A resting of fragile bones

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A resting of fragile bones—; [ Berien & Enelya ]
Topic Started: Oct 28 2009, 02:37 PM (89 Views)
Andrea	Oct 28 2009, 02:37 PM Post #1
Master Storyteller of Arda Posts: 210 Group: Member Member #5 Joined: Apr 17 2009 Time Zone (GMT +/-) GMT +8 Realm of Arda Blog http://tinyurl.com/yhjn2as Thread Tracker http://tinyurl.com/yz5nd8x Fiction Tracker http://tinyurl.com/yfand33 Red Book http://tinyurl.com/yz5p7dv	A deep breath—the rustle of leaves as the wind whistled through the empty city of Rivendell. Although resting upon the very border of the wild and civilization, silence seemed to envelop it, granting it an idyllic, yet natural state of sobriety. The white-washed buildings and intricately designed structure was enough for any stranger, wanderer, or nomad to stop, stare, and simply take in the beauty. Berien stood at the foot of the entrance, her eyes taking in her surroundings with a cautious glance and a deep indescribable feeling muddled within her heart. She wasn’t prompted to come because of remembrance; no, she was compelled to journey because of the desire to walk in a city in which she knew she would be most unwelcome—a city constructed and once manned by her own people. She could’ve easily slipped inside without revealing her dark alliance, and yet she never wandered too close to Rivendell, never chanced meeting with another elf. It would only surmount the feelings of guilt she possessed, and now was not the time to ponder or doubt the morals of her actions. Not when everything was being designed and set into motion. At last the Elf walked in, her steps silent as she made her way through. She took time to stroll through the halls and peering into rooms whilst recounting who may have rested here and why. Her bitterness was momentarily dispelled in the light of spring, and yet when she chanced upon a circle of chairs, her thoughts turned to the Nine Walkers; her face darkened in response. Her feelings became muddled in that moment, torn between love for the culture of her kin and a mild hate of what transpired here… and what began. And yet… Without the Fellowship, her freedom would have surely been lost. As if in haste to abandon such ill feelings in such a calm, remote area, she exited the foyer, and descended the stairs to a stone courtyard to collect her thoughts. Tall trees stood silently, bordered by rocky cliffs and nearby stone buildings. Dragonflies and other insects danced silently in the garden, dancing to their own silent tune as they weaved patterns in and out of the blooming and budding flowers. It was only then that she realized she had been holding her breath, and so she relaxed, letting loose a thin string of air. Wind swept over her dark hair as she settled herself upon a small stone bench, conveniently placed in the shadow of an edifice. Her eyes watched the garden with interest… and perhaps remorse. For some reason she could not allow herself to walk amidst the flora and growing plants. Although she had come this far into Rivendell, she couldn’t bring herself to enter that certain area—an area in which goodness had been sowed into every deed, care taken to every living thing. All done by the Elves. She knew feelings of trespassing would manifest, and so she was content to stare at paradise from a distance in the cool shade.
	" V a l i n o r . . . W h a t s h i p c a n b e a r m e h e n c e ? " " T h e w o r l d i s a b i g p l a c e a n d E r a i d o r i s o n e s u c h p a r t o f i t — t h e S h i r e b e i n g e v e n s m a l l e r . " " T h e p r o b l e m i s y o u t h i n k t o o m u c h a n d y o u t h i n k p e o p l e a c t u a l l y l i s t e n t o y o u . " g r a p h i c r e q u e s t s


