Disclaimer: I do not own anything or anybody that J.R.R. Tolkien wrote.
It all belongs to him (excepting my own original characters, they are
children of my own mind.)
It is best if you have read 'Have Hope While the Stars Shine' though I will try to make this stand-alone.
Thank you again, to everyone who reviewed 'Have Hope…'. I greatly appreciated them and your encouragement meant a lot to me. After a short walk in my own little piece of Mirkwood (which resides in my backyard by the way) I came up with the thought for this one. Some of you asked for a sequel, what happened after, well this is it. Hopefully the words will flow as easily as the last one, though this one will be in segments unlike the last one. I don't know all of it yet so be patient. Thank you. Elenath sila erin le. [Stars shine on you.]
Note * The name Lumbule is a Quenya word for 'shadow'. Also Namarie is Quenya for farewell. I couldn't find anything in Sindarin as suitable.
Let me know what you think. I know that it is short. But it is only the beginning. Namarie.
A Whisper of Things to Come
"Minuial orthad ned gael manadh
I menel rin ah malthen calad.
Lhoss o bach an tol."
[Dawn rising in pale bliss
The sky crowned with golden light.
A whisper of things to come.]
He sat with his back against the massive trunk of an ancient oak tree that stood alone on a flower strewn hill in the great forest of Mirkwood. The fragile coming of the dawn was lightening the sky, announcing a new day. A smile of pleasure graced his lips, hi blue eyes gazing upward.
Hearon athan peleth. [Fair beyond words.] He thought, watching the sky's colors change and deepen, the stars slowly fading from sight. A joy that still felt new flooded him. "Namarie, fael mirdan o daw." [Farewell, fair jewels of night.] He murmured as he did every morning with the rising of the sun.
His kind felt a deep hatred for the sun, the brightest star over Middle Earth. And he himself felt weakened if he lingered too long beneath its warming rays. But to him it was a beautiful, wondrous thing, as was much that he saw about him. Most of his life had been spent in darkness, living beneath the world in caves of dark stone, hiding in holes to escape the sun's caress and the beauty the world held. It was not by choice that this was his lot, it had been thus since his spawning in the dark caverns and pits beneath Mordor. His kind, the Orcs, abhorred beauty in any form, finding pleasure only in the torment of others, especially in their "brethren"- the Elves. Melkor, the fallen Ainur, had made Orcs as a mockery of the Elves. Captured Elves had been tortured and corrupted becoming the race of Orcs, fallen as their master was. All that was good and fair had been erased by torment and grief.
Or nearly so.
Egla Ash was an exception, the only one that he knew of. The only Orc that had
any Elvish tendencies. These were the things that he had kept hidden from everyone, learning early that it was not acceptable and would eventually cost him his life. So the passion he felt for beauty remained hidden, his differences masked.
All but his eyes. Those he could not hide. Blue. Cursed Elf blue. They alone set him apart, marking him for loneliness and, at times, despair. Like any creature he had yearned for companionship, but he had found his fellow Orcs small consolation. He was too unlike them, his feelings and thoughts too different. Because of this he had been sent from one Company to another, finally coming to Emyn Mor Esgal.
There had been fifty Orcs living in the dark hills on the northwestern edge of Mirkwood Forest under the command of an Uruk-Hai, Gorgash. He had been a cruel leader, harsh and unforgiving, despising those under him as weak and foolish. The Uruk- Hai was another strain of Orcs, stronger, taller and no weakness besetting them as they walked in the sunlight. Egla Ash had envied his captain that, to walk untouched beneath the sunlit heavens.
But Gorgash was dead now, felled by a Ranger's swift arrow. Several others had died that night as well beneath the stars. Those not slain by the fierce Rangers had fled back into the caverns, seeking comfort in the blackness of Emyn Mor Esgal, to await the return of their comrades who had gone to escort the supply wagon coming from the northeast. When they had returned it was to find chaos and death. Gorgash and fifteen of their brothers lay dead, arrows riddling their fallen bodies; the others cowering in the dark in fear. And their prisoner – an Elf – escaped.
With no Uruk-Hai to control them fighting broke out and factions were formed. The largest of these followed Lumbule who drove the others away from Emyn Mor Esgal. Most fled Mirkwood, fearing the Rangers would hunt them down. Or perhaps they would fall prey to the Elves' arrows. But Lumbule and the remaining twenty Orcs entrenched themselves more deeply into the dark hills. And as they sat brooding in the darkness and shadows, Lumbule's thoughts turned to the fleeing and the dead. One of their number was not accounted for: the Forsaken One. The one with the cursed Elf eyes. Egla Ash. Where was he?
And unaware of the dark thoughts bent upon him, Egla Ash raised his arms to the coming morning, his voice lifting once again in song:
"Minuial orthad ned gael manadh.
I menel rin ah malthen calad.
Lhoss o bach an tol."
