth, Osse, and guide the swanship home.  And you, Unien, shed no more tears but instead with all haste to the  Swanhaven to sing words of comfort upon the waves." 

"And you, my Lord," asks Unien in a voice calm as a tranquil sea.

"I shall go to Mount Taniquetil," Ulmo announced.

"To see Lord Manwe," whispers Unien.  Ulmo nods. "It is not enough to speak across the waves.  I must see the face of Manwe ere I tell him this dreadful news...."  He exhales nosily.

"They seek to kill the king...Olwe."

> Next       

Elwing's Quest Begins

< Previous      

Cinnamon Raymaker

She rose higher and higher into the azure skies over the Swanhaven, hoping with all her heart she would come back and visit this place in the future. Onwards and upwards she flew on her quest to find the lands of her uncle's cousin, Queen Comet.

The form in which the Lady Elwing travelled was streamlined and sleek, perfect for long ocean crossings of this type. Her lithe birdlike form streaked through the sky in a shimmering of starspray, such as that which had been witnessed on the eve of her birth. She remembered back to the days of her childhood when she had felt warm and safe, trying not to recall the terrible details of the time when she faced the future alone.

As she continued on her long flight, she pondered on her great fortune in finding the mariner who had stolen her heart and fathered her twin sons. "Oh my beloved Eärendil," she thought to herself, "would that we could recapture some of those simpler times when we would laugh and play with our children!"
She fondly envisioned those days then felt a stab of sadness. "You have paid a great price for your courage and fortitude, my beloved. You made your choice for me and for that I will ever be grateful - though I do terribly miss your support and fortitude, especially at times like these."

Flying, flying, ever flying. On she flew with these thoughts echoing through her mind.

Gradually the light and warmth from the sun started to withdraw from the world, and small pinpoints of the stars began to pierce the darkening canopy of grey. For a while, all continued bathed in the calm of twilight. Then, without warning, a blackness blanketed the sky. The Lady Elwing panicked slightly, but pushed onward, ever onward, her resolve to complete her quest overtaking any sense of fear. She half expected the physical force from that same dark menace to start harassing her on this voyage, yet strangely, nothing occurred. This lightened her heart somewhat, and onward she flew in anticipation of seeing her beloved at the time of the heralding of dawn.

********************

Onward, ever onward, she flew in the hope her quest would take her to her beloved, as well as allowing her to seek news of her dear uncle. So deep in thought was she, the Lady Elwing was startled when she espied the rosy fingers of dawn reaching across the sky. Her stomach gave a small growl from hunger, and her mouth felt parched from having spent so many hours without quenching her thirst - the taste and smell of sea salt almost overpowering her senses. Yet, somehow, through the sense of urgency driving her ever onward, she continued to flap those wings which were gradually made heavier and heavier with fatigue. Her mind dulled with lack of sleep, and the realisation that she had traversed throughout the night, the Lady Elwing mentally shook herself to return her thoughts to her urgent mission.

She was greatly alarmed when from out of nowhere, a strange prickly sensation assailed her. It was as though a shock of energy had cut across the sky and entered her body, starting through her feet, her legs and then rushing upward and washing through her body and soul. She had felt that shock only once before, when the silmaril, which she had valiantly rescued and then taken into the sea, had fallen from sight of the world into the realm of the Lord Ulmo, to be saved from those who had massacred her family.

As this realisation hit her, the physical force from that dark menace, which had crushed her during her last flight, slammed into her yet again - driving all breath from her body. She felt that unstoppable feeling of despair rising in her belly as she sensed herself again plummeting towards the earth below. In her mind she called out to the guardians of the world, including her benefactor, Lord Ulmo, Singer of the Waves, then saw only blackness as she lost all conscious thought.
>  Next      

Mal'anar

 > Previous    

There was a contest recently to encourage rpers among the Mal'anar to create personal accounts of the destruction of their lands.  Attached are the winners.

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Please take a moment to read the RP stories of our contest winners to learn more about the total destruction of Mal'anar and Silver Hollow.

A word of advice from the King of the Elves of Mal'anar - Don't underestimate the Nightmares' Tears!