~~Anguirel~~	Oct 30 2009, 02:09 AM Post #2
Fëanorian Posts: 15 Group: Banned Member #52 Joined: Sep 16 2009	Tiny beads of sweat rolled down her forehead as her hammer came down for the last time. The blade was long and dark, curving elegantly to a point. The blade in its completion would be fine indeed, for it was light and strong. Enelya had been working on it since she had awoken. Her dreams, while she could not recall them any longer, had been dark and troubling. Yet the dreams had inspired what she worked on now: a dark blade made keen and light, a troubling aura in its brilliance. With the tongs she moved the heated blade from the anvil into a thick, pearly substance in a long tub. The contents were questionable to the untrained eye, as it gleamed like moonlight but bubbled and frothed like the waves of the Outer Seas. The liquid bubbled and hissed angrily as she turned the blade slowly within the tub. She closed her eyes then and began to sing softly. Her song continued as she took the blade from the concoction and back into the forge for reheating where it glowed brightly. The process continued and the heat rolled forth from the forge into the already warm smithy, her low chants only making the air feel even more closed and stifling. When her song finished Enelya peered at the cooled blade closely. Her unstopping work was evident in the smooth metal, sleek and gleaming dangerously in only firelight and darkness. She would engrave it later, perhaps fire and script as it seemed fitting with a black sword. Enelya sighed and placed the blade in leather on her workbench. Weariness overcame her suddenly. The heat from the forge, no doubt, she decided, and she made for the forge’s window. Cool breezes and a bright light greeted her when she opened it. Vása was already riding high among the clouds and her rays flooded the dark and sweltering forge. Enelya closed her eyes in exhaustion, she knew not how long she had been in the forge. She could not remember the dreams, nor the morning any longer. She guessed a few days or so, as her projects usually lasted. Although the ache in her fingers and eyes, and the flush in her face made her decide it had been much longer. The engraving and hilt would have to wait for another day. Still clad in her smock and apron Enelya made instead for the Hall of Fire. Spring was in full bloom in Imladris, delicate flowers and bold trees danced, bird and beast sang. Yet there was a quietness impenetrable, and the figures of the Eldar were but shadows among the white stones of Rivendell. It was fair still, even in its sorrow. Fair in their folly! So easily they deny their own nobility for the lowly Sickly. There is no fairness in the Second Born, only disease, lust, and betrayal. Enelya blanched and steadied herself against an elm. A sudden tightening throughout her body shook her, and Enelya fought from closing her own eyes for she knew the nausea that would accompany it. She lowered herself slowly to the ground, still keeping her hold on the elm, focusing her sight on trees before her, constant and strong. And as quickly as the voice had driven hooks in her very fëa, it rested and was silent for the moment. Yet it was not silent, for the wind blew differently and the slightest rustle of twig and branch made her heart beat faster. What if she had been noticed? She frantically searched her surroundings, keeping dead still with the tree, but slacked when she saw that she had not been noticed, for the being in the gardens in the near distance sat unmoved and calm. Enelya ruffled her brow and looked upon the maid curiously for she had not seen her before, yet she was also Quendi. Enelya stood slowly and stood still. “Hail, traveller, for indeed I have not seen your face in lonely Imladris. Is there aught you need?” Usually, Enelya would not take part in such courtesies, yet the fact that she did not notice the stranger at once unnerved her. Vása - The sun fëa - spirit Quendi - elf



