AelKennyr Rhiano
Slowly Nimros stretches his arm, his hand finding the depression in the bedding where her body had lain. He opens his eyes, blinking blearily as he begins yet another day alone. He rolls onto his back, rubbing the sleep from his forest green eyes. Rising into a sitting position, he does not notice the bedding falling away to reveal the smooth of his chest, marred only by long scratches that start at his shoulder blades and disappear into the sheets pooled around his waist and lap.
Nimros tosses the sheets aside and rises, naked, from the bed, padding on bare feet across the room to the tray of food waiting for him on the table. Thoughtfully, she had left him breakfast, as always. He runs his hands through the tangles of his long, silky silver hair and pulls it back from his face. He pours himself a cup of a bitter liquid from a pitcher. The flavor still defies description for him, but it slakes his thirst. As he tears about the hard bread and pops a bite into his mouth, he looks about the room, his green eyes picking out his clothes, scattered on the floor about the room, and the thought crosses his mind, how much he had changed, is changing from the shy elf who once, by accident, sent the Teleri king flying off his father's fishing vessel through a careless slip of his hand. The openness his face once displayed was replaced with harder, sharper features; eyes that narrow with suspicion, lips that compress with resentment when denied a desired thing, ears that strain to hear all the levels of emotion and complexity in every word spoken to him.
The face of his parents were blurry in his memory. They seem...simple, now, common and unremarkable. Looking back at all those times, the King of the Teleri would favor the fisherelf of Alqualonde with visits, he sees in Olwe's kind smile, a smirk of disdain; in his kind gaze, a haughtiness; in his gentle words arrogant superiority. How could a king regard such mean and lowly occupations like fishing the seas as other than beneath him?
Finishing the bread, he collects the discard clothing. As he does so, he spies the book he had been reading, lying discarded. Dropping his clothes in a pile on the bed, he picks up the tome and opens it up to the place he had left off reading. Why had he lied to her? He flipped the page, his eyes narrowing as he stares at the cramped handwriting. He drops the book onto the desk with a thud and walks over to where a stack of clean clothes were neatly folded upon the edge of the bed and shrugs into them. Once he was dressed, he picks up the book and leans against the table as he read.
So, he thinks, as footsteps near his door. An enemy even dwarves fear. What power and strength they must possess. He picks up the forgotten bit of meat and pops it into his mouth. Why be a fisher among elves when he could be a warrior among such a mighty force?
He gives a smile that contorts his face. Why, indeed?
> Next
Nimros tosses the sheets aside and rises, naked, from the bed, padding on bare feet across the room to the tray of food waiting for him on the table. Thoughtfully, she had left him breakfast, as always. He runs his hands through the tangles of his long, silky silver hair and pulls it back from his face. He pours himself a cup of a bitter liquid from a pitcher. The flavor still defies description for him, but it slakes his thirst. As he tears about the hard bread and pops a bite into his mouth, he looks about the room, his green eyes picking out his clothes, scattered on the floor about the room, and the thought crosses his mind, how much he had changed, is changing from the shy elf who once, by accident, sent the Teleri king flying off his father's fishing vessel through a careless slip of his hand. The openness his face once displayed was replaced with harder, sharper features; eyes that narrow with suspicion, lips that compress with resentment when denied a desired thing, ears that strain to hear all the levels of emotion and complexity in every word spoken to him.
The face of his parents were blurry in his memory. They seem...simple, now, common and unremarkable. Looking back at all those times, the King of the Teleri would favor the fisherelf of Alqualonde with visits, he sees in Olwe's kind smile, a smirk of disdain; in his kind gaze, a haughtiness; in his gentle words arrogant superiority. How could a king regard such mean and lowly occupations like fishing the seas as other than beneath him?
Finishing the bread, he collects the discard clothing. As he does so, he spies the book he had been reading, lying discarded. Dropping his clothes in a pile on the bed, he picks up the tome and opens it up to the place he had left off reading. Why had he lied to her? He flipped the page, his eyes narrowing as he stares at the cramped handwriting. He drops the book onto the desk with a thud and walks over to where a stack of clean clothes were neatly folded upon the edge of the bed and shrugs into them. Once he was dressed, he picks up the book and leans against the table as he read.
"Dark elvenfolk these be,"began the writer,
"cruel, hateful and vengeful. Not for them the lure of bright metal nor the gleam of facet jewels. No, they be twisted abominations who once were elvenfolk."Nimros pauses in midchew, drops the rest of the food onto the plate and grabs the book with both hands, angling it to catch the scant light better.
"Do not, young dwarf, be deceived by honeyed words from their females, who are spindly, voracious and completely hideous creatures. Their menfolk allow them to grow unnatural powers and they seek to entrap strong dwarf males to do their bidding, knowing of our prowess and our endurance. If elven folk be strange in their ways, the drow, they be pure evil in their intent. There can be no reason with the black-skinned creatures; just death and destruction. Either you die, or they die."A noise beyond the room's door caught Nimros' attention, and he hurriedly tears the next several pages from the tome, slams it shut, and tosses it back upon the bed. Quickly the elf folds up the torn sheets and stuffs them inside his shirt for later review.
"You shall never hear their footsteps. You shall never hear their whispered commands. You shall never know what is about to befall you..until you see the flash of their eyes, hear the scream of their battle cry, and are cut in twain by the sharp steel of their poisoned blades. They are that quick, that sharp, that battle-trained. Of all the races, they are the most to be watched against, for they breed like rats and like a pestilence they sweep away all in their path."
So, he thinks, as footsteps near his door. An enemy even dwarves fear. What power and strength they must possess. He picks up the forgotten bit of meat and pops it into his mouth. Why be a fisher among elves when he could be a warrior among such a mighty force?
He gives a smile that contorts his face. Why, indeed?
> Next