Yours,
Xavi Villiers

---

1st Place - Arixian Diesel

"Where there is void," the oracle's voice said. "There is a chance to rebuild and grow," with those last words, the eerily coupled voices of the three Fates sank into darkness as did their forms.

A Valkyrie knew better than to question fate itself, but as her pale eyes slid over the waning basin of Sight, she caught one last glimpse of a peaceful forest she knew as a second home. That vision would burn into her brain the only way pain and loss could brand so. The mists would be remembered for eternity by her, even after everything else had turned to dust and man was a mere legend, spoken of quietly in bedtime stories.

Arix swallowed down her pain, her fear, the regrets that a normal Valkyrie should not have, and summoned her armor as she passed through the door. Coursing slowly through the darkened halls of Valhalla, she traveled by sleeping man and sister alike. Their bodies recovering for yet another day of song and battle in the name of Odin and Freya. The fires were low as her well-booted feet trod over the stone floor slowly, her hand cresting the round knee of an all-too-familiar statue. She winced in her loneliness, the dark quiet adding to her emptiness as she paused for a mere second at the marble statue. She turned up to look into its face, her heart threatening to break her ribs from the inside as her knowledge and memories empowered her to continue.

The unthinkable was coming, she reminded herself, and she could not stop it. Her armor shifted on her thick body, strong and muscular and sculpted by the gods, as she continued out of the doors and took to the sky on a pair of unfamiliar, golden wings. She felt so heavy as she flew through the cold, emotionless canvas of night, as if her body was made of lead and wings were actually golden ore plumbed from the bowels of Hel's caverns.

As she neared the once-peaceful forested city of Mal'anar, her senses were greeted with the thick smell of fire and blood. The sting of weighted strife was felt through her warriors bones as she touched ground with a heavy thud. The battle around her spun and ebbed like so many torrents of the sea at storm. She stepped between skirmishes on slow, purposeful feet, as if weaving the threads of destiny between them. Time passed differently through the eyes of a Valkyrie, sometimes moving more quickly and sometimes slower. In these moments, she saw the war of men pass in slow motion before her. They spray of blood arching over another like a graceful wave on an empty shore, striking the foe in the face, slapping him as man might greet the unfeeling world. She shone brightly in the blackness of war, a beacon to the fallen and dying. "Help me," they would cry to her, begging all at once for release and healing. Clanging of swords and spears rang through the air and deafened the heart-felt screams of rage from even the most noble of men. She would reach for them, then, as their bodies stopped and fell limply, her arms as strong as steel to carry the weight of their souls.

Some fought against her and shook in her grasp, not willing to go. She admired their willing spirit, wishing she could let them continue. But no matter what her desires were, the fate was set and she knew the outcome.  A bittersweet smile lifted the corners of her full lips as she spoke with an ethereal calmness. "Stay yourself, warrior. Save your fight for the battles in Asgard." Many times she would do this, leave with souls and return with none. As they filled the space against her bosom, the emptiness within her grew another inch.

 As the morning hours came and washed their gray-tainted peach light over the scorched earth, so blackened with the blood and fire that had swept over it like the broom of a vengeful god, the battle had ceased and the damage was done. The entirety of the city as well as the outlying lands were decimated and nothing was recognizable as the green forest of the Mists any longer. As she floated above the steam and smoke rising from the ink-colored soil, her pale, sorrowful eyes would cast toward the Wayward Spirits. A mere husk of what it used to hold; once bursting at the seams with jovial talk and welcoming warmth, its walls were now burnt entirely to the ground and only a few planks stand remaining in defiance to the destructive power of war.

The valkyrie pulls her crested crown from her ebony head, still perfectly white and unsullied by the ash that floated freely around her, and sits perched on some nearby stone that had been uprooted by the attackers. She pulls a long-fingered and shaking hand through her tresses as she once more scans the scene for survivors regardless of her prior knowledge that there would be none. Her head falls, knowing the god's will complete and the deserted land unlivable. Hope would sink this day, through the bleary night and into the morning as barren anger and resentment took its place.