[Dawn rising in pale bliss
The sky crowned with golden light.
A whisper of things to come.]
It is best if you have read 'Have Hope While the Stars Shine' though I will try to make this stand-alone.
Thank you again, to everyone who reviewed 'Have Hope…'. I greatly appreciated them and your encouragement meant a lot to me. After a short walk in my own little piece of Mirkwood (which resides in my backyard by the way) I came up with the thought for this one. Some of you asked for a sequel, what happened after, well this is it. Hopefully the words will flow as easily as the last one, though this one will be in segments unlike the last one. I don't know all of it yet so be patient. Thank you. Elenath sila erin le. [Stars shine on you.]
Note * The name Lumbule is a Quenya word for 'shadow'. Also Namarie is Quenya for farewell. I couldn't find anything in Sindarin as suitable.
Let me know what you think. I know that it is short. But it is only the beginning. Namarie.
A Whisper of Things to Come
"Minuial orthad ned gael manadh
I menel rin ah malthen calad.
Lhoss o bach an tol."
[Dawn rising in pale bliss
The sky crowned with golden light.
A whisper of things to come.]
He sat with his back against the massive trunk of an ancient oak tree that stood alone on a flower strewn hill in the great forest of Mirkwood. The fragile coming of the dawn was lightening the sky, announcing a new day. A smile of pleasure graced his lips, hi blue eyes gazing upward.
Hearon athan peleth. [Fair beyond words.] He thought, watching the sky's colors change and deepen, the stars slowly fading from sight. A joy that still felt new flooded him. "Namarie, fael mirdan o daw." [Farewell, fair jewels of night.] He murmured as he did every morning with the rising of the sun.
His kind felt a deep hatred for the sun, the brightest star over Middle Earth. And he himself felt weakened if he lingered too long beneath its warming rays. But to him it was a beautiful, wondrous thing, as was much that he saw about him. Most of his life had been spent in darkness, living beneath the world in caves of dark stone, hiding in holes to escape the sun's caress and the beauty the world held. It was not by choice that this was his lot, it had been thus since his spawning in the dark caverns and pits beneath Mordor. His kind, the Orcs, abhorred beauty in any form, finding pleasure only in the torment of others, especially in their "brethren"- the Elves. Melkor, the fallen Ainur, had made Orcs as a mockery of the Elves. Captured Elves had been tortured and corrupted becoming the race of Orcs, fallen as their master was. All that was good and fair had been erased by torment and grief.
Or nearly so.
Egla Ash was an exception, the only one that he knew of. The only Orc that had
any Elvish tendencies. These were the things that he had kept hidden from everyone, learning early that it was not acceptable and would eventually cost him his life. So the passion he felt for beauty remained hidden, his differences masked.
All but his eyes. Those he could not hide. Blue. Cursed Elf blue. They alone set him apart, marking him for loneliness and, at times, despair. Like any creature he had yearned for companionship, but he had found his fellow Orcs small consolation. He was too unlike them, his feelings and thoughts too different. Because of this he had been sent from one Company to another, finally coming to Emyn Mor Esgal.
There had been fifty Orcs living in the dark hills on the northwestern edge of Mirkwood Forest under the command of an Uruk-Hai, Gorgash. He had been a cruel leader, harsh and unforgiving, despising those under him as weak and foolish. The Uruk- Hai was another strain of Orcs, stronger, taller and no weakness besetting them as they walked in the sunlight. Egla Ash had envied his captain that, to walk untouched beneath the sunlit heavens.
But Gorgash was dead now, felled by a Ranger's swift arrow. Several others had died that night as well beneath the stars. Those not slain by the fierce Rangers had fled back into the caverns, seeking comfort in the blackness of Emyn Mor Esgal, to await the return of their comrades who had gone to escort the supply wagon coming from the northeast. When they had returned it was to find chaos and death. Gorgash and fifteen of their brothers lay dead, arrows riddling their fallen bodies; the others cowering in the dark in fear. And their prisoner – an Elf – escaped.
With no Uruk-Hai to control them fighting broke out and factions were formed. The largest of these followed Lumbule who drove the others away from Emyn Mor Esgal. Most fled Mirkwood, fearing the Rangers would hunt them down. Or perhaps they would fall prey to the Elves' arrows. But Lumbule and the remaining twenty Orcs entrenched themselves more deeply into the dark hills. And as they sat brooding in the darkness and shadows, Lumbule's thoughts turned to the fleeing and the dead. One of their number was not accounted for: the Forsaken One. The one with the cursed Elf eyes. Egla Ash. Where was he?
And unaware of the dark thoughts bent upon him, Egla Ash raised his arms to the coming morning, his voice lifting once again in song:
"Minuial orthad ned gael manadh.
I menel rin ah malthen calad.
Lhoss o bach an tol."
[Dawn rising in pale bliss
The sky crowned with golden light.
A whisper of things to come.]