Andrea	Oct 31 2009, 02:57 AM Post #3
Master Storyteller of Arda Posts: 210 Group: Member Member #5 Joined: Apr 17 2009 Time Zone (GMT +/-) GMT +8 Realm of Arda Blog http://tinyurl.com/yhjn2as Thread Tracker http://tinyurl.com/yz5nd8x Fiction Tracker http://tinyurl.com/yfand33 Red Book http://tinyurl.com/yz5p7dv	The Elf appreciated the silence if anything, the way the world opened up to her when all fell still. Accompanying sounds would only ruin the atmosphere, dissipating this indefinable moment of contemplation. She felt herself melting into the background, becoming one with the scenery and the calmness that seemed to stretch toward infinity. Spring’s creations seemed endless in its realm, and she embraced the fleeting sensations of its wind, ruffling her dark mantle, brushing her skin, her hair. Her fingers tingled, and she bent her head just slightly to look at her hands, finally cupping them and rubbing her thumbs over the tips as if to make sure she was still there. Selfishly, she expected another memory to come to her—another clue to what she might have been, and who she could become—but even as she thought this, she knew it would not be so. Rivendell was a location she had never been to before… until now. Suddenly, unexpectedly, her heart lurched as she felt another presence, another being. At once she became still, the rest of her body slowing down its systems and its processes. Was it fear that gripped her? No, not fear, she decided. Apprehension. Immediately she began to conjure lies as to why she was here, where she had come from. It was a deed that became habitual as she delved deeper and completed more of the set tasks that were required of her. Dark eyes blinked once as an elleth’s voice reached her ears, its tone polite, harmless, yet somewhat cautious. Berien was slightly alarmed as if she was a mere child, caught red-handed in an act that she would rather not be seen doing. She turned to her now, observing her silently, her face retaining its placid look so no inkling of emotion could seep through. Although she would normally react in anger and coldness to any stranger who interrupted her thoughts and silence, her hard look seemed to soften at the presence of another of her kin. “Suilad,” she offered, switching to her mother tongue, savoring the way the words rolled off of her tongue. Always she savored it. Talking with her people was an act she couldn’t help but avoid nowadays, although she rarely spoke in general. She paused for a moment to gather her thoughts before continuing, “No, I have no need… I have simply come.” She averted her gaze just slightly, her eyes tracing the path she had walked until it had ultimately led her here. Still Berien sat, unmoving, as if debating whether or not to trust her, and yet curious about this stranger, this Elf. Had she come for the same reasons, or was it something else entirely? “And you… why have you come?” she inquired, her words soft and delicate. She struggled to continue the exchange; speech was something she was admittedly not fond of. Translation “elleth” — female elf “Suilad” — Greetings
	" V a l i n o r . . . W h a t s h i p c a n b e a r m e h e n c e ? " " T h e w o r l d i s a b i g p l a c e a n d E r a i d o r i s o n e s u c h p a r t o f i t — t h e S h i r e b e i n g e v e n s m a l l e r . " " T h e p r o b l e m i s y o u t h i n k t o o m u c h a n d y o u t h i n k p e o p l e a c t u a l l y l i s t e n t o y o u . " g r a p h i c r e q u e s t s


~~Anguirel~~	Nov 7 2009, 09:17 PM Post #4
Fëanorian Posts: 15 Group: Banned Member #52 Joined: Sep 16 2009	Suilad Enelya blinked and shifted a little. She was not sure why she expected the stranger’s words to be in anything other than Sindarin or Westron, but just the sound of the ‘suilad’ had made her feel a little lonely. The elves that spoke the High tongue or even her own Gondolindhrim dialect were rare and likely did not walk the paths of Middle-earth any longer. Indeed most of the Noldor were completely diminished with the death of their King Gil-galad. Now the exiles stayed either because of some bond among the Moriquendi or because of their fear of the Valar. Yet this elf was Sindarin, she could tell by her face and her accent, and even the Sindar had a sea-calling Enelya could not understand. Perhaps that was why the maid gazed longingly into the trees, trying somehow to find connection with something she once loved but all for naught. “Mayhap it is not why we have come, but why we stay,” she remarked, cautiously approaching the maiden. The stars were waning in Middle-earth, at least for the elves. Enelya could see it, as did the Wise for they had already departed. The sun and moon shone brighter for the Second born as the Trees had once did for her forefathers. There was no star that held brilliance even comparable to the stars of the elves’ awakening, yet they were the same stars. Just washed out and dimmed by Moon and Sun--the love of the Eldar made faint and weakened by the hope of Men. The corners of Enelya’s lips curved slightly into a restrained grin. For it was decreed in the Great Music, was it not? That the elves face sorrows uncountable, face loss and love unbearable all for it to dwindle to nothing as the Second born claim Middle-earth for their own. But Enelya did not know Valinor as her kin had. She was born in Beleriand, and it had been her home for almost three ages of the world. How could she ultimately call Valinor her home when her kin had struggled so hard to leave it before the sun even bloomed for the first time? “For this is the last homely house, is it not? What ancient texts of our people would you see before leaving it to the decay of time?” Enelya looked straight into the eyes of Imladris’ stranger, a habit she had known since the fall of Gondolin. Yet she saw no evil, nor any fëa at all.



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