She sat on that rock for what seemed like a hundred lifetimes, ash and dust pelting her alabaster skin angrily as she defied their waning appetite for abolishment. Her golden feathers were rifled by the fall winds, harsh and crying at her to return the color-changed leaves and their trees so that it may sing through them once more. "Had I the power, wind," she spoke quietly, her words barely hushed out by the stiff breeze. "I still would not." Craters dappled the ground around her and seemed to stretch on, their numbers countless. Each one, Arix contemplated, was still not as deep as the hearts of those lost and displaced from their homes. Their emptiness was overshadowed easily by the loss felt within the denizens that once lived within the sacred boughs of the mists.

Weapon, shields, bodies of men and beast alike lay broken on the ground below her like so many scattered and forgotten toys. Woe filled her as cold water fills an empty, dusty well. Part of her was revitalized and motivated, helpless anger churning from within the depths of her silvery core. The other part of her was weighted heavily, as if challenging her to continue on in spite of everything. "Come on, body," she beckoned it upward. "We have work to do." With that, slipped off of the rock, her godly garb fading from her form and returning her to a sooty, leather-clad appearance.

She chose to walk instead of fly, to relive the moments of destitution and carry their weight, letting them play out over and over in her trained heart. A bone snaps beneath her heavy foot, its sickening crunch not much more than the sound of dry, splintering tinder beneath the woodsman's axe. She pauses and looks down at its surfaces, bleached from the inside by whatever killed the person it once supported. Her lily, white hand reaches to pluck a shard from the dark earth, to hold it against the slowly rising light of the sun and contemplate the traces of soul still within its web-like marrow. So fine was its structure, so delicate and thin. She choked back a wave of emotion as the memories of its owner struck her. “These are but children at my feet,” she says to herself, dropping the fae bone as if it were a hot coal, searing against her flesh with the unspent life that once reverberated within the flighty creature.

Arix looked up to the sky, an angry pair of sea foam-colored eyes daring the gods to strike her down for her rebellious thoughts. Why, she continued to ask. The gods had plenty of the world with which to play, why choose Silver Hollow and Mal'anar? Why allow the slaying of innocent and heathen alike? All at once, the words of the Fates rang through her ears like so many bells in a chapel hall. “The void,” she mutters quietly, her anger banished from within her breast for now. Dropping her gaze once more and looking forward, she took herself across the barren desolation and toward Westenguard where, on the way, she would meet refugee and injured alike. She would fix their broken bodies, even their tattered and nigh-ruined belongings. She would tell tales to the young and old alike, distracting them from the thoughts of their lost home; cook them food and put them to bed. She would do all she could to help them rebuild, to help them fill the void with new things and new life.

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2nd Place - Kazuma Snowfall

The sound of swords woke him.

Kahz sat up, sleep still clinging to his thoughts as he registered the sounds outside his door—and the vibrations that moved his bed and shook the walls. Beside him Oralia stirred and reached out to touch him.

When she opened her mouth to speak, he quickly pressed a finger to her lips and shook his head. "Get dressed quickly," he whispered before he slipped out of the bed himsef. He pulled on pants and jerkin as Oralia dressed behind him near the fire.

"Kahz..." she whispered as shadows moved outside the stained glass of his windows. "What's happening?"

He didn't want to say. Becuase if it were true—that the city was being invaded—they were doomed. Not just he and Oralia—but all of Mal'anar. They weren't prepared. They weren't...ready...

And they were under attack.

A stone crashed through the window to Khaz's right. To her credit, his lover didn't yell out but instead pulled a dagger from her robes. He grabbed his short swords as something even larger came smashing through the broken window.

He turned his back to the hail of glass and spun his weapon's handles to better his grip as he pivoted to face what ever it might be. He hadn't expected to see—a devil? It was waist high and covered in a foul, greasy tar-like substance. The smell reminded him of those damned flowers near the entrance.

But there was no time to speculate as he brought his left sword up to deflect the creature's attack. The crack of his blade's steel against the creature's weapon vibrated down his arm. His teeth rattled at the impact and he stumbled back until he was against the armoire. He got a quick glimpse at his attacker's axe and realized with a sinking heart it was made of iron.

No...

Another creature came through the broken window.  Oralia dove to meet it, easily ducking beneath its swing and then with a movement that was pure art, jabbed her knife into its neck from behind. The creature cried out and fell.

The one before him brought his axe up again—Kahz had been too busy watching Oralia—and swung. He moved out of the way and attempted to sweep the creature with a blast of wind.

But it was as he feared—the force he intended to summon became little more than a breeze—the iron from the axe weakened anything he'd hoped to conjure. He parried with both swords crossed over his head, again feeling the jar as the iron struck his swords. Sparks flew and he heard shouts from outside. The banging on the door increased in volume and he yelled out as he shoved forward, eventually pushing the creature over on its back where Oralia quickly killed it.

She looked up at him with tragic eyes, though filled with determination. "The plants!" she yelled. "It has to be the plants! They smell like the plants—"

More of them came through the door at that moment, as well as the open window. More shouts outside. The clash of steel, the cries of dying. And the alarm... sounding too late.

They were surrounded in seconds, cut off from the exits. He motioned Ora to get close, tucked his left sword under his right arm, and reached up to the ceiling. "Me-yera 'tel an shul tir!"

His voice had amplified with the spell. He'd called on the deep magic, that born of desparation, that which demanded its own price. The ground shook beneath them as the wind inside picked up, pulled in through the shattered windows, the chimney flu and swirled around them. Though there was iron, there wasn't enough to prevent the funnel that built in speed and strength until it finally rose and pushed the roof from the cottage itself. The creatures were swept up in the swiftly moving wind, but he didn't have the strength to lift he and Ora, out of the cottage walls.

He felt a cool hand on his cheek and heard her voice in his heart. "Let me..."

And that's when water—cool, sparkling, and embured with her power—came crashing into the cottage from all side. The creatures were drowned in it as he and Oralia were lifted above the cottage walls which fell from the weight and current—and then deposited them along the bank.

There was no time for relief. More of the foul creatures came at them. He swung his swords and joined in the fray with his cousins—as Oralia gave out her own cry and took down two within seconds.

"Find the Tari!" came a voice to his right. The Tari! The Princess! He glanced around and saw Oralia engaged with another of the creatures. One of the long lived trees near the shore, only yards from where his house had stood, went up in a blaze. He ducked back from the instant heat against his skin and felt the bite of a blade along his front.

He twisted in the direction of the attack, taking off the head of one of the damned demons. The cut was deep and he wiped at the blood as the leaves of the tree crackled and blew in the wind and turned to ash. 

"The keep is on fire!" came the cries from around him.

Kahz had no idea how long he'd fought when he heard the word to evacuate Mal'anar. Evacuate? But the others were running past him as he heard the crack of the great trees as their trunks gave and their roots, damaged by fire, gave. He and a few others barely made it away from the trunk, but were caught in the descending foliage. He stumbled forward and landed on his front as his felt wood cut sharply into his back, scraping skin, stinging.

Once it was done and the sounds of the keep crumbling reached them, narry a sound came from those outside of the gates. He thought he caught sight of Arix... among the dead inside the gates...but he wasn't sure. He was tired and wanted only to return to the pleasant dreams he'd been having, resting beside Oralia, feeling her body beside him.

A hand touched his bare arm and he knew it was her. Kahz turned and looked into the beautiful, if not soot smudged face of his love. Her hair was caught with ash, leaves and straw, and her face was slightly wiped with blood. But she was whole and he dropped both swoards as he leaned down and swept her into his arms. Her tiny feet dangled above the grass as he buried his face into her neck, nestled in her hair. He wanted to weep, to cry out with the death keel for those who had fallen.

But he heard Xavi's voice, felt Ora stir in his arms. He set her down and she led him to the gate where the Aran, the Princess and Tari stood. He and Ora stood nearby, his eyes catching Morrigan's for a brief second...and he could see the utter devastation in her eyes. What he felt in his heart.

Her gaze traveled from his eyes to where he and Oralia held each other tightly. The Tari gave a slight nod, as if she expected Ora and he to be together.

The Aran spoke. The power of Mal'anar was returned to her people.

Kahz lowered his head when it was over, exhausted. Mal'anar...was gone. The word to vanish was unspoken, as was the understanding that Mal'anar would return. Ora pulled at him to follow her and as they moved into the forest he felt the approach of a familiar hoof. Felt the bonded joy of his horse, Ariendiel. She broke through the trees and made her way to him. He was glad he'd always let her run free at night, to do as she pleased.

Ariendiel pushed her muzzle into face and he let Ora go long enough to reach out and hug his horse close. He said in elvish, "We need to go home, Ariendiel. To Tol Narwa Vire... we both need..."

She whinnied happily and stomped. Kahz turned and put his hands on Oralia's shoulders. Tears rimmed her eyes and he spoke softly. "Come home with me, and we'll return when the call is heard."

She nodded quickly and he lifted her up to place her on the horse's back. He grabbed the rein and started to jump on—

"Kahz..."

It was the Tari's voice. He stopped and turned to see her behind him. She was alone and he moved to her as she opened her arms. They embraced and he forced himself to keep his expression passive. Not to let his despair show.

"We will rebuild," she said. "Go home. Be with the Minya... and come when I call."

"Yes, my Tari," he said softly. She stood back and reached up to brush his cheek. Her own dark skin was smudged with soot and ash, and her resolve, though strong, was breaking.

He watched her go to Ora and the two spoke softly to one another. He watched as cousins moved past him, heads held high, many carrying lights as they vanished into the mists. Finally the Tari touched his shoulder again and then moved away from them.

He leapt on Ariendiel's back and situated Ora in front of him so she could rest. He would remain awake as they made their way to the house of his father... and there... they could rest together...and weep for the golden turrets of Mal'anar.

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3rd Place - Zephyr Speizer

Heat had not penetrated the chamber below Silver Hollow for hundreds of years.   But one rash night, the cold thing that lay dormant in the mossy earth finally quivered back to life.   She, very slowly, recalled the details of her imprisonment.  Her beloved ice had curled around her, protecting her from the spell of pain and agony that her enemies had used upon her.  Trapping her.  Imprisoning her in her own safety shell.  But now the Old One roused from her long slumber.  How long had she been here, in this block of ice?  And how long until that familiar overwhelming pain came crashing down on every inch of her skin.  That spell...that horrible spell...  A wizardry her ice could barely protect her from, except by freezing her solid.

But, the pain never came.  Perhaps the ones who had imprisoned her no longer stood.  Perhaps they had released her of their own volition.  The former was far more likely than the latter.  And as thoughts slowly trickled into Zephyr's mind, she thought she heard screams beyond her slowly-liquifying prison.  There must be heat if her ice was melting.  A fire?  A fire in the wilds above? 

She clawed through the earth itself to reach the surface.  Somewhere in Silver Hollow, a pale, almost translucent hand, caked in mud, finally thrust up into the air.  Not that anyone witnessed this event.  Not that any of the running, screaming, fear-stricken natives even took the slightest note of the woman who pulled herself out of the ground, ice and dirt sluicing off of her naked body.  Not that anyone stopped to really listen to the high-pitched scream of triumph that shook from Zephyr's mouth, signalling her freedom. 

And as her mind thawed, she staggered through the burning woods, untouched by the fire.  It recoiled from her, feared her, shivered and died in her presence.  She brushed her fingertips over tall mushrooms and blossoming plants, giving them a protection of frost as she progressed.   She caused trails of rough ice through the burning forest for the fleeing animals.  And for the burned fae and fauns that she passed, she created and packed snow against their sizzling wounds, soothing them with her raspy murmur. 

Would would dare to burn the forest, her home?  And did she owe them thanks for waking her, or retribution for their folly against Silver Hollow?  Perhaps both.  For waking her, she'd give them the pleasure of knowing her.  That was more than any creature could wish, in her opinion.  And for destroying the home she had waited for, yearned to see again for so very long...  Vengeance.   They would take her place below Silver Hollow, frozen for all time, alive and immobile.

Soon.  Very